Cowboy Enchantment

by Pamela Browning

  She couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Do what?”

  “Let’s get married and live at Rancho Encantado. I love you, Erica. I can’t let you go.”

  The cabbie let out a deep sigh and began to tap his fingers impatiently on the armrest, underscoring the absurdity of the situation.

  Erica’s heart seemed to have leaped to her throat. “I love you, too,” she managed to say.

  “Kaylie misses you. I can’t sing ‘America the Beautiful’ worth a damn.”

  Laughter bubbled up in her throat. “I thought you came here to go back to work for Rowbotham-Quigley.”

  “That was my original intent, but being with you, sitting here beside you, remembering all we had together at the ranch, I know I can’t do it. I thought I’d have a better chance with you if I lived in the city, if I could see you on a regular basis, but that’s not right for us. We’d be miserable here.”

  She knew he was right. “Suppose I said yes. What about my job? How could the three of us live in your little apartment at the ranch?”

  “First of all, if you say yes, I’ll be the happiest man on earth. You can quit your job at McNee, Levy and Ashe and manage Justine’s administrative matters. She really needs the help. Paloma can continue as baby-sitter, at least for a while. And we can live in the old hacienda, the three of us.”

  “Four,” she said. “Counting Tux.”

  “Fine. There’s room for more children in that house, Erica. Three or four or however many you want.”

  “I don’t do babies,” she said faintly. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Except Kaylie, who loves you. You’re great with her. I don’t know how you ever got the idea that you don’t do babies.”

  “In my family,” she began slowly, “Charmaine was the beautiful one, Abby was—”

  “I know. You were supposed to be the smart one. So if you’re so all-fired smart, why did you leave us? We belong together, Erica, you and Kaylie and me.”

  “You must have been talking with Char. That’s something like what she said.”

  “What,” Hank said interestedly, “exactly did she say?”

  “I don’t know, I can’t recall,” Erica said. Then the air whooshed out of her lungs as Hank pinned her back against the seat.

  “I have ways of finding out,” he said. “Like this.” He began to tickle her, and she squirmed in an unsuccessful attempt to get away.

  “Char—stop it, Hank!—Char said that no one is the same after falling in love and that I was a fool for leaving someone who loves me.”

  “Your sister is a woman of great good sense.” He gave her ribs one last tickle for good measure and backed off, his eyes twinkling with humor. “Would you mind telling me your reply?”

  Erica made an attempt to straighten her suit jacket. One button had popped off her blouse, and she groped for it on the floor with the hand that Hank wasn’t holding.

  “I said that you…Oh, here it is,” she said, holding the button up before dropping it in her purse. “I said that I’d found out that you can’t change who you really are. Coloring my hair, getting contact lenses, all of that was fun. In the end, though, I’m still me. Still Erica Strong.”

  “Thank God for that,” Hank said fervently. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “Now that we’re straight about who you are, let’s talk about who you want to be.”

  She looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

  “Think of it this way. Who you want to be is a promise to yourself,” he prompted.

  “I wanted to be a cowboy’s sweetheart,” she said in a low tone. “But you’re not a cowboy.” She was still having a hard time accepting this.

  “You’re my sweetheart. Does it really matter so much what I do?”

  His expression was so compelling she couldn’t look away. “Perhaps not,” she said faintly.

  “Taking this one step further. If who you want to be is a promise to yourself, couldn’t who we are together be a promise to each other?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hey,” the cabbie called over his shoulder. “You want me to keep driving around?”

  “No, we’ll go to her place,” Hank said. “Where do you live, Erica?”

  She reeled off the address, and the driver went back to driving. “I have a meeting,” she said. “It starts in ten minutes.”

  “You can call and tell them you’ve been unavoidably delayed,” Hank said.

  “I have?”

  “Yes. First we’re going to bed, and then we’re ordering dinner in.”

  “Aren’t you being a little overbearing here?”

  “I think I’m downright restrained, considering that I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. I think I’m remarkably calm.” Regarding her with an expression of exasperated tenderness, he swept her into his arms and kissed her resoundingly.

  She didn’t want him to stop. Ever. And she remembered what Charmaine had said: that when she met the right guy, she’d want to defer to him. She had certainly not been in the habit of deferring to guys or to anyone else, but if she was going to start, Hank might be as good a place as any.

  “I think it’s your honeysuckle perfume that made me fall in love with you,” Hank said when he stopped kissing her.

  This caught her off guard. “I never wear perfume.”

  “But you do. It’s my favorite scent.”

  Erica was about to say that he must be imagining things when she caught a glimpse of the driver’s curious expression in the rearview mirror.

  “Do you two mind if I ask you a question?”

  She and Hank exchanged glances. She shrugged.

  “Buddy, how come you’re getting married if you don’t even know where she lives?”

  Hank cleared his throat. “She lives in my heart,” he said. “She’s always been there, only I didn’t know it was her.”

  “Oh,” said the cabdriver with an air of perplexity.

  “Is that true?” Erica asked Hank.

  “I had these fantasies about the perfect woman. I knew what she looked like, except for her face. That was always a blank. I would save her from runaway locomotives, shoot rattlesnakes so I could save her…Oh, you wouldn’t believe my daydreams.”

  “I might,” Erica said softly.

  “I didn’t know that you were the one until that night on the porch outside the rec hall. I had this enormous sense of déjà vu, as if I’d been there, done that before, but the only place I’d done it was in my fantasies. Suddenly the face of the woman I wanted was no longer blank. It was your face, Erica. And you were wearing the same clothes you’d worn in my fantasy. A white peasant blouse—”

  “—and a red bandanna skirt,” Erica finished. “In my daydream, you would run your hand up my leg and you’d say—”

  “Holy cannoli,” growled the cabdriver, “could you spare me the details?”

  They both ignored him as realization dawned. “You mean we were having the same fantasies?” Erica gasped.

  “It sounds like it. Could that happen?”

  “I don’t know, but did you ever have the one about the Last Chance Saloon? Where you asked me if you could buy me a drink and I ordered a margarita and you asked me if I was up for a little fun?”

  “Yes, and when we got to your place you weren’t wearing any underw—”

  “Here we are,” said the driver, pulling over to the curb.

  Hank dug money out of his pocket.

  “You can skip the tip,” the cabbie said. “This was great entertainment.”

  Hank gave him a tip anyway, and as they stepped out of the cab, the sky suddenly cleared and the sun came out.

  “It’s like magic,” Erica said, awestruck at the suddenness of the rain’s disappearance.

  “It is magic,” Hank said, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her in front of everyone. In that moment, it was as if they had never left the ranch, as if the air in their vicinity went perfectly still as it did in the desert in the hour before
dawn, as if Hank was really a cowboy and she was really his girl.

  “Marry me? Let’s make that promise to each other, Erica,” he said close to her ear.

  “Yes,” she replied unsteadily, “I’ll marry you, Hank,” and in that moment she saw a cactus garden burgeon in front of the door to her apartment building. As she watched, flowers burst into bloom on the cactus plants, big and bright and beautiful. That wasn’t all; amid the spines and flowers of the cacti stood the rotund figure of a priest, who was smiling at them benignly.

  Which was perfectly ridiculous, because everyone knew that there couldn’t be a cactus garden on a New York City street. And as for the ghost of Padre Luis, well, she wasn’t sure if there was a ghost, but she was certain that even a ghost wouldn’t give up the beauty of Rancho Encantado to hang out in front of her New York apartment building.

  HER PERFECT COWBOY was waiting in the gallery of the Big House at Rancho Encantado as she approached on the arm of her uncle Steve, who had insisted on walking her down the aisle. Hank’s expression as they approached was one of expectance and joy, not to mention love.

  Somewhere toward the front, Kaylie said, “Babababa!” and Justine hushed her gently. Charmaine and Abby, who were her maid of honor and bridesmaid, respectively, wore big smiles as they waited for Erica beside the flower-bedecked bower, and when Uncle Steve placed her hand in Hank’s, Hank whispered, “I love you, Erica.”

  It all seemed like another fantasy. But this wasn’t a daydream; it wasn’t wishful thinking. The squeeze of Hank’s hand, his joy as he slipped the ring on her finger—these were real, as real as Hank himself. As real as their love for each other, as real as their future together, and as real as eternity.

  Forever and ever, amen.

  As they kissed, Erica could have sworn she heard someone say those words, yet she knew it wasn’t the priest who’d just married them. Nor was it Mrs. Gray, whose whereabouts had been unknown for the past few days.

  “I love you, wife,” said Hank.

  “I love you too, husband,” she replied softly.

  “Mamamama?” said Kaylie.

  Hank scooped her up from Justine’s arms. “Now you’re really talking,” he said approvingly, and everyone laughed as the three of them embraced, ready to begin their new lives together.

  Padre Luis Speaks…

  THANKS BE TO GOD! He is merciful and He is good.

  Have my prayers not been answered? Have Erica and Hank not found true love? Has Erica’s soul not expanded to a rich, robust red, the exact color of fine wine from the cellars of my friends, the Franciscan brothers? Is Hank not happy to have found a woman capable of loving his child? I ask you further, have I not done an excellent job of the task set before me? I am but a humble priest, but if God chooses me His wonders to perform, I do not question His judgment.

  Do you realize that I am speaking to you in my own voice? The cat has run away with a tom who lives up at the old borax mine. She does not need my voice for yowling her pleasure at the tom’s attentions. It is love, after all. I approve. The best thing is that before long, there will be more kittens. I am very fond of kittens.

  I would have liked to officiate at the marriage of Erica and Hank, but she asked her own parish priest to come to this place and marry them, and that is good. I got in the final words, however. Forever and ever, amen. I think Erica might have heard me, too.

  Now I am given another problem. A woman has occupied the rooms of Erica, and she is so transparent that I can barely see her. Her name is Brooke. She is troubled. Furthermore, she is with child.

  Again I have my work cut out for me in this special place. Madre de Dios, is there no rest for a poor humble priest?

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-6875-6

  COWBOY ENCHANTMENT

  Copyright © 2003 by Pamela Browning.

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  *Rancho Encantado