by JoAnn Ross
As they approached Tombstone—The Town Too Tough To Die, the Chamber of Commerce sign announced—they began to see more and more trucks on the road, many of them pulling trailers. Every so often one of the drivers would honk his horn and Clint would grin and wave back. Sunny began to realize that she was seeing another side of him, the easygoing rancher he’d been before the murder.
“I’ll get us checked into the motel,” he said as he passed the rodeo grounds.
The parking lot was filled with trucks and horse trailers and mobile homes. Men in jeans and brightly colored shirts moved among the vehicles, dogs trotting along beside them; a corral filled with horses had been set up on the perimeter, and columns of white smoke rose from somewhere in the midst of all the action.
“Then, while you settle into your room, I’ll go sign up.”
It was like nothing Sunny had ever seen; a wonderful, teeming world apart. As exotic as Jupiter or Mars. “Oh, can’t I go with you?”
She was practically quivering with excitement, reminding Clint of Ginger, his old quarter horse waiting in the gate for the calf-roping event. That little mare had been the sweetest animal God had ever put on this earth, able to read his mind and do whatever he wanted a second before he thought of it himself. After she’d gotten too old to rodeo, he’d changed to saddle bronc riding because, although he’d never admit it to a living soul, leaving her behind and taking another horse would have made him feel as if he were betraying her.
“You realize, of course, that I’ve gotta be nuts,” he said. He still couldn’t figure out what had made him give in to Sunny’s request in the first place.
“It’s been my impression that most people are a little crazy. In their own way.”
“You should know. Given your Looney Tunes fairy godmother story.”
Sunny was disappointed that he still didn’t believe her, yet encouraged by the humor in his tone. “You’ll see,” she promised. “One of these days you’ll believe me.”
“Sure I will.” He stopped at a red light beside a truck loaded with bulls. Their wild brown eyes stared at her through the holes in the side of the truck’s trailer. “The same day those bulls sprout wings and fly over the rodeo grounds like big live Macy’s balloons.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” she said absently as she stared back at the bulls. “Are those what you ride?”
“Yep. Them and the broncs.”
“But they look so—” she shook her head “—big. And wild. And mean.”
“That’s the idea. Since bull riding is based on a scoring system, a cowboy is only as good as the bull is bad.”
Something spooked one of the bulls. As they began shoving at each other, banging against the sides of the trailer and butting heads, Sunny began to doubt the wisdom of her plan. What if all she succeeded in doing was getting Clint killed? Then, she supposed, he’d be with his Laura. But that definitely hadn’t been the plan.
Clint didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking. “Hey,” he said, putting a finger beneath her chin and turning her gaze back to him. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t get hurt.”
This was truly a terrible mistake. What on earth had she been thinking of? To think she’d wasted a wish on something that could end up getting him killed!
“You can’t know that for certain.”
“Sure I do.”
The light changed to green. He crossed the intersection and pulled into the parking lot of the Boot Hill Motel. A neon boot at least ten feet tall blinked atop the roof. The sign said No Vacancy but Clint assured her that he’d managed to get the last two rooms.
“How?” she asked.
He surprised her by winking. “Because I’m the champ, remember?” He ruffled her hair. And then he dipped his head and kissed her, a brief, sweet kiss that ended too soon. “I’ll be right back.”
She watched as he went toward the motel office, noticing that even his walk was different. It was…cocky. A trio of women walking across the parking lot stopped when they caught sight of him. A bleached blonde with a frizzy perm called out his name and when he turned, threw herself into his arms. When she planted a long kiss right on his lips, those very same lips that had just finished kissing her, Sunny experienced a slow deep burn.
Clint laughed when the kiss ended, put his arm around the cowgirl’s shoulders and the four of them entered the motel office together.
“I wanted him to get out and meet other women,” Sunny reminded herself. “And, it seems that’s exactly what he’s doing. So, I should be happy, right?”
Right.
Now that he was getting back into the swing of things, it would be ever so much easier to match him up with Charmayne Hunter. But Sunny couldn’t help thinking of that blonde’s ripe red lips pressed so intimately against Clint’s smiling ones, or remembering how his wide dark hands splayed on her waist had caused a strange, unaccountable emotion to seethe deep inside her.
It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. It was too cold for fury, too focused for passion. She leaned her head against the back of the seat, closed her eyes and summoned up the vision again.
“Oh, no.” As understanding sank in, Sunny groaned and covered her face with her hands. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t let it be. But it was.
She was absolutely, unequivocably jealous.
She dragged her hands down her face and looked up at the bright blue desert sky. “Now what?” she asked.
HARMONY AND ANDROMEDA exchanged a look.
“Bingo,” Harmony said with a satisfied smile.
“Granted, it’s looking promising,” Andromeda said. “But there’s still that wild card Sunny threw into the game to deal with.”
She pointed down at the bright pink truck hauling a matching trailer that was pulling into the lot. On the side of the trailer, in fancy gold script, had been painted Charmayne Hunter and Buttermilk. World Champion Barrel Racer.
The driver’s door opened and long slender legs encased in a pair of skintight black jeans became visible. They were followed by the rest of Charmayne Hunter who did, unfortunately, look even better than she had in her publicity photo.
As the fairy godmothers watched, the rich, talented, sexy cowgirl Sunny had chosen for Clint took off her black hat, decorated with a gleaming silver band of turquoise studded conchos, and fluffed up her artfully tousled cloud of sable hair. Then, on a hip-swinging stride that drew a long wolf whistle from the driver of a passing pickup, she headed straight for the motel office.
“Why, Clint Garvey,” the all-too-familiar voice rang out. “Fancy seein’ you here.”
Clint purposefully loosened his shoulders that had tensed instinctively when he’d heard Charmayne Hun ter’s voice. He took his credit card back from the motel manager and slowly turned around.
“Hello, Charmayne.”
His gaze swept over her thick hair, her full lips, her magnificent breasts, which unfortunately felt like two huge stones, and her long long legs. He noticed that her cat green eyes hadn’t lost their hardness in the time since they’d been together.
“You’re looking as fine as ever,” he said politely.
“Why, thank you, darling.” Her smile was bright and pleased as she fluffed her hair and ran her tongue over those glossy red lips. “You’re lookin’ pretty good yourself.” She treated him to a slow perusal, apparently liking what she saw. “A bit more rangy than you used to be. But on you, it looks good.”
Thanks to Charmayne, the other women in the office were now all looking at him as if he were a breeding bull they were considering buying. Clint felt a warmth at the back of his neck and willed the flush to stay out of his face.
“Thanks. Well, I expect I’ll see you over at the rodeo grounds. Meanwhile—”
Charmayne put a hand on his arm. Her nails were kept short, a requirement in her business, but they’d been painted a deep red hue the color of blood. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, obviously not quite ready to let him go.
She
hadn’t been ready the last time, either. Clint remembered, with vivid clarity, the vase crashing against the doorjamb just as he’d walked through it.
“Tombstone’s always been lucky for me. I figured I might as well give it a shot.”
“You weren’t at any of the summer rodeos.”
“I was caught up in other things at the time.”
“Yes, I read about that.” Her crimson-tipped fingers stroked his forearm, her lips turned down in a regretful moue. But Clint, who had come to know this woman well, didn’t miss the quick glitter of satisfaction in those hard green eyes. Her scent surrounded him like a suffocating cloud.
“I’m so sorry, Clint. I know how much you were hoping for things to work out with your Lana.”
“Laura.”
She arched a dark brow. “Excuse me?”
“Her name was Laura.” He pried her fingers off his sleeve. “And as much as I’d love to stay here and shoot the breeze with you, Charmayne, I’ve got someone waiting out in the truck.”
“Oh?” Her smile was quick and sly and wicked. “How nice that you’ve recovered from your bereavement.”
Her words caused a familiar prick of guilt. “She’s just a friend,” he said, sounding too defensive even to his own ears.
The smile widened. “Everyone ought to have friends.”
Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against his. The kiss was as clever and hot as he remembered, and included a lot of the tongue action that she’d always been so good at. And it moved not a single thing inside him.
Not wanting to create a scene in front of such a rapt audience, he took hold of her arms and gently, but firmly, moved her away from him.
“It’s been good seeing you again, Charmayne.” His tone said otherwise. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other over the next couple of days.”
Undeterred, she trailed a red-tipped finger down the front of his shirt. “Count on it, cowboy.”
Feeling as if he were escaping the steel jaws of a mountain lion trap, Clint exhaled a huge breath of relief as he stepped outside the office.
“Was that Charmayne Hunter I saw going into the office?” Sunny asked when he returned to the truck. She’d been worrying about how to get the two of them together. Obviously, her luck was changing; with the two of them staying in such close quarters, there was no way he’d be able to resist the sexy appeal of his former lover.
“Yeah.” He put the key in the ignition and shot her a curious look. “How do you know about her?”
“I believe I saw a flyer advertising her appearance here,” she said, trying her best to sound vague. “It said something about her being a national champion.”
“Several years running,” Clint agreed.
“She’s quite stunning.”
“If you like that type, I guess.” He twisted the key, bringing the engine to life. “Our rooms are on the second floor, around back.”
“Oh, good. We’ll have a view of the rodeo grounds.”
“Yeah. Along with the aroma.” Which would, he considered, probably not be as bad as Charmayne’s perfume which seemed to be imbedded in his shirt. It overpowered Sunny’s lighter scent.
“I don’t care.” Sunny could smell the oriental perfume clinging to Clint’s clothes and hair and suspected that their reunion had gone precisely as planned. “I’m so excited about being here, I’d probably be happy sleeping in one of the barns.”
He glanced over at her, viewed the truth of that statement in her sparkling eyes and shook his head. “You really are nuts.”
His smile took the insult out of the words, and she smiled back. “You know,” she said, thinking about her earlier realization that she’d broken the cardinal rule of fairy godmother prescribed behavior by letting herself become emotionally involved with her assignment, “you may just be right.”
Her room was Spartan, but clean. The decor was an uninspiring cowboy motif. Since Sunny couldn’t imagine anyone paying for such amateuristic depictions of old-time gunfighters, she concluded they must have been painted by the motel’s owner. The carpet was orange, the bedspread olive green with black stripes, the bed was lumpy, and the television was bolted to the dresser.
“They’re not exactly five-star accommodations,” Clint apologized as he carried her single bag into the room. “But the last time I was here the sheets were clean and the toilet didn’t run all night.”
“That’s all anyone can ask,” she murmured absently, tilting her head to try to figure out if Wyatt Earp really had three arms.
“The owner paints those,” he said.
She nodded. “I thought that must be the case. Well, no one could ever call them derivative.”
He laughed at that, oddly enjoying himself. Enjoying her. “Lord, you are an unrepentant optimist, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Before she could answer, they were interrupted by someone practically shouting his name from the door he’d left open.
“Clint Garvey,” the female voice barked, “talk about a sight for sore eyes.”
Clint spun around. “Dora, you dazzling female creature, it’s been too long.” As Sunny watched in amazement, he swept the sixty-something woman off her feet in a huge bear hug.
“You keep making time with my woman, and one of these days I’m gonna have to shoot you, Clint.” This voice belonged to a short, stocky man who looked to be the same age as the woman. His head appeared bald beneath his mink brown Resitol hat, his belly overhung his belt and his legs were visibly bowed.
“It’d probably be worth it,” Clint said, laughing as he lowered the woman back to the orange carpet. “Dora’s one helluva woman, Rooster.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” the older man said. “I’m all the time havin’ to chase away you young bucks.”
“I can’t help it if men find me fascinating,” the woman said with a wink toward Sunny. She thrust out a hand. “Hi. I’m Dora O’Neal. And that jealous old coot over there is my husband Rooster. And you are…?”
“Sunny.” As Sunny’s hand disappeared into Dora’s larger one, she felt the calluses that spoke of a lifetime of hard physical work.
“Now, isn’t that a nice name. And it suits you, too. With all that pretty sunshine-bright hair. I used to be a blonde. Remember Rooster?”
“I sure do. That was the summer I ended up in the Laramie jail because Jess Lawson took too much of a shine to you.”
“He gave me a little peck on the cheek after we did the two-step. It wasn’t nothing to get riled up about,” she explained to Sunny.
“His hands were in the back pockets of your jeans and his mouth was getting damn close to yours,” Rooster complained. “I had no choice but to throw him over the bar.”
“You threw a man over a bar?” Sunny asked, appalled and fascinated at the same time.
“He was younger then,” Dora answered for her husband. “I swear, that was forty-five years ago and the man is still bent out of shape over one little kiss.”
“You’d have to be a man to understand, right, Clint?” Rooster appealed to Clint.
Clint laughed. “You’re not going to get me in the middle of this one, Rooster. Think of me as Switzerland. I’m staying absolutely neutral.”
“To think I can remember when you had guts,” Rooster complained with a slow shake of his head. “What do you think, Sunny? Should a new bride let another man smooch her at her own wedding reception?”
“I believe it’s traditional to kiss the bride,” Sunny said.
“Ha!” Dora barked. “You see, you old goat! That’s the exact same thing I told you forty-five years ago.” She grinned at Sunny. “I think you and I are gonna become good friends, Sunny.”
“I’d like that,” Sunny said, conveniently overlooking the fact that once she got Clint matched up with Charmayne Hunter she’d be leaving Arizona forever.
“Women,” Rooster complained. “Trust them to stick together. No offense meant, ma’am,” he said to Sunny.
“No offense taken, Mr. O�
��Neal,” she assured him with a smile.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He smiled back, flashing tobacco stained teeth. “You signed in yet, Clint?”
“No. We just got here. I figured we’d head over to the rodeo grounds in a little while.”
“Why don’t you come with me? Since I’m currently out of work, I’ll let you buy me a beer at the saloon next door.”
“You’re out of work? I thought you were working at the Forster spread in Montana.”
“I was. But it got sold to one of them Hollywood movie stars who decided she wanted all the cattle sold off to make room for her emus.”
“Her what?”
“Emus,” Dora said. “You know, those big ostrichlike birds.”
“I know what they are. Why on earth would anyone want to own any?”
“Why, didn’t you know?” Rooster drawled sapiently. “Beef’s out, cowboy. Now, emu steaks, that’s the meat of the future.”
“Not my future,” Clint said decidedly.
“Mine neither. Which is why I turned down her offer to be head wrangler.”
Clint threw back his head and laughed at that.
“What’s so funny?” Rooster demanded.
“I was just picturing you riding on the back of one of those big birds.”
“It’s not a pretty vision,” Dora agreed. “Which is why I didn’t shoot him when he turned down the offer for more money in a week than we’d normally make in a year…. Why don’t you boys go along and catch up on things? I’ll help Sunny unpack.”
“I don’t have that much,” Sunny demurred.
“That may be,” Dora agreed. “But if we don’t get rid of those two, we won’t have any opportunity for a girl to girl chat.”
Afraid that the chat would involve Dora fishing for information about her, Sunny didn’t find that idea very encouraging.
“Will you be all right?” Clint asked.
She could sense that he wanted to go with Rooster. She also couldn’t help noticing how relaxed he seemed with the older couple.
