Real Vintage Maverick

by Marie Ferrarella

  Cody shrugged. “Younger or older, doesn’t matter. What does matter was that she was making sense.” Opening the brown bag, he took out the aromatic sandwich and unwrapped the first third. “You need to eat to keep your strength up.”

  “My strength is just fine,” she informed him crisply, determined to ignore both him and the sandwich he was brandishing as she turned her attention to yet another item she’d added to the shop’s inventory. This was an extremely fancy saddle that was said to have once belonged to Teddy Roosevelt back in his Rough Rider days, years before he became the country’s president.

  Not to be put off, Cody warned her, “I’ll feed you if I have to.”

  Armed with the partially unwrapped sandwich, he took a step forward, then another, forcing Catherine to take the same amount of steps backward. Before she knew it, Cody had backed her up against the wall and was using his long, lean body to bracket her in place.

  Suddenly, she had no room to move. “Cody, what are you doing?” she protested.

  “You must have been without food even longer than I thought if you can’t figure it out.” Then, in case she was unclear on his intent, he told her, “I’m feeding you for your own good.”

  She refused to be bullied by either her sister or him. “No, you’re n—”

  The rest of her protest went unsaid because she suddenly found herself confronted with the sandwich that C.C. had left with Cody. Not just confronted with it but her lips were now smack-dab up against it with no leeway to move to the left or to the right. Catherine had no choice but to take a bite or be faced with eventual death by sandwich.

  Grudgingly, she chose life.

  “There now, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Cody asked, using the same tone he might have taken with a particularly stubborn five-year-old.

  Holding up her hands in the universal sign of surrender, Catherine managed to get a temporary reprieve from her meal.

  “Okay, okay,” she cried. “I’ll eat the sandwich. You can stop force-feeding me. You know, I didn’t take you for the nurturing type,” she said. There was a slight accusing note evident in her voice.

  An enigmatic smile creased his lips. “Like I said, you’d be surprised. I’m not the one-dimensional cowboy you seem to think I am,” Cody told her.

  Although, in her defense, he added silently, he’d been coming across that way for a while now. Eight years to be exact. But all that was behind him. Right now, he felt as if he’d just woken up from a long, long sleep. Just like the fictional Rip Van Winkle. Woke up to a whole new world around him. Woke up with a desire to explore that new world.

  “I never thought you were one-dimensional,” she protested, then added, “just maybe not all that articulate. But if I insulted you, I’m sorry.” That had never even crossed her mind. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel belittled by her.

  Cody inclined his head. “Apology accepted,” he said mildly. Then he pointed out, “You’ve stopped eating.”

  “Only for a second,” she quickly countered. “I was taught never to talk with my mouth full.”

  There was a simple solution to that. “Then don’t talk, eat. I’ll work, you chew,” he told her, assigning a new, albeit temporary division of labor. “That should work for you.”

  What worked for her, Catherine realized with a silent mental jolt, was Cody. Having him around made her blood rush a little faster, her heart beat a little harder. It energized her and, she had to admit, really scared her at the same time.

  She’d told herself that it was this venture that scared her, that made her act as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof, but she was beginning to realize that her nerves concerning opening the store were actually hiding the bigger, real cause for her internal unrest. She’d found herself in uncharted territory. What was unfolding between Cody and her was something she had never experienced before, especially not to this degree of intensity.

  She wanted him.

  Badly.

  And that both excited her and frightened her to the very brink of near paralysis.

  But this was no time to suddenly become immobile. There was much too much to do. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of wallowing in her feelings and thinking rather than doing.

  “You’re not chewing,” Cody noted, his serious tone prodding her on. “I can always take over feeding you again.”

  Even that had her blood heating. Which in turn sent a pink hue to her face she neither wanted nor liked. Embarrassed, she snapped, “I’m eating, I’m eating.”

  Cody nodded his approval, managing to get under her skin yet again. “Atta girl,” he said, turning his attention back to work.

  She mumbled something unintelligible in response. He didn’t ask her to repeat it. He had a feeling it was better that way all around.

  * * *

  She’d both dreaded and anticipated this moment. And now, here it was. The moment when she threw open her doors, officially declaring the shop, Real Vintage Cowboy, to be open for business.

  The second she opened the doors, the people who had been waiting outside like groupies at a rock concert gate poured in.

  Granted the first wave had only ten people in total, but the second those people crossed the threshold, they instantly transformed into ten customers, customers looking to buy something unique to take home with them.

  Catherine had gone to great lengths to keep prices on the low side, allowing more people to be able to make purchases. Going this route, it would take her a while to finally turn a profit and get ahead, but if the prices started out being prohibitively high, then she would never be able to get the shop out of the red and finally into the black. And that, after all was said and done, was her ultimate goal.

  In next to no time at all, it began to feel as if she was everywhere at once, talking to one group of people, directing another to the food that she’d been up all night preparing, exchanging more words with yet another cluster of friends, family and curious strangers.

  Catherine knew she was running on pure adrenaline and at least for now, she was going strong. And each time she rung up a sale, she felt as if she was becoming a little stronger.

  It was going very, very well.

  Midway through the evening, Catherine forced herself to stand back and take the entire scene in. Her shop was crowded with well-wishers who were doing double duty as the shop’s customers as well. She was pleased to note that she had sold more than a token number of items, including the armoire that she’d thought no one would be interested in buying.

  At this point, she’d sold enough to make her believe that she had made the right decision when she’d bought the old antique store. Impressed with what he saw of her inventory, her cousin Grant, who managed the Thunder Canyon Resort, had promised to feature some of her merchandise in the hotel gift shop.

  It was all starting to fall into place, Catherine thought, pleased and, more than that, greatly relieved.

  It seemed that everyone she had ever known had made the effort and shown up at the shop’s grand opening. They were now all milling about, examining everything from trendy knickknacks to the paintings she’d hung up on the wall to the original antique furniture that had, along with the shop, passed into her hands when she’d paid the asking price.

  Someone, she’d noted with no small pleasure, had actually bought the old-fashioned sewing machine she’d pulled out of the storage room. She’d worked hard to polish the faded black metal until it all but gleamed seductively at one and all who passed by.

  And now it had a new home. She felt rather proud of that. She hoped that the machine’s new owner would treat it with patience and love. And remember that it worked strictly by man power. That meant pumping the foot pedal rhythmically in order to get the machine to sew. In effect it was almost a unilateral tap dance.

  It turned out that the buyer’s great-great-grandmother had been a seamstress in a factory from the age of fourteen until her eyesight failed her at seventy. The woman was long gone, but the man had
bought the machine to remind him of his roots.

  Each piece Catherine sold had a story to tell. But in this case, the story had belonged to the buyer, not the item that was sold.

  She loved this, Catherine thought, looking around the showroom. Absolutely loved this.

  “Hard to believe that this place never saw any foot traffic when old Jasper Fowler owned it,” she heard DJ Traub say to someone.

  Both DJ and Dax had brought their wives to the opening. Dax’s wife had already bought two items and gave no sign of stopping there.

  “He wasn’t trying to make a go of it, he was too busy laundering money for that no-good thief Arthur Swinton,” Dax chimed in.

  As far as Dax was concerned, he and his brother had an extra reason to despise the old man. “Hey, you remember when Swinton went around claiming that he’d kept company for a time with Mom?” DJ asked his brother.

  “Remember?” Dax echoed. “Hell, I had to restrain myself from teaching that old liar a lesson whenever I saw him.”

  “He wasn’t a liar,” Forrest Traub interjected. “At least, not about keeping company with your mother.”

  The look in DJ’s eyes hinted that if anyone except for his cousin had just said that, he would have found himself communing with the floor and sporting a black eye. “You’ve had too much punch, cousin.”

  “No, no, he’s right,” Braden, Forrest’s brother, chimed in. “It’s kind of foggy now,” he admitted, “but I seem to remember that Swinton did go out with your mother and it was more than once. It was for a while.”

  The outrage, mingled with horror, that Dax experienced at the mere thought of his mother seeing a lowlife like Arthur Swinton was all but overwhelming. For a second, it looked as if he was going to throttle his cousin. But his wife intervened by hooking her arm through his and pulling Dax over toward one of the paintings exhibited on the back wall while Allaire did the same with DJ, saying she wanted him to look at some unique bookends she was thinking of buying.

  The two women managed effectively to bring an end to the heated discussion.

  But not an end to the haunting possibility that there was some truth in the story that the ex-mayor had told after all.

  Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there, she’d thought that she was going to have to act as a referee and break up a fight between DJ, Dax and their Rust Creek cousins, Forrest and Braden. Although, she had to admit, she was sympathetic to DJ and his brother. True or not, she wouldn’t have wanted stories about her mother dating Swinton to be making the rounds.

  Turning away from the remaining Traubs, Catherine almost bumped right into Cody.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, taking a step back.

  She’d had no idea that he’d been so close, although she should have sensed it, she told herself. Lately she had developed this sixth sense when it came to the cowboy. Whenever he was nearby, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as if they were acting on an attraction all their own.

  Rather than say anything in response, Cody wordlessly took her by the hand and led her toward the back of the shop. Puzzled, assuming he wanted to show her something, Catherine allowed herself to be led off.

  But instead of showing her something inside the shop, he opened the back door and took her outside.

  Stunned, Catherine tried to pull her hand away. When he kept on holding it, it just increased her confusion. “Cody, let go of my hand. I can’t just walk out like this. I’ve still got a shop full of customers in there.”

  “Relax, they’re not going anywhere,” he assured her. “They’re too busy talking, looking and scarfing up all that food you put out. Take a couple of minutes,” he coaxed. “Beautiful though you are, nobody’s going to miss you if you’re gone for just a couple of minutes or so.”

  All she really heard was that he’d called her beautiful.

  Chapter Eleven

  It took Catherine a couple of minutes to finally find her tongue.

  “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked. Each syllable echoed with disbelief.

  She was serious, he realized.

  Cody looked at her quizzically. There were several ornate mirrors hanging in her shop. Didn’t she ever look into any of them?

  “Well yeah, sure. Don’t you?”

  She’d always been the dependable one, the den mother who was always looking out for and making things easier for her siblings. She was the one who both her parents turned to whenever they’d needed a responsible person to handle something. No one had ever really commented on her looks. At various times and occasions, her sisters were complimented on their looks, but she was always the one with “the level head on her shoulders.”

  Shaking her head now, Catherine laughed dismissively. “Not even close.”

  “Then I’d go see about getting a pair of glasses first chance I got if I were you. Because you are,” he told her in a matter-of-fact, no-nonsense voice that testified he was neither trying to flatter her nor gain her favor unfairly. A half smile played on his lips as he looked at her. “Pink’s not exactly my favorite color,” he told her, “but it works on you.”

  Where had that come from? She was wearing a royal blue dress, not a pink one. “Pink?” she questioned, looking down at her dress.

  Touching her as lightly as possible, Cody ran his callused fingertips along one of her cheeks. “Pink,” he repeated.

  And then it came to her.

  Oh, God, she was blushing again.

  Embarrassed, Catherine turned back toward the door and murmured, “I really have to go back inside.”

  But, unwilling to release her so quickly, Cody didn’t let go of her hand.

  “And you will,” he told her patiently. “I just want you to take a minute to appreciate what you’ve just accomplished.”

  She wasn’t sure exactly what he was referring to. “And just what have I accomplished?” she asked him.

  “You brought that old store full of flea-bitten stuff nobody wanted back from the dead, that’s what you’ve accomplished. Not everyone could have pulled it off, made people look at this decrepit old place in a new light. Make them forget that it was once owned by that crazy old man Fowler,” he emphasized.

  She thought of the look on DJ’s face when his cousin mentioned Fowler’s partner in crime, the ex-mayor of their town, hinting that there actually had been something between their mother and Mayor Swinton.

  “Not everyone is so ready to forget,” she interjected.

  “Most,” he amended obligingly. “And from what I saw, you did some handy business tonight.” He saw that she was shrugging this off as well. Didn’t the woman know how to take a compliment? he wondered. Especially since she’d earned it? “All I’m saying is take a minute, savor it. Take a deep breath of this pure Montana air, look up at the stars,” he pointed out, then said, “Take a minute just to be.” Ever so slowly, he drew closer to her. Close enough to feel her breath along his skin. “You’re rushing around so much, Cate, you’re not taking the time to enjoy what’s happening. None of it’s worth it if you don’t take the time to enjoy it,” he told her quietly.

  She was acutely aware of Cody’s closeness. When had he put his arm around her shoulders? She didn’t remember him doing that, yet there it was, lightly resting on her shoulders, drawing her into him just as much as the sound of his voice did.

  “Okay,” she allowed quietly, trying to still the erratic beat of her pulse, “I’m taking a breath, I’m looking up at the stars.” She did each as she spoke, then, enveloped in an almost unbearable warmth, she looked up at him. “Now what?” she wanted to know, her question a barely audible whisper.

  He was going to say, “Now do it again.” But somehow, the words were shanghaied before they ever had a chance to emerge, evaporating into the night air as he found himself bending his head and brushing his lips against hers. Softly, lightly, and then again with just a little more intensity.

  Even so, that same wondrous feeling exploded in his veins, that
feeling that fairly shouted of his longing for her.

  This wasn’t the time or the place to act on any of his urges, and he had to pull back now, before his logic just burned away to a crisp in the ever-growing heat of his desire for this woman.

  Catherine was surprised that she was still standing, given the fact that her knees had just melted away to nothing. When Cody drew back, she’d been leaning into him, her body speaking to his in a timeless language that needed no words. It took her another second or so to realize that her eyes were closed. Forcing them open, she sternly ordered herself to suck it up and pull herself together, but she knew she was still trembling when he looked at her.

  “What are you afraid of, Catherine?” he asked, gently pushing her hair away from her face.

  Catherine tossed her head and said with far more bravado than she was feeling, “That my customers will go away if they can’t find someone to ring up their purchases.”

  Not knowing how much longer she could hold her ground—Cody seemed to have the ability to see right through her—Catherine quickly turned on her heel and all but ran back inside.

  “No,” Cody said to the empty evening air, “that’s not it.”

  Cody remained where he was for a few minutes, allowing Catherine to have her space. When he finally did go back inside, he saw her in the midst of a crowd of her friends, laughing, flitting from one person to another, playing the role of the friendly neighborhood shop owner to the hilt.

  The word “playing” stuck in his head for the remainder of the evening.

  He decided to stay out of her way, merely observing her as she continued interacting with the people who had come to either be supportive of her or to satisfy their curiosity about the reincarnated shop.

  For her part, Catherine made no effort to seek him out, no effort to even say anything at all to him. If he were assessing the situation honestly, he would have had to say that she was going out of her way in order to avoid him.

  For the time being, he decided to let things remain that way. He’d obviously shaken her up and until they both understood why, it might be best for both of them if they stayed apart for a while. It wasn’t in his nature to push.