A Cowboy Summer (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Salonen, Debra

  “It isn’t fair that you do all the picking up and dropping off,” Anne had told him Sunday night as he’d lugged their newest guest’s massive suitcase up the stairs. Gina Gustaffson, a history teacher with a passion for architecture had been delighted to learn that she would be staying in the main house instead of a cabin. A.J. had cut her a deal on her two-month booking.

  “I love the ranch house,” she’d exclaimed with a thick Boston accent. “Classic turn-of-the-century function versus form. I plan on working on my book while I’m here. It’s called From Log Cabin to Brothel— The Western Way of Building.

  “Your mother was so helpful last year, Anne. She’d drop me off at the library, then pick me up in time for happy hour at the local saloon.”

  Somehow Will couldn’t picture Anne swigging a cold brew at the Alibi Bar and Lounge. Nor could he picture her behind the wheel of Esther’s SUV, but that was her intention.

  “Hello,” Will hollered as he entered the kitchen. With any luck, there’d still be a leftover doughnut or two. He’d missed breakfast at the bunkhouse because of a plumbing problem in cabin six.

  “Hi, Will,” a youthful voice called. Zoey waved from her perch on a stool in front of the prep counter. She sported an oversize white apron wrapped under her armpits and tied at her chest. “I’m learning how to make sour-cream raisin cookies and debil-delight fudge today.”

  He walked to her to accept the hug she offered.

  “Debil?” he repeated, patting her head. They hadn’t spent much time together this week—no repeat horseback rides—and he found he missed her bright smile and spontaneous affection.

  She nodded, her tongue worrying the gaping hole where her bottom teeth were just coming in. “It has a b in it, not a v.”

  “How come?”

  “’Cause this fudge is so good,” a gruff voice answered, “the devil thought it might hurt his reputation.”

  Will glanced over his shoulder as Joy McRee walked into the room. A squat woman with thick arms and a cap of silver curls, she looked as though she could wrestle a bull to the ground with sheer willpower. Anne followed a pace behind, two travel mugs in her hands. “’Morning, Will. Right on time,” she said, offering him one of the fragrant brews. “Thanks so much for doing this. Are you hungry? I can probably find you a couple of Joy’s fabulous doughnuts.”

  Hungry? He was starved. But something about Anne’s brisk manner told him she was in a hurry to get this lesson behind her. “This’ll do, thanks,” he said, taking the cup.

  When she turned to address her daughter, Will covertly studied her. Conservative tan walking shorts. Crisply pressed white shirt with sleeves rolled back to the elbows. White, heelless flats and no socks, which drew his focus to her shapely calves and perfect knees. Had he ever in his life noticed a woman’s knees?

  Realizing he was staring like a randy teen, he took a sip of coffee…and scalded the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t prevent the flinch and looked around to find Joy eyeing him speculatively.

  “Are you sure you have everything you need, Joy?” Anne asked, crossing to the message board beside the phone. A set of keys attached to a tooled-leather key bob sporting the distinctive Silver Rose brand—two intricately entwined silver initials making up a flower motif—dangled from a hook. “We could stop at the store while we’re in town.”

  “Got eggs, butter, flour, chocolate and a few secret ingredients that only me ’n Zoey know about,” the cook said, wrapping her pudgy arm about the little girl’s shoulders.

  “Which you intend to share with the guests who’ve signed up for the class, right?” Anne asked, her tone worried.

  “Mebbe,” Joy said with an exaggerated wink. Zoey giggled and tried to copy the wink.

  Anne’s smile looked wistful, and Will wondered if she was wishing Esther were the one giving Zoey a cooking lesson.

  “Now, git going so Zoey and I can plan our business,” Joy said, pointing toward the door. “If these turn out, we might give Famous Amos a run for his money.”

  “Okay,” Anne said. “You have my cell number if you need me. You took your pills this morning, right, honey?”

  Zoey made a huffing sound and turned her back on her mother. “Yes.”

  Will gave the little girl a playful tap on the nose. “Save me a cookie?”

  Her cheek-to-cheek grin was accompanied by a fervent nod.

  As Will followed Anne outside, he thought about Zoey’s obvious bid for independence. Anne was a wonderful mother, but somewhat overprotective, in his opinion. Zoey seemed pretty healthy despite her asthma issues, and Anne had admitted to him that Zoey’s condition seemed to be improving with age. But neither matter was any of his business. He needed to remember that.

  At the garage, Anne reached inside the walk-in door to hit the automatic opener. A.J.’s ’83 Ford F–100 truck and Esther’s Forerunner sat side by side. Will housed his monster truck at the barn. Out of sight, so it wouldn’t scare the livestock, some wise guy had joked.

  “So,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “I gather we’re still going to town today?”

  Anne pulled a pair of sunglasses out of an organizer-type purse. Her mug was pinched to her side as she juggled keys, a sheaf of papers and the shades. He would have offered to help, but she seemed intently focused. When she was ready, she answered, “Yes. I told Linda I’d drop off the revised menu for the banquet. I could have faxed it, but since I need practice parking, I thought we could stop at the law office.”

  Her lips pursed pensively. He couldn’t help noticing that her lipstick was an evocative shade of wine. “That’s not too ambitious, is it? Should I stick to the back roads a while longer?”

  Will had no doubt Anne would catch on quickly, and the longer he spent in her company, the more he would think about things that he really shouldn’t. “You’ll do fine,” he said, meaning it. “But you might want to let me back out of the garage.”

  Anne handed him the keys. “No argument there. Find me a nice straight stretch of road. Preferably somewhere flat, like in the desert.”

  The leather key bob held residual warmth from her hand. Will pinched the molded-plastic grip of the key and started for the driver’s-side door. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Twenty minutes later, he pulled to a stop on the gravel shoulder of a deserted stretch of highway with high-desert terrain in every direction as far as the eye could see. “This should work. No walls. Just sagebrush and a few scrub cedars to slow you down if you accidentally go cross-country.”

  He took a sip of coffee and placed the mug in the cup holder. After setting the emergency brake, he tapped the leather-covered shifter to make sure it was in neutral then opened the door and got out. Anne met him in front of the vehicle.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She lifted her hand in a mock salute. Her saucy smile made him want to kiss her.

  Bad idea. Bad idea, he silently repeated, pausing with one hand on the passenger-side door. Her image had been flitting about in his dreams the past couple of nights. So far, Will had managed to attribute this attraction he felt for Anne to their forced proximity. Somehow he doubted the narrow confines of this car would help matters.

  “Are you afraid?” she called. “Or trying to remember if your life insurance is paid up?”

  Chuckling, Will climbed in. “I ride bulls for a living. I guarantee there’s nothing you can do that will be rougher than that. Do you want to go through the shift pattern again?”

  She swallowed then placed her hand on the shifter. “Yes, please.”

  “Push the clutch all the way to the floor and hold it,” he said, reaching across his body to use his right hand, too. Her skin was soft, her fingers small and breakable. He tried to keep their contact to a minimum as he guided her through the gears, but even that slight touch made him want more.

  “Got it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “I think so.” Did she sound a bit winded, too?

  Will secured his seat belt and picked up his tr
avel mug. “Now, put it in first gear and slowly release the clutch while giving it gas.”

  Her first attempt resulted in a stalled engine and a splat of coffee on his shirt. Anne apologized profusely, but Will was too distracted by her blush to care about his shirt.

  The next try was better. Half an hour later, she was driving like a pro.

  “You’re a quick study,” he said as they approached the outskirts of town.

  “You’re a good teacher.”

  Will doubted that. Given their close quarters and her evocative scent—he wouldn’t call it perfume, exactly, but whatever it was reminded him of apple pie and fresh air— Will could barely keep his mind on the lesson at hand.

  “Do you mind if I open the window?” he asked.

  Anne shook her head. “Go ahead. It’s warm in here.”

  Understatement. His internal thermostat was on well done.

  “Actually, I’m feeling pretty comfortable with the mechanics of shifting, but the real test will come when I hit traffic.”

  Will coughed. “Please don’t use that word.”

  She glanced sideways. “Traffic?”

  “Hit.”

  Her laugh reached deep inside him and sparked to life something he’d forgotten he possessed—the ability to be silly. Anne was fun to be around. Why hadn’t he known that?

  “Right or left?” she asked as they reached the intersection. “I can’t remember.”

  “Right.”

  He watched her intently study the traffic, anticipating when to work the clutch and how much brake to apply. Ten minutes later they were safely parked in front of the lawyer’s office.

  “We did it,” she cried, leaning over to turn off the key.

  “You did. I was a mere passenger.”

  She swiveled in the seat to face him. “Will, don’t undervalue your contribution. You’re a wonderful teacher. Gentle and patient. And you explained the mechanics of the operation in a way that made sense to me, an automotive illiterate. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  He didn’t know what to say so he said nothing. She smiled again then reached behind Will’s seat for the paperwork he’d seen resting on the floor. Her stretch brought her breast in contact with his arm. Two layers of cotton and her bra separated them, but Will felt the touch much deeper.

  Without being too obvious, he opened the door and got out.

  “Are you going in?” Anne asked, returning to an upright position. She didn’t appear to have noticed his discomfiture. “I should warn you, Will. Linda is determined to get you to the reunion. You’ll be fair game if you walk through that door.”

  Better than dwelling on an attraction that could only lead to trouble, Will thought. He didn’t do affairs, especially when there were kids in the picture. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. Plus, he wasn’t about to do something that might wreck his relationship with A.J. “Actually,” Will told her, “I’m kinda curious about what you two are planning.”

  That wasn’t a complete lie. For a woman who eight days earlier had insisted she didn’t have time for friends, Anne seemed to have jumped into this reunion gig whole hog.

  She picked up her purse and got out, locking the door behind her. Will’s door was shut but not locked. Anne shook her head. “Old dogs, new tricks, right? I’m a chronic locker.”

  “There are worse habits,” he said, ushering her toward the law office.

  Linda wasn’t at her desk, but her delighted squeal a minute later proved she was in the building. She hurried into the reception area. Dressed in a black skirt and another sweater set—or was it the same one?—she hugged Anne and bussed Will’s cheek. “The menu!” she exclaimed when Anne handed her the papers. “Excellent. Did you bring the music list, too?”

  Anne pointed out two sheets obviously printed from some Internet site. Linda scanned both pages. “Oh, wow, this is great. Peter Gabriel, U2, Guns N’ Roses, Pet Shop Boys… I hate to admit this, but I love the music of the eighties.” She gave them a sheepish smile.

  “Me, too,” Anne said. “Sting, with or without The Police. And anything by Dire Straits.”

  “Dire Straits,” Linda exclaimed. “Didn’t you love ‘Money for Nothing’? She started singing—or rather, mumbling and humming the tune, since she obviously didn’t remember the words.

  A buzzing sound cut her off and she dashed to the desk.

  Intrigued by this new revelation, Will asked, “Are you a deejay, too?”

  “Not even close,” Anne said with a grin. “I put together the music list for a themed party at one of our hotels a couple of months ago. I had the Web sites saved on my laptop, so I told Linda I’d print out some titles for her to give the deejay they hired.”

  “You two wanna go to lunch?” Linda asked before pushing the button on her phone. “Grady’s Grill is still open.”

  Anne shook her head. “I’d better get back to the cooking class. I’m not sure how well Zoey will handle the flour and spices. Thanks, though. Maybe next week.” She seemed to consider her words then changed her mind. “Actually, next week is our first full house. I might not survive.”

  Linda put the phone to her ear, covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Call me.” To Will, she gave a stern look and said, “Send in your registration.”

  Will flashed a peace sign then followed Anne to the door. Once outside she seemed to hesitate, as if she had something serious on her mind. “You know, Will, I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?”

  “For being so defensive when you suggested I call Linda. She’s a lovely person, and I’m enjoying our friendship.”

  Will knew it wasn’t easy for her to admit this. “Good. I’m glad you two hit it off. Does that mean you’re going to the party?”

  She shook her head. “Heavens, no.”

  “Why not reap the rewards of your labor?”

  She shrugged and started toward the parking lot. “Linda asked me to go with her, but then she mentioned that her older brother would be going, too. That sounded a little bit too much like a date.”

  “What’s wrong with a date?” Will asked, trying to place Linda’s older brother. He seemed to remember she had two. One was a real loser.

  Anne laughed as if he’d delivered the punch line to a joke. When he didn’t laugh, too, she sobered and said, “I’ve found them to be an exercise in futility. Most men don’t want the same things women want.”

  “Namely?”

  “Love, joy, commitment, family.”

  He knew a lot of guys who put sex, fun, pleasure and freedom far ahead of the items on her list but felt compelled to defend his sex. “Beware of rash generalizations, Anne. They can come back to haunt you.”

  She didn’t look too worried. “Maybe,” she said, unlocking her door. “But I’m only here for the summer. Why bother…?” Will could tell by her blush that she caught the familiarity of the refrain. Letting out a sigh, she leaned over to unlock Will’s door, but he’d already opened the unlocked door and started to settle into his seat.

  Her shoulder connected with his ribs, and he made a grunting sound.

  “Oh, dear, did I hurt you?” she asked, pressing her hand to his side. Her delicate fingers kneaded the flesh beneath his shirt in a gentle, butterfly-like touch. Will’s breath hissed but not from pain. His reaction to her touch was too immediate, too male, for such cramped quarters.

  “I’m fine,” he said, brushing her hand away. Too long without a woman’s touch, his body’s response was natural but unwelcome. He didn’t want Anne to think he was the same randy cowboy she’d known in high school.

  Anne sat back. “Okay, then. A quick stop at the hardware store before we head back home, right?”

  The hardware store? Damn. He’d forgotten about his promise to fix the leaky sink in the upstairs bath. He almost cursed his grandfather for teaching him such practical skills.

  She waited, the engine idling.

  “Yeah, fine,” he said. A promise was a promise.

 
BY THE TIME they reached the Silver Rose, Anne was ready to call her first driving lesson a complete failure. True, she’d driven the car with some success, but something had gone amiss between her and Will. She wasn’t sure what. On the way to town, he’d been very hands-on—helping her shift, prompting her to remember the clutch, praising her for getting it right. For most of the trip home, he’d kept his focus out the window, answering her questions with a barely audible yes or no.

  Anne didn’t like moody men. Toward the end of her marriage, Barry had driven her crazy with his temperamental mood swings. She didn’t plan to put up with that kind of attitude in the workplace.

  She pulled the car to a stop in front of the mailbox.

  Will’s head came up, and she felt his gaze follow her as she retrieved the thick wad of envelopes. Once back inside, she sorted them aloud. “Bill. Advertisement. Credit-card application. Bill. Check. Postcard from A.J.”

  Will lowered his window all the way and shifted his body to lean against the door. He looked as though he wanted to be as far away from Anne as possible. “What’s it say?”

  She studied the scenic shot of the Grand Tetons then flipped the card over and scanned the text. “I’ll read it aloud but not until you tell me why the silent treatment for the last fifteen miles.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m sorry, Anne. I didn’t mean to be rude. I put close to forty thousand miles on my truck last year. When I’m driving, it’s usually just me, my thoughts and the road.”

  “You’re not upset about something?”

  “No. Well, actually, yes. I’m worried about filling Gramps’s boots once the guests arrive. He said my job was taking care of the herd, but obviously there’s more to it than that.”

  Anne could sympathize with that, and she felt a little sheepish for attributing his silence to her. “I’ve had my share of nervous butterflies in my tummy the past few days, too. Maybe we should put our heads together and brainstorm.”

  His Adam’s apple rose and fell. “When?”