"He fwore," a childish voice piped loudly and cheerfully. "I thought you said cowboys don't fwear?"
Cash dragged his gaze away from the gorgeous eyes to see the small boy sitting next to her.
"Real cowboys don't," the girl said primly.
Cash turned his gaze back to her, scowling and revising his opinion of her eyes as he did so. They weren't all that special.
But they didn't flinch, either. They just looked right at him, hopefully, expectantly … and waited. Waited? For what?
"Or at least they apologize," she said at last.
Cash's scowl deepened. He knew a challenge when he heard one. Well, he wasn't going to do it. He had no use for prissy women. But she didn't look prissy, or particularly judgmental, come to that. The look she gave him was almost hopeful, as if she was counting on him.
Hell. Cash revised that. Heck.
Damn—darn it. He didn't want to offend little children! But he'd had a good ride going! Two more lousy seconds and he'd have had gas money for the rest of the month.
The little boy stuck his thumb in his mouth and regarded Cash solemnly.
Cash gave a quick jerk of his head and muttered, "Sorry." It was the least he could say, so he said it.
The smile he got paid him back tenfold. Cripes, it damned near blinded him! He stumbled back and almost fell off the blasted fence.
"Whoa! 'Sa matter? He kick ya in the head?" Rod demanded. He reached over from the rail beside the chute and hauled Cash the rest of the way over the fence. "You all right?"
"Fine," Cash muttered. But he wasn't.
He'd never had a reaction like that to any woman in his life! It was like the one time he'd been fool enough to ride a bull and got his head butted for his trouble. He felt dazed. Reeling.
It couldn't just be from a smile. Could it?
Naw. Of course not. He must've hit his head, too.
But as Rod hauled him away, Cash twisted his head to take another look, willing the girl to look at him, to smile again.
But the next rider had just burst from the gate and the little boy yelled, "Lookit!" and the girl's attention was lost.
"C'mon. I'm up. Pull my rope," Rod said to him.
"Rope?"
"Rope," Rod repeated as if he were teaching Cash a foreign language. "Geez. Maybe you oughta get your head X-rayed."
"Maybe." Cash shook his head, stumbled over the rail and helped Rod pull his rope. Then he had to help Pete with his. Then one of the steer wrestlers asked him to haze.
When he finally had time to glance that way again, the girl—whoever she was—was gone.
"Only half an hour," Rod promised, his footsteps quickening as they headed toward the hall where the dance music was already blaring.
"Half an hour?" Cash balked. He was tired and irritable and out of sorts: He'd won no money, his new red shirt had a rip in it, and everything he owned seemed to hurt. He damned well didn't want to spend half an hour propping up a wall while Rod put the make on one of Wilsall's willing women.
Rod had placed third. He had money in his wallet, a smile on his face and no aches and pains to speak of. Luck was on his side. He'd probably even find a lovely lady to spend the night with.
Cash, for the moment a realist, knew he wouldn't. He wanted to lie down. Anywhere. And he didn't even care if it was alone. Mrs. Reed's couch sounded damned good right now.
"Fifteen minutes," Rod said. "If I haven't met a girl in fifteen minutes we'll go."
Cash scowled. "Five," he bargained. "Shouldn't take you more than that."
Rod flashed him a grin. "You got more faith in me than I do. Ten, then. Reckon I can charm one in ten. Get yourself a beer and stand by the door. If I don't come in ten minutes, catch a ride with somebody and leave me the truck, okay?"
Cash grunted. But that was fair. There had been times he'd made Rod wait for him. He got a beer and parked himself against the wall to watch. He was a pretty fair dancer when all his body parts were in working order. Tonight he could count the ones that worked on the fingers of one hand.
He probably should have put an elastic bandage back around his ribs after Rod had cut off the tape after Cash's ride. But he'd got busy, and then he'd decided to do it when they got back to Pete's place. That might've been a mistake.
His ribs hurt, and they made him feel a little vulnerable in a crowd like this. One good elbow and—the very thought made him wince.
The hard beat of the honky-tonk tune blaring over the speakers found a rhythm in the pulse of his breath against his ribs. He tried to breathe more shallowly. His gaze found Rod, chatting with a cute little blonde next to the soft-drink table. Rod grinned an "aw shucks" grin and Cash watched cynically as the girl dimpled in response. Then Rod scratched the back of his head and shuffled his feet. The girl batted her lashes and simpered.
Cash glanced at his watch. Seven minutes and counting. Yeah, Rod would probably make it. Cash saw him cock his head and hold out a hand to the girl. She smiled and put hers in his. Rod swept her into the dance.
Cash shut his eyes and shook his head.
When he opened them again, the music had stopped. Rod and the girl were nowhere to be seen. Couples milled and mingled. Another tune, louder and brassier than the first, began.
Cash took a swallow of his beer, wishing for something stronger. Not just to dull the pain. It wasn't just the pain. God knew he hurt. But it was more than that.
For all his buoyancy earlier in the evening, he'd been whistling in the dark and he knew it. He hadn't been making the rides lately. He hadn't seen the pay window in damn near three weeks. Sure, a guy had bad luck now and then. Cash understood that and could be philosophical if he had to be.
But being full was good, too. Meals like the one Pete's mother had made for them this afternoon were getting fewer and farther between. Philosophy was all well and good, but it only kept your belly from aching for just so long. He had to start winning.
He caught sight of Rod again, grinning like the Cheshire cat now, tipping back and forth on the soles of his boots and damn near drooling over the girl he was trying to impress. "Get on with it," Cash muttered. He glanced at his watch impatiently. Four and a half minutes to go.
He took another pull on his beer and shifted his weight from one boot to the other, wincing as he did so.
"Did you hurt yourself?"
For a second he didn't think the soft feminine voice was directed at him. He barely heard it anyway above the music, talk and laughter. But when the words were repeated, he glanced around—and saw her.
She stood just three feet away and was looking right at him, big beautiful green eyes full of concern—the girl from the rodeo.
"Er," Cash said, jerking up straight. His first impulse was to say no, he hadn't hurt himself. He was tough. Of course he was. Cowboys were. It was a rule of the road.
But women didn't always want a guy to be tough, did they? Sometimes they liked to fuss over a fellow, sympathize with him. Maybe rub his back. Kiss him and make it better.
How maudlin was that? Pretty, Cash had to admit. But he couldn't help the grimace as he turned. He reached back and rubbed the nape of his neck. "Just a little stiff," he allowed. Then he did his own version of the "aw, shucks" grin. "I've been hurt lots worse."
"You have?" The jade eyes got even bigger. She looked really worried now.
Cash swallowed carefully. "Yes, ma'am. Busted my leg in Window Rock last year. Got thirty-eight stitches in my ear from a bull in Pendleton soon as I came back. These—" he touched the line of the most recent ones he'd got only last Sunday "—ain't nothin' compared to that. It's my shoulder hurts the most tonight," he confided. "An' my ribs. Cracked a couple of 'em a while back."
She didn't say a word, just stared.
Cash wondered if he'd overplayed his hand. Most women were cooing and clucking and patting at him by this point in his recitation. This girl looked like she was afraid to touch him.
He cleared his throat and offered his hand. "My name's Cash C
allahan."
"I know."
He blinked. "You do?"
She reddened slightly. "I looked up your number on the program."
"Oh." He felt his cheeks warm, too. "Er, yeah." Of course she had! Lots of girls did. He knew that. Why wasn't he thinking? Why was he staring at her like he was some junior high kid who'd never talked to a girl?
She still hadn't taken his hand. He reached out and took a gentle hold of her shoulder and turned her around.
She looked over her shoulder at him, a questioning expression on her face. He shrugged. "You're not wearin' a number. And I don't have a program."
The color in her cheeks deepened. "I'm Milly Malone." She turned back and took his hand, shook it for barely more than an instant, then dropped it and knotted her fingers together, looking down at them.
Cash was charmed. "Milly Malone," he repeated. He didn't know why, but it made him smile. She made him smile. His gaze narrowed just a little. "How come you don't think I'm a real cowboy, Milly Malone?"
She looked up quickly. "I shouldn't have said that."
A corner of Cash's mouth lifted. "Reckon you were right—about the swearin' part. I shouldn't've said it. Not in front of a kid. I was just … steamed." He shook his head in frustration. "I should've ridden him."
"He was mean."
Cash blinked. Broncs weren't mean. Not most of 'em. Certainly not this one. But if she wanted to think so… He scratched his jaw. "Maybe just a little," he allowed.
"He almost stepped on you."
"Yeah." Then honesty compelled him to add, "But he wasn't tryin' to. Now bulls, that's different. They try to do you in."
Milly Malone gave a small shudder. "I didn't want to watch the bulls."
"Most people, it's what they like. They're hopin' for a crash."
She shuddered. "Not me. It gives me the creeps."
"Guys who ride 'em know what they're doin'," Cash assured her. "They understand the risks."
But Milly Malone just shook her head. "I'm glad you don't ride bulls," she said and once more looked up at him with those glorious green eyes of hers.
Cash had to suck in his breath. "Never," he said stoutly. Then honesty reared its ugly head again, and he found himself backing off that, too. "Well, I have," he admitted. "A couple of times. Well, maybe twenty or so. But not too often. Don't like 'em as much as I like broncs. But I do like to eat."
Milly's eyes widened. "Eat?"
A wry grin touched his mouth. "Sometimes I need to do both to make enough money to keep goin'."
"You could quit and get a real job."
Now it was Cash's eyes widening. In horror. "God, no," he said fervently.
And suddenly Milly laughed.
It was a full-throated, marvelous sound. As if he'd actually said something funny instead of the absolute truth. But it didn't matter. He loved her laugh as much as he'd loved her smile. It made her whole face light up. It made her green eyes sparkle.
"I like what I do," he told her. "And I get by. At the moment I've got enough to feed me—and you, too," he added, stretching the truth just a bit. "How 'bout gettin' something to eat?"
Milly hesitated. "How about a soft drink?"
He wasn't sure if she wasn't hungry or if she somehow guessed how badly straitened his finances actually were. Whichever, he didn't care. He just wanted some more time with her, some more smiles from her.
And maybe…
Maybe he wouldn't have to spend the night on Mrs. Reed's sofa after all.
Milly had never been to a rodeo in her life. She'd never picked up a man in her life. She'd certainly never invited one back to her apartment before!
But then, until last week she'd never had an apartment of her own. It just went to show what a wild woman she'd been hiding deep inside her all of her nineteen years!
Her mother had been right to worry when Milly had come home after her sophomore year at Montana State had ended to announce that she was subleasing an apartment for the summer.
"An apartment? But you have a perfectly good room here!" her mother had exclaimed.
Which was true. But Milly was tired of living in her old room like she was still a child. She hadn't even gone away to school and lived in the dorms like her friends. She'd just commuted over the pass every day from her parents' house in Livingston.
"It's easier that way," her father had said. "Cheaper, too."
And of course, he was right. She didn't have to pay for housing, and she could continue to work in the small family grocery store where she'd been working since she could barely see above the counter.
She would, of course, continue to help this summer, too. But she wasn't going to live at home. So when her friend, Alexis, whose father did something cinematographic in Hollywood but had a bolt hole apartment in Livingston, offered to share said apartment with Milly for the summer, Milly couldn't help but say yes.
She'd only moved in three days ago, but already she felt more grown-up, more alive, more daring.
That was probably why she'd let Alexis drag her to the rodeo.
But she'd still had one foot in her old life, because she'd let her sister, Dori, talk her into taking her two-year-old nephew, Jacob, with her.
"He needs to see what real men do," Dori had said. She was a single mom—the single dad having taken off before Jake was born and never come back—and she wanted Jake to know that men were different than women.
"He knows," Milly said. There was no way on earth Jake could mistake her father's judgmental, curt masculine behavior for that of the rest of the long-suffering, compassionate members of the Malone family.
"Please?" Dori said. "I just need a little space."
Milly understood that, and felt instant sympathy. She knew how hard Dori worked to keep the wolf from the door and her father from saying, "I told you so."
"Okay," she'd said. In fact, she thought taking Jake would be a good idea. It would give her a reason for going, if anyone asked. She would just say she was taking her nephew.
She didn't want people thinking she was there to snag a cowboy like Alexis was!
So why on earth was she bringing one home? Well, that was complicated.
It was a little bit guilt for having insulted this particular one by telling her nephew that he wasn't a real cowboy. It was a little bit concern because he really did have a lean, hungry look that had almost as much to do with food as it did interest in the opposite sex. It wouldn't hurt to give him a meal, Milly rationalized.
And it would prove that her mother was wrong. Carole Malone was sure Milly was going to use bad judgment when it came to men. She knew Milly wasn't experienced enough to handle them, and she was positive that her younger daughter would do exactly what Dori had done—and get herself pregnant the minute she went out on her own.
Well, Milly wasn't Dori!
She never had been Dori. Dori had always been rebellious and headstrong and devil-may-care. Milly had been disgustingly responsible from the word go.
So responsible, in fact, that she was determined to feed a hungry cowboy she'd just met.
And if she had any other interest in him, well, she wasn't ready to acknowledge it. Yet.
So she let him buy her a Coke and lead her outside. They wandered past the parked cars toward the pasture that bumped up against the foothills. Milly sipped her drink slowly, relishing the moment, just looking around, registering everything, committing it to memory, not speaking.
Cash seemed content just to look, too. But a sidelong glance at him told her he wasn't looking at what he could see of the mountains and the foothills and the valley in the moonlight. He was looking at her.
Milly jerked her gaze away.
The full moon was turning the last of last winter's snow into narrow silver streaks where it still clung to the Crazy Mountains. It was a scene Milly saw every day of her life. Normally she barely noticed.
Tonight she did. Tonight the mountains looked mysterious. The moon looked romantic, like the sort that hung over the
scene in a movie where the man put his arm around the girl and drew her close. The scene where he fit his body to her and tipped her chin up and—
Whoa! Hold on a minute! You've only met this guy, she warned herself.
But even so, her heart beat a little bit faster, and she sipped her drink a little more quickly. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the can. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her cowboy.
Out of the corner of his eye, she could tell he still watched her.
She wished she knew what other girls talked about when they picked up men. Dori seemed to have been born knowing what to talk about. Not Milly. Milly thought sometimes she ought to take a course in conversational English!
"Just jump in," Dori once told her after a disastrous prom date. "Talk. They'll listen. They don't bite." Then she'd giggled. "Much."
Milly remembered her cheeks turning a much brighter pink than Dori's at that remark. She was pretty sure they were turning pink even now as she thought it. She was cursed with fair skin that blushed at every opportunity. Her father said she looked like his mother, "a wild Irish rose."
Her father was poetic—for a grocer. And straitlaced.
He wouldn't approve of her cowboy. And he certainly wouldn't have approved of her turning down Cash Callahan's offer of a second Coke, countering with an offer to cook him a meal instead.
"I'd be happy to do it," she said quickly, trying to get past her awkwardness as fast as possible, "if you'd like one."
"Like one?" Cash's brows hiked up a notch. Then he rubbed his flat belly and grinned his wonderful cowboy grin. "Lead me to it."
So she did.
She took him home. She didn't worry that Alexis would be there. She knew the local cowboy Alexis had her sights set on, and she didn't doubt that Alexis would be successful in her quest.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Alexis had said when they'd separated at the door of the dance hall after the rodeo.
"But—"
"I won't need a ride. And don't wait up." Then, waggling her fingers at Milly, she'd set off after the local bull rider she'd had her eye on.
THE COWBOY CRASHES A WEDDING Page 3
