A Cowboy Summer (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Salonen, Debra

He chuckled. “I figure it needs a new battery. Heck, that’ll probably cost more than the car.”

  All sorts of practical responses chased through Anne’s mind. Zoey was too young to operate a motorized vehicle. Too reckless. What if she drove it through a fence or flipped over or got in the way of a truck? And they couldn’t take it home with them. What would happen when they left?

  Instead, Anne said, “I’m sure she’ll be over the moon when she sees it. How were you able to fit it in the motor home?”

  His laugh almost sounded like the A.J. she remembered from years past. “Strapped it to the back of the RV. You should see the looks I get.”

  Anne wondered if the idea of seeing Zoey behind the wheel had lifted his spirits—given him something to look forward to. Only an ogre would ruin that. “Well, you shouldn’t have, but if you could see the bright smile on my little girl’s face, you’d be glad you did.”

  “Got enough regrets without passing up a chance to please my only granddaughter.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of regrets, what’s going on with that grandson of mine?”

  Anne put her hand to her chest. Only years of working with the public kept her voice steady. “What do you mean?”

  “The last time I talked to him, he was surly as a bobcat with a sore foot. I got thinking he might be getting antsy. Will’s never been one to stick in one place too long.” The truth of that statement hit Anne harder than the impact of a pink convertible. “His daddy was like that, too. I offered to set Johnny up with a hundred-acre parcel. Help him build a place. But he said he wasn’t going to put down roots till he was too old to follow his dream.”

  Anne’s heart went out to A.J. It must have hurt when his son turned his back on the legacy his father had offered.

  A.J. cleared his throat. “Anyways, I thought that since you have things under control guestwise, we might be able to cut Will loose a little early.” His voice faltered when he added, “I’m heading to Maine in the morning.”

  Anne’s gaze went to the map. The density of postcards in the Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia area dramatized A.J.’s arrested forward motion. Civil War sites. Revolutionary War sites. Jamestown. Manassas. He’d been stalling for weeks.

  She couldn’t blame him, of course. Just thinking about him casting her mother’s ashes into the ocean made her cry. “Does this mean you might come home earlier?” Anne asked.

  “Mebbe. Once my job is done, not much sense in fooling around out here. No real family to visit, since Esther’s parents have passed on.”

  Anne knew that her grandparents had never completely embraced A.J. as their son-in-law. For the first couple of years after Esther and A.J.’s marriage, there had been no communication with Maine whatsoever. But Anne had helped open those channels while in college.

  Esther and Anne had been at the hospital when Grandmother Jensen passed away. Two months later, after the neighbors found Grandfather at the foot of the stairs, Esther, A.J. and Anne had attended the funeral.

  Anne consulted the calendar on the desk, then her gaze fell upon the Roger-related tower of papers on the corner of the desk. What she wouldn’t give for some extra time to prepare for the big summit meeting Roger had scheduled for early September. Why was Will the one being given the break, not her?

  As if hearing her complaint, A.J. said, “I know you’re anxious to get back to your life, too, Annie, but I was hoping you’d stick around a bit longer so I can spend time with Zoey.”

  Anne immediately regretted her selfish thoughts. Zoey would be devastated if she didn’t get to see her grandfather. And she’d want to drive her car, too. “I’m here for the duration, A.J. You can count on me. And I’ll give Will the word, unless you want to stay on the line. He’s outside by the big tree hanging up a piñata for the party this afternoon.”

  “I heard you’ve got some kids coming.”

  “Yes. My friend Linda’s son and daughter will be here and a couple of children Zoey met at Linda’s house. Joy is preparing a feast—hot dogs and her famous spicy calico beans. All of the Silver Rose guests are coming, too. It should be great fun.

  “You know, A.J., Will’s riding clinics have been a big hit, and I’ve had several people tell me they’d like to bring their children or grandchildren with them next year. Isn’t that exciting?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “Somethin’ to chew on, I guess.”

  His lack of enthusiasm made her frown. Anne knew it was unrealistic to think he’d just snap out of his grief and return to Nevada ready to resume his life. That life was forever altered. Besides, she could attest to the fact that it took two people to run this place. What would he do next summer?

  Without pausing to think it over, she said, “You know, A.J., Zoey and I have really enjoyed our time here. Maybe there’s some way we could come next year, too.”

  A.J. was silent for so long Anne thought they’d been disconnected. But a sniffle told her he was there. “I’m mighty touched by the offer, Annie. And I’ll give it some thought on the way home. Got a nice long drive with some big stretches of empty road where a man can’t do nothing but think.”

  She squeezed the phone between her shoulder and ear and wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts. Had she really volunteered for another tour of duty? Was she out of her mind?

  Before she could withdraw the offer, a shadow fell across the floor. She looked over her shoulder and nearly dropped the phone. Will was in the doorway—shirt on, unfortunately—picking up spilled napkins. “Well, speak of the devil, A.J., Will’s here.” Her voice sounded almost as high-pitched as Zoey’s. “I’ll give you to him. But before I go, I want to thank you for calling. Zoey’s father has been known to forget her birthday, so this call was extra special. You’re a wonderful man and we…love you.”

  I said it. She silently congratulated herself, passing the phone to Will. He offered her the napkins in exchange, and her smugness evaporated the instant their fingers touched. The tingle that shot through her body nearly took her breath away.

  She hurried out of the room and walked briskly to the kitchen. Joy’s cooking class that morning involved baking and decorating a special birthday cake. The room was too crowded and the mood was too chipper to suit Anne’s unsettled emotional state. She slipped outside to the garden.

  Anne was proud of her novice gardening efforts. Her tomatoes were growing. Her basil was fragrant. Her snap peas made Joy’s stir-fry. But something was eating her beans, and the culprit wasn’t human.

  She walked to the shed. Sunlight filtered through the cobwebbed curtains framing the corners of the room’s single window. Anne upended an empty five-gallon plastic pail and sat down to study the laminated cheat sheet her mother had left. What was she missing? The fledgling plants came up with vigor. They sent out wiry feelers to attach to the strings she and Zoey had laced between the upright poles. Green leaves back-filled the gaping holes. Baby beans formed. Then, just prior to harvest, the beans disappeared.

  Anne hunched forward, resting her chin in her palm. Was this a metaphor for her life? Carefully nurtured plans that never fully matured? Her marriage. Her career.

  A pain radiated outward from behind her eyes and she rubbed her knuckle between her eyebrows. “Crap,” she muttered.

  “Professional gardeners prefer the term manure,” a voice said.

  Anne’s chin came up. “Will,” she exclaimed. “That was a short chat.”

  “We’re men. We manage to say almost everything in five sentences or less.” His jest was one of the few she’d heard him utter in her presence since their close encounter of the sexual kind.

  She made a tsking sound. “Update your handbook, mister. Men are talking more and saying less than ever before. Pretty soon you’ll all be politicians.”

  He laughed. The sound poured over her like warm honey. She suddenly realized just how much she’d missed him. Their repartee. Their end-of-the-day chat, when they shared both triumphs and failures. Had she been totally off base to turn him down? Sitting in
her mother’s potting shed, Anne had no doubt what choice Esther would have made.

  “A.J. wanted me to give you a message,” Will said. “Apparently, your mother left Zoey a present. It’s on the top shelf of the closet in her sewing room. It might not have her name on it because Esther usually bought a special card closer to the actual day.”

  Anne rose. “Mom was one amazing lady, wasn’t she?”

  Will nodded. Even though he hadn’t entered the shed—just stood casually in the threshold, one shoulder resting on the jamb—his presence made the place too crowded. Or maybe it was the elephant-size awkwardness between them that made the room seem so small.

  Anne pitched the garden guide to the bench. “I think mice are eating my beans.”

  “Little furry mice or little mice girls?”

  Zoey? Intentionally eating green vegetables? Not likely. Even Anne’s cherished creamed peas and potatoes recipe had received a mixed response—the child loved the creamy potatoes but built a Mayan temple out of the perfect green globes. “The former, I’m sure. Most eight-year-olds aren’t big on crudités, and Zoey is no exception.”

  Will’s mirthful grin said he might know something about her daughter that Anne didn’t. “Well, if the critters are to blame, I suggest you set a trap. They’re creatures of habit. They travel the same path over and over to get what they want. You should catch one without much effort.”

  “What would I do with it if I caught one?”

  “Slow, methodical torture?”

  Before she could protest, he laughed to show he was joking. “If you use a humane trap, which I happen to know is the only kind your mother would allow, you set him free in the field the next morning. He gets a vacation with his rural cousins, you get the satisfaction of seeing your beans develop into dinner.”

  He stepped forward. Anne braced against his touch, but Will made sure that didn’t happen. He reached overhead and plucked a matchbox-like container from the rafters. “Here you go,” he said, offering it to her.

  The printing on the sides had faded, but she could make out the words Mouse Jail. “Bait it with a little cheese. Or peanut butter,” he suggested.

  She took it with both hands. “Okay.”

  An almost visible sizzle arced between them. One careless spark could have burnt down the whole place. Anne started to speak, but Will beat her to the punch. “Look, Anne, I’m sorry. I’ve been an ass these past few weeks. When Gramps mentioned he might be coming back early, I realized that I didn’t want to spend what time we have left being mad at each other. Can we put that night behind us?”

  She released a hesitant breath. “I’d like that, too.”

  He offered his hand to seal the deal.

  Anne took his proverbial olive branch. Unfortunately, the contact went deeper, much deeper, and Will felt it, too. She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed and his grip tightened. He reached out to touch her cheek. From the frown on his lips, she knew the movement went against his better judgment.

  She could sympathize. She had no intention of looping her arms around his shoulders, but somehow they did just that. She absolutely, positively wasn’t going to kiss him, but she did, with a need that blocked every other thought.

  She tossed the Mouse Jail onto a shelf. Hands groped. Lips slanted for more access. Noises of mutual need filled the dusty quiet.

  They stumbled backward into a thigh-high stack of fertilizer sacks and bags of potting soil. Will lifted her slightly so she was seated. Her legs locked around him and she found the perfect place for their bodies to meet.

  Will allowed it—facilitated it—for a few seconds, then he lifted his head. Eyes closed, he said on an outward expulsion of air, “Joy’s calling.”

  Anne groaned. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  She tried to push him away, but he stubbornly peppered kisses along her forehead, her nose and, finally, her lips. “Even married couples have trouble squeezing in sex in the afternoon.”

  “How would you know?” she asked crossly.

  “I have married friends. Men have been known to gossip from time to time.” He stepped back and held out his hand to help her off her perch. “Besides, this isn’t exactly the most romantic place on the ranch.”

  Anne looked around. The potting shed? Heat filled her cheeks and she dropped her chin so Will wouldn’t see her mortification. The sound of Joy’s bullhorn-like paging penetrated the walls of the shack as clearly as Will’s chuckle, now that the roar of passion had dissipated.

  Will moved aside to give Anne access to the door. She hurried to the threshold and leaned out. “I’m here.”

  Joy waved from the porch. “That guy from your office is on the phone. Says he has to talk to you. Right now.”

  Anne let out a defeated sigh. “I told Roger I was going to be busy with Zoey’s party today,” she muttered. The current political wrangling at WHC had Roger edgy and nervous, and he was making darn sure Anne knew it. “Tell him I’ll be right there,” she called.

  She turned to look at Will, who’d picked up the mousetrap and was sitting where she’d been a moment earlier. “Duty calls,” she said, striving for a lightness she didn’t feel.

  “Don’t top executives ever get a day off?”

  “Well, maybe after you become a top executive. For those of us on the road up, we jump when our names are called. I may have mentioned that Roger wasn’t very happy about my request for family leave, but he couldn’t turn it down, either. This is payback for the inconvenience I’ve caused him.”

  She expected to hear, “So, quit.” Instead, he rose and walked toward her. “Here,” he said, placing the humane trap in her hands. “But I should warn you. It won’t work.”

  Her heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”

  “The garden mouse will enjoy his visit with his cousin in the country, but eventually he’ll return to where he’s most comfortable.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “What if he discovers he likes the country better?”

  “By the time he figures that out, you’ll have removed the trap because you think your problem is solved, and he’ll be stuck.”

  Was he telling her she could be missing an opportunity that might never come again?

  He started to leave.

  Anne cleared her throat. “Did I mention that Zoey is spending the night at Linda’s? Her first official sleepover. It’s…um, part of her birthday present from me,” she admitted, knowing he’d understand how difficult it was for her to let her daughter go.

  He hesitated. “I mighta heard a rumor to that effect.”

  “I gave Joy the night off, too. The guests are on their own.”

  A hint of a smile twitched in one corner of his mouth, but his eyes gave away nothing. “And how are you planning to spend your free time?”

  Anne reached deep for courage. “A glass of wine. Maybe a soak in the tub.” She looked at the mousetrap in her hand. “Do you want to join me?”

  He didn’t answer until she lifted her chin and their gazes met. “Will there be bubbles?”

  “Probably.” In negotiations, it paid to keep your options open.

  “Then you’ve got yourself a date, ma’am. I’m a sucker for bubbles.” He started to leave, but stopped abruptly. “I almost forgot. Gramps would like you to take a video of the party, so he can see it when he gets home.”

  Anne was touched. Those Cavanaugh men really did seem to have a line on her heart. “No problem.”

  He gave a nod. Such a cowboy thing, she thought. What was it about the gesture that made her pulse race?

  WILL STOOD at the window of his cabin and squinted toward the main house. Anne was waiting. And he was almost as nervous as he’d been the last time he’d ridden a bull. Some kind of intuition had warned Will not to get into that chute that night. He’d ignored the precognition and had wound up unconscious on a gurney. For months afterward, he’d asked himself how different his life might have been if he’d listened to that voice.

  Now, his gu
t instinct told him to stay put. Let it go. Let her go. But he couldn’t. Wrong or right, being with Anne seemed fated.

  At one point in the afternoon, Will had been certain Anne was going to change her mind about letting Zoey go home with Linda. Who knew a piñata could bring out such a fierce competitive spirit in little girls? But after a short mother-daughter talk in private, Zoey settled down and the afternoon progressed without loss of life or limb. At four o’clock, all the children had piled into Linda’s minivan, Zoey waving with glee.

  Anne had looked momentarily stricken, but before he could offer a comforting hug, a phone call from New York had had her racing to the office.

  He glanced at the clock beside his bed, then at the open doors of his closet. Will couldn’t decide whether to wear what he had on—shorts and flip-flops—or jeans and boots.

  With a sigh, he walked to the bathroom. His open shaving kit reminded him of one other possible necessity. They hadn’t discussed birth control. Since his shorts lacked pockets and he didn’t want to be clutching a handful of condoms if he bumped into any of their guests, Will opted for jeans.

  When he sat down on the bed to pull on his boots, he landed on the leftover paper he’d used to wrap Zoey’s gift. Not the pony she’d hinted at but a fancy belt with her name tooled into the leather and an ornate buckle of silver with a golden horse rearing.

  She’d seemed genuinely pleased by the gift, hugging Will so fiercely his crotchety rib started to ache. But he hadn’t minded. Will knew then that he loved Anne’s daughter more than he’d dreamed possible. The thought of telling her goodbye in September made his knees weak.

  He left his cabin before he could change his mind. He didn’t bother turning off the outside light. Maybe one of them would come to their senses.

  “Nice night, isn’t it?” the couple from Dallas said as Will passed by cabin number three.

  Will took a deep breath. “Beautiful. Look at those stars.”

  “You want to see stars, you need to come to Texas,” the man said. A moment later he laughed. “Oh, hell, you’ve been to our state hundreds of times, haven’t you? Why, Lucille and I saw you ride in Abilene. That was one ballistic bull you drew. Missed out on the money, didn’t you?”