Cowboy, It's Cold Outside

by Lori Wilde

  “No,” she said, sounding more curt than she meant. It was still a touchy topic. “I gave up dancing.”

  “Why?”

  “Long, boring story.” She moved her hand. A wave. Dismissal. Good-bye. She was not going to get into that with him. Randy had ruined her love of dancing and it was none of Cash’s business. Plus, she was still achingly aware she was in her jammies around Mr. Hot Stuff. “But I do work at a day care center Monday through Friday. Seems I can’t pull myself away from toddlers.”

  “I’d like to hear about it sometime.”

  “Why?” She said it curtly, maybe too curtly, but seriously, why?

  That seemed to surprise him, both eyebrows arched up on his forehead like twin question marks. “Well, we are neighbors.”

  “Are you this chatty to all your neighbors?”

  He studied her with an intensity that ripped her breath right out of her lungs, shook it up like a snow globe, and threw it to the wind. “Only the pretty ones with cinnamon freckles over the bridges of their noses.”

  Her entire body went hot—her face, her chest, her belly, even her feet, which were pretty cold in the dew-dampened slippers.

  He was giving her the full court press and she didn’t know how to handle it. Not from a guy like him. Before Randy, she would have fallen for that smile. Opened herself wide up. Told him everything. Stayed. Lingered. Pursed her lips. Hoped for a kiss.

  But now? After all the crap she’d been through? Not on your life.

  “I gotta go.” Feeling like an inept tap dancer who’d badly misgauged the stage distance and was dangerously close to falling off the apron into the orchestra pit, she scooped up Fritzi and fled to the houseboat.

  Chapter 6

  Chord progression: A string of chords played in succession.

  So much for sleeping in on Sunday morning. Paige was wide awake, every nerve in her body pulsing, tingling, throbbing with fiery energy.

  And she did not want to be alone with her thoughts and fantasies about Cash Colton. Not to mention, she was out of milk, and dry Raisin Bran wasn’t that appealing. There were the cookies, but no bananas or milk for those either. And shh, she was honestly a little burned out on cookies.

  Besides, she had a coupon for a free cappuccino at the Twilight Bakery with any Sunday morning purchase before ten a.m.

  She got dressed, and stepped out onto the boat deck, peeked over at the turquoise houseboat next door. The lights were on inside.

  Quietly, so as not to draw his attention, she got out her pink bicycle with the white wicker basket hooked on front, walked it off the dock and up the metal stairs.

  One of these days she was going to buy a new-to-her car. Losing the cute little yellow Mustang that Dad bought her for high school graduation was still a sore spot. Screw you, Randy.

  Various family members had offered to help her out, but none of them were rich, and she didn’t want to feel beholden to anyone. She was determined to clean up her own messes.

  The sun was an egg yolk. Bright. Golden. Happy.

  She thought about riding around the lake to her uncle’s restaurant, but the hankering she’d had for a sausage biscuit had been replaced by a craving for a chocolate croissant.

  A chocolate croissant? C’mon, Paige, really?

  If she wanted to lose those ten pounds she’d put on after her dad died last year and the other whole mess started, she would pedal the two-mile trek to Froggy’s and order an egg white omelet with turkey bacon.

  She did not go to Froggy’s. The bakery was closer and the yeasty smells wafting on the morning air whispered in the husky, rich voice of a chocolate croissant, Paige, come eat me.

  And she had that coupon for a cappuccino.

  Stress eating. Yes, she knew. Cash had thrown her off her game. She needed comfort food to restore her balance.

  This early on Sunday morning, there wasn’t a line at the counter. A few regulars sat at various tables around the room. She greeted them with a cheery smile, and made small talk while she waited for her order.

  She took the croissant and a large cappuccino to a small bistro table with two red metal chairs that sat in front of the large picture window overlooking the square and the big community Christmas tree. She pulled out a chair, and it scraped against the ceramic tile in a friendly squeak.

  Inhaling the scent of the croissant, she savored the full experience. Over the past few years, she’d learned to take nothing for granted, to appreciate the small things. The smell of pastries. People-watching. The creamy taste of coffee with steamed milk and frothy foam.

  Lucky.

  She was so lucky. Things could have been so much worse. She had a roof over her head. And three jobs! Okay, none of them paid much, but she had work. Family and friends who loved her. Honestly, who could ask for more?

  She sipped and noshed. Closed her eyes to get the full impact of the chocolate and coffee pairing. Yum.

  “May I sit here?” asked a seductive voice that sent goose bumps flying up her arm.

  Holy mountain lion. It couldn’t be.

  She paused midchew, opened one eye. Yep. It was he.

  Cash Colton gave her a grin that just about caved in her chest and, without waiting for her permission, plunked down beside her.

  She opened her other eye, swallowed hard. Apparently they were going to have a conversation.

  “Hey,” he said brightly.

  “Hey,” she answered weakly.

  The girl from behind the counter, Amy Jones, came to the table to take his order, which was strange because the bakery was counter service only. Amy was nineteen, blonde, big-busted, and wearing a pink T-shirt that said Delicious in blingy rhinestones.

  “Hi,” Amy said breathlessly, and extended a hand. “I’m Amy.”

  “Well, hello there, Amy.” He winked, and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Paige suppressed an eye roll.

  “I just love your music so much,” Amy simpered.

  Cash smiled. Nodded. “Thank you for listening.”

  “Oh, it’s my pleasure.” Amy twittered and flittered and pressed a hand to her chest and blushed red.

  Paige couldn’t help it. She glanced at the ceiling and snorted. C’mon, she chided herself. Honest self-assessment? She was no better than Amy. The guy was a uterus magnet who turned normal, rational women into blithering idiots.

  “Could I have your autograph?” Amy’s eyelashes fluttered wildly.

  “Sure thing.” His smile was so sweet it could put a triathlete into a diabetic coma.

  Amy pulled a Sharpie from her pocket, unbuttoned two buttons on her blouse, giggled, and leaned toward him. “Could you sign me?”

  He didn’t bat an eye and Paige was suddenly certain that this wasn’t the first time he’d been asked to autograph a woman’s chest. Nor, mostly likely, would it be his last.

  Being his girlfriend couldn’t be easy. No wonder Simone dropped him. Then again, Simone probably had more than her share of men asking her to sign their chests too.

  Cash autographed the young woman’s creamy cleavage with a flourish and handed back her Sharpie as automatically as brushing his teeth. A day in the life of Cash Colton. Get up. Brush your teeth. Go for breakfast. Sign a boob or two.

  Amy glanced down at her illustrated breast, sighed dreamily. “I might not ever shower again.”

  “Won’t the customers object?” Cash asked.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Amy traced a finger over his signature, sighed again.

  “Should I sign a piece of paper as well?” he offered.

  “I have a better idea.” Amy handed Paige her smartphone. “Would you take a pic of us?”

  Cash gave Paige a sheepish grin, full of apology and bad-boy charm, but hey, he didn’t owe her anything. What did she care?

  She snapped the photo. Amy simpered some more and finally made her way back to the counter when an irritated customer loudly cleared his throat.

  “Now,” Cash said, giving her his full attention. “Wh
ere were we?”

  “We weren’t anywhere. I was eating breakfast. You sat down.”

  “Exactly.” His grin was a firecracker, hot and sparkly.

  “Exactly what?”

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  Her stomach did a slow roll, flipping all the way over like a biplane at an airshow. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why did you run out on me?”

  “I didn’t run out on you. I went back home.”

  “You ran back home.”

  “I moved quickly.”

  “Same thing.”

  “I did not run.”

  “Okay, you scurried. It was definitely a scurry.”

  She had scurried. He scared the hell out of her. “I had somewhere to be.”

  He glanced around. “I can see this was a very urgent appointment.”

  “A chocolate croissant was calling my name.”

  “Well,” he said. “A chocolate croissant can’t be denied. Mystery of the runaway woman solved.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you stalking me?”

  “Not that you’re not stalk-worthy, darling,” he drawled. “But no. I’m meeting Emma and her family here for breakfast. It’s just a happy coincidence.”

  She didn’t know how happy it was, but an exploding, effervescent, Mentos-dropped-in-diet-soda feeling spewed from her stomach to her heart to her throat.

  Paige crumpled her napkin and the parchment paper sleeve that the croissant had come in, and dropped it into her empty paper coffee cup. “I gotta go.”

  “Scurrying off again.” His tone was light, bright, and accusatory.

  “What do you want from me?” She hitched her purse strap up on her shoulder.

  “A date.” It was a firm, declarative statement.

  Stunned, she simply stared at him as that Mentos-in-diet-soda response went off again inside her. “Huh?”

  “Ya know. You. Me. The two of us. Go somewhere together. Laugh. Talk. Have fun.”

  Her heartbeat slammed against her eardrums. Bam. Bam. Bam. Seriously? Was this really happening? A famous country-and-western musician was asking her out?

  She folded her arms over her chest, sent him a measured stare. “Why?”

  He looked surprised by that, as if no one had ever questioned his motives. Probably they hadn’t. When you were that good looking, rich, and talented people fell all over themselves to hang out with you.

  “Because you’re cute and I really like you and I’m a sucker for those cinnamon freckles.”

  Her heart was thumping so hard that she could barely hear herself answer. And she felt a hit of pure pleasure that resembled the feeling she got when she bit into that chocolate croissant—warm, happy, fulfilled.

  Cash Colton stirred her in a hundred different ways. Stirring up feelings she’d vowed never to feel again. It was sexy and provocative and terrifying. She wasn’t ready for this. For the likes of him. She needed a Shetland pony before she got back on the dating horse again, and he was a motherjamming Clydesdale.

  “I’m flattered,” she said, somehow managing a cool, collected tone. “Truly. But no thank you.”

  For a split second the expression in his eyes flattened out as he took the hit of her rejection, and in that moment he looked like a vulnerable little boy. But it was just for a breath.

  “You don’t like men?”

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “No judgment if you don’t like men.” He held up his palms. “Just wondering.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Was his ego that big that he couldn’t conceive of the notion that a woman had turned him down for a date?

  He nailed her with his stare. “Or do you have something against musicians?”

  “I have nothing against musicians.”

  “So it’s me in particular.”

  “Well, you are being a bit annoying at the moment.”

  “Coming on too strong?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding completely sincere. “But I can’t seem to get you out of my head.”

  She hauled in a deep breath, ignored the part of her that wanted to tell him, Yes, yes, yes, I’ll go out with you, and said instead, “It’s not you.”

  “Oh.” His smiled finally vanished. “You’re already in a relationship.”

  She wanted to lie. It would be easier to lie. But she simply wasn’t wired that way. “No.”

  He paused and they looked into each other’s eyes and she could not ignore the zap of electricity or the panicky rush of vertigo.

  “I want to press, but I don’t want to be that guy so I’ll let you go,” he said.

  Whew!

  He got up, gave her the sweetest, gentlest smile. “Since we’re going to be neighbors, I hope we can at least be on friendly terms.”

  “Friends? Yes. I can do that.”

  “Good enough for me.” He turned to go to the counter.

  Amy was standing directly in front of him, crowding his personal space. He jumped back, and his hip crashed into Paige’s butt just as she was standing up.

  Contact.

  His pelvis to her backside.

  Holy freaking catfish!

  Hot tingles shot up and down her body. Her head spun pleasantly. Just friends? There was no way she could be just friends with this guy. Not when it felt as if a nuclear reactor was going off in her pants.

  “If she won’t go out with you,” Amy declared, almost panting, “I certainly will.”

  McDang, son, you let her put you in the friend zone.

  In all his thirty years on the planet the only other woman he’d kept in the friend zone was Emma. But in that case, he and Emma had been on the same page. They liked other—hell, they loved each other—but neither one of them had sexual feelings for the other.

  Paige was another matter entirely. She fired all his engines with rocket-boosting intensity, although he wasn’t quite sure why. She certainly wasn’t his usual type. He wanted to run after her and convince her to give him another shot, but . . .

  That would look pathetic and he never begged.

  He had to deal with Amy, who was touching him inappropriately.

  Emma, Sam, Lauren, and Charlie were walking through the door.

  He smiled at Amy, but put a thorn in his tone as he untangled her arms from his neck. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “But I’m too old for you.”

  “I’m nineteen, I swear.”

  “And I’m almost thirty-one.”

  “I’m a lot more experienced than I look,” she wheedled.

  “I’m sure of that,” he said. “But you need to be wild and free and enjoy your youth. I’ve been there, done that.”

  “Oh,” she said. The expression in her eyes told him she was hankering for a ticket out of town. Bright lights. Big city. Champagne and cocaine.

  He knew that last part because he could see the “champagne” and “cocaine” tattooed along her hairline at her right ear.

  “Amy,” barked a woman from the kitchen door. “Quit coming on to the customers and get back to work.”

  Amy rolled her eyes, made sound effects from The Wizard of Oz when the Wicked Witch of the West called out her monkeys, and sauntered back to the counter.

  Emma touched his shoulder, laughing. “I see you’ve met Amy.”

  “I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “Pleasure?” An amused eyebrow went up on Emma’s forehead. “You really are a nice guy.”

  “I’m gonna take a wild stab in the dark here and guess that Amy grew up without a father figure in her life.”

  “Bingo.” Emma linked her arm through his and guided him toward a table with Sam, Lauren, and Charlie. “Sit.”

  “I haven’t ordered breakfast yet.”

  “This is a rescue mission,” Emma said. “I’ll order for you, so you don’t have to converse with Amy.”

  “I appreciate the save, but I can’t let you carry all that back to the table by yourself.”

/>   “Don’t worry, Charlie’s going with me. You can keep Sam and Lauren company.” Emma gave Sam a meaningful look that Cash didn’t understand.

  Charlie pushed back his chair and got up to follow Emma to the counter.

  “Hey,” Cash called. “You don’t even know what I want.”

  “Fried egg sandwich,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Large coffee, black.” She knew him too well.

  “She’s an amazing woman,” Cash said.

  “Yes, she is.” Sam had the look of a man sappy in love who fully trusted that his woman loved him back with equal zeal.

  A quick pang of jealousy knifed him. Sam knew what it was like to be well and truly loved and to be so sure of that love. Cash had no reason to be jealous of his friends. He’d made his choices. Sacrificed love for a career. Was generally okay with it.

  “Why don’t you go help your mother and Charlie?” Sam prompted Lauren.

  “’Kay.” The second grader hopped up and took off.

  Uh-oh. Why was Sam sending his kid away from the table?

  “How’s the houseboat?” Sam asked, his tone mild but his eyes serious.

  “Turquoise.”

  Sam’s mouth tipped up in amusement. “Forgot to mention that. It’s not a deal breaker, is it?”

  “Not complaining,” Cash said. “I’m just happy to have a place to call home for a month.”

  “Ever thought about settling down for good?”

  “Never ran across a town that could anchor me.”

  “It’s not so much the town, as the people. I was born here. Raised here. Plan to die here. Twilight is my home.” Sam seemed proud and happy about that. Which was fine. He was a vet, not a musician.

  Cash hadn’t had a real home since he’d run away from his grandparents’ faltering ranch at fifteen, seeking fame and fortune. Oh, he’d had houses, several of them strewn around the country. But he hadn’t stayed in any of them more than a few months at time. Even when he was with Simone. She was just like him. They’d always been on the road. It was one of the reasons they’d stayed together for so long. They were both wandering troubadours. Vagabonds. He told himself that’s who he was, figured that’s probably how it always would be if he was lucky.