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Authors: Nancy Martin

The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl (15 page)

BOOK: The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl
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“Oh, sure. Uh—what’s the specialty of the house?”
“Tonight it’s margaritas.”
Hank gulped. “Well, when in Rome.”
John Wayne leaned his elbow on the bar and stuck his face close to Hank’s. “This ain’t Rome, pilgrim. It’s Monty’s Midnight Saloon. And if you don’t want a drink, you can hightail it outta here.”
“Okay, okay.” Hank put some cash on the bar. “We’ll take two.”
“Let’s dance!” Carly cried as the bartender turned away to prepare their drinks.
“Carly—”
“Do you know how to two-step?”
“I’ll fake it.”
Hank was pleased to see the surprise on Carly’s s face when he seized her around the waist and steered her onto the dance floor in a moderately serviceable two-step. He spun her twice, making her laugh. The music must have been loud enough to rival a live rock concert, but the dancers seemed to enjoy the howls of the singer.
But halfway around the floor, Carly spied the mechanical bull whirling riderlessly in one corner. “Ohh, look!” she cried. “Why don’t you show us how it’s done, Hank?”
“You want to see me killed?”
“Believe me,” she retorted, “I’ve considered murdering you myself for the past day or so. Come on, get up on that bull, cowboy!”
“I think you’ve had your fun,” said Hank, pulling her back into the dance.
Carly managed to blink up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I can see you’ve figured out the whole thing.”
“I have?”
“Look, I never meant for the charade to get out of hand,” Hank said sincerely. “Everything I did was wrong, I know.”
“Then why did you do it?”
He spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t know. It seemed right at the time.”
“And now?”
Surprised, Hank realized that Carly had tears in her eyes. This was the last thing he expected to find—himself tongue-tied and Carly upset. He said, “I didn’t think it would be important.”
“The truth isn’t important?” Her gaze began to flash even hotter than before.
“Not always, no. I knew you’d come to South Dakota with a plan to take a lot of stupid pictures. In a few days, you’d leave. What could a little white lie hurt?”
Carly’s cheeks flushed. “Stupid pictures? It’s my career, you know!”
“That’s not what I—Hey, don’t get bent out of shape over this, Carly. It’s not—Wait! Carly!”
She turned away from him and started walking.
Hank started after her.
But John Wayne grabbed his arm and spun Hank around. “Hey, pilgrim,” the bartender rasped. “Are you hassling that little lady?”
“Of course not!”
“’Cause we don’t take kindly to fellers who don’t drink their margaritas and then go picking on pretty ladies.”
Nine
C
arly stormed out into the night air and headed straight for the limousine. She was insane, she knew. Walking away from Hank wasn’t what she wanted at all. But she couldn’t stop herself. A wildly crazy woman had taken over inside her. She got into the car and slammed the door.
“Get me out of here.”
As the car pulled away from the curb, she glanced around and saw Hank running out of Monty’s.
Hank skidded to a stop on the sidewalk and shouted, “Carly, come back here!”
But the car smoothly accelerated away from the curb, and Carly couldn’t summon her voice to stop it.
Hank stared after the limo, stunned at finding himself alone.
From the doorway, Delbert said, “Looks like she dumped you, pal.”
“I can’t believe it.” Hank couldn’t tear his eyes from the disappearing limo.
“That Miss Cortazzo,” said Delbert, shaking his head, “she’s got a temper.”
“I’ve got to go after her,” Hank said to himself, then swung on Delbert. “Can you call me a cab?”
The bouncer shrugged. “Sure, but it’ll take ten minutes to get here.”
Hank cursed. “I can’t let her go.”
“Sorry, pal, but it’s the best I can do.”
Hank could
not
let Carly escape. Not today. Without a second thought, he headed straight for the buckskin horse that had been tied up outside Monty’s Midnight Saloon. He grabbed the reins and began unwrapping them from the hitching post. The animal woke up from its nap and snorted.
“Hey!” Delbert shouted. “What d’you think you’re doing?”
“I’ll bring him back,” Hank promised, turning the horse around on the sidewalk.
“That’s Monty’s horse,” Delbert objected, stepping into Hank’s path. “That’s Rocky! You can’t take Rocky!”
“My apologies to Monty,” Hank shot back, one foot already in the stirrup.
Swinging aboard Rocky’s splendidly decorated saddle, Hank planted his other foot squarely in Delbert’s chest and pushed. Delbert gave a surprised “oof!” and fell back on the sidewalk. Rocky chose that moment to rear back on his hind legs, nearly dumping Hank into the cactus bed.
But Hank hung on. For dear life. He seized a handful of Rocky’s mane and kept his balance. Then Rocky jolted down on all four feet, gave a happy little buck and bolted into the street, sending cars scattering in all directions.
“Whoa!” Hank cried automatically. “What is this? A prison break? Whoa!”
But the sight of Carly’s limousine disappearing around the next corner made Hank throw caution to the wind.
“Hey, Rocky!” he shouted. “Show me what you’ve got!”
Rocky did. Apparently his long nap in front of Monty’s had left him completely refreshed and rarin’ to go. Like a race horse shooting out of the starting gate, he put his head down and broke into a gallop straight up Sunset Boulevard. Car brakes squealed, drivers shouted, a busload of tourists hung out the windows of their bus and snapped pictures. Hank barely controlled a scream of terror.
But Rocky was a demon. His strides lengthened, his hooves struck sparks on the pavement. He tore up the street past restaurants and ice cream vendors. He galloped past a convertible filled with astonished teenagers.
Hank stayed in the saddle by some. miracle. In seconds he was whizzing down the street, barely conscious of anything but the flying horse. He saw a police car flash by, then palm trees, a man selling maps to movie stars’ homes and two bikers with their Harleys. But mainly he clung to Rocky’s plunging neck and tried to see Carly’s limousine through the horse’s flying mane.
He reined Rocky around the corner where he’d last seen Carly disappear, then spotted the limo at the next light When he gave Rocky his head again, the horse bolted ahead as if stung by a swarm of angry bees.
The light changed. The limo moved forward. Hank shouted. Rocky galloped.
The limo turned right, and Hank thought he caught a glimpse of Carly’s astonished face looking out at him from the back seat. He tried to turn Rocky, but the horse was moving too fast. The buckskin nearly ran down a bicyclist, who screamed and rode straight into a flower bed.
But the limo slowed down! It stopped!
Rocky spun on his powerful haunches, took two strides and gathered himself, then leaped over an in-fine skater who was bent over to fasten his skates. He landed back on the sidewalk. Hank nearly somersaulted over Rocky’s head, but kept his seat. A dog-walking pedestrian shrieked and dodged out of their way.
With fresh speed, Rocky headed straight for the limousine. Three, four, five strides and he was almost on top of the car. Hank barely had enough strength to haul back on the reins in time to keep Rocky from jumping right over the limo. With just inches to spare, Rocky jammed to a stop.
And suddenly Hank was airborne.
The world seemed to turn into slow motion. Like a graceful bird, Hank soared through the air. He wanted to yelp, but there was no time. He thought he heard Carly scream.
He hit the roof of the limo, tumbled head over heels and thumped his head going through the sunroof.
The next thing he knew, Hank was sprawled inside the limousine, stunned and staring up at Carly.
“Oh, Hank, are you all right? Are you hurt? Talk to me, please! Should we take you to a hospital?”
“Llurph,” he managed to say, still dizzy from the impact.
Carly scrambled down next to him on the floor of the car. She cradled his head gently in her lap, her face close to his and looking frightened. “What, darling? What did you say?”
“I lurph,” he mumbled.
Carly cried out. “Oh, God! Driver! Where’s the nearest hospital?”
But Hank caught Carly’s hand at last and looked up into her beautiful, worried face. He shook his head and said quite clearly this time, “I love you.”
Carly stared down at him. “You do?”
“You think I’d ride a horse up Sunset Boulevard for anything less?”
“Oh, Hank! I was coming back around the block to get you at Monty’s. I love you, too. I love you even if you can’t ride a horse!”
He forced himself to sit up beside her, moving gingerly. “I thought I did pretty well this time.”
“You did, you did.” Carly helped him to the seat of the car and called to the driver, “Will you please catch that horse for us? He might get hurt in all this traffic.”
The driver was already out of the limo and managed to grab Rocky’s trailing reins. There was no need to worry about the horse dashing into traffic, however. A large crowd of tourists had surrounded him and lavished the puffing buckskin with attention.
A baseball-capped tourist stuck his head inside the open driver’s door. “Hey, mister? Are you a stunt rider for that new Western movie?”
Another head appeared. “Yeah, that stunt was great! Can we take your picture?”
Carly and Hank collapsed with laughter and ended up kissing on the back seat.
“Come on,” Carly whispered a few minutes later. “Let’s take the horse back and then go to my condo.”
They extricated Rocky from his fan club and set off on foot, leading the horse back to Monty’s Midnight Saloon. The limousine followed, creating an odd-looking parade as the evening light waned.
By ten o’clock they arrived at Carly’s home, a modern condominium on a hillside overlooking the sparkling lights of the city. They waved goodbye to the limousine driver, then crossed the patio and went inside, carrying bags of takeout food they’d picked up at Monty’s.
Hank wasn’t sure what to expect as he entered Carly’s home. Her foyer and living room were sleekly designed, with high ceilings and lots of windows. The spare furnishings glowed with simple but vivid colors, reflecting the taste of a woman with an artistic eye.
A geometric quilt decorated one wall, a pair of seascapes another. Her travel experiences were remembered in the grouping of objects on a low coffee table—some rustic pottery, a stack of picture books about Italy, a bonsai tree in a jade green pot.
A baby grand piano stood in an alcove as if waiting for a concert pianist to show up and entertain a party of elegant and sophisticated guests.
Approaching the piano, Hank twinkled the keys, and asked, “Do you play?”
“Not well, despite all the lessons I took as a kid.” She smiled, watching Hank get accustomed to her home. “It’s my father’s. I keep it here because there’s no room in his apartment.”
She carried the food into her kitchen, leaving Hank to savor the mental picture of a very young Carly diligently practicing her piano lessons.
He strolled to the kitchen doorway and enfolded Carly in his arms when she came out. “I look forward to getting to know everything about you.”
She melted against his body and looped her arms around his neck. “I’m the one looking forward to the truth.”
“I have a lot of explaining to do,” he admitted.
“I gather you aren’t a rancher in South Dakota?” Carly lifted her eyebrows.
“No.” He stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “This is strange, isn’t it? You don’t even know who I am.”
“I’ve been trying to guess.”
Carly led him to the rear of the house, past a darkened bedroom to another small niche. She flipped on a small, glowing lamp. Beneath a large, arched window that overlooked the city stood a deeply cushioned sofa—obviously the place Carly liked best in her house. A filled bookshelf, a telephone and fax machine, an armoire that clearly hid a television set—all the comforts a busy single woman could wish for in a retreat. Her bedroom lay just a few yards away.
Carly was glad to have Hank in her home. It felt right to see him among her things. She pulled him down onto the sofa. Ready to hear everything, she tucked her feet up and leaned into his arm.
Hank took a deep breath and took the plunge. “I’m a writer for a newspaper. Or newspapers, I guess. I live in Seattle.”
“Seattle?” Carly felt a pang of fear. “That’s so far away.”
“I write a column that involves travel and politics,” he continued. And thereafter he explained his career to her.
His life sounded exciting, stimulating and hectic. Carly was familiar with his column in a distant sort of way. It was not carried by any of the newspapers she read on a daily or weekly basis, but she realized she must have read some of his work while she traveled. Hank’s writing was the kind that had a great future.
She smiled, glad that he was accomplished and respected in his field. She longed to hear more about his column, and looked forward to the many conversations they would have.
If they had a future together.
“Anyway,” Hank concluded after a few minutes, “I don’t live in South Dakota. Becky owns the ranch, lock, stock and barrel. She’s the one who runs it.”
“You rarely go there?”
“Hardly ever.”
“And Becky’s in some kind of financial trouble.”
“Right- She heard about your calendar contest and decided it was a great way to make her mortgage payments. Trouble was, your contest specified cowboy and she didn’t fit the bill.”
“So she sent your pictures instead.”
“Yes.” Ruefully, Hank added, “I had no idea what she’d done until you were on your way to take my picture.”
“But since she needed the money, you agreed to do the calendar.”
“Yes. We didn’t see the need to tell you the truth. What did it matter whether I was the genuine article or not? I was a face you needed, that’s it. But I couldn’t go through with the plan, Carly. Not after you and I, well, it was that first night on the porch, I suppose.”
“What do you mean?”
“Until then, I hadn’t realized you’d be a real person. It was easier when you were just a corporate entity. But I liked Carly Cortazzo.” He touched her face again, bringing a lump to Carly’s throat. “You were a pretty tough broad on the outside, but I saw someone I could really care about on the inside.”
“You could have been honest with me from the start.”
“I wasn’t sure about that.”
Carly swallowed hard and tried to explain. “Maybe it was important at first for you to be a cowboy. I... had this silly fantasy in my head—”
“A fantasy?”
“Yes, about you and—and—well, it seemed important that you were a man of the wide-open spaces. In my head you came from a simpler time, I guess. It...it felt more romantic, somehow. There’s something about a cowboy.”
“What, exactly?”
“I can’t explain it. I suppose I wanted to be swept off my feet by a man who rode the range and sang to his cattle and did all that cowboy stuff.”
Hank laughed, drawing Carly closer. “I’ve never sung a single note to a cow in my life, and I don’t care if I ever set eyes on a horse again. But,” he added, his voice deepening, “I can sweep you off your feet, Carly.”
She lifted her mouth to his and let Hank press a long and delicious kiss into her soul. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, making Carly breathless. His mouth was warm, but it was the warmth that emanated from within Hank that made Carly feel toasty inside.
BOOK: The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl
4.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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