Cowboy, It's Cold Outside

by Lori Wilde

  The little girl opened her mouth and let loose with a gut-splitting scream that sounded exactly like a grown woman being murdered.

  Lily’s scream caused another little girl to let out a high-pitched, bloodcurdling, eardrum-piercing cry, the likes of which only three-year-old girls can produce. Then all the girls were screaming, seemingly trying to outdo each other with the pitch and tenor of their shrieks.

  The boys clasped their hands over their ears, looked frightened. The ankle-biter vigorously shook his head from side to side, yelled, “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

  “Children, children,” Kiley cried, and clapped her hands. “Quiet, quiet.”

  The kids ignored her, ramped up and in a tailspin. Wriggling, jiggling, making all manner of noises.

  Paige took a long, slow, deep breath as if centering herself, and an expression of peace came over her face. It was the same kind of body language Cash had seen on the shaman he’d visited when he was in the Amazon. He was amazed and impressed that she could gather that much self-control amid the chaos.

  He could almost feel the calm, steady strength radiating from her out into the room.

  “Shh, shh,” Paige whispered gently, and put her index finger to her lips. “Inside voices.”

  Immediately, the children calmed.

  “Let’s all go back to our seats.” She led the way, sitting down on one of the tiny kid’s chairs. Like sweet little lambs, the dozen toddlers followed.

  Kiley’s eyes bugged. “Remind me to give that woman a raise.”

  “She does have some kind of magic,” Cash said, unable to take his gaze off Paige.

  Even though his part of the program was over, he stayed for story time. He didn’t read Everyone Poops, but Paige did. She read like a true storyteller, with dramatic voices and lively facial expressions.

  The kids were on the edges of their seats.

  Cash was agog.

  She turned the page, and before she read the next line, she glanced up.

  Their eyes met.

  She smiled at him, an angelic, sage, impossibly wise smile, as if she knew the answer to all life’s complicated questions.

  Boom!

  The now-familiar cascade of music and lyrics filled his brain the way it always did whenever he connected with her. Inspiration for another song. She was a muse for a lifetime of music.

  After story time, it was lunch. While Kiley herded the kids to the dining area, a cook brought out almond butter and apple jelly sandwiches, banana slices, and juice boxes.

  Cash cased his guitar.

  “Stay for lunch?” Paige asked.

  He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not. “You eat here?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged. “Job perk. Free food.”

  He was about to bow out gracefully but then the children begged him to stay and Paige gave him that soul-melting look of hers and he did something he thought he’d never guessed he’d do in a million years.

  Cash folded his knees to his chest, perched on one of those kid-sized chairs, and ate lunch with twelve three-year-olds and the prettiest preschool teacher he’d ever met. They chatted with the kids and exchanged smiles over the table and damn if he didn’t end up having a great time.

  After lunch, Kiley put the kids down for a nap while Paige walked him out of the building. “Thanks for agreeing to this,” she said at the exit door. “The kids loved it.”

  “Sorry about getting them riled up with ‘Old MacDonald.’ Who knew it could be such a controversial song?”

  Paige chuckled, soft and low, and the sound lit him up like Christmas Eve. “Three-year-olds have a lot of energy. It doesn’t take much for them to get rowdy. They’ll nap well.”

  “I gotta say I was dreading today, but I’m glad you conned me into it. It was fun watching you in action. You’re good with kids.”

  “So are you.”

  “You don’t have to be nice.”

  “I’m not. You’re just a big ol’ kid yourself. That’s why they let loose with you so easily.”

  He didn’t know if that was a compliment or not.

  She smiled at him softly.

  He smiled back, hoisted his guitar case onto his shoulder. “Don’t forget your side of the bargain. Tapas. My place. Tomorrow night. Ten p.m.”

  Her smile disappeared and he could have kicked himself for reminding her that she owed him.

  An awkward silence fell.

  “Look,” he said. “I can tell you really don’t want to come to dinner. I’ll let you off the hook. No harm. No foul. You really don’t owe me anything.”

  She shook her head, lowered her lashes. “A bargain is a bargain. I always keep my word. I said I’d come, I’ll come.”

  Geez, she made it sound like a trip to the dentist for six root canals.

  “Paige—”

  “I gotta go,” she interrupted, using her thumb to point over her shoulder. “Get back to the kids.”

  “Have a good rest of the day,” he called.

  But she was already gone, disappearing back into the classroom. Leaving him feeling that he’d gained her respect, and then lost it again in some deeply fundamental way.

  At ten p.m. on Friday evening, December 8, following her nightly visit with Grammie at the nursing home, Paige brought Fritzi with her as a buffer to Cash’s houseboat. Dinner couldn’t get too out of hand with a lively dog between them.

  Right?

  Cash was waiting for her beneath the misty yellow circle of the vapor light. The night sky was thick with clouds. His shoulders leaning against the lamppost, his long legs stretched nonchalantly out in front of him.

  His eyes were lowered, a black Stetson tipped down over his forehead as he watched her walk toward him.

  Her heart saltoed, a freewheeling gymnast in her chest.

  The northerly breeze was frosty as an iced beer mug, with a spicy chipotle bite from the Mexican restaurant on the promenade pier upwind of them.

  She flipped up the collar of her too-thin duster. She couldn’t afford a heavier coat, and she’d learned that in North Central Texas, you could usually wait out a cold snap in a couple of days.

  Fritzi pulled on the leash, anxious to get to Cash. Paige held the poodle back, felt her pulse pick up.

  She wore the same jeans and blue sweater that she’d had on at school, putting the clothes back on after changing from her Santa Baby costume following the evening performance of Elf. She nibbled her bottom lip.

  Should she have dressed up? Suddenly, she wished she had made more of an effort. Who was she kidding? She didn’t own anything remotely worthy of a date with a famous country-and-western star.

  It wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. Just dinner. On a private houseboat. Just the two of them.

  Oh God, what had she gotten herself into?

  Cash raised his chin, but never took his eyes off her, staring as if she was still in the slinky Santa Baby outfit and high-heeled boots.

  He was motionless. Statue still.

  Disturbingly so.

  It was a date.

  Anxiety clasped her in a heavy embrace and it was all she could do not to turn tail and dash back to her houseboat.

  Then his lips curled upward in a slow, sexy, seductive smile.

  Smack!

  His grin hit her with the impact of a bone-crunching, heart-stopping, head-on collision. A grin that said, I’m gonna do serious damage, babe, and there’s nothing you can do to change your fate.

  She knew it was true. Knew it to the bottom of her soul, but she kept walking toward him, high on adrenaline, buzzed on heat and hormones, hungry, and ready to throw caution to the winter wind.

  He was one hundred percent male, one hundred percent in control. She was both happy and inordinately worried about it.

  “Hi,” she said breathlessly, overwhelmed.

  “You brought Fritzi.”

  “Do you mind? He stays cooped up by himself all day.” That was her excuse anyway, and she was sticking to it.

 
Cash squatted to scratch the eager pooch behind his ears. Fritzi thumped his back leg and gave a soft little moan of pleasure.

  “You know,” he said. “You don’t have to keep popping home during your breaks from your jobs. I can dog-sit anytime. I’m home all day.”

  “Thanks, but he’s my responsibility.”

  Cash shrugged, a casual lift to his shoulders. “Standing offer.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  He straightened, tilted his cowboy hat back on his head, and swept his hand toward the houseboat. “After you.”

  She walked the gangplank to the turquoise houseboat. It rocked gently beneath her weight. She’d heard that sex on a houseboat was quite sensual, but she’d never tried it so she couldn’t say firsthand. But the easy motion did create a rock-a-bye rhythm that lulled her to sleep every night.

  Come to think of it, she hadn’t had a lick of trouble falling asleep since she’d been living on the houseboat, until she’d met Cash. Thoughts of him kept her awake at night. Made her restless, and edgy.

  “It’s beautiful here,” he said.

  She turned, saw he had stopped on the gangplank and was looking out over the water. The shoreline was peaceful in the darkness. Christmas lights twinkling from numerous docks. An owl hooted nearby and somewhere across the lake another owl answered, asking eerily, “Who, who?”

  Paige shivered.

  “Cold?” Cash moved to put a palm to the small of her back, used the other hand to open the door.

  “A little.” She stepped over the threshold fast, moving away from him, from his touch. Fast. “Mostly, I’m nervous.”

  “Nervous? What of?”

  “You.”

  “You think I’m the Big Bad Wolf luring you to my place so I can make a move on you?”

  “We are all alone in the marina this time of night, this time of year.”

  “Give me some credit, will you? Why do you have such a low opinion of me?”

  “You did kiss me the other night without my permission.” She notched her chin up. “And you forced me to have dinner with you in exchange for coming to the school. What am I supposed to think?”

  “Oh no, no, no.” He shook his head. “You don’t get to do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Blame me. I gave you an out. I let you off the hook, and yet you’re still here. You didn’t have to come.”

  “I’m a woman of my word.”

  His eyes narrowed, turned flinty gray. “Don’t put this all off on me, Paige. Own your needs. You liked that kiss as much as I did.”

  He was right. She had.

  “You want to be here.”

  Guilty. She did.

  “But for some reason you don’t want to admit it.”

  “I . . . I . . .” She didn’t really know how to respond. He was right. She did not want to admit her attraction to him.

  He doffed his Stetson and dropped it on her head. A playful gesture that let her know she was safe with him. The hat was so big on her that the brim fell over her eyes and she had to tip it way back in order to see him.

  “Listen to me good, woman. I am absolutely not going to kiss you again. Got it?”

  “All right,” she said, disappointment plunking down solidly in her lap. She removed his Stetson from her head and hung it from a hook on the coatrack near the door.

  He paused, shot her a look weighted with meaning. “Not unless you ask me to.”

  “Thank you for straightening that out. I feel so much more comfortable now.”

  “Sarcasm really isn’t your strong suit.” He winked.

  She undid Fritzi’s leash, let him go inside the house. Thrilled to be home, the poodle immediately went to his favorite spot on the back of the couch and peered out the window. Across from the couch was a small gas stove lit with a festive faux log, emitting toasty heat.

  She slipped off her coat, hung it on the coatrack beside his Stetson. Swallowed a couple of deep breaths to calm down.

  The galley did smell heavenly. Several covered dishes rested on the sideboard and a small table for two had been set. Red placemats, green plates, napkin rings decorated with faux mistletoe. A potted poinsettia, flanked by white flickering candles, served as a centerpiece.

  Sexy. Romantic. A date.

  “Have a seat,” he said with the sweep of his arm.

  She settled at the table, feeling a skosh self-conscious.

  “Sangria?” He took a pitcher from the refrigerator. Red wine filled with fresh citrus fruit. He’d gone all out.

  “Why not?”

  His smile was sunshine and rainbows as he poured two glasses of sangria, handed one to her. Raised his glass. “A toast.”

  “What are we toasting?” she asked.

  “Music,” he said. “Because it brought me to this town . . .” He paused a moment, stroked her with his eyes. “To music.”

  “To music,” she said past the lump in her throat. They clinked glasses.

  “First course, Tortilla Española,” he said, rolling his “r” like a Spaniard and lifting the lid on one of the many pans on the stove.

  This was awesome. No man had ever cooked for her, not counting Dad, and she could get used to it.

  Tortilla Española turned out to be a dish of potatoes and eggs. He served it in the small omelet pan he’d cooked it in, placing it directly on the table between their plates.

  He sat down across from her, settled a napkin in his lap, closed his eyes, and paused a moment as if silently praying.

  “Did you want to say grace?” she said.

  His smile was simple, honest. “No need for anything formal. But I like to take a moment to appreciate my blessings before I eat.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I didn’t take you for a religious man,” she said.

  “Not religious per se, but I do think there’s something bigger than us afoot in the universe. I just like to give thanks and acknowledge how lucky I am.”

  Intrigued, she leaned forward. “Is this from your time in the Amazon? I read that you were on a spiritual quest.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read.” He shrugged. “I was just trying to get my head screwed on straight after . . . well, let’s not talk about ancient history. Dig in. Tapas are meant to be shared.”

  She dropped the thread of that conversation, spooned a modest portion of the potatoes and egg dish onto her plate. Took a bite. Brought a hand up to cover a mouth as she moaned, “Omigosh, this is so good!”

  His smile turned proud. Of course. Any man who could make magic like this from eggs and potatoes had a right to be smug.

  She wolfed down that portion, reached for another, realized he hadn’t served himself. Stopped. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “I’m getting a kick out of watching you.” His tone was light, but she heard an undercurrent running through his words, something much weightier, and more meaningful, as if she’d passed some kind of test she wasn’t even aware she was taking.

  She set her fork down, far more than a skosh self-conscious now. She took a big drink of the sangria, felt cool warmth slide down her throat.

  “You don’t get to have much fun, do you?” His tone held a note of pity that had her stiffening her spine.

  She hated when people felt sorry for her. “Between three jobs and looking in on my grammie, no. But I take pleasure in the simple things—a beautiful sunset, an earnest smile, a man who can cook . . .”

  He inclined his head and his smile. “Why, Paige MacGregor, is that a compliment?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  His eyes met hers full-on. His expression controlled, inscrutable. For a minute she thought she’d offended him. Her pulse did a crazy rat-tat-tat. But then his eyes lit up and a lazy, good-ol’-boy smile drifted across his face and just about ripped her chest wide open.

  “You’ve gone to my head.” His voice was deep and husky, smooth as midnight and twice as sexy.

&n
bsp; Her breath evaporated. Sucked right out of her lungs by his smoky eyes.

  “Pace yourself,” he said, standing up to raise the lids, one by one, of the pots and pans on the stove. “We have six more courses. And for dessert . . . Emma’s caramel apple cookies.”

  “Oh no,” Paige moaned, and put a hand to her belly. “Don’t tempt me. Those cookies are addicting.”

  His gaze dropped to her belly and then rolled on down from there, setting her on fire with his hot stare. She liked the way he was looking at her. Wanted more of it.

  That’s when she realized that Fritzi, who was snoring loudly on the back of the couch, was no buffer at all.

  Chapter 12

  Nocturne: A musical composition that has a romantic or dreamy character with nocturnal associations.

  “I think that’s just about the best meal I’ve ever had,” Paige declared, a dreamy expression on her face. “You’re an excellent cook.”

  Dirty tapas dishes were stacked around them. She let out a happy sigh, and licked her lips.

  Sweet, pink, adorable lips.

  Cash wanted her.

  Badly.

  So badly he had to grip the table to keep from touching her. He’d asked her to dinner because he’d wanted to see her again, to hold her, taste her, smell her, know her . . . bed her.

  But now that she was here and his goal was imminent, doubt wrapped around his gut and squeezed.

  Hard.

  Not because he’d changed his mind about taking her to bed. Not at all. In fact, the incessant urge pushed relentlessly at him. Rather, it was the quiet dawning that if he slept with her he was going to fall for her in a major way.

  He never felt this way before, didn’t know if he was ready. Didn’t know if she was. Fun and games was one thing. A serious relationship was something else entirely, and Paige MacGregor wasn’t the kind of woman you could walk away from unscathed.

  And that, friends and neighbors, was why he picked up dirty dishes and carried them to the sink instead of sweeping Paige off her feet.

  She got up to help him without saying a word, and for several minutes they worked side by side, cleaning up. The houseboat didn’t have a dishwasher so they did the dishes by hand. Cash washing and Paige drying.

  Occasionally, their elbows would bump and they’d grin or giggle and keep right on washing. The silence was easy, companionable, and comfy as a warm sweater and old house slippers.