Rodeo Dust

by Vannatter, Shannon Taylor;

  She paced the condo, straightening strategically placed throw pillows and setting three magazines in a just-so fan shape. The card beside them beckoned. She grabbed her cell phone. Her hands shook as she dialed the number.

  two

  “Howdy, Warren Dude Ranch,” a man’s voice greeted her, but not the one she wanted to hear.

  “This is Rayna Landers. Is Mr. Clay Warren in?” Her heart would surely beat out of her chest.

  “Sorry, you just missed him. He’ll be out of town till Thursday. Can I help you?”

  A sigh emanated from deep within, and her lungs seemed to deflate. “Uh, no, that’s okay. I wanted to book a vacation.”

  “I can help you with that.”

  “Thanks, but I need to double-check my schedule anyway. I’ll call back.”

  Why was she so disappointed? Shoulders slumped, she trudged into her sleek kitchen and sought the solace of a cappuccino.

  ❧

  Clay climbed out of the truck, stretched his arms high above his head, and rolled his neck from side to side. Crisp autumn air filled his lungs. A long couple of days at the Waller County Fair. A long four-hour drive home, but he’d networked with some big-time horse enthusiasts and impressed them with his stock.

  Almost six. Eager for his own bed tonight, he might just turn in early. He left the hands to unload the trailer and headed toward the house.

  Ben, his ranch hand/clerk, stood behind the polished cedar counter, the phone propped between his shoulder and ear. Sounded like a reservation. Maybe things were looking up, and he wouldn’t have to do the modeling thing.

  “Yes, thank you, sir.” Keys clicked on Ben’s keyboard, and he hung up. “Welcome home, Clay.”

  “Thanks. How are things here?”

  “Good. We got two reservations for the weekend and another bite. Said she’d call back later. I wrote her number down for follow-up.” Ben handed him several messages as the phone rang again.

  The door to the private dining room opened. Dad looked more rested at least.

  “Welcome home, son. Any nibbles?”

  “I met with the ranch owner from Waco I told you about. I think he might buy some horses.”

  His dad clapped him on the back. “Here’s hopin’.”

  Clay scanned through the messages as he turned toward the stairs. Rayna Landers? He stopped in midstride.

  “What is it, son?” Dad frowned.

  “Just an unexpected call.”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Good. Definitely good.” Clay took the stairs two at a time to his private office.

  ❧

  Rayna counted repetitions as she lifted free weights at the women-only health club. A vibration pulsed against her thigh and she jumped. Slightly out of breath, she set down the barbells and retrieved her cell from the pocket of her warm-up pants.

  Clay. Her heart lodged in her throat.

  She’d studied his business card enough to know the number. Sucking in a deep breath, she gathered all her frayed nerves and stepped into the deserted dressing room.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. You called about booking a vacation.” Clay’s soft drawl set her pulse aflutter.

  “This is Rayna Landers. Um. . .we met at the—”

  “I remember, pretty lady. Amber eyes, copper hair, and not a freckle in sight. Rare for a redhead. You sound out of breath.”

  “I’m at the gym.” Numerous mirrors lined the dressing room. Thank goodness he couldn’t see her now with her sheen of sweat, melting makeup, and frazzled hair.

  “Want me to call you back?”

  “No, this is fine.” Stop sounding desperate. She traced the phone with her fingertips and summoned up an all-business tone. “I’m planning a vacation soon and wanted to book a week at your ranch. Do you have any openings in the next month or so?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. How about we discuss the details over lunch?”

  “Lunch?” With the cutest cowboy she’d ever seen? Could her traitorous pulse handle the heat?

  “You’re breaking my heart. Tell me you called for more than a vacation?”

  “Well, I—” She smoothed damp tendrils away from her face.

  “Come on. Have lunch with me. I’m tied up Friday and Saturday night with work, but I’m free Saturday. I called last week, but you weren’t home.”

  “How did you get my home number?”

  “Took my chances on the only R. Landers in the book and won. And when you called, Ben got your cell number off caller ID as a potential client. Deep down, I was hoping you were returning my call.”

  “Actually, I was, but I am interested in a vacation.” Eventually.

  “I’ll bring my calendar to lunch.”

  Surely her erratic heart would leap out of her chest. “Okay. Where should we meet?”

  “Meet? I’ll pick you up.”

  “Tell me where to meet you.”

  “Ah, you don’t trust me?”

  She wanted to. “I never get in a man’s car until we’re acquainted well enough for me to decide whether he deserves my trust. Or not.”

  “Smart and pretty. Actually, I drive a pickup. Would you like to know in whom I place my trust?”

  Her breath caught. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

  The deep timbre of his laughter sent a shiver over her. “I think I could handle you, Rayna Landers. No, what I mean is, I’m a Christian. I trust Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. Does that help you to know whether I’m trustworthy or not?”

  Never in her twenty-five years had she heard a man speak so boldly of his faith, other than her pastor.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.” Her words came out breathless.

  “You’re not a Christian, are you?”

  “No! I mean, yes.” Rayna closed her eyes. Why did he fluster her so? She stopped pacing and perched on the arm of a taupe nail-head chair. “What I mean is, I’m a Christian, but I’d still rather meet you.”

  “Hmm. A Christian with trust issues. I reckon you’re just using your beautiful head. A gal can’t be too careful. What if I come to your place, and you follow my truck to where we’re going?”

  “Then you’d know where I live.”

  “I already know where you live. I looked you up in the book, remember?”

  “Oh.” Somehow she didn’t feel threatened. Warmth curled through her stomach.

  “Nine o’clock Saturday morning?”

  “I thought you said lunch.”

  “I did, but on second thought, let’s make a day of it. Do you like parades?”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t have other plans, do you?”

  “Well no, but—”

  “Great, the parade starts at ten. Wear comfortable shoes.” He hung up.

  A parade? A day of it? Her finger hovered over the redial button. She should call him back and cancel. He’d offered lunch then roped her into a parade and the whole day. But she wouldn’t mind spending a day with him. If he turned out to be a jerk, she’d have her car.

  Such a contradiction. This man who’d shamelessly flirted with her at the fair was a Christian.

  On the way to the treadmill, she mentally scanned the inventory of her closet. What do you wear on a date with a cowboy?

  ❧

  Feminine laughter echoed around Rayna as she shared lunch with her two coworkers at their favorite Dallas café, Maguire’s. Every Friday they aired hopes and dreams. At their usual corner table, Rayna enjoyed her usual grilled-chicken salad with Italian vinaigrette as the server set their usual pitcher of Diet Coke in the middle of the gathering.

  “No seriously, how do I let Adam know I’m interested?” Gabby set her glass down. “Should I wink at him?”

  “Please don’t.” Kendra’s voice dripped sarcasm.

  Rayna speared a cherry tomato and popped it into her mouth. So good to see Gabby smiling again. She wanted Gabby and Adam together, but was it voyeuristic discussing her brother
’s budding relationship?

  “Winking is so out.” Kendra shook her head. “You’ve been out of the dating scene entirely too long.”

  Apparently, Kendra had never been on the receiving end of a cowboy’s wink.

  “Tell me Miss Expert, how do you let a guy know you’re interested? What’s the in way?” Gabby sipped her diet soda.

  “Anything but winking. Look at him and smile; then glance away, and look again. Lick your lips. Tuck your hair behind your ear.”

  Rayna swallowed hard. I tucked my hair behind my ear at the fair.

  “You’re right,” Gabby moaned. “I’ve been out of the loop for too long. Tucker and I dated for six months, and it’s been that long since we broke up. I’ve lost my touch.”

  “No, you haven’t.” Rayna patted her friend’s hand. “Adam likes you, and he’ll get it no matter what you do. Even if you wink. Be up front with him, not all this silly, coy stuff.”

  “But what if he doesn’t ask me out again?” Gabby fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth.

  “He already has. He mentioned going to the fair again.” Rayna took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Relax. If it’s right, God will work it out.”

  “Here we go with the God stuff.” Kendra rolled her eyes. “If it weren’t for that God stuff, she’d still be with Tucker.”

  Rayna refolded her cloth napkin. Would their witnessing lunches ever get anywhere with Kendra? “Gabby did the right thing with Tucker. If he’d been the man she needed, he’d have stuck around.”

  “Oh that’s just great—coming from the only other virgin I know. I don’t get the two of you. Tucker loved you, Gabby. When a man loves a woman, sex is the natural progression of things. I’m surprised he stuck around as long as he did without it.”

  “If he really loved her, he’d have been willing to wait.” Rayna traced the rim of her glass with her fingertip. “Till after the wedding.”

  “Couldn’t they have skipped to the honeymoon? I mean, they would’ve gotten married later, so what’s the difference?”

  “Don’t you see?” Gabby splayed both hands, palms up. “If I’d slept with him, maybe he wouldn’t have ever married me, and even if he still wanted to, what if he died on the way to the church? The Bible teaches us that sex is a beautiful thing only to be shared between husband and wife.”

  Gabby wadded her napkin and dropped it on her plate. “Somewhere out there God has the perfect guy waiting for me.”

  “Maybe he’s right down the hall.” Rayna patted Gabby’s hand again.

  “So what’s the other virgin doing this weekend? Singing in the choir?” Kendra smirked.

  Don’t let it show how her teasing grates on the nerves. “I do plan on going to church, but I’m not in the choir.”

  “Did you call him yet?” Gabby’s eyes widened.

  “Who?” Kendra’s radar perked up.

  Rayna stifled a wince. “This guy I met at the state fair.”

  Kendra waved her fork in the air. “Do tell. He gave you his number?”

  “Just his business card.” Rayna kept her tone light.

  “Ooh, a businessman. What kind of business?” Kendra leaned forward.

  “A dude ranch.”

  Kendra hooted. “A cowboy. You fell for a cowboy?”

  “No, I didn’t fall for him. I met him. Weren’t you raised on a farm?”

  “Yes, but I got over it.” Kendra huffed an exaggerated sigh. “Some people simply insist on staying there. A cowboy. Did you call him?”

  “It wasn’t like that. Since I fell in love with his horse, he probably thought I might be interested in his dude ranch and gave me his card. End of story.”

  “Don’t look now, but there are three great-looking guys at two o’clock checking us out.” Kendra tucked a too-black strand with burgundy highlights behind her ear.

  “Why can’t women have lunch without being ogled?” Gabby rolled her eyes.

  “You need to scan the merchandise before you go and get all high and mighty. One of these lookers might take your mind off of what’s his name.”

  “Adam will do that for her.” Rayna retrieved her pewter-colored handbag from under the table and stood. “We need to get back to work. We’ve got a campaign to develop.”

  Kendra’s eyebrows rose. “Maybe we could use one of those perfect specimens for a model.”

  Gabby slung her bag over her shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”

  On the way to the car, Rayna tried to concentrate on the basketball shoe ad campaign instead of Clay Warren.

  “Sorry about that,” Gabby whispered. “Me and my big mouth.”

  It couldn’t be helped now. “It’s okay.”

  “She’ll drive you nuts about it.”

  “I can tune her out.” Rayna pushed the button on her key ring to unlock her silver sports car.

  “Are you going to call him?”

  “Actually, he called me. We have a date tomorrow.” She pressed her finger to her lips and glanced at Kendra already getting in the car. “Shhh.”

  ❧

  Clay’s brake lights came on. Rayna scanned the speed limit sign and slowed her car. BUL PRUF, his license plate proclaimed. What was that supposed to mean? Probably the way it came out and not a personalization.

  The city faded away. Aubrey, Horse Country USA, a sign declared. Houses dotted the landscape back off the road. Children played in wide-open spaces. The life she could never have.

  As they neared the center of town, heavy traffic marred the peacefulness. A large white church was the focal point of the small town. Ever After Chapel, the kind of picturesque church a girl would want to get married in. Why did her thoughts keep straying in that dangerous direction?

  Clay’s blinker came on. She followed his hunter-green truck into a parking lot.

  He hurried to open the door for her. His jeans, western shirt, and boots didn’t contrast too badly with her royal button-down blouse and dark denims.

  He let out a long, slow whistle. “Did I mention you’re beautiful?”

  A blush heated her skin. “Thank you. Are you sure I’m dressed okay?”

  “You’re perfect. We’ll have to walk this block to get there, but I didn’t figure I could find two spaces any closer.”

  “Where is this place? What’s the parade for?”

  “This is our annual Peanut Festival. Aubrey grows peanuts and horses. It’s always the first Saturday in October since 1986. All the proceeds go to buy books for the library.”

  Clay’s hand engulfed hers, sending warmth up her arm. The same way his touch had affected her the first time they’d met. Hand in hand, they walked around the block in silence.

  Booths lined a grassy open lot, displaying jewelry, crafts, local businesses, a variety of peanut products, and food. Only a few hat-free heads dotted the crowd of denim-clad men, women, and children milling about. A live band played country music from a small stage and children played games at some of the booths.

  “The parade will start in a few minutes. Afterward, I thought we could check out the booths and eat lunch here, unless it’s not your kind of place. All items sold here are handmade.”

  A quilt caught Rayna’s eye. A complex pattern of gray swirls, black polka dots, and red paisley. Perfect for chilly evenings when she sat up to watch a late movie. Alone. She hurried to get a better look.

  “The booths don’t open until after the parade.” Clay’s grip tightened on her fingers. “They’re just setting up.”

  “I want this quilt.” Rayna ran her free hand over the soft fabric and intricate stitching.

  “Hi, Abigail,” Clay tipped his hat.

  Rayna noticed the grandmotherly woman sitting in the booth, wearing a smile of accomplishment.

  “It’s lovely. You made this?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  “Can you hold it for me?” Clay pulled out his wallet.

  “I’ll pay for it.” Rayna dug her money clip out of her pocket, whipped the bills out befor
e he could, and passed them to Abigail.

  The woman picked up the quilt. “I’ll hold it under the counter, and you can pick it up after the parade.”

  “Thank you.”

  Clay pressed a hand to the small of Rayna’s back. “The parade’s starting.”

  A police car crept down the street with lights flashing. A dance troop followed in several single-file rows, hands on their hips, taking synchronized steps to the rhythm of a song.

  “That looks fun. I wish I knew how to dance.”

  “Where’s that risk taker?” he drawled close to her ear. “I could teach you the Texas Two-Step sometime.”

  She shivered and the twangy music she thought she loathed put a lump in her throat with its patriotic lyrics. Or maybe it was his nearness. Or the thought of dancing with him.

  Somehow, as she and Clay oohed, laughed, and twanged through the parade, they didn’t seem so different.

  Could she find common ground with Clay?

  What was she thinking? She could never entertain thoughts of common ground with anyone.

  As the last float wrapped up the parade, Clay squeezed her hand and led her to the row of food booths. “Let’s get something to eat, and then we’ll get your quilt and look around.”

  Instead of surveying the neon menu, her gaze stayed on Clay.

  He caught her staring, and once again, her sensitive skin betrayed her with familiar warmth.

  “What?” One brow lifted.

  She refocused on the menu. “I think I’ll try the grilled chicken.”

  “You have to try the ribs.”

  “I do?”

  “You don’t have to, but you should. Do you like ribs?”

  “Yes, but I think I’ll stick with the chicken.”

  “Why, if you like ribs?”

  “They’re messy.”

  “Afraid a little barbecue sauce dripping down your chin might disgust me?”

  Mischief danced in his eyes, and she laughed.

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t make a habit of eating messy finger foods in public.” Especially on a first date.

  “Well pretty lady, if you want chicken, order it. But if you’d like to have some fun, try the ribs. Surely you won’t let me be the only one with barbecue sauce on my chin.” He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.