Dusty: Wild Cowboy

by Cathy McDavid

  “I’ll pick you up about six.”

  “Dressy or casual attire?”

  That got a reaction in the form of a widening grin. “Whatever’s comfortable.”

  Maryanne fidgeted. Strange how this Wyoming cowboy unsettled her far more than the worldly men in L.A. did.

  “See you then.” He climbed down the bleachers to the ground.

  “Wait. Don’t you need the number of my cabin?

  “I’ll find you.”

  Maryanne didn’t doubt that one bit.

  Chapter Four

  Maryanne opened the door to her cabin. “Hi.”

  Whatever else she’d been planning to say to Dusty was promptly forgotten. He certainly cleaned up nice. Not that she’d had any doubts. Real life, however, exceeded her expectations.

  His jeans, though blue and basic, were washed and pressed. His simple and understated shirt, on the other hand, bore a designer label, and the boots he wore were custom-made. His hat probably wasn’t purchased at the local feed store, either. She immediately began envisioning another advertising campaign featuring Dusty in a whole new way.

  “Hi.” He studied her appearance with the same subdued scrutiny she had his. The corners of his mouth curved into what she already recognized as his trademark sexy smile. “You look nice.”

  “Not too out of place?” Having nothing in her wardrobe that spoke small-town Wyoming, she’d gone in the opposite direction: casual-chic.

  “Definitely out of place. Be ready to get stared at.”

  Maryanne was already thinking the same thing about him.

  “Dusty! Come on in.” Gil entered the cabin’s small living room from the kitchen, a beer in his hand. He held it up. “Can I get you one?”

  “No thank you, sir. I’m driving.”

  “Glad to see you’re taking care of Cookie. She’s all I’ve got.” He bent and kissed Maryanne’s cheek. “Would I be out of line if I told you to have her back at a decent hour?”

  “Daddy!”

  “Not a minute past ten.” Dusty took Maryanne’s arm. “I promise.”

  “Sorry about that,” Maryanne said when they were out the door and walking down the cabin steps. “Five days living with my father, and he’s back to treating me like I’m fifteen.”

  “He loves you.” Dusty’s incredibly blue eyes twinkled.

  “You think I’m just as bad. That I mother him unnecessarily.”

  “You love him, too.”

  “There’s a big difference between risking life and limb and going out to—” For the second time in ten minutes, the words she was about to utter vanished in a small poof. “Is that yours?”

  “Like it?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” She approached the deep green Jaguar almost reverently. “It’s gorgeous.” And the very last thing she’d expected him to be driving.

  “I bought it last year on something of a whim.” Pride and pleasure tinged his voice.

  “I bought a new sofa on a whim once.” She released a long breath. “Not quite the same thing.”

  He reached into his pocket for the keys. “Want to drive?”

  She gulped. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It has a standard transmission.” She ran her fingers lightly along the highly polished fender. “But I’d love to go for a ride,” she said with a grin.

  Dusty opened the door for her. “Hop in.”

  “Where are we going?” She sank into the plush leather passenger seat. “Nowhere close, I hope.”

  “The Spotted Horse Saloon.”

  “Oh.” She tried to hide her disappointment.

  Dusty climbed in behind the steering wheel. “We’ll take the long route.”

  They did, turning a fifteen-minute ride into a forty-five-minute adventure. Maryanne didn’t talk much. She was too busy having her breath stolen at every hairpin turn Dusty took with race-car driver precision. The scenery, she noticed, appeared entirely different when viewed as an endless blur.

  “How come you didn’t tell me you like sports cars?” he asked when they pulled up near the honky-tonk and parked.

  “Shh.” She placed a finger on her lips. “It’s a secret.”

  By the time she opened her door, he was already there, taking her arm and helping her out of the car. Good thing, the bones in her legs had apparently dissolved into putty during the constant adrenaline rush. Without meaning to, she leaned heavily on his arm until she regained her land legs. He didn’t seem to mind.

  “Why a secret?”

  “I drive a hybrid. I work for an eco-friendly cosmetic company. I’m on the waiting list for a condo in the most sought after green community in L.A. County.”

  “What?” he said with a hearty laugh. “Will loving fossil fuel vehicles get you fired from your job or your name scratched from the condo waiting list?”

  “Not if you don’t tell.”

  “You’re not joking.”

  “I do have a reputation to maintain.”

  “And being with me will tarnish it?”

  “Only driving in your Jag.”

  They entered The Spotted Horse Saloon which was hopping despite being a weekday evening.

  Maryanne tilted her head toward Dusty to be better heard over the band and rowdy patrons. “We might have trouble finding a table.”

  “I have a reservation.”

  Naturally he did. “This might not be the most conducive atmosphere for your first lesson in selling yourself.”

  “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  His arm slid from her elbow to her hand, which he clasped firmly in his as he led her on a winding path through the crowd.

  “Hey, Dusty.”

  “How’s it going, buddy?”

  Friendly greetings were shouted from every corner of the large room. As predicted, they drew a lot of attention. Most of it appeared directed at Maryanne. Several women were quite blatant in their interest. Maryanne couldn’t tell if their expressions were curious or mildly hostile. Considering Dusty was one of the most eligible bachelors around and a hometown boy, they may think they had a prior claim on him. Unfortunately there was no way to convey to them that her and Dusty’s dinner meeting was strictly business.

  “This way.”

  “Behind the bar?” Maryanne came to a stop. Dusty just smiled.

  “Hey, Dusty.” A waitress in cutoff jeans and a tank top stood at the drink station waiting on her order. “How’s it going?” Her tone more than her generous smile conveyed an intimacy to their relationship that went beyond casual.

  “Hey, Mindy Sue.”

  The bartender barely acknowledged them as he passed Dusty a set of keys.

  “Thanks, buddy.” He led Maryanne down the hall and to a door marked Staff Only.

  The bartender may be ignoring them but Maryanne could feel Mindy Sue’s eyes following their every step. “Old girlfriend of yours?” she asked Dusty when they were on the other side of the door.

  “Yeah.” He flipped on a light and gave her fingers a squeeze. “From second grade.”

  They faced a narrow wooden staircase.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The roof.” He preceded her up the steps, still holding her hand. “About four years ago, the kitchen caught fire. When the renovations were being done, the manager added an outdoor dining area on the roof for special events and private parties.”

  At the top of the stairs was another door on which was posted a sign that read Keep Locked at All Times When Not in Use. Dusty used the keys to open the door. A gust of cool, fresh air immediately rushed in to fill the small enclosed space. In the next instant, Maryanne was stepping onto the rooftop. Above them stretched the most stunning starscape she’d ever seen, in the center of which hung a shimmering half moon.

  “Oh, wow!” She turned in a slow circle, her head tilted back as far as it would go. “I’m definitely not in L.A. anymore.”

  “Quiet enough for you?”

  The noisy commotion beneath t
hem was a dull, distant hum.

  She smiled broadly, she couldn’t help it. “I should say so.” Walking to the edge, she exclaimed, “Look at the view.” Beneath them, the small town with its quaint buildings and charming storefronts resembled an illustration from a children’s storybook.

  “Over here.” Dusty led Maryanne to a candlelit table set with delicate china, silver flatware and crystal goblets. Beside the table, a bottle of wine waited in an ice bucket.

  She took it all in, admittedly overwhelmed. “Something tells me this isn’t usual service for the Spotted Horse.”

  “I called in a couple favors.”

  Was she the first woman Dusty had brought up to the saloon’s rooftop?

  Who cares? She reminded herself. This wasn’t a date, they were here for a meeting.

  But as she sat down in the chair he pulled out for her, it felt very much like a date, complete with wine, candles and romantic view.

  Maryanne had to wonder just what she’d gotten herself into.

  “YOU SAID THAT PRODUCER only gave you a few seconds to tell him about your screenplay before he cut you off.” Maryanne sipped at her wine, which was quite good. It complemented her grilled fish. The staff at The Spotted Horse had certainly outdone themselves.

  So had Dusty. They’d only met a few days ago yet he’d correctly anticipated her taste in cuisine right down to the rice pilaf and vinaigrette dressing on her salad.

  Was she that easy to read or was he particularly astute? Both, she supposed. Her father had blabbed a great deal about her to Dusty, and he was an aspiring writer, or so he said.

  “Twelve seconds if that.” Dusty cut into his steak.

  “What you need is a good tagline.”

  “I had one, just not good I guess.”

  So, he knew another common writer’s term. Maybe he really was serious. “What is it? Do you mind telling me?”

  He grinned sheepishly. Maryanne sat back in her chair, a little surprised. In their short acquaintance, Dusty had oozed confidence at every turn. To see him struggle with embarrassment was…interesting to say the least. And, okay she had to admit, a little appealing.

  He lifted his head to meet her gaze and cleared his throat. “Secrets threaten to destroy a wealthy ranching family and the people in the small Wyoming town where they reside.”

  Wealthy ranching family? Small town in Wyoming? Was the similarity to Dusty’s life merely a coincidence?

  “Not terrible.” She lifted a shoulder. “On the one hand, it says it all. On the other, it’s, well, kind of boring. You need to punch it up.”

  “How?”

  She finished off the last of her fish. “Tell me a little about the family. Are they normal? Dysfunctional?”

  “I thought all families were dysfunctional to a degree.”

  “Probably.” Maryanne laughed. She certainly saw her share of them in L.A. “Not mine.”

  “You’re lucky.” Dusty’s mood shifted slightly, though Maryanne couldn’t quite put her finger on what was different.

  “Correction,” she said. “My adoptive family isn’t dysfunctional. My biological family? That’s another story altogether.”

  “The Weavers are more dysfunctional than most.” Dusty polished off his wine and made no move to refill his glass.

  “Your fictional family?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like the Carmichaels in Family Fortune,” Maryanne said, naming the sitcom in which her mother had starred.

  “Only not funny.”

  “The Ewings on Dallas?”

  “Closer.”

  “What distinguishes the Weavers from the Ewings besides the setting?”

  “They make their money in cattle, not oil.”

  “Are they as ruthless and devious?”

  “No.” He pondered her question. “More like ordinary people.”

  “Even the secrets?”

  “It’s not the secrets, rather what they do to the characters’ lives when they’re revealed.”

  “There you go.” Maryanne smiled. “The Ewings of Dallas meet Brothers and Sisters.”

  “Okay.”

  “When dark secrets are revealed, lives and the happiness of everyone around them hinges on the brink of ruin.” Maryanne laughed again. “Might be a little over the top, but do you see what I’m going for?”

  “I do.” His smile was soft, gentle and genuine. Not at all like the megawatt one he usually flashed. It was also far more potent.

  Maryanne reminded herself to stay focused. “Try tweaking it a little. When you’ve got something good, tell me. I know one or two people in the industry I can bounce it off and get their reaction.”

  “Thanks.” Finishing his meal, he set his fork down and leaned back in his chair. “So let’s say I get the chance to talk to some producer and impress him enough with my tagline that he gives me twelve more seconds of his time. What then?”

  The door opened and Mindy Sue emerged carrying a tray. “How is everything?” She began clearing empty dishes.

  “Delicious.”

  “Can I get you some coffee with your dessert?”

  “Do you have any organic blends?” Maryanne asked.

  “Just plain old ground coffee, I’m afraid.” Mindy Sue readjusted the tray. “But it’s fresh.”

  Dusty raised a brow at Maryanne. “You could make an exception.”

  “Two in one night?” She sighed heavily. “You’re corrupting me.”

  “He does that a lot,” Mindy Sue said, affecting a knowing air.

  Maryanne had no right and no reason whatsoever but she couldn’t help feeling irritated. At Mindy Sue for whatever ploy she was attempting to execute and at herself for letting it get to her.

  “Plain coffee’s fine,” Maryanne said smoothly. “Cream and sugar please.”

  “Be back in a jiffy,” Mindy Sue chimed and left.

  Maryanne removed her wrap from the back of her chair and slid it over her shoulders.

  “Cold?” Dusty asked. “We can go inside.”

  “No, I’m fine.” The night air was cool but not unbearable. A nice change from the warm days. Realizing that donning the wrap had been an unconscious gesture to shield herself from unwelcome feelings, she relaxed her arms. “Where were we?” she asked, trying to remember the last thing said before Mindy Sue had appeared.

  “What do I say to a producer after delivering my tagline.”

  Their conversation continued at a lively pace with Maryanne giving Dusty a few basic pointers on how to sell himself and his product to a prospective client. To Maryanne’s relief, Mindy Sue didn’t deliver any more subtle reminders of her and Dusty’s long-standing friendship when she delivered dessert.

  “You ready?” he asked twenty minutes later.

  “Thank you again for dinner. It was lovely.” The temperature had continued to drop. This time when Maryanne pulled her wrap more closely around her, it really was to ward off the cold.

  “My pleasure.”

  They walked toward the door. Dusty hadn’t been presented with a bill. She assumed he’d taken care of all the arrangements beforehand.

  “You didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

  “It wasn’t any.”

  He held the door for her and waited for her to start down the stairs ahead of him. At the bottom, he again took her hand and led her through the honky-tonk, which was still crowded and noisier than ever. Then again, nine o’clock was probably when the place really took off.

  The double doors at the main entrance stood open, accommodating the constant stream of people coming and going. Dusty and Maryanne were halfway out when they came face-to-face with another tall, good-looking cowboy with a face that looked vaguely familiar to her. Both men stopped suddenly. Maryanne expected them to give each other a friendly greeting. She was wrong.

  “Dusty.”

  “Mark. How’s it going?”

  “Fine.”

  Clipped, curt and reserved. Maryanne had felt more warmth up on the
roof. He definitely wasn’t one of the wranglers as she’d first suspected.

  The man touched the brim of his worn Stetson hat and spared her a fleeting glance. “Ma’am.”

  “Hello.” She kept her reply short, not sure what else to say.

  “Congratulations on winning at Missoula,” Dusty said, his tone neutral.

  “Thanks.”

  “See you in Albuquerque?”

  “Count on it.” Gruff. Very gruff. The animosity was clearly more one-sided.

  The moment stretched on. Neither one stepped back to give the other room. Maryanne thought she might drown in an overabundance of male posturing. Finally, Dusty took her arm and eased her forward. The man—Mark?—moved to let her and then Dusty by.

  “Good night,” she said.

  He nodded stiffly before entering the saloon without so much as a parting glance.

  Not that she was egotistical or anything but he was the first person she’d met in Markton who didn’t appear at all curious about her. She couldn’t say the same in return. Her curiosity about him was piqued and then some. Whatever relationship Dusty and this Mark guy had, it wasn’t exactly good.

  Then it hit her.

  “Is he a rival of yours?”

  “Sort of.” Dusty’s attention had turned inward, though he continued to hold her hand with no obvious intention of letting go. “He’s a bull rider. Like my brother Jesse.”

  “So, they’re rivals?”

  “Since grade school.”

  There was clearly more going on than Dusty was admitting.

  “When I first saw him, I was sure I’d met him somewhere. At Cowboy College or your family’s ranch.”

  “Trust me, hell would freeze over before he set foot on either of those places.”

  Lights from the storefront windows illuminated their walk to the car. At the corner, they turned down the side street where Dusty had parked. He flipped the remote door lock attached to his key. In response, the Jag beeped hello and the dome light illuminated. He opened the passenger door for her.

  “Then I figured it out,” Maryanne said, sliding onto the seat. “For some silly reason, he reminds me of your father.”

  Dusty didn’t move. She was about to ask what was wrong when he abruptly shut the door and came around to the driver’s side. One look at the ruthless set of his jaw and Maryanne knew that whatever she’d said, it had been the wrong thing.