So it was almost five a.m. when she finally fell asleep, and it was seven when the phone started ringing.
“I know it’s early!” Mitzi was already on fast forward. “I had to get to you before everyone else does. You’re going to be swamped and Lady Fair and Galliard’s need to keep things under control.”
“Hmmpf ???”
“Aren’t you awake yet? Don’t you know what’s happening?”
“Who is this?”
“Omigod! Wake up, Annie! The Today Show wants an interview. So does Vista from New York. CNN already has the video of you chasing that bald guy. And remember, we already had you scheduled for the GMA taping later today. Wake up, Annie. We have a busy day, busy, busy, it’s going to be crazy, totally slammed. And we have to get you ready.”
Annie stared at the telephone in her hand, as though it was sprouting lollipops. What in the world was going on?
“Call me back in ten minutes. I’m not awake.”
“Ten minutes. That’s all you get.”
She was still staring at the phone when Liz walked in, holding the morning newspaper. Without a word she dropped it onto the bed, rolled her eyes, gave a huge sigh, and turned and walked out of the room, leaving Annie to contemplate the latest news.
LINDY FOUND
________________
CONTEST WINNER
UNLIKELY HEROINE
_______________
Wyoming Cowgirl Rounds Up
Fleeing Horse-nap Suspect
________________
“What’s going on?” she asked the empty room. “This is crazy.” She set the paper aside. “I need a shower. I need to wake up.”
Ten minutes later, as she stepped out of the shower, she heard her cell phone ringing. She heard the hotel phone ringing. She heard Liz’s cell phone ringing. She was brushing her hair when Liz walked in, cell phone in hand.
“The Zimmers, from Laramie, are calling.” Ranch people get up early, and Carl and Jennie Zimmer, from the next ranch over, were calling to tease Annie about “showing them city folk a thing or two.”
Annie shook her head. “I’ll try to call them later. I can’t think.”
Liz turned and left the room. Annie heard her saying, “She’s just hardly awake, Jennie. Can she call you later?”
She set her phone on silent. She asked the hotel operator to hold all calls to the room. She picked up the paper and read the hyped-up account of last night’s events—with photos—that made her sound like something out of a western movie. It also made the NYPD sound like Keystone Kops, razzing the “highly trained professionals in blue” for needing to rely on a “pretty young tourist” to get them out of trouble. It was all written in good fun, and wound up taking a more serious tone, praising the department for its good work in controlling unruly street demonstrators like the Buljornia group that was responsible for the events at the United Nations the previous Sunday.
A second column was devoted to Annie herself, highlighting the unlikely coincidence of her being the very lucky winner of the Lady Fair contest, and also being the “damsel in distress” seen in the filmed coverage of the demonstration at the UN. Some biographical information was included, so now the whole world would know Annie Cornell, 26, of Laramie, Wyoming, college librarian, lives on a ranch, etc., etc., with Lady Fair photos that show her looking more glamorous and professionally beautiful than any ordinary woman can possibly be.
“Oh, this is awful!”
She tossed the paper aside and stuck her head under the pillows.
And stayed there until Liz came into the room a few minutes later.
“Annie, don’t be ridiculous. You wanted an adventure. Now you’ve had one. A real adventure. So cheer up, honey. This is the price of fame. You should enjoy it. And someday, you’ll be glad when you can tell your children all about it.”
Annie sat up. Took a couple of deep breaths.
“I know. You’re right. We can go home in a couple of days, and be done with all this craziness.” She started to get dressed.
While the thought slipped through her head:
And be done with Bart Hardin?
But not a word about that to Liz.
And Liz thought it best not to tell her at this time that going home to Laramie was probably not going to be the end of “all this.” Her phone hadn’t stopped all morning and there was already talk of welcoming festivities, including brass bands and parades.
“Okay, Liz.” Annie got the phones turned back on. “Let the whirlwind begin.”
And, indeed, it was a whirlwind. She was whisked off to Lady Fair’s offices where she was informed that her stay in New York would be extended through Sunday—all expenses paid, of course, for her and Liz. There would be TV appearances in addition to the one already scheduled for Good Morning America, including a full fifteen-minute segment on Vista from New York, and a crew was already on its way to Laramie to get some local reaction and shots of the ranch, the college library, the campus. Lady Fair would do a much longer article, maybe a full profile (they’d already assigned a writer) and Galliard’s was preparing festivities of its own, which would include some sort of lifetime gift—maybe the sable coat she’d admired (what in the world would I do with a sable coat back home?) or a Galliard charge card with a monthly credit, or some such. They were working on it. The mayor’s office was going to award her a citizen’s medal for bravery, honor, and general wonderfulness.
And the NYPD had arranged for a special presentation by the Police Pipe Band in full regalia, kilts and all.
Through all the rush and attention, while she tried to keep track of everything and at the same time remember to be appropriately excited and gracious while feeling totally upended, there was the dark undertone that ran beneath everything: Why haven’t I heard from Bart?
She wasn’t altogether surprised to realize his silence mattered to her more than all the attention. Not after the night she’d had, kept awake by his all too apparent rejection, wondering why she cared, wondering what his behavior meant, telling herself it was of no concern to her, seesawing back and forth between “he’s just a cute guy I met on a trip to New York” and “I thought we had something special happening,” back and forth between scolding herself and feeling sorry for herself, and either way, unable to put it all aside and just, for goodness’ sake, go to sleep!
It was late afternoon before they were all done preparing her, and she was still asking herself the same question.
“Where is he?”
Bart had spent a miserable day at headquarters. Like Annie, he’d hardly slept that night, and from the time he reported in that morning, the guys had been ribbing him. He knew it was all in good fun and he’d never let them know they were really getting to him, so he swallowed his pride and went along with the banter.
“Yeah, she really is something, that girl. I’m going to have to take some roping lessons from her.”
“And tracking, too. Bet some Arapaho friend must have taught her.”
“Maybe she’s part Arapaho herself.”
“Not with that hair.”
“Yeah. If that girl belonged to any tribe, it would be the Golden Angels. Right, Bart?”
“Right.” Bart kept up the big smile. “Angels is right. Just a sweet little angel brought Lindy back home safe and sound.”
Then he went into Captain Simon’s office and begged off any duty assignment for a couple of days. Claimed Lindy needed a rest and reacclimation after all the excitement and stress.
“Yeah, sure. Take a couple of days.” And after Bart had closed the door behind him, the captain added, “And just a wee little slip of a thing she was, too. Who’d a thought.”
Hours later, while the squad was out on assignment, Bart was still sitting with Lindy.
“Dammit. It’s not like I wouldn’t have found you myself, without her help.”
Lindy apparently didn’t buy that.
“We were getting close to finding those guys. And that would have been the end of i
t.”
Lindy chose to eat some of his special feed.
“And the nerve of them, putting you in a box like that. Those clowns. Who’d have thought they’d do such a thing.”
Lindy snuffled a little.
“Well, yeah. Okay. Annie did.”
Lindy was no comfort and Bart was feeling that everyone was against him.
He was still there at three thirty in the afternoon when the morning shift returned and the evening squad went out. He busied himself with currying Lindy, as though Lindy needed any more attention than he’d already had, and he allowed the bantering of his buddies to swirl around him, knowing they’d all be gone soon and he could go back to his ruminations about Annie, her fearless exploit, her courage, her skill in figuring it all out, her sudden fame, and trying unsuccessfully to figure out how to get out of the hole of humiliation he’d fallen into. Not that the guys really seemed to think less of him; it was just the usual kidding, no malice. And as for the media, well, that would all be yesterday’s news soon.
“It’s just that I thought I was going to be the one to take care of her. Protect her. Show her around, see that she was safe. I felt like such a—well, I don’t know—I guess I felt like a big shot. Yeah, like she was such an innocent, helpless little thing. Where did I ever get such an idea? I know, Lindy. I should call her and apologize. But I just can’t. I can’t do it.”
Lindy stepped to the other side of the stall and turned his head away from him. He felt sure Lindy was disgusted with him. He really was being a jerk, and he knew it. And he couldn’t stop himself.
So when his phone alerted him to an incoming message, and when the ID showed it was Annie texting him, he closed his eyes for about twenty heartbeats, bracing himself for—for what? Some more razzing? Maybe some gloating about how she told him so? How he should have listened to her? How big city, street savvy, macho guys don’t really have all the answers? How a “little librarian” from a small western town could show up the whole NYPD?
Well, he had to have some backbone. So he took a couple of deep breaths and read her text.
Are we still friends?
That was her whole message.
He felt his heart bang around in his chest. He was ashamed of how his thinking had turned so poisonous. Of course. That’s the kind of thing she would say. She wasn’t a girl to rub a guy’s nose in his own foolishness. How do you stay mad at someone you want desperately to be with? But still—
Yeah. Sure.
He managed to get that much out. He felt like a ten-year-old, being coaxed to smile when he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t like the feeling. He didn’t seem to be liking any of his feelings since yesterday.
A minute or two went by, and then her answer came back.
It’s been a crazy day. Hoped I’d hear from you. Quieter now. I’ll be here till Sun nite. Lindy ok? I miss him.
He thought long and hard, deciding on his response and composing his message carefully.
Off duty for a couple days. See u tmrw? 2 p.m.? If ur not 2 busy. Same place, the cafe behind the library?
No answer came for about half an hour and he started to imagine—what? —what does a guy start imagining when he thinks a girl is preparing to reject him? He found a thousand explanations for her silence. And another thousand for why he didn’t care. Plus some more for why he was being a fool to think she’d be interested in him. And then he swung back the other way.
“But she texted me first,” he told Lindy.
If a horse could roll his eyes, Lindy would have been rolling his.
And when her message finally came back, Bart’s heart jumped again.
Prfect. I’m on Vista at 11 and done by noon. Time Magazine wanted an interview, but I canceled them. Enough, already! C u 2 pm tmrw, behind the library.
He knew he was headed for another sleepless night. But what the hell.
And Annie, for her part, was still trying to catch her breath, after a day of being on the edge of a cyclone and trying to find her way to a quiet center. And somehow, she imagined Bart waiting in that quiet center. And she couldn’t imagine why it mattered so much to her, because he could be such a horse’s ass!
Chapter Twenty-nine
In Margaritaville
Saturday Afternoon
“You’re looking good,” he said.
He’d been standing there for a long minute, watching her reading her book, waiting for her to realize he was there. She had her hair loose and in the bright sunlight it was pure platinum. She was wearing reading glasses, and he found that charming.
She’d arrived early and taken the same table they’d had on Thursday, prepared to read quietly for a few minutes. Now she looked up to see him silhouetted, tall and dark, against the bright light. And she had to laugh. “We match,” she said. They were both in jeans and black tops.
She realized he didn’t understand. Guys tend not to notice such things. But when he sat down, she looked more closely at him, and knew he hadn’t paid any attention to what he’d put on that day. She saw how tired he was.
“Lindy is all right?” she asked.
“Yeah. Lindy’s doing just great.” She sensed some reticence.
“You look tired,” she said. “This has been hard on you, I know.”
“Yeah. Hard.”
Their waiter—the same one from Thursday—arrived at the table.
“Well, welcome back, you two. I’ve been reading in the papers about you. And the TV, too, you and your horse. It’s famous, you both are.” He put a couple of menus in front of them. “What can I get you?” He looked at Bart. “Ready for that margarita now?”
“Good idea,” Bart said. “You, too, Annie?”
“Sure. I’m not driving today. I’m not driving for another few days. Bring it on.”
“Anything else?” The waiter put a glass full of tall, skinny breadsticks between them.
“Not me. I had lunch,” she said.
“Me, neither.” He handed the menus back to the waiter. “Not hungry,” he said.
She looked at him closely.
“You look as though you ought to eat something.”
“I know when I need to eat something. Don’t need you to tell me.”
The waiter raised his eyebrows. He knew the signs of trouble. “Then if that’s all, folks—” and removed himself from the scene.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant. I haven’t had much sleep. Lots to think about.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you when I figure it out.”
“About us?” she said.
“Yeah. About us.”
“Well, I have some things to figure out, too.”
She knew, by his expression, that that hadn’t occurred to him.
“So why are we here?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You suggested it.”
“I don’t remember. I thought you did.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Now they were both silent. For many long minutes.
The waiter arrived with their drinks. He surveyed the two of them. “You guys sure you don’t want some food?”
They both looked up at him silently.
“Suit yourselves,” he said, and he made a quick getaway.
Some more long, silent minutes.
Finally Bart spoke. “We can’t just sit here.”
“You go first. You’re the one who’s mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Then what are you?”
He stared into his glass. Drank it all off. Stared a little more.
“I’m not sure. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“Well, you be sure and let me know when you do.” That sounded mean, she thought. What made me say that? She looked into her glass. Also empty now.
“Yeah. I’ll just do that.” He looked up, caught the waiter’s eye and signaled for two more margaritas. The waiter rolled his eyes and went off to get them. He hoped
this wouldn’t turn nasty.
Silence again until the drinks came.
“Those breadsticks are a specialty of the chef,” the waiter said, hoping they’d eat something. “Really good. Baked with cheese in them.”
Bart glared at him and he disappeared.
Annie took one of the breadsticks and nibbled at one end.
“Why are we fighting?” she asked. She took a hefty gulp of her drink.
“Are we fighting?”
“Feels like it to me.”
He drained half the drink in his glass. He looked up into the trees, avoiding her eyes.
“I’ve been taking a lot of razzing.”
She was astonished.
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeated. “Because it’s not every day some girl comes along—some ‘little slip of a thing,’ as the captain says—comes along and shows me up.”
“Well, I never heard anything so stupid.”
“So now I’m stupid?”
“And that’s even stupider. I didn’t say you’re stupid. I said it’s stupid to say I showed you up just because I was able to find your dumb old horse. Anyone with an ounce of horse sense could have done it.”
“Yeah, well, we had the whole force out looking for him—and you did it right in our own neighborhood without any training or anything. Made us all look dumb. Made me look dumb!” He finished his drink and signaled for another. “And my horse is definitely not dumb.”
“I’m sorry I called him dumb. I didn’t mean it that way. He’s a very smart horse.” She finished her drink, too. “Very smart horse. Smarter than some people I know.”
The waiter set Bart’s third drink in front of him and Annie pointed to it.
“Me, too,” she said.
“The kitchen stops serving lunch at three,” he said. “Sure you don’t—” But he didn’t bother to finish. They weren’t listening to him at all. Funny about that. They’d seemed to be getting along so well the other day.
Her Winning Ways Page 22