by Nancy Martin
Eight
An enormous basket of flowers awaited Carly when she arrived at her office late that night.
The card read: “I miss you already.”
“Your South Dakota fella has more class than the average cowboy,” Bert observed, leaning against her open door.
“How do you know how much class cowboys have? And he’s not my fella.”
“Sorry,” Bert said, entering the office to make peace. “I should have known you’d be tired after the long flight. I told the lawyers we’d meet them for a drink at Provolone in an hour. That gives you time to make a phone call.”
Carly read the card again and softened toward Bert. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m wishing I hadn’t left. We left a lot of things hanging.”
“So call him.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
“Scared to death,” Carly admitted.
“That’s nonsense,” Bert said brusquely. “Call him and talk. Your motto has always been to go after something if you want it, Carly.”
Bert was right, she knew. He left her office, and she was already dialing an operator. In a moment she was transferred to the information service and was promptly stymied.
“There’s no Hank Fowler at that address,” the operator said calmly.
“Try Henry Fowler,” Carly suggested, absently rustling through the stack of mail that had accumulated on her desk during her trip.
The operator came back on the line an instant later. “I’m sorry.”
Puzzled, Carly said, “What about Becky Fowler?”
The operator punched in the code, and an automated voice promptly recited the correct telephone number for Becky Fowler. Carly wrote it down and immediately dialed the number.
Hank himself picked up the phone on the second ring. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
He gave a laugh that made her heart warm. “I had a hunch it might be. Are you all right? Safe flight? Made your connection?”
“I’m fine. I’m here in my office getting ready for a meeting.”
“So late?”
“It’s one of those things,” she said, sinking into her swivel chair. She hugged herself, and murmured, “I’d rather be with you.”
“I wish you were. We’ve got to see each other again, Carly.” His voice deepened. “Soon.”
Smiling at the intimacy of his tone, Carly said, “I can’t get away until the weekend.”
“I was thinking I might come to you.”
She sat up straight, tingling with excitement. “You’re serious!”
“Absolutely,” he said with calm. “I can’t get you out of my head. As soon as your photographer friend is finished, I’ll be on a plane.”
“Oh, Hank, that would be wonderful. Did Alexis arrive yet?”
“This afternoon with her entourage.” Hank was laughing at the memory. “She’s threatening to get us all up before dawn to take advantage of the sunrise. She took some preliminary shots, as she called them. I don’t think they’re what you’re expecting, Carly—”
“I trust Alexis completely,” she said, delighted that her plans were progressing so smoothly. “Do everything she says, and you’ll be finished in no time.”
“Well—”
“Really, she’s the best.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Hank,” she added, “tell Becky I’ll send her the check in the morning.”
“Thanks, love.” His voice sounded sincere. “It will make a big difference around here.”
A long silence followed, and Carly closed her eyes to savor the moment. She tried to imagine what Hank might be looking like at that moment. Longingly, she sighed.
“I know,” Hank murmured softly. “I feel the same way.”
I love you, Carly wanted to say. The words almost popped out of her mouth. But she held them inside, sure that it was too soon.
Besides, this might be a short-term fling. Hot sex and nothing else, right?
Another inner voice said more insistently, This is the real thing, Carly.
Into the pause, Hank said, “You’ll be glad to know that Baby’s fine. Eating her head off.”
A smile tugged at Carly’s mouth. “Do I detect a note of fondness in your voice at last? Has Baby finally made a friend out of you?”
“She bit Chet today.” Hank began to laugh. “Made him bleed, too. I love her!”
“She didn’t! Oh, poor Chet!”
“He’ll live. And so will she, by the way. The vet stopped by this afternoon and took a peek at her. He says we should be able to turn her loose after he’s had a chance to observe her for rabies.”
“Thank you for taking care of her.”
“I’d rather be taking care of you.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Carly?”
But Carly looked up as Bert tapped on her office door at that moment. Pulling on his trendy beige jacket, her partner pointed at his watch. She nodded in comprehension. It was nearly time to leave for their meeting.
Into the phone, she said, “Listen, I’ve got to run. We’ll talk again soon.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Say, did you know the phone number is listed in your sister’s name?”
“What?” He sounded blank.
“I didn’t bother bringing my book to the office, so I had to call information for your phone number. It’s listed in Becky’s name.”
“I can explam,” he said swiftly, “but not when you’re in a rush.”
“Oh! Did I thank you for the flowers? They’re beautiful.”
“I’m glad they arrived. I really do miss you, Carly.” He knew she was in a hurry and managed to say only, “You’re something special. I don’t want to lose you.”
Yes, yes, yes! She nearly shrieked with joy.
“We’ll work something out,” she promised, getting to her feet. “I know we will. But now I have to run. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Right.”
Another silence ensued—this one laden with words neither was ready to say just yet. Carly laughed unsteadily and said, “Bye.”
Hank said, “Bye.”
As she cradled the phone, Bert blew the mood. “Shake a leg, Carly. We’re going to be late!”
The following day turned into a nightmare of meetings for Carly, but she felt good about settling the copyright problem with a minimum of fuss and no extra legal fees for Twilight Calendars. By cell phone on the way back from the airport where she’d seen off the New York contingent, she informed Bert of their victory.
“Wonderful,” Bert crowed. “Come back to the office for a drink.”
“I’d rather just go home, if you don’t mind, Bert. I’m tired and I have some calls to make.” One in particular, she almost added.
Bert wheedled, “Alexis sent some photos by modem from her laptop. Don’t you want a sneak peek of your cowboy without his shirt?”
Carly was surprised, but delighted. “He took his shirt off for her?”
“And looks pretty good, I must say. But if you’d rather go home—”
In a heartbeat, Carly changed her plans. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Bert laughed. “I’ll keep the home fires burning until you get here.”
Carly changed her route, and the freeway cooperated for once. She got back to the office in short order.
She found Bert in his office with the photos called up on his computer. He stood up and spun his chair around for Carly to take so she could view the pictures Alexis had sent.
“Are they any good?” she asked, out of breath as she took the chair Bert offered.
“Very good,” Bert replied, leaning down to view the screen with her. “A few minutes ago Alexis sent the stuff she shot today, and it’s even better than what came back earlier. See?”
Carly stared at the computer screen and could not understand what was staring back at her. “I don’t get it,” she said. “These pictur
es aren’t Hank.”
“What?”
“They’re Chet!”
“Who’s Chet?”
Totally baffled, Carly pointed one shaking finger at the small computer screen. “Him! That’s not Hank at all. Where’s Hank?”
“Wait a minute. These pictures are just right for the calendar.” Bert bent closer to the computer and pointed with a pencil. “This guy’s a perfect cowboy. Look at that horse! And the sunrise is wonderful! See how Alexis picked up the color of his hair in the trees?”
“But it’s not Hank!” Carly exploded. She pounded her fist on the desk. “Where is he?”
“Who cares? This guy is great!”
“I want Hank!” Carly cried.
“But Carly—”
“How could Alexis make such a mistake? She photographed the wrong man! Give me the telephone!”
“But—!”
Bert gave up as Carly grabbed his telephone and fumbled for her book and the Fowler phone number. In less than a minute, she was talking to Becky, who sounded very sleepy.
“Is Hank there? I’d like to speak with him.”
“Wha—What time is it? Lord, it’s after midnight!”
“I’m sorry, Becky. I didn’t think of the time zones. Can I talk to Hank?”
“Who is this?”
“Carly. Carly Cortazzo, remember? I’d like to speak with Hank.”
“Oh! Carly.” Becky yawned. “He left earlier today. Henry’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
“He left.” Becky was half-asleep and not very helpful. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry I—look, what about Alexis? Is she nearby?”
Becky mumbled something and dropped the phone. For an instant, Carly feared she had fallen back to sleep, but a moment later the sound of a door slamming and more voices eased her concern. Carly drummed her fingers on Bert’s desk. A few minutes passed before the unmistakably laconic voice that belonged to Alexis Carmichael came on the line.
“Hi-ya, Carly. How’d you like my switcheroo? Aren’t the pictures fantastic?”
“Lexie, what’s going on? Where is Hank?”
“Beats me, honey. We had a big laugh this morning, and he took off. I spent the day with Chet. Isn’t he yummy? I wish he wasn’t engaged to Becky.”
“But—I don’t understand. Hank is supposed to be our cowboy.”
Alexis sounded amused. “Honey, if you thought Henry Fowler was a real cowboy, I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn that’s for sale. He’s a hunk, but not exactly Wild Bill Hickok.”
“What do you mean?”
“I figured you wanted an authentic man of the wide-open spaces, so we voted Chet for the job.”
“Who’s we?”
“Henry and me. He’s a neat guy, but hardly material for Twilight. I like him.”
Carly still didn’t understand what was happening. “Why isn’t he material for Twilight?”
“Because his IQ is bigger than his bicep measurement,” Alexis said blandly. “He’s got brains—and a body that’s not bad, but hardly what I usually see on your pages. You like the baby-oil look, right?”
“But—”
“Are you disappointed?” Alexis asked.
Carly tried to collect her wits. “I... just don’t understand, Lexie. Hank’s the real thing, isn’t he?”
“You’ve been looking at the wrong kind of man, honey, if you had Henry pegged for a cowpoke. How do you like the photos of Chet? Carly? Are you there?”
Carly gave up trying to make sense of it all and handed the telephone to Bert. She got up from the chair and walked to the wide windows that overlooked L.A. There, she leaned her forehead against the glass. Her mind was spinning. Her heart was seething.
Why would he lie?
Mentally, she tried to review every word she’d ever spoken to Hank and every sentence he’d replied. He had ridden horses. She remembered the first moment she saw him—galloping along the horizon on the black stallion. And his roping skills—surely a man couldn’t fake that?
And yet he’d been a klutz at just about everything else around the ranch. What had Chet said about Hank and horses? Carly couldn’t remember. He’d avoided taking her for a ride, though, instead encouraging Carly to walk to the hilltop overlooking the ranch.
With a blush, Carly realized they’d probably spent more time making love than anything else. She hadn’t enjoyed many opportunities to see Hank in action around the ranch. Except in bed.
The same question kept swirling in her mind. Why would he lie?
The land means something to me, he’d said. It’s where my family belongs, and I’m ready to do anything to make sure things stay that way.
But later he’d said, Becky’s the important factor.
That had to be it. Becky had entered the contest. It was Becky who needed the money. Hank had just gone along with the scheme so his sister could keep the ranch.
“That explains why the phone is in her name,” Carly said aloud.
Bert had finished speaking with Alexis and hung up the receiver. “What about the phone?”
Carly turned around, breathing raggedly. “I’ve been had, Bert.”
He grinned. “Did you enjoy it?”
“That’s not what I—Oh, hell! I can’t think!” She gripped her head and began to pace the office carpet. “I don’t know what’s going on!”
“Well, Alexis has some great photographs for us, and I think the next calendar’s going to be a success.” Bert settled on the edge of his desk. “You got a vacation, some great sex and everyone’s happy. What else matters?”
“You don’t understand!” Carly cried.
“What’s not to understand? All’s nght with the world, as far as I can see.”
“But I was falling in love with him!” Carly cried. “And he was lying to me! The whole time, he was lying.”
“About what, exactly?”
“Everything!”
“Really everything?” Bert pressed affectionately. “Or only a few things?”
Carly shook her head wildly. “I don’t know.”
“About falling in love with you?”
“He never said he was,” she replied, fighting hard to keep her voice steady. “If he had, then I probably would hate him right now.”
“Then it’s a good thing he didn’t tell you how he was feeling. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Ah,” said Bert, nodding. “That’s a problem.”
“He’s going to show up, though,” Carly said with certainty. She began to pull herself together firmly. “And when he does get here...he’d better be prepared!”
Henry took the last flight into Los Angeles and arrived in the city at six in the morning. The airport was practically deserted at that hour, except for a few noisy travelers headed home from Las Vegas. Henry enjoyed their high spirits, and he found himself smiling as he arrived at the rental car counter. A car was easily procured, and he headed for the nearest hotel to sleep and clean up.
Midafternoon, he telephoned Twilight Calendars and reached Carly at last. The impact of hearing her voice again caused his heart to accelerate.
“Hi,” she said, sounding breathless as she came on the line. “Where are you?”
“In L.A. At the Fairfax. I have a meeting in town at four. I’ll be finished by seven.”
“What kind of meeting? Are you buying more cows for the old homestead?” Her tone was teasing.
“Not exactly. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. Carly—”
“Great!” Her voice was happy—almost jaunty. “There’s a place that’s just perfect for a cowpoke like you only a short drive from that hotel. I’ll come for you at the Fairfax at seven. And Hank?”
“Yes?”
“Wear your spurs.”
She laughed and cradled the phone before he could make a comeback, so Henry hung up feeling odd. Spurs?
At four, he met the woman who would b
e representing him in negotiations with the Los Angeles paper. They spoke briefly, then presented themselves at the headquarters of one of the nation’s largest and most widely circulated newspapers. They were whisked into a posh suite and offered several kinds of bottled water before sitting down to talk turkey with the committee that hoped to franchise the Henry Fowler column.
Henry listened to their pitch, then tossed out the ideas that had been percolating in his head. Clearly, he described his plan for combining adventure and recreation with his particular critical opinions. At first, they couldn’t grasp his concept at all.
Then the marketing manager snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Indiana Jones!”
“No, no—”
One of the editors chimed in. “Hey, great idea!”
“That’s not exactly what I meant Let me try explaining it this way—”
“We could photograph you in a fedora and put it on every bus in every city up and down the coast!”
“Hold on—”
“We’ll give you a generous travel budget.”
They all chimed in enthusiastically.
“And a salary with complete benefits and four weeks’ vacation. Plus our top-notch retirement plan, investment opportunities and tickets to the Academy Awards!”
Henry sank back in his seat and looked over at Margie Williams, his agent. She nodded and leaned forward to take charge of the meeting. “First of all, Henry wants complete authority over any marketing plans you may devise. As for salary...”
Henry listened while Margie outlined the terms under which he would agree to write for the newspaper syndicate. She was calm and tough, asking for more than Henry would have if left to his own devices. He was surprised when all the terms were accepted.
“Well, then,” said Margie, turning to Henry. “Then it’s up to Mr. Fowler. What do you say, Henry?”
He did not hesitate. “I’ll think about everything overnight and get back to you tomorrow..”
Everyone around the table seemed pleased. Henry left Margie and walked back to his hotel in the late-afternoon heat, his head swimming with the possibilities. In his heart he knew he wanted the new job. Reorganizing his life was the tricky part.