The Pretty Lady and the Cowboy (Songs from the Heart)

by Lee, Dana

  “Actually, I was hoping you’d know of a good place to run along the shore. I’m not from around these parts.”

  “Gee, really? Here I thought you were the boy next door with that Connecticut Yankee accent and all.” Keep it light, I thought to myself. He’s just another customer.

  But that explained it, I thought. He only needed advice about running trails. I showed him some maps that I kept behind the desk and gave him directions to various shoreline roads, trying all the while to get my heart rate back to normal.

  “And I thought maybe you could explain to me who y’all thought I was yesterday.”

  I stammered something about mistaking him for a friend of a friend and said that I hadn’t known he was the Levi McCrory, hoping I was making some kind of sense. It had been easy to flirt and banter with him yesterday, but that was before I knew who he was, before I knew he was famous. Why should that be, I wondered silently. He was still the same person, wasn’t he?

  “Well, you know, Miss Kitty,” he said, “I confess that it was kinda nice to be treated like a regular fella. I don’t get to be just plain me very often these days. And I almost never get to be just plain me flirting with a gorgeous girl.”

  I felt a blush begin to creep up my face on that last line. Me? Gorgeous?

  “I really enjoyed the concert last night,” I said, trying to shift the subject. “Thanks for sending the tickets!” I kept my eyes focused on the map, willing myself not to look at him.

  How did he manage to unsettle me so completely? I’m usually a pretty outgoing person—you have to be when you’re in business for yourself. But there was something about him… something that made my heart race, something that filled my head with romantic fantasies. I knew I wanted to feel his touch again.

  “You’re welcome! I’m glad you came. Sorry I had to run off so quick at the party. I wasn’t much of a country gentleman.” Talk about moments I wanted to forget!

  But then he reached across the counter and tilted my chin up with one hand so that I was looking deep into his aquamarine blue eyes. My already-racing heart skipped a beat or two. “As it happens, I’m not too good at maps. I’d take it kindly if you could come along.” He spoke the last words so softly they felt almost like a caress.

  Part of me was thinking that here was a guy with the proverbial girl in every port—or in every town with a concert venue, anyway. But I couldn’t help smiling back. Tired as I was, I had been planning a run this afternoon anyway. What could it hurt to let him run with me? I was trying not to admit to myself how thrilled I was. The exhaustion I had been feeling a few minutes ago disappeared. Another part of me, though, was recalling our conversation yesterday and wondering how far and how fast this man might actually want to go. And I wasn’t only thinking about running.

  I looked deep into his eyes and swallowed my doubts. “Give me a second to get into some shorts and I’ll take you on my favorite route.”

  In the back room, my fingers trembled as I unbuttoned my jeans. It felt odd, and a little exciting, to be undressing while he was waiting for me. I pulled on a pair of feather-light black shorts and turned the waistband down so they sat low on my hips. I recalled the comment Jess made last night about my baggy tee-shirts and decided to change out of my store logo tee into a hot pink tank with a running bra built in. Then I kicked off the Vibrams, laced up a pair of New Balance shoes I wanted to try out, grabbed my sunglasses from my purse, and headed back to Levi.

  “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” I said.

  His glance was slow and appreciative. “Miss Kitty, you sure are worth the wait.”

  “Just Kitty is fine,” I said.

  “Well, Just Kitty,” he said, smiling, “we’d better get on with this run before looking at you makes me forget all my good exercise intentions.”

  The “Just Kitty” joke was exactly like something my dad would have said. I smiled back and moved toward the front door before I forgot my own good intentions. I needed to feel a cool breeze on my skin—and quickly!

  I grabbed one of my Finish Line caps and offered one to Levi, too. It wouldn’t hurt to get a little publicity out of this. He put it on and pulled the brim low. He probably figured it would keep his many fans from recognizing him. That was okay with me, too. I’d have him to myself for a while.

  I set the alarm, locked the door, and tucked the key into the zippered side pocket of my shorts. “This route will give you a little tour of the town before we head for the shore,” I said.

  “I might be a little too busy with another view to catch much of the tour,” he said.

  He was incorrigible. And I was loving it.

  We each did a few brief stretching exercises and then headed off together at a relaxed, comfortable pace. I led the way along an art walk created by the Chamber of Commerce that displayed (and of course sold) sculpture by local Connecticut artists. That path took us to one of the town’s many, quiet historic streets, and that, in turn, led us down to the shore.

  The tourist season never really ended here in New Chester, since the nearby casinos were always open. There were two casinos, huge Native American establishments, where you could play the slots or gamble in scores of other ways; shop; attend a concert or a women’s basketball game; get a beauty makeover, a manicure, pedicure, or a massage; and also grab a bite to eat at some fast food place or dine in an elegant restaurant owned by a famous chef. The casinos were designed to keep you indoors spending or betting your money for as long as possible.

  And so the main roads in town were almost always crowded with the cars coming to and leaving the casinos. But for my runs I usually stayed on the quiet, narrow roads casino-goers find too slow-going.

  We ran maybe half a mile at fairly easy pace. Then we reached the end of one shady street, and I pointed at a path that led into the woods. We ran single file for a while, enjoying the cool stillness of the forest after the gentle hum of the small town. And then that path opened up onto a trail that wound along the shore.

  Part of me had been a little apprehensive about jogging with someone else. My running time is my alone time, my thinking time. But as Levi and I breathed the salt air of the shore almost in unison, I was amazed at how companionable his presence felt to me. How could I feel so at ease with this man I didn’t even know?

  We were running on the beach now, our pace slowed a bit by the soft shifting of the sand. This route took us in a circle back to the store by a different road. It wasn’t a long run—just a little over three miles—but the varying terrain and the beauty of the shoreline made it special to me.

  Then a little past the halfway point in the run, the dark angel with the pitchfork on my left shoulder got the upper hand over the light angel with the halo on the other side. Levi’s words from yesterday came to mind again. He had said he’d run “far and fast” to keep up with me, hadn’t he? Well, we’d just see about that! I picked up the pace a bit as we made our way back onto the sidewalk alongside the beach. I knew we had about a mile to go. I always enjoyed challenging myself on the home stretch. Maybe I could challenge him, too.

  He gave me an amused glance and matched me stride for stride. The wind was at our back, the sun was low in the sky, the October air was beginning to get that hint of autumn coolness. I was feeling strong, and the sight of this hunk of a guy running beside me made me feel attractive, sexy.

  With less than half a mile to go, I bumped the pace up again. And once again, his smooth stride matched mine. I was strong—I was invincible—I was Woman!

  “Last one to the store is a rotten egg,” I teased, and took off full tilt.

  The trail was leading us back downtown, and on the last stretch to the store we’d be running on the sidewalk to avoid the traffic. I took the small step up the curb, something I’d done on this same course, at this same point, hundreds of times before. I looked up to smile at him and share the fun of the moment.

  And then I caught the edge of the pavement with the toe of my shoe, and in the space of h
alf a heartbeat I was Clumsy Dork Woman with a badly skinned knee. I was down on the ground for a second time in two days, which was a personal record I hoped to leave unbroken for a long, long time.

  Levi knelt down beside me. “Let me have a look,” he said. “I used to bandage up my baby sister every other day when we were kids.” He examined each of my hands—really they were more bruised than anything—and kissed the palm of each. Despite the fact that I felt like the clumsiest person in six counties, I was swooning inside at his touch.

  He turned his attention to my knee next and pulled off his tee-shirt to wipe away the blood and dirt. Fortunately, he was too occupied with tying the shirt around my knee to notice that I couldn’t take my eyes off his gorgeous chest muscles and his ripped abs. My heart was pounding, and not from the running.

  “I’m pretty sure you’ll live, but you’re going to need some pretty big bandages,” Levi said. “Think you can make it back to the store?”

  I said I could. We were less than a block away. When he put his arms around me to help me to my feet, I could feel how strong he was. My body was quickly cooling down from the run and the warmth of his body against mine felt wonderful. He kept one arm around my waist as we walked the short distance to The Finish Line. Despite my sore knee, I wished we still had many more blocks to go. Some long-buried desire was awakening deep inside me. I wanted time to stand still so I could luxuriate in the delicious feeling of his bare skin against mine.

  But as we approached the store, a man stepped out of a limo parked in front and waved at us. Or rather, at Levi.

  “Y’all have got the crew pretty worried!” the man said. “It’s way past time to get ready for tonight.” It was the guy who had delivered the tickets to me yesterday so I assumed he must be Levi’s driver or personal assistant or something.

  “Guess I kinda lost track of time for a while,” Levi replied. “Give me a sec and I’ll be right with you.”

  He took the key to the store from me and opened the door with one hand, still keeping the other around my waist. He helped me inside and then pulled me to him, and spoke quickly.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday. I only play a matinee tomorrow, and it’ll be over by five. Say you’ll have dinner with me?’’

  I nodded.

  “Okay, Just Kitty, I’ll pick you up here at six.”

  A voice in the back of my head told me I shouldn’t be this available, should at least make up some previous engagement that would keep me from being free tomorrow night. I ignored the voice and nodded again.

  He bent down slightly and pulled me closer as he gently kissed me on the lips. I felt the warmth of his chest against me, felt my body melting into his. His kiss was as slow and leisurely as his drawl. Then we both started laughing as I turned my head slightly and the brims of our hats collided and were knocked onto the floor.

  He held me for a few extra seconds and whispered into my ear, “Take care of that knee.”

  Then he picked up his hat and walked out the door and into the waiting limo.

  Knee? What knee? It was the furthest thing from my mind.

  Chapter 5

  As the limo pulled away, I shook my head, remembering my fall. I have run that very same route at least half a bazillion times in rain and shine, summer and winter, and I knew every single step of it. What had happened to me? I hobbled to the washroom, cleaned my knee up the best I could, smeared on some antibiotic ointment, and plastered a couple of big bandages on top.

  I didn’t have to think too hard. I knew exactly what had happened to me: Levi McCrory. Well, okay, that and the fact that I was pretty sleep-deprived. Remembering that made me feel a little better. Maybe I wasn’t just a twenty-five-year-old woman with a school-girl crush.

  I had always considered myself too level-headed to have a crush on anyone, though in the interest of full disclosure, I confess that I might have had a brief one on Pierce Brosnan the summer Ally and I watched all the Remington Steel DVDs back to back. I dated a fair amount, but I never got romantic feelings based on a guy’s status. When I was in high school, I always thought it was silly to fall for a guy just because he was captain of the football team. And I never felt anything at all for any of the rock stars whose pictures were plastered all over my best friend’s wall. I was immune.

  Or so I thought. I closed my eyes and remembered Levi’s delicious kiss, imagined his arms around me, thought of sharing that funny moment when our hats had bumped. Yes, he was a Big Star, but from what I’d seen of him so far, he was a really nice guy, too. Which one had I allowed to kiss me? Which one had I kissed back? Was I just star-struck?

  I opened my eyes and tried to give myself a mental talking to. I reminded myself that there were always groupies, those females who swooned for Sinatra, sighed for Bing Crosby, screamed for the Beatles, fainted for Justin Bieber. I was not like that. I would not let myself be like that. I had a store to run. I had a little sister to keep safe.

  Shoot! I’d almost forgotten about Ally. I grabbed my cell phone from my desk and checked messages. Nothing. I tried Ally’s numbers again but still couldn’t reach her. She was doing a pretty good job of avoiding me, but I wasn’t going to let her get away with it. I sent her a text: HEY SIS—LUNCH SOON? CALL ME @ HOME LTR.

  My hope was that a friendly text would stand a better chance of getting her to respond. I was still pretty new at this guardian business. And it was proving to be tricky, so I had to proceed with caution. On the one hand, I wanted to set some strict limits so her drinking wouldn’t get out of control. On the other hand, I had to make sure I wasn’t too harsh or she’d shut me out and never tell me anything. I needed to be a parent and a sister and a friend all at the same time.

  I’d walked to The Finish Line this morning just to try to clear my head a little, so I didn’t have my car handy. I decided to ride the local trolley home. It stopped across the street about every fifteen minutes and a glance at my store clock told me it was due in a couple of minutes. I grabbed a spare sweatshirt, locked up, and walked over just as the trolley pulled up. It would drop me off about a block from my apartment.

  I was glad for the chance to sit for a while. And to think.

  Levi had taken me by surprise. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t usually go around letting myself be kissed by guys I hardly know. Maybe I was just a little off balance because of my skinned knee.

  You’re a big girl, I told myself, try to be realistic. He’ll be singing at the casino for, what? Maybe another week? He’s just a guy enjoying the local “scenery” while he’s in town. Then he’ll be on to the next city, and the next, and the next, enjoying each new bit of local color as he goes.

  Still, he wanted to see me again. Tomorrow night! I’d have to get Jess to help me figure out what to wear. There was no doubt that I wanted to see him again, too.

  I got up and pulled the string that alerted the driver I wanted to get off at the next stop. Right now, all I wanted was a long soak in a hot bath followed by an early bedtime.

  In my apartment, I sank into my favorite chair as the tub filled. I couldn’t resist sending Jess a text: JST BK FRM A RUN W LEVI. DATE SUN NITE.

  Almost immediately she shot back: HOW IS THS FAIR?? I M THE FAN NT U!!

  I typed out the reply: ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE & WAR. But I didn’t hit send. I knew this wasn’t war, but love? It felt dangerous just using the word, even as a joke. Instead I backspaced and typed: TUFF. SEE U @ TFL 2MOR

  I stripped off my clothes, yanked off the bandages and climbed into the tub.

  # # # # #

  from Levi McCrory’s song notebook

  “When It’s Right”—verse 1

  Well, my mama made fried chicken every Sunday after church

  and my cousins made sure they were always there

  And we’d eat and lick our fingers and we’d talk and joke and laugh

  and my pop would sigh and lean back in his chair.

  And my aunts would always ask my mom to tell her how to make it

 
and to write it down so they could make it too.

  But Mama never used a recipe,

  She never measured anything.

  She told them this and now I’m telling you:

  Chorus:

  When it’s right (clap clap), you just know it.

  You can feel it in your heart and in your hands.

  You don’t need to overthink it

  ’cause you’ll know it when you feel it

  (4 guitar chords or claps)

  And when you feel it, then I know you’ll understand.

  This is the first line dance song that’s popped into my head in a long, long time. Must be channeling Billy Ray or something. Or maybe it was seeing people in the audience dancing in the aisles. I love it when they’re up out of their seats. This really needs a very upbeat tune to keep it from going all sappy. Reminds me of Mom. Thanks, Mom!

  # # # # #

  Ally never did call me that night and I was torn between being ticked and being grateful. After my bath, I grabbed some blueberries and cottage cheese out of the refrigerator, toasted a bagel, and settled down to eat in front of the TV. I’m not usually big on reality TV, but as I channel surfed, I somehow got hooked on an episode of The Bachelor.

  Seriously, I thought, why would anyone want to turn her courtship into a soap opera competition? Who would want all those romantic, intimate moments that every girl dreams about to be broadcast on national TV? On the other hand, here I was watching and getting sucked in by the drama and the romance and the catfights (however phony those all were), so clearly the producers of the show knew what they were doing.

  I was really rooting for one girl in particular named LeeAnn. She had a strong independent streak and refused the naked hot tub scene. “You go, girl!” I cheered at the TV. Unfortunately, independence didn’t seem to be one of the qualities The Bachelor valued in a potential wife and LeeAnn didn’t receive a rose at the end of the episode.

  I flipped off the TV and thought about Levy as I padded into my bedroom. What would a romance with him be like? He lived such a public life and for much of it he was on stage in front of throngs of women who swooned over him, threw themselves at him—sort of like the women who tried to win the heart of The Bachelor, but multiplied about a million or so times. His kiss had been so gentle. But what if there had been no limo waiting outside? What might have happened? Thoughts of where the kiss might have led filled my head as it hit the pillow and I fell instantly fast asleep.