by Nancy Martin
His home and friends were in Seattle, but he didn’t have to live there if something better turned up. Now he had the whole West Coast to roam. From Santa Fe to Vancouver, he could go wherever he pleased. Perhaps it was time to renew his pilot’s license, he thought with pleasure. There was no need to tie himself to the condo in Seattle anymore.
He hadn’t expected his life to change so much, but suddenly Henry felt as if he were standing at the top of a very long and exciting ski slope.
He wanted to share the great news and bought flowers for Carly in the hotel boutique. He needed her opinion and longed to hear her thoughts. More than anything, he wanted to be with Carly again.
Suddenly he heard her voice behind him in the lobby. Hank turned around, ready to call her name.
It was Carly, all right. But for an instant, Hank didn’t recognize her. She strode into the lobby wearing a ridiculous cowboy getup complete with rhinestones on her shirt and fringe on her buckskin shirt. She wore snakeskin boots on her feet and a cocky white Stetson-style hat atop her blond hair. Her earrings were gold pistols, and from her shoulder swung a bag in the shape of a miniature Spanish saddle. Dolly Parton never looked half so silly.
“C—Carly?”
She swung around and laughed. “Howdy, Hank! How are you, sugar pie?”
Hank staggered backward as she flung her arms around his neck and planted a huge, red-lipsticked kiss on his mouth. Someone laughed from the direction of the reception desk. He almost dropped the flowers he was holding in one hand, but his other arm automatically went around her slim body.
She feels like Carly, he thought dimly. She just doesn’t look like her.
Carly pulled back and looked up at him with devilment sparkling in her blue eyes. “What’s the matter, Hank? You look surprised to see me.”
Almost too astonished to speak, he asked, “What in the world is going on?”
“Why, I’m taking you out on the town, that’s all. C’mon! The limo’s waiting.”
“Limo?” Hank’s head spun in confusion.
Laughing, Carly dragged him by the hand until they were outside the hotel. There, parked at the end of the canopy, stood the most ridiculous limousine Hank had ever seen in his life. It was painted white with big brown cow spots. The roof had been replaced by a gigantic cowboy hat, and an enormous rack of horns from a steer. The driver blew the horn, and the air was torn by the bellow of an enraged bull.
The hotel doorman looked as if a real cow had suddenly made an unsanitary deposit on the immaculate carpet.
“What do you think?” Carly asked. “Does it make you feel like home?”
Hank recovered enough poise to say, “I think I’m catching on now. Carly, if this is your way of—”
“My way of making you feel welcome in Los Angeles. It is, sugar pie. Now, hop in. I’ve got another surprise in store for you!”
Hank couldn’t resist her and allowed Carly to drag him into the back seat of the long car. Once the door was closed, he remembered the flowers and handed them into her lap.
“Here,” he said. “I know these are a small apology for everything I’ve done, but—”
“Roses! Aren’t they beautiful.” Carly held the fragrant bouquet to her nose and managed to knock off her cowboy hat “Oops. I can’t lose this, can I?”
Hank took the hat from her hand and tossed it on the opposite seat as the limousine began to move. He decided to make his move, too, and wound his arms around Carly. Pressing her back into the cushions, he swooped in to kiss her.
Carly didn’t resist, but wrapped her arms around his neck. She met the coming kiss eagerly, her lips full of fire.
Any worries Hank entertained that Carly might be truly angry with him evaporated with that kiss. She was still Carly—the woman who had cried and laughed in his arms, made steamy love with him and watched Hank make a fool of himself back in South Dakota. He thought he could feel her heart tremble beneath all those rhinestones, and when he touched her knee with his fingertips, he absorbed her quiver.
When he withdrew only far enough to press softer kisses against her earlobe, Hank whispered, “I’ve missed you. It feels like we’ve been apart for ages.”
“I’m glad you came,” Carly whispered back, then slid her unsteady fingers into his hair to draw Hank’s lips to her own again.
Hank savored the taste of her, the scent of her skin, the silky texture of her hair. She felt exciting in his arms, full of promise and surprises.
“Carly, where are we going?”
Her eyes sparkled up at him. “The perfect place for dinner.”
“Can I convince you to turn this crazy limo around and go back to my hotel?”
“And miss all the fun I have planned for you? Not on your neckerchief, sweetie. Speakmg of neckerchiefs, where is yours?” She tugged at the collar of his cashmere shirt, feigning surprise at finding him dressed so differently. “And your boots? And those nice dusty jeans?”
“I know I’ve got some explaining to do.”
Carly touched his lips with her forefinger. “Not until after we’ve painted the town, Hank. Ready? Here’s where we’ll work up our appetites.”
Hank looked out the car window and found that the driver had brought them to a country-western bar complete with a cactus and a horse tied up out front.
The horse was real, too. It stood placidly in front of a hitching post. The name of the bar flashed in neon, “Monty’s Midnight Saloon.”
Hank said, “Oh, no.”
Laughing, Carly climbed over him and popped open the car door. “Let’s go, cowboy! I want you to show all these city slickers some of your fancy broncobusting.”
Hank groaned. “Carly, what have you done?”
She skipped up the sidewalk to the door of the bar and patted the nose of the tied horse. “This sweetheart reminds me of Laverne, don’t you think?”
Without waiting for his response, she tipped her hat at the establishment’s bouncer, who was dressed like a rodeo rider except that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His arms bulged with muscles, and his hair was perfectly blown dry. The young man towered over Hank and looked as if he might outweigh both Carly and Hank put together.
“Hi, Delbert,” Carly said gaily. “Did you save us some space on the dance floor?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of room inside, Miss Cortazzo,” replied the young man, with a trace of shyness in his smile. He opened the door for them. “Monty’s doesn’t really get busy until later.”
“Maybe we’ll stay all night!” she cried, sashaying through the teepee-shaped doorway of Monty’s Midnight Saloon.
“Who was that?” Hank asked, momentarily blinded when they plunged into a dazzling display of flashing disco lights.
“One of Twilight’s former models. Isn’t he sweet? Delbert was in our pet-look-alike calendar.”
“What was his pet? An elephant?”
“No, a rottweiler puppy. They were adorable together. How about a drink?”
Hank followed Carly into the nightspot, taking notice of the neon lights shaped like bucking broncos and howling coyotes. Wailing country music rent the air. A few brightly clad patrons were dancing on a shiny floor strewn with peanut shells. Delbert was right. There was plenty of room inside.
The waitresses who circulated among the small tables were dressed in Native American costumes, but Hank didn’t recognize the tribe. He doubted that any self-respecting Sioux could have survived a single winter in such short skirts.
The bartender was a John Wayne look-alike. He leaned down and said in a Duke-like drawl, “Howdy, pilgrims. Are you parched?”
“What?”
Carly nudged Hank with her elbow. “He wants to know if we’d like a drink.”
“Oh, sure. Uh—what’s the specialty of the house?”
“Tonight it’s margaritas.”
Hank gulped. “Well, when in Rome.”
John Wayne leaned his elbow on the bar and stuck his face close to Hank’s. “This ain’t Rome, pilgrim. It’s
Monty’s Midnight Saloon. And if you don’t want a drink, you can hightail it outta here.”
“Okay, okay.” Hank put some cash on the bar. “We’ll take two.”
“Let’s dance!” Carly cried as the bartender turned away to prepare their drinks.
“Carly—”
“Do you know how to two-step?”
“I’ll fake it.”
Hank was pleased to see the surprise on Carly’s s face when he seized her around the waist and steered her onto the dance floor in a moderately serviceable two-step. He spun her twice, making her laugh. The music must have been loud enough to rival a live rock concert, but the dancers seemed to enjoy the howls of the singer.
But halfway around the floor, Carly spied the mechanical bull whirling riderlessly in one corner. “Ohh, look!” she cried. “Why don’t you show us how it’s done, Hank?”
“You want to see me killed?”
“Believe me,” she retorted, “I’ve considered murdering you myself for the past day or so. Come on, get up on that bull, cowboy!”
“I think you’ve had your fun,” said Hank, pulling her back into the dance.
Carly managed to blink up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I can see you’ve figured out the whole thing.”
“I have?”
“Look, I never meant for the charade to get out of hand,” Hank said sincerely. “Everything I did was wrong, I know.”
“Then why did you do it?”
He spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t know. It seemed right at the time.”
“And now?”
Surprised, Hank realized that Carly had tears in her eyes. This was the last thing he expected to find—himself tongue-tied and Carly upset. He said, “I didn’t think it would be important.”
“The truth isn’t important?” Her gaze began to flash even hotter than before.
“Not always, no. I knew you’d come to South Dakota with a plan to take a lot of stupid pictures. In a few days, you’d leave. What could a little white lie hurt?”
Carly’s cheeks flushed. “Stupid pictures? It’s my career, you know!”
“That’s not what I—Hey, don’t get bent out of shape over this, Carly. It’s not—Wait! Carly!”
She turned away from him and started walking.
Hank started after her.
But John Wayne grabbed his arm and spun Hank around. “Hey, pilgrim,” the bartender rasped. “Are you hassling that little lady?”
“Of course not!”
“’Cause we don’t take kindly to fellers who don’t drink their margaritas and then go picking on pretty ladies.”
Nine
Carly stormed out into the night air and headed straight for the limousine. She was insane, she knew. Walking away from Hank wasn’t what she wanted at all. But she couldn’t stop herself. A wildly crazy woman had taken over inside her. She got into the car and slammed the door.
“Get me out of here.”
As the car pulled away from the curb, she glanced around and saw Hank running out of Monty’s.
Hank skidded to a stop on the sidewalk and shouted, “Carly, come back here!”
But the car smoothly accelerated away from the curb, and Carly couldn’t summon her voice to stop it.
Hank stared after the limo, stunned at finding himself alone.
From the doorway, Delbert said, “Looks like she dumped you, pal.”
“I can’t believe it.” Hank couldn’t tear his eyes from the disappearing limo.
“That Miss Cortazzo,” said Delbert, shaking his head, “she’s got a temper.”
“I’ve got to go after her,” Hank said to himself, then swung on Delbert. “Can you call me a cab?”
The bouncer shrugged. “Sure, but it’ll take ten minutes to get here.”
Hank cursed. “I can’t let her go.”
“Sorry, pal, but it’s the best I can do.”
Hank could not let Carly escape. Not today. Without a second thought, he headed straight for the buckskin horse that had been tied up outside Monty’s Midnight Saloon. He grabbed the reins and began unwrapping them from the hitching post. The animal woke up from its nap and snorted.
“Hey!” Delbert shouted. “What d’you think you’re doing?”
“I’ll bring him back,” Hank promised, turning the horse around on the sidewalk.
“That’s Monty’s horse,” Delbert objected, stepping into Hank’s path. “That’s Rocky! You can’t take Rocky!”
“My apologies to Monty,” Hank shot back, one foot already in the stirrup.
Swinging aboard Rocky’s splendidly decorated saddle, Hank planted his other foot squarely in Delbert’s chest and pushed. Delbert gave a surprised “oof!” and fell back on the sidewalk. Rocky chose that moment to rear back on his hind legs, nearly dumping Hank into the cactus bed.
But Hank hung on. For dear life. He seized a handful of Rocky’s mane and kept his balance. Then Rocky jolted down on all four feet, gave a happy little buck and bolted into the street, sending cars scattering in all directions.
“Whoa!” Hank cried automatically. “What is this? A prison break? Whoa!”
But the sight of Carly’s limousine disappearing around the next corner made Hank throw caution to the wind.
“Hey, Rocky!” he shouted. “Show me what you’ve got!”
Rocky did. Apparently his long nap in front of Monty’s had left him completely refreshed and rarin’ to go. Like a race horse shooting out of the starting gate, he put his head down and broke into a gallop straight up Sunset Boulevard. Car brakes squealed, drivers shouted, a busload of tourists hung out the windows of their bus and snapped pictures. Hank barely controlled a scream of terror.
But Rocky was a demon. His strides lengthened, his hooves struck sparks on the pavement. He tore up the street past restaurants and ice cream vendors. He galloped past a convertible filled with astonished teenagers.
Hank stayed in the saddle by some. miracle. In seconds he was whizzing down the street, barely conscious of anything but the flying horse. He saw a police car flash by, then palm trees, a man selling maps to movie stars’ homes and two bikers with their Harleys. But mainly he clung to Rocky’s plunging neck and tried to see Carly’s limousine through the horse’s flying mane.
He reined Rocky around the corner where he’d last seen Carly disappear, then spotted the limo at the next light When he gave Rocky his head again, the horse bolted ahead as if stung by a swarm of angry bees.
The light changed. The limo moved forward. Hank shouted. Rocky galloped.
The limo turned right, and Hank thought he caught a glimpse of Carly’s astonished face looking out at him from the back seat. He tried to turn Rocky, but the horse was moving too fast. The buckskin nearly ran down a bicyclist, who screamed and rode straight into a flower bed.
But the limo slowed down! It stopped!
Rocky spun on his powerful haunches, took two strides and gathered himself, then leaped over an in-fine skater who was bent over to fasten his skates. He landed back on the sidewalk. Hank nearly somersaulted over Rocky’s head, but kept his seat. A dog-walking pedestrian shrieked and dodged out of their way.
With fresh speed, Rocky headed straight for the limousine. Three, four, five strides and he was almost on top of the car. Hank barely had enough strength to haul back on the reins in time to keep Rocky from jumping right over the limo. With just inches to spare, Rocky jammed to a stop.
And suddenly Hank was airborne.
The world seemed to turn into slow motion. Like a graceful bird, Hank soared through the air. He wanted to yelp, but there was no time. He thought he heard Carly scream.
He hit the roof of the limo, tumbled head over heels and thumped his head going through the sunroof.
The next thing he knew, Hank was sprawled inside the limousine, stunned and staring up at Carly.
“Oh, Hank, are you all right? Are you hurt? Talk to me, please! Should we take you to a hospital?”
“Llurph,�
� he managed to say, still dizzy from the impact.
Carly scrambled down next to him on the floor of the car. She cradled his head gently in her lap, her face close to his and looking frightened. “What, darling? What did you say?”
“I lurph,” he mumbled.
Carly cried out. “Oh, God! Driver! Where’s the nearest hospital?”
But Hank caught Carly’s hand at last and looked up into her beautiful, worried face. He shook his head and said quite clearly this time, “I love you.”
Carly stared down at him. “You do?”
“You think I’d ride a horse up Sunset Boulevard for anything less?”
“Oh, Hank! I was coming back around the block to get you at Monty’s. I love you, too. I love you even if you can’t ride a horse!”
He forced himself to sit up beside her, moving gingerly. “I thought I did pretty well this time.”
“You did, you did.” Carly helped him to the seat of the car and called to the driver, “Will you please catch that horse for us? He might get hurt in all this traffic.”
The driver was already out of the limo and managed to grab Rocky’s trailing reins. There was no need to worry about the horse dashing into traffic, however. A large crowd of tourists had surrounded him and lavished the puffing buckskin with attention.
A baseball-capped tourist stuck his head inside the open driver’s door. “Hey, mister? Are you a stunt rider for that new Western movie?”
Another head appeared. “Yeah, that stunt was great! Can we take your picture?”
Carly and Hank collapsed with laughter and ended up kissing on the back seat.
“Come on,” Carly whispered a few minutes later. “Let’s take the horse back and then go to my condo.”
They extricated Rocky from his fan club and set off on foot, leading the horse back to Monty’s Midnight Saloon. The limousine followed, creating an odd-looking parade as the evening light waned.
By ten o’clock they arrived at Carly’s home, a modern condominium on a hillside overlooking the sparkling lights of the city. They waved goodbye to the limousine driver, then crossed the patio and went inside, carrying bags of takeout food they’d picked up at Monty’s.
Hank wasn’t sure what to expect as he entered Carly’s home. Her foyer and living room were sleekly designed, with high ceilings and lots of windows. The spare furnishings glowed with simple but vivid colors, reflecting the taste of a woman with an artistic eye.
