COWBOY FOR SALE--A Second-Chances Spicy Romance

by Janet Wellington

  As she rounded the corner and increased her pace, the fence dropped away to reveal manicured front lawns. The too-green grass usually made her cringe a little as she invariably heard her father’s voice in her head insisting, These wasteful west-coasters use too much water on silly things like lawns when they should be thinking about growing a few vegetables for a change.

  As she quickened her gait to get past the row of houses and shake her father’s voice out of her head, she tripped over a high spot in the sidewalk, falling hard on both knees. As she fell forward she just managed to keep her hands in front of her to prevent her chin from hitting as well. The fall jarred her neck sending a sharp pang along her shoulder, and her knees and hands stung with needle pricks from the impact against the rough concrete.

  Scrambling to her feet, Angie twirled around to see if anyone had witnessed her tumble, enormously relieved that no one was in sight. Odd. Right about then she’d normally be waving to Tracy and his two Cockers, and possibly even Mrs. Zirkle who would be out with her walker if the octogenarian was having a good day.

  Grateful for the unexpected solitude, she checked the heels of her hands, picked out a few tiny pieces of coarse sand, then looked down at her knees, staring in amazement at the bad scrapes.

  So much for a perfect start to her perfect day.

  Instead of continuing on to the beach, Angie reluctantly limped toward home—now she’d need the extra time to treat her wounds before getting ready for work.

  “Hellooooo, Angie!”

  Wincing from the overly cheerful sound more than from the stabbing pain she felt in her knees as she climbed her front steps, Angie stared at the woman who’d called to her. Her normally taciturn neighbor—an elderly woman with blue-white hair who didn’t usually make eye contact let alone shout hello at the top of her lungs—was doing toe-touches on her porch, wearing a lime green spandex full-body running suit.

  “Hi, Mrs. Randolph.” Angie nodded at the woman and continued her painful climb, hoping she wouldn’t have to stop and explain her bloody knees.

  “I’m starting my new fitness makeover. I joined the Walkabouts and need to get in shape. What do you think of my new outfit? Ordered it off the internet...great, huh?” The woman turned away to face her front door, leaning forward to put both hands against it, then stretching her legs out behind her to do more warm-ups.

  “Really great—and safe—color,” Angie replied, biting her cheeks to keep from grinning at her neighbor’s exuberant self-confidence. Maybe she’d pitch a story on “seniors and fitness” to Mr. Ethan at the staff meeting. Mrs. Randolph looked extremely cute for someone seventy-something.

  As soon as Angie stepped inside her condo and closed the door behind her she heard the distant ringing of her cell phone and knew she’d never make it in time to answer it.

  And besides, she had way too much to do to try and repair the damage her morning walk had already done to her perfect day.

  ***

  Finally on her way to work, Angie tipped her head a little, glancing into the rearview mirror at her hair, which was getting curlier by the second. By the time she’d found the antibiotic cream and big enough bandages to cover her raw, swollen knees, then realized she had to press the pants she’d need to wear to cover her injuries, there’d been no time for damage control on her hair.

  She’d had to settle for a generous spritz of spray gel and a meager attempt to pat her waves into place, hoping everyone would believe she was trying out a new style just for the fun of it.

  With any luck there wouldn’t be any on-camera work her first day, and she already had an appointment to get her hair flat-ironed after work. By tomorrow, her wild hair would be back to the more appropriate smooth style everyone was used to seeing.

  As the traffic started to slow in front of her, she put her earpiece on, then retrieved the message from her cell phone she’d missed earlier.

  “Hi, ladybug, it’s your dad.”

  She drew her eyebrows together. He hadn’t called her that since she was five. And why are you calling me on a Monday morning? She and her father had always had a little trouble communicating, but since she’d moved away they’d fallen into a comfortable routine of the occasional Sunday evening phone call when he’d call exclusively in the evenings after the rates went down. She’d given up trying to call him first—he’d always cut the call short saying it would cost too much, never quite understanding or believing she had unlimited long distance on her cell on the weekends.

  She continued to listen to her father’s voice.

  “Are you there? Guess not...well, weather’s pretty good here.”

  No matter what, he started every conversation with the weather. A farmer’s habit.

  “Not as warm as you’ve been having out there, of course. Your job doing okay?”

  Strange. The second thing out of his mouth was usually him asking when she was coming home. After almost five years, he still didn’t believe she’d chosen to actually stay in California.

  “You doing okay? If you need anything, you be sure to let me know....there’s something I...well, um...oh, your Aunt Flora said she hasn’t gotten a letter from you in a pretty long spell. Wouldn’t hurt you to write to her once in a while, you know. Guess I’ll get goin’. Bye.”

  Angie frowned as she exited her voicemail and unhooked her earpiece. He sounded kind of strange—a little needy, maybe. She decided to definitely give him a call after she got home from work. Her promotion would provide a good excuse to call unexpectedly, so chances were at least reasonably good he wouldn’t get all worked up about her calling him out of the blue.

  The traffic light turned green and Angie slowly moved forward, barely getting through the intersection before the light changed again.

  “Good grief—what’s with all the traffic?” She craned her neck to try to see beyond the fire-engine-red convertible in front of her.

  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Running even later than she’d expected on her not-so-perfect morning, and now, with the added traffic jam, there was a very real chance she’d be late for the morning staff meeting. And she hated being late.

  A horn blared from somewhere in the long line of cars in front of her and she glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time, then lowered the window and leaned her head out to see if she could see if there was an accident in the intersection ahead. There had to be a logical reason for the holdup.

  A cheer rose from the head of the line of cars as she eased off the brake, inching forward another car length, her head still leaning out to try to see what was happening.

  As her car continued to creep forward, she finally saw a man in the median next to the left turn lane. He was surrounded by four kids as he doled out what looked like seedlings in starter pots plus a few small plants, one to each youngster. A sagging poster was half-falling off a pole next to him, but she couldn’t make out what it said.

  A girl, her black hair done in exotic cornrows, stepped away from the group, holding a potted seedling in her hand as though it were a china teacup. The girl stared at it as she carried it to the car at the head of the long line, and then handed it to the driver. She turned away with several bills in her hand and skipped back to the plant-man. He waved the money in the air then deposited the bills with a flourish into a silver watering can one of the other children held.

  Angie’s blood pressure lowered a little. At least it seemed to be some kind of charity event. Then she noticed the red flashing of the intersection’s traffic lights; it was this that enabled the kids to approach each car. The normally busy intersection had turned into a four-way stop. It was also why the traffic had backed up.

  “Well, this could take a while.” She wondered why she hadn’t heard about the event at the station, though. It was just the kind of thing they liked to cover. She’d been diligent about keeping tabs on all the “small town flavor” stories, lately, so she’d be well versed for her new position. Maybe this one was too small.

  Ang
ie listened to the happy sounds of the children as they each approached a car and returned with a donation, hip-hip-hooraying as they added cash to the watering can. The plant-man was also clearly enjoying himself, quite oblivious to the fact that his activity was adding to her now quite imperfect morning. With the added delay he and the kids were creating, she might as well just accept the fact she was most definitely going to be late.

  With a sigh, she rested her arm on the window frame, then tipped her head a little more to better observe the plant-man. Even from the distance she could see he was wearing honey-colored Tony-Lama-style cowboy boots that most likely cost many times more than the meager amount of money they’d be able to raise handing out seedlings to in-a-hurry commuters. She wondered what his connection was to the event.

  The man seemed tall, even when he was crouched down pulling pots out of the flats at his feet. When he stood, she guessed he was close to six feet. He wore a plain white tucked into faded jeans; his arms were muscular, and he was broad chested and slim hipped. He was gorgeous. From his ease with the children and his unselfconscious manner, she guessed he was the kind of man who had no idea women stared or fawned over him when he wasn’t looking.

  When he turned his back toward her, she noticed his blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Definitely not the corporate type she saw every day at the office. He exuded natural charm and confidence that came across sexy instead of cocky.

  A little closer now, she watched his face light up with each return of a child, and he whooped loudly as he deposited donations into the watering can. The children danced at his feet, clapping and shrieking in delight.

  Then he checked his watch and shooed some of the kids off toward the elementary school Angie knew was down the block. With only one remaining boy, the plant-man crouched down and handed him a plant.

  Now with only one car in front of her, and the event obviously drawing to an end, Angie reached for her Prada bag to retrieve her wallet. She was a softy for any kid trying to raise money, even if this particular fundraising event was going to cause her to have to sprint from the parking lot to even make the second half of the staff meeting.

  “Hey, cowboy...”

  Angie looked up at the sound of the sultry voice that came from the redhead in the convertible in front of her. Red wiggled her fingers at the plant-man who stood on the median, ignoring the boy at her window ceremoniously presenting a seedling to her.

  Angie groaned. “What are you doing, lady? Can’t you see you’re breaking the little guy’s heart?” The boy’s head drooped until his chin rested on his chest.

  “Oooh...I see what you’re up to.” She watched as the plant-man picked up the watering can and walked over to Red’s car to stand next to the boy.

  Angie dropped her wallet in her lap and leaned her head farther out the window so she could hear a little better.

  “Here you go, darlin’.” The redhead shifted her sunglasses to the top of her head and dramatically fanned herself with what looked like a twenty-dollar bill.

  Plant-man rubbed his chin, and glanced down at the boy. “Hey, thanks—but you didn’t take Alberto’s plant.”

  “’fraid I’m allergic—but I’d take a little kiss from you instead...” She flashed a smile at plant-man, then finally glanced at Alberto and waved the bill at the boy.

  “Oh, that’s so low,” Angie muttered. “Sure, use the boy to get to the guy. Now what’s he supposed to do?” She watched Alberto look up at the plant-man with hopeful eyes. It was easy to see he wanted the super-sized donation as badly as the redhead wanted the extra attention.

  The boy shifted from one foot to the other, then grinned and said, “Please? Please? Please?”

  Plant-man reached his hand down to tousle the boy’s hair, then shrugged his consent as he leaned in toward the woman. The redhead’s smile got even bigger as the plant-man reached for the twenty, then she pulled it away so he had to lean in closer.

  Angie stared as the woman put one hand at the back of the man’s neck to bring him closer. Alberto put a hand over his own mouth, giggled, and looked away.

  Angie felt the heat in her cheeks as she watched. It seemed like the kiss lasted at least five minutes before Red finally pulled away. Then she held the twenty out to the boy, saying “Here you go, sugar.” She pulled her sunglasses back to her nose, then drove through the intersection as Alberto and the plant-man returned to their post.

  As Angie pulled up to a stop, she noticed the lights had stopped flashing. Great. She closed her eyes for a moment and counted to ten. She was now sitting at the red light clocked to be the longest in the entire city. Her chances of making it to the staff meeting at all were quickly fading.

  She opened her eyes to watch Alberto run toward her. She forced a friendly smile, then turned her attention to her wallet to retrieve a donation. By the time she looked up again, plant-man was crouched next to her car holding a six-inch pot that held a miniature rosebush with delicate yellow flowers.

  “Hi, we’re raising money for the neighborhood,” Alberto said as he took the pot from the man and held it out to her.

  “Here you go,” Angie said, “but I don’t really need a plant—I’m on my way to work and...I’m really, really late and...and...well, here.” She held out a ten-dollar bill.

  Keeping her focus on the boy, she tried to ignore the heat still blazing in her cheeks, heat that seemed to have gotten much worse as the plant-man leaned closer.

  “But this is our best one,” Alberto insisted, “and you’re our last customer.”

  Angie forced herself to take a deep, calming breath before she turned her attention to the plant-man to explain she really, really had to get going.

  His eyes were brown like Alberto’s, but seemed even darker under his light eyebrows. There were deep laugh crinkles at the corners of his eyes; his skin was tanned in a healthy, outdoorsy way, she decided, and not in the I’m-from-California-and-I’m-always-tan kind of way she was used to seeing. His hair was a dozen shades of blond; rich gold, cream, and a full range of yellows from flaxen to the lightest of browns.

  Plant-man maintained his crouched position next to her door while Alberto handed the plant back to him.

  “I’ll go get the money can.” The boy scampered off to retrieve the now unattended watering can filled with the morning’s donations.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry about the delay—I bet you thought you were going to have one of those perfect mornings today. And I’m especially sorry about...well, the woman in front of you.” He grimaced a little and rolled his eyes.

  “No problem,” she lied, staring at his adorable crooked smile. He seemed genuinely apologetic. Maybe Red wasn’t his type after all.

  Alberto returned to the man’s side, holding the watering can tightly to his chest. “She’s giving us a ten—you should kiss her like that other lady.”

  Angie looked at the boy, then at the plant-man.

  He held her stare, and the corners of his mouth curved up a little as he shrugged one shoulder.

  “No, wait,” Alberto added, “half a kiss and the plant.”

  “Half a kiss?” Plant-man smiled, then handed her the rose bush, taking the bill.

  Angie held the pot and continued to stare at him, feeling a part of herself slipping away as she fell into the depths of his dark eyes, eyes that now seemed to be coming closer and closer...until finally she let out a little sigh and simply let her eyes close...and waited.

  He must have turned at the last moment, though, because the next thing she felt was the warmth of his lips on her cheek; warm soft lips that lingered there while she forgot how to breathe.

  It was a simple, friendly, chaste kiss.

  Half a kiss, at that.

  But if half a kiss sent a tsunami of heat through her that pooled in the very core of her, she wondered what in the world a whole kiss would have done.

  Her musings were shattered by the blare of a car horn directly behind her and she blinked open her eyes as plant-man�
�s lips sadly broke contact with her cheek. The sunlight seemed dazzlingly bright all of a sudden, and a coolness replaced the warmth on her face as a soft breeze dried the wetness that lingered on her skin.

  She breathed.

  Angie watched him straighten up, then step back and bring one hand up in a wave. Then, with a puzzled look on his face, he tipped his head and moved his fingertips to his mouth, just as she realized her own fingers were touching the place where his lips had just been.

  The driver behind her leaned on his horn in earnest and Angie moved her gaze to the intersection in front of her and accelerated.

  Chapter Two

  Jason Macdonald pulled to a stop in front of his garage, turned off the engine and sat with his hands still gripping the steering wheel, reviewing the many strange moments of his morning.

  He hadn’t really intended to meet the demands of the woman in the red convertible, but the look on Alberto’s face had done him in. As nympho-redhead had shoved her tongue into his mouth during their twenty-dollar kiss, she’d slipped something into the pocket of his . He took out a card—her business card—and took a look.

  Georgia Valentine, Attorney At Law.

  San Diego’s most successful attorney for

  Litigation & Mediation. Divorce and Paternity.

  He shook his head. Another aggressive career woman. Been there, done that. He tore the card in half and stuck it back in his pocket to toss into the recycle bin inside.

  It was the blond after the redhead—their last customer of the morning—that he’d been thinking about all morning. He’d thought about her while he’d walked Alberto to school after they’d wrapped things up. He’d thought about her as he’d waited in line to deposit the cash in the bank the neighborhood had chosen for their garden fund. And he’d thought about her during the entire thirty-mile trek east of the city as he’d made his way home.