by Tina Leonard
And so did Olivia.
“The Jefferson track record does suck,” he told a small cricket in the windowsill. He finished packing and left money on the bed for Delilah—she wouldn’t take it if he tried to give it to her in person. She’d given all the Jeffersons a key to the back door of her salon so they could go up the back stairs and stay whenever they were in town. A phone call was all she required, so she could make them breakfast.
A favor given was a favor returned, Delilah Honeycutt said. Since the big storm had brought Delilah and her crew of Lonely Hearts Station stylists to the ranch, there’d been plenty of favors between them.
“Goodbye little cricket. I’m going to do you a favor and put you outside where you can find a girlfriend,” he said. “Because all you’re going to find in this windowsill is smashed. And hey, I figure you, as an ugly critter only suited for swimming on the end of a fishing hook, have even less chance of getting love all figured out before you meet your cricket end than I do.”
He carried his duffel and the cricket to his truck. The duffel he tossed into the truck bed; the cricket he laid carefully in the grass. “Jump on,” he told it. “I’m going to go jump on some eggs and bacon.”
Somewhere far from Olivia’s motor home. After this afternoon’s exhibit of his paintings, he was going to pack up and return to Malfunction Junction.
Where he belonged. His own little patch of grass.
“DO YOU THINK Calhoun will come to see our act?” Minnie asked her mother as Olivia finished putting makeup on her dad’s face.
It seemed to Olivia that Barley bristled under her fingertips. “Unsquinch your face, Dad,” she said. “The white will crack if you keep doing that.
“No,” she said to the children who eagerly anticipated her answer. “No, I don’t think Calhoun will come. He has to go back home sometime, and we have to hit the road. Tonight’s the last night.”
Minnie’s face seemed shadowed. Kenny’s eyes dimmed a bit as he glanced at his grandfather. “How are your knees?” Kenny asked. “Are you feeling good?”
“I’m feeling fine, Kenny.” Barley ruffled his grandson’s hair affectionately. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ve got more jump in me than a cricket.”
Kenny blinked. “I love you, Grandpa.”
Barley nodded, and despite the clown makeup drawn around his eyes, Olivia could see the glimmer of unshed emotion.
“Hey,” Barley told him. “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight.”
“You do?” Kenny and Minnie asked hopefully.
“I do,” Barley said. His eyes met Olivia’s in the mirror.
Olivia tried to smile, but she couldn’t. Her heart was too heavy. The well of sadness was too darkly puzzling. Why should she care if she never saw Calhoun again?
The smile slipped from her father’s face. Olivia blinked as she realized Barley had read her emotions.
“Damn it, Olivia,” he said.
She burst into tears and fled to the back of the motor home.
BUT AN HOUR LATER, Olivia was in full control of herself. She wore her riding costume, a rhinestone-sparkled pair of jeans, a silky white tie top and white boots with fringes. Her expression felt as painted on as her father’s.
“I’m ready,” she told him, raising her chin.
He looked at her for a minute, then nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“There’s no reason to ever be sorry in a family,” she told him. “You’re right. And I’m fine.”
“Still.” He reached out and softly touched her hair. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”
“It’s all right.”
They looked at each other another moment, and then she walked out the door to saddle Gypsy. The kids silently helped her, while Barley closed up the motor home. Olivia’s stiff movements felt unnatural to her. She caught herself glancing over her shoulder toward the open pathway, and then realized she was looking for Calhoun.
After that, she turned her back and kept her gaze solely on the task at hand.
She had never been so glad to be leaving a place in all her riding career. Lonely Hearts Station, indeed. Her father had his feelings hurt by a woman who lived here, and now she had bad memories of her own to pack up and take with her.
She hoped Calhoun was gone by now. She hadn’t left the trailer all day. She hadn’t wanted to run into him before his exhibit was finished. The kids had played Yahtzee with her, and cards, and they’d baked chocolate chip cookies that they’d cut from a roll. It had been a sweet interlude, just the four of them, resting together as a family until show time.
And now it was show time.
Time to show herself that she wasn’t the same girl who’d fallen for the last cowboy who’d pretended to give her his heart.
Thirty minutes later, she had Gypsy in the breezeway of the arena. It was packed tonight, which was good, because Gypsy loved crowds. She seemed to perform best when she had a big arena.
Barley agreed with Olivia on that. He said Gypsy was a true show horse, born to love the limelight.
“Well, you are an ole lime,” Olivia told the horse affectionately, rubbing under the horse’s mane. “And look at all that light you get tonight.”
She held back the curtain, telling herself she wasn’t scanning the crowd for Calhoun. Why would he be here, anyway? That cowboy with his flowery and earnest words was long gone.
Verbal foreplay. She petted the horse’s neck. “All I wanted was to know that I wasn’t afraid, you know. That’s not wrong, Gypsy. And you know what? With the right man, I might have been a good wife.”
Gypsy tossed her head.
“Oo-la-la,” Olivia said. “Aren’t we the fiery miss tonight?”
She swung up into the saddle, as Kenny and Minnie waited by the curtain.
“Good luck, Momma,” Minnie called.
“Good luck, Gypsy,” Kenny said.
Olivia rode into the ring, her heart nearly stopping as she realized that, not only was Calhoun still in town, but he was sitting in the audience.
With a life-size portrait of Kenny and Minnie staring down at her from beside him in the fifth row.
Chapter Seven
Ignore him, Olivia commanded herself. Don’t look at the portrait, either.
But what mother couldn’t look at a portrait of her angels? She’d never had a portrait of her kids before. A few photographs were scattered about the motor home, but still…a portrait.
She sneaked another look.
Calhoun tipped his hat to her.
Minnie and Kenny slid into the seats next to Calhoun, oohing and aahing over their painting. Olivia couldn’t hear them, but the joy was clearly expressed in Minnie’s round mouth and wide eyes and in Kenny’s little shove to get a closer look.
Calhoun grinned at Olivia.
She turned away quickly, focusing on the act. Gypsy shifted underneath her, impatient to begin.
I very nearly missed my cue, Olivia realized. That crazy cowboy was disrupting everything in her life!
And yet, the disruption had felt wonderful—for a moment.
“Nothing lasts, Gypsy,” she said. “Let’s go!”
They spun around the barrels at top speed, fringe flying and Gypsy’s mane bouncing. In and out, they traversed the barrels as the announcer called their names. Briefly, Barley appeared in the arena, bowing to the crowd, then he was gone.
If Olivia didn’t know the gag so well, even she wouldn’t know where he’d gone. She pulled on her mask with a flourish for the audience, patted Gypsy’s blinders and let the horse move forward.
The Star Barrel didn’t contain Grandpa, although Gypsy poked her nose in there, then shook her head at the audience, to their delight.
The Flame Barrel didn’t contain Grandpa, and Gypsy lifted her head, giving the crowd a big, wide-tooth grin. It was really a lips-pulled-back-from-teeth expression, but she could do it so well, it looked like a cartoon smile.
That left the Sparkly S barrel, and now Gypsy catered to the crowd, prancing u
p to it and giving it a knock-knock-knock with her hoof.
Grandpa cried, “Ow, ow, ow!”
Gypsy smiled at the crowd again, letting them in on her joke. She stuck her nose down in the barrel, letting out a loud, “Neeeeee!”
Then she cantered over to the other side of the arena, and Olivia took off her mask to pass apples to the kids from baskets that had been placed there as part of the act. Of course, it was Calhoun’s side of the audience, so both her children wanted apples, and he reached for one, too, with a whispered, “I was playing, too,” while Olivia knew Grandpa was doing the barrel switch.
It was all going to plan except for Calhoun.
Darn his oh-too-sexy smile. It was guaranteed to lure a girl’s heart right out of her chest.
Gypsy took an apple in her mouth, walking it over to the Sparkly S barrel. She looked in the barrel, then stared at the crowd. She looked in the barrel again, then back at the crowd.
They called, “He’s in the Star Barrel!”
So Gypsy ate his apple, which made everyone laugh. Without missing her cue, she walked over, backed up to it and tipped the Star barrel over. Grandpa crawled out like a spider, running around the ring with great tosses of colored confetti. The children loved it, and Gypsy put one hoof on the Star barrel, posing in a winner’s stance.
Gypsy did a side-step routine while stand-in clowns passed apples out to the second side of the arena.
And then everything went eerily quiet. Gypsy stood still. Olivia wanted desperately to lift her mask, which she’d pulled down after the first apple gifting, but she was afraid to spoil the show. Gypsy always knew what to do. It was her act. She would have to rely on the horse to tell her what she needed to do.
Nothing happened for a few moments. The crowd began murmuring, and then gave a loud gasp before applause broke out. Olivia was dying to peek, but she didn’t dare. If she did, no one would ever believe that the show was Gypsy’s; they would think Gypsy’s magic was led by human hands, when, in fact, it was Gypsy’s own.
Gypsy moved slightly forward. Olivia tensed, knowing something was wrong. She thought she heard a scuffle on the sawdust-cushioned floor. Maybe a child had thrown something into the audience. Occasionally, someone had a tough time getting all their children settled. But normally nothing rattled Gypsy.
At the final second, when Olivia didn’t think she could bear it another moment, Gypsy moved forward.
But she did it more slowly than usual. At the Star barrel, the horse took a longer look than before. She held her pose with pulled-back teeth a second longer at the Flame barrel, for the opposite side of the arena to see. And at the Sparkly S, she knock-knock-knocked with her hoof a bit more gently than normal.
Her explosive neigh was turned down a few decibels as she looked inside the barrel.
“Good horse,” she heard a man’s voice say. “I like my ladies a little louder, though.”
So Gypsy blasted away, before prancing over to the third side of the arena, her gait quite spry, as if she understood that everything was fine.
It was a joke, Olivia realized. Grandpa wasn’t in the barrel! “I like my ladies a little louder?” she repeated.
“Pardon?” a man in the audience said to her.
“Nothing,” she said hurriedly.
The kids in the audience were laughing. Olivia didn’t dare look behind her, because that would destroy the fooled-you! part of the show. Grandpa should be switching barrels now…except the voice that had spoken to Gypsy had sounded suspiciously like…Calhoun.
Impossible.
“Never saw that other clown do handsprings before,” some kid said.
“Must be his replacement,” the father said.
His replacement! Olivia’s throat dried out.
“Look! Three clowns!” the children cried. “This is the best show ever!”
“Looks like a plain old cowboy to me,” the father said. “Maybe the clown had lots of friends to help him out. Nice of them to help him since he’s down and out.”
Down! Out! It took everything Olivia had not to rip off her mask and go running to her father. The show, she reminded herself. Dad always said the show must go on. Show time is magic time.
Her hands trembled on the reins. But Gypsy, pro horse that she was, spun into the arena gaily, as if her routine hadn’t changed a bit. She went looking for the barrel containing a human, and when the children called out the secret, she backed up to the barrel and ever so carefully rolled it over.
She didn’t pose on it this time.
“Good Gypsy,” Calhoun said. “That was the part I was worried about. But your horsie-tushie knows how to treat a man right.”
Olivia whipped off her mask. “What are you doing?”
“Keep your composure, minx. Your father had a bit of a wayward moment and decided to take a break. He’ll be fine in a jiffy. In the meantime, I decided to see if I could save the show. I’m doing pretty good, aren’t I?” He gave her a cocky grin. “What a woman you are,” he told Gypsy. “Quite the star power in this group. The Mama of Drama, if you will.”
Gypsy gave him a grin.
“Your children think I’m pretty cool,” he told Olivia. “They’re clapping for moi.”
They were, Olivia saw, the little peddlers for attention. Still, credit had to be given where it was due. “Thank you,” she said. “My father wouldn’t have ever wanted a show to end on a bad note.”
“This one’s going to end on a best note,” Calhoun told her. “Watch me and this drama queen.”
He swung up in the saddle behind Olivia and closed his hands over hers on the reins. “Show time,” he murmured in her ear. “Lucky me, I’m in front of the home crowd, too. Gypsy, let’s go!”
And go that crazy show pony did, much to Olivia’s amazement. Flipping her mane like a tempestuous hoyden, Gypsy went around barrels, winding and dipping, though more slowly because of the extra weight. Giving in to her old training, she danced sideways and then ran another lap.
The audience couldn’t stop clapping.
“Stop,” Olivia told him.
“No way,” Calhoun told her as Gypsy began bowing to the four corners. “This may be the only time I have your fanny between my thighs, and I intend to enjoy every moment of the fantasy. Stop this? I say, let’s go, Gypsy!”
The horse began cantering around the ring. Now Olivia was aware of the proximity to Calhoun’s…well, his manhood, and all her modesty came rushing back.
“I’m getting down,” she said.
“You can’t leave now. We’re just getting started.”
“You cannot shanghai me in front of my children,” Olivia said stiffly. “Scoot back. You’re too close.”
“Ah. Only so much room on Gypsy. We’ll just have to live for the moment.”
Olivia ground her teeth as he squeezed her a little with his thighs. Darn if he wasn’t making her think about things she didn’t want to! “If I get one hand off these reins, I’m not going to use it to applaud you,” she told him.
“Now you’re talking my language,” Calhoun said, laughter in his voice. “I knew you’d be a foxy lady of pleasure.”
Olivia gasped. “I meant I’d slap you!”
“Hmm.” Gypsy returned to the center of the arena, posing one last time for the audience, and Calhoun slipped one hand around Olivia’s waist now that they’d slowed down. “I’ve heard slap-and-tickle is fun, but I much prefer to be gentle.”
Okay, so she wouldn’t slap him, but she was definitely getting away from this lunatic before she completely ruined her reputation, in front of her children, in front of an audience. Sliding down, she curtsied to the crowd.
She pointed to Gypsy, who did her version of a horse curtsy.
And it would be bad manners to ignore the man who’d saved their show. Staring at him rebelliously, she pointed at him in thanks.
The crowd went wild. Calhoun grinned, and in a moment she would never forgive him for, he galloped across the arena, whisked Kenny and Minnie u
p into the saddle with him and tore around the ring in a victory lap.
He might as well have taken over her whole world, Olivia thought. The crowd loved him.
And darn him, she was falling for him fast.
His reward was applause and her children’s smiles. Her heart raced in a frightened tattoo. Someone should arrest this man before he lassoed her heart!
The victory lap complete, Calhoun brought Gypsy to stand beside Olivia. He slid down from the horse’s back and dipped Olivia backward in a completely showy, unnecessary gesture. When he pulled her back up to him she was spitting mad and bristly like a cat, but Calhoun went ahead and gave Olivia a kiss on the mouth that beat all the other kisses he’d given her so far.
Then he had the nerve to bow to the audience.
She was going to kill him.
“I’M GOING TO KILL HIM,” Barley said to Archer and Bandera Jefferson as he lay on his back on a stretcher. “I am going to kill your brother if I have to use the last breath I have on this earth.”
“Easy, Daddy-O,” Archer told him. “Don’t heat your ticker up more than it already is.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Barley snapped. “Except your brother.”
Bandera pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. “So, you like cards, Mr. Peppermint?”
“My name’s Barley,” the clown interrupted. “And you’d best remember it.”
“I have a faulty memory. But I do remember Mr. Peppermint,” Bandera said fondly. “I loved his little worm friend. What was the name of that worm? You may not have seen Mr. Peppermint since it was a local show.” He shuffled the cards on Barley’s blanket-covered stomach. “Now, come on, I do believe you’re a twenty-one kind of man. When you’re feeling better, we’ll challenge you at rummy. Not a man alive can beat me at rummy.”
“You look like a card player, though not a betting man,” Archer said. “Am I right?”
Barley glared at him.
“Well,” Archer said, “you’ve made your feelings about Calhoun plain in the last thirty minutes he’s been saving your show.”
“Preening popinjay. I know what he’s really after. I’d like to snatch him down off my horse and give him a thrashing.”
