by Day Leclaire
Cami shook her head, blinking back tears. "Don't you see, Momma? Ever since I was a little girl I thought I was a cowboy. When somebody asked me my name, I'd tell them I was Cami from Texas, a natural born cowboy."
"You can still be that," Charlotte protested.
"No. I can't. Because none of it's true. I'm not a cowboy. I'm not even..." Her chin wobbled. "I'm not even Texan. I'm not quite sure what I am, but I strongly suspect I'm some sort of flowering shrub." She wiped her cheeks, surprised to find her hands damp with tears. "That's going to take a bit of gettin' used to. Maybe when I introduce myself I can say, 'Hi, I'm Camellia Greenbush. Just plant me anywhere.' So long as it isn't near cows or ropes or horses or anything dangerous." Or anyone she loved. She seemed to have an uncanny knack for hurting them, too.
"Sweetheart—"
"It's okay, Momma." Cami gave her mother a swift hug. "I'll get over it." She forced out a watery laugh. "It's not like no one warned me. Holt's been trying to set me straight ever since I got here."
"Don't leave."
Cami bowed her head. "I have to," she whispered. "I can't live a lie. And I can't put Holt and the A-OK at risk. Because that's just what I'm doing." She looked her mother dead in the eye. "But I'm glad you found Frank and put your fears to rest. He's a good man and I know you'll be happy living on a ranch again. I'll be back for the wedding. I promise."
There wasn't anything left to say. Cami gave her mother a final hug. Before she could change her mind, she ran from the room.
* * *
"Well, Holt," Wes said with a laugh. "You've been a mite busy lately, haven't you?"
"And then some," Holt acknowledged with a grin.
"Cami sure keeps things jumpin'. Ain't that so, Lem?"
"Aw, Tex is the sweetest gal in the world. Look at how she pitched in to set my store to rights. You know what it is? It's that smile of hers. Friendly, open, kind."
"Naw," Gabby said, yanking on his mustache and scowling. "It's those dang dimples. The way they wink at you is enough to drive a man loco."
"Or those eyes. Bluest I've ever seen."
Frank grinned. "And what about those bitty freckles? Ever tried to count 'em?"
"Never you mind those bitty freckles," Holt interrupted. After all, a man could only allow his friends so much liberty.
Reverend Sam folded his arms across his chest. "I suggest you rope that filly to you good and proper before some varmint gets the notion to steal her away."
Hoots of laughter greeted his remark.
"Laugh all you want," Charlotte interrupted, elbowing her way into the group. "But no one's going to get the chance to steal her, because she's left. Hitched a ride to town with Katie Sue's momma."
Holt stuck his thumbs in his belt and rocked back on his heels. "Did she now?"
"Thirty minutes ago," Charlotte confirmed. "She's leaving. For good. Packed her bags and everything. See?" She pointed to Git sitting beside the corral fence, a rope in his mouth. He whined pitifully. "She gave that dog her rope and told me to give you this."
A befeathered pink cowboy hat hung from her fingertips.
Holt froze.
Suddenly he saw before him a choice, a choice as clear and as different as wrong from right. He could continue on the way he always had, protecting his ranch, his way of life and his heart. In his mind's eye he could see it happen, see the uniformed days lined up, stretching before him with a comforting sameness. Along this path, the familiar rhythm of his life would resume, like the rhythm of spring into summer and autumn into winter. And he'd be alone.
Or he could have Cami. Cami in his arms and in his bed. Cami at his side, regardless of what life threw at them. Cami, forever his. And along that path lay hope and laughter and joy, and a love so strong it near stole his breath. There was only one catch. Treading that path meant trusting a city slicker. Trusting her with his ranch, but most risky of all, trusting her with his heart.
And in that moment, he realized there was no real choice. Only one would ever be right for him.
"Thirty minutes ago, you say?" he demanded.
Charlotte nodded. "She plans to catch the noon train."
"The noon train!" Wes exclaimed. "It's eleven-thirty now. You'll never catch her in time."
"We'll see about that." He snatched Cami's hat from Charlotte and ran for his horse. Grabbing Loco's reins, he vaulted aboard.
"You're wasting your time," Frank called. "No one's ever made that ride in under thirty-five minutes."
Holt leveled a gimlet-eyed stare at his friend and crushed his hat low on his forehead. "Watch me!"
With that he wheeled Loco around, slammed his heels in the horse's flanks. They shot down the drive toward town at the speed of light, the sound of thundering hoof beats echoing in their wake. He cut across the pasture and vaulted the gate, never once breaking stride. And with that, he disappeared over the ridge atop his fiery horse, disappearing in a cloud of dust.
"Hi-Yo, Loco! Away!" drifted back on a stray breeze.
Stunned silence reigned. Then, "I'd be more impressed if I didn't know that noon train never leaves on time," Gabby muttered.
* * *
Cami sat slumped in her seat, feeling downright naked without her hat. The train whistle blew, a long, forlorn sound. She heard the last call for boarding and closed her eyes, battling tears. This was it. The death of her dreams.
Just then the door at the end of the train car crashed open. "You can't come in here!" she heard the conductor shout. "You need a ticket. I'll summon the police if you don't get off."
Cami stiffened. It couldn't be. She opened an eye, risking a peek. And there he was.
Holt strode down the aisle, swatting the conductor aside with no more effort than he would a pesky fly. He stopped by her seat. "Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat. "This your luggage?" He pointed to the suitcase on the floor.
She straightened. "Yes. But what are you—" He grabbed her bag in one hand, her wrist in the other and yanked. "Stop it, Holt! You can't do this." She stared up at him uncertainly. "What precisely are you doing?"
"Taking you off this train."
She nodded. "Just checking." Then, "Holt, I can't go back. I've made a mess of everything."
"True." He started down the aisle, dragging her behind.
"I'm no cowboy. I never was."
"Also true."
"Stop a minute, will you? I keep making mistakes."
"Yep. And this was your biggest."
She dug in her heels. "I'm just a city slicker who'll ruin your business if I stay."
That stopped him. He spun in his tracks and dropped her suitcase to the floor. "Now there you're wrong. You might be the sorriest cowboy I ever did see, and you might be the tryingest woman I ever did met. But you're also the sweetest and warmest and kindest. My guests love you. My employees love you. Hell, the whole town loves you."
She stared up at him in wonder. "Really?"
"Really." He cleared his throat, his voice gruff. "Besides, you can't leave. You've got a contract to honor. And real cowboys always honor their commitments."
"But I'm not a real cowboy. You said so yourself." She suddenly remembered and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Holt. I'm not even Texan!"
"Not Texan?" He frowned. "Since when? Who says?"
"Since this morning." She hung her head in shame. "Momma says I was really born in Richmond."
"Well, shoot." He kicked at her suitcase. "Aw, turn off the waterworks, Tex... Cami. Now that you live in Colorado, consider yourself a... a..."
She peeked up. "Colorado-er?"
He shrugged, nonplussed. "Beats me. I guess that's as good a name as any." He turned to the spectators watching with fascination from their seats. "Folks, I'd like you to meet Colorado Cami, an honest-to-goodness cowboy."
"Nice to meet you, Colorado. A pleasure, Cami," voices called.
Holt nodded in satisfaction. "Now it's official, C.C. Can we go?"
"C.C.?"
"Colorado Cami, of course."
>
She tried to control the hope blossoming to life. "You really want me back?"
"I can't force you," he replied. "But if you're that intent on leaving, you'd best take this." He swept off his hat and dropped it into her hands.
She stared at him in shock. "But... but a cowboy never gives up his hat."
Holt inclined his head. "Leastwise, not unless he's too dead to fight for it."
"I don't understand."
"Keep it." He stared down at her and the warm, passionate expression in his black eyes stole her breath clean away. A fire sparked to life deep within her, burning hot and fierce. "Keep it, because wherever you go, wherever you stay, that's where I'll hang my hat."
"Oh, Holt," Cami whispered, and threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off his feet.
"Hey, watch it," he groused. "You're crushin' my hat."
"Here." She shoved his Stetson back into his hands. "The only place you'll be hanging this is at the A-OK Corral."
He nodded in satisfaction. "And I've got an extra bed knob for that silly pink one of yours, if you're interested."
Stricken, she bit her lip. "I don't have it any more."
A slow grin spread across his mouth. "You do now. I tied the fool thing to Loco's saddle. And let me tell you, he's none too happy about it." He cupped her face, his gaze growing serious. "I love you, Cami. I love you more than life itself. Will you marry me?"
"You folks staying or leaving?" the conductor demanded, practically dancing at Holt's elbow. "We've got a schedule to keep."
"Do it, Colorado. Marry him, Cami!" the passengers shouted.
"Yes," she said, with a smile that felt a mile wide. "Yes, I'll marry you. Let's go home. All right?"
Holt didn't say a word. He didn't have to. His expression said it all. Then he kissed her.
"We're late! We're late!" shrieked the conductor, throwing his schedule to the ground and stomping on it. "Make up your minds! Are you coming or going?"
Reluctantly Holt released her. "Going." And without further ado he swept Cami into his arms, luggage and all, and carried her from the train. As he strode across the platform, a dozen cars screeched to a halt and neighbors and townsfolk, guests and wranglers alike, poured from the vehicles.
"He got her!" shouted Gabby. "He broke the record and got her!" Cheers erupted.
Cami buried her face in Holt's shirt. She was home at last. Lordy, it felt good.
"I did it, Daddy," she whispered. "I'm finally a cowboy. Just like you."
Epilogue
Seven years later...
With spring came the first wave of guests to the A-OK Corral. Cami sat in her rocker on the porch relaxing, enjoying the view while she waited. Holt sat beside her, his Stetson tipped low over his eyes, enjoying the momentary peace and quiet.
A plume of dust appeared on the horizon, heralding the arrival of a vehicle. A few minutes later, an SUV pulled into the yard and a man in his late thirties climbed from behind the wheel, looking around in bewilderment. He poked his head in the open car window and said something to the woman seated on the passenger side. In the back, Cami could see several wriggling children. The family's youngest member announced his presence with a strident wail.
Cami stood, as did Holt. He pulled her close and gave her a swift kiss, his large hand settling over her modest baby bump. "I still think we should consider naming her Buttercup," he said.
She laughed. "Aw, get on with you. She'd never forgive us." Her hand closed over his. Lingered. "Poor thing. Imagine naming her after a cow."
"Buttercup for this one, and Petunia for the next," he teased. "Goes well with Camellia, don't you think?"
"No, I most certainly do not."
She snatched another kiss, then hitched up her britches and strode over to the car. Behind her the ranch door slammed open and Holt dusted off his sons before gesturing toward their visitors. Footsteps, remarkably similar to the sound made by a herd of elephants, clattered down the porch steps after her. Two black haired urchins arrived breathless at her side.
"Howdy!" she called to the man over the shrieks of their baby. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Colorado Cami, C.C. for short. Where do you folks hail from? Ohio? That's all right." She gave them a mischievous wink. "We won't hold it against you. What do you say, we get you unloaded? My boys here, Flint and Colt, will help you with anything you need. And by the way... Welcome to the A-OK Corral!"
The End
Want more from Day Leclaire?
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ONCE UPON A TIME
The Wacky Women Series
Book Three
Excerpt from
Once Upon a Time
The Wacky Women Series
Book Three
by
Day Leclaire
USA Today Bestselling Author
Rule #100:
Rules were made to be broken.
"Callie... I want to make love to you."
"Abrupt and to the point. How Julian of you." She smiled. "It also works out really well, since I want to make love to you, too."
A frown touched his brow and though she attempted to smooth it away, it remained. "I need to make sure you're not doing this out of misplaced grief."
Of all the things she'd expected him to say, this came last on the list. In fact, it didn't even hit the list. "Of course I'm not, Julian. Why would you think that?"
"Because of what you said the first time we kissed."
She struggled to remember, a difficult proposition since embarrassment colored her memory of that night. It was her turn to wrinkle her brow. "I remember you attempted to comfort me and I totally misread the situation. And I remember kissing you. I particularly remember a certain amount of deliciousness, followed by an even greater amount of mortification. But I can't remember ever telling you I was kissing you out of grief."
"You claimed you were an emotional wreck because of Maudie. You were such a wreck your emotions got all confused. And that's why you kissed me."
Heat flooded her face, the memory returning in all its hideous detail. That wasn't all she'd said. She'd also claimed she'd rubbed herself all over him because her emotions were so confused. She closed her eyes. "Could you maybe not stare at me while I tell you this next part."
"Confession time?"
She nodded. "You're still staring."
"How do you know? Your eyes are closed."
"Because I'm still blushing. That means you're still staring."
"Okay, my eyes are closed."
She peeked at him. They weren't closed at all. Even worse, he grinned down at her. "Liar."
"I'm guessing I'm not the only one. Shall I assume you kissed me for some reason other than grief?"
"You may assume anything you please," she offered grandly. "I will say, I don't normally ease my sadness by kissing. I ease sadness by eating chocolate."
"I believe you compared my kisses to chocolate."
"There's no comparison." She cleared her throat, obligated to admit, "Your kisses taste much better than any chocolate I've ever eaten."
His smile faded, replaced by a warmth and passion more blistering than the spill of sunshine. "Tell me why you want to make love to me. Explain so there's no more misunderstandings."
"I can tell you, quite definitively, it's not out of grief," she whispered.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
She linked her hands behind his neck. "Does that mean you're going to make love to me now?"
Once Upon a Time
The Wacky Women Series
Book Three
by
Day Leclaire
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Once Upon a Time
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erpt from
ONCE UPON A BRIDEGROOM
The Wacky Women Series
Book Four
Excerpt from
Once Upon a Bridegroom
The Wacky Women Series
Book Four
by
Day Leclaire
USA Today Bestselling Author
Husband Wanted!
Woman rancher in immediate and desperate need of a man! Interested applicants should:
1. Be 25-45 years of age and looking for a permanent relationship—a kind and gentle personality is a plus.
2. Have extensive ranching background—be able to sit a horse, deal fairly with employees, herd cattle, etc.
3. Have solid business know-how—particularly the type necessary to please a bullheaded banker.
What Leah Hampton really needed was a knight in shining armor, ready and able to slay all her dragons. A foolish wish, she knew. Even so, some silly, romantic part of her couldn't help wishing for the impossible.
She glanced at her watch. Her final interview should arrive any time. As though in response, a solitary rider appeared over a nearby ridge, shadowed black against the burnt-orange glow of a low-hanging sun. She shaded her eyes and studied him with keen curiosity. Could this be H.P. Smith, her final applicant?
He rode easily, at home in the saddle, swaying with a natural, effortless rhythm. Even from a distance she could see the beauty of his horse, the pale tan coat without a blemish, the ebony mane and tail gleaming beneath the golden rays of the setting sun. The animal was also a handful, but one he mastered without difficulty.
She frowned, something about him setting off alarm bells. If only she could figure out what. Then it hit her. She knew the man. On some basic, intuitive level she recognized the way he sat his horse, the simple, decisive manner with which he controlled the animal, the square, authoritative set of his shoulders. Even the angle of his hat seemed faintly familiar.
But who the hell was he?
She waited and watched, intent on the stranger's every movement. He rode as though he owned the place, as though he were lord and master of this land. From beneath the brim of his hat Leah caught a glimpse of jet-black hair and deep-set, watchful eyes, his shadowed features taut and angled, as though hewn from granite. He dismounted a short distance away, tying his buckskin to the hitching post. Not giving the vaguest acknowledgement, he turned to cross the yard toward her.