Читать книгу Catching Calhoun - Tina Leonard - Страница 10

Too gorgeous to be anything but trouble in spades, she decided quickly. “Come on,” Olivia told Minnie and Kenny. “Come watch Gypsy and Grandpa.”

“No, thank you, Momma,” Minnie said. “We want to see this man. I think he can stay on if he’s been doing his cowboy calisthenics.”

Olivia frowned. “What are those?”

“The ones you do in front of the TV every morning,” Kenny said. “With the lady in the tight swimsuit who always smiles real big and says ‘You can do it!’”

Olivia shook her head. “Those are not calisthenics. And that’s not going to be a cowboy after he gets tossed and stomped.”

“I think he’s gonna win the big prize,” Minnie said. “Calhoun, you can do it!” she called loudly.

The cowboy grinned at Olivia, touching the brim of his hat with two fingers in a roguish salute. She gasped and drew back. “You two come with me.”

“Mom,” Minnie said, “you wanted us to watch this. You wanted us out of your hair while you did the act. We’re not going to try to get you to talk to him. We just want to see what he can do.”

“It’s Bloodthirsty Black,” Kenny reminded her. “Mean as a three-headed rattler. We can’t miss him!”

Olivia sighed, caught by her own sales pitch. “I wasn’t trying to get you out of my hair. I thought you would enjoy seeing bull riding more than you’d enjoy an act you’ve watched a thousand times.”

“Well, we are.” Minnie gave her a squeeze around the waist. “We’re fine. Don’t be so worried about us.”

Worry was her first and middle names where her children were concerned. But she’d been outmaneuvered here, though the cowboy didn’t appear to have much on his mind other than his impending trip to the E.R. Olivia gave both her children a hug, then happened to glance toward the chute again. The cowboy was sitting on the rail, watching them with a grin on his face.

She had never seen a sexier cowboy in her life.

Her skin crawled, itched and tingled.

“Have fun,” she said. “No talking to cowboys!”

“We won’t,” Kenny said. “Maybe just an autograph or two.”

But Olivia had walked away, not hearing his last words. She couldn’t stop thinking about shaggy long black hair, full smiling lips, and predatory black eyes that said Hey, pretty lady, even from a distance.

Wolf.

And she’d seen it all before. Maybe not in such a sinful package, but still, that cowboy wasn’t going to sing her a trailside good-night tune.

SO THE TWO LITTLE rodeo urchins had a cute-as-a-bug mother, Calhoun mused. And no father watching over the family, apparently. The little girl hadn’t said anything about a father in the rodeo when she’d mentioned her mother. He knew all the cowboys hanging around the stalls, and he’d never seen this particular family before. He wondered where they hailed from.

Shaking his head, he tried to focus on what the cowboys were saying about Bloodthirsty tonight.

Two little faces watched him intently.

Sighing, he thought about his art exhibition. The urchins’ little mother would make a nice painting. He wondered what color her nipples were. Were they the shade of her lips, which had been a nice blush, or the deeper brown of her hair underneath the blond highlights? He loved nipples—they added an element of surprise. You never knew what color they would be. A lot of other things on a woman made sense; you could figure them out in advance. But nipples were dependent on the shading of the body, individual and unique to every—

“Cowboy, have you sent your brain to space?” someone called. “Earth to Calhoun, earth to Calhoun.”

“Very funny.” Calhoun slid off the rail. “I was thinking up my strategy.”

“Really,” another cowboy said, pinning Calhoun’s number on the back of his vest. “From the stupid look on your face, we thought maybe you were daydreaming.”

“About women,” someone else said, and everyone laughed. “Sex-dreaming. About all the women who are going to want you after you tame this bounty bull.”

“Nah, sex was the furthest thing from my mind,” Calhoun said, lying through his teeth. “All my attention’s on Bloodthirsty Black.”

Except that small piece that had leaked out for a moment of fantasizing, Calhoun thought, glancing toward the children who watched his every move. It was so unlike him to find a woman in the flesh who stayed in his thoughts longer than his paintings did. Dang, he was going to have to be careful around those children. They had a smokin’ hot mama—and that was the last thing he needed to be fantasizing about. There were too many surprise kids who had recently turned up in the Jefferson family tree.

He wasn’t planning to add a branch. Or even a couple of twigs.

“You can do it!” he heard a little voice call.

“Cheering section?” someone asked.

“No.” Calhoun turned to look at the children briefly. “Who are they?”

Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at him.

“Barley’s daughter Olivia’s kids. Barley the rodeo clown. Tough character, Barley Spinlove. No one except a brainless wuss would ever think about dating his daughter, or marrying into Barley’s family.”

“Barley used to date Marvella,” someone else explained. “Think he married her, but it didn’t last long.”

“And that’s a bad reference right there,” Calhoun said.

Marvella had a tough enough rep of her own. The owner of another bounty bull, Bad Ass Blue, and the Never Lonely Cut-n-gurls Salon in Lonely Hearts Station. Everyone had had a run-in with her at one time or another.

“Barley makes it known that he wants no part of a smooth-talking cowboy hanging around his daughter—she’s got two kids from just that same incident. Cowboys can’t be trusted—and Barley doesn’t differentiate between us. We’re all bad as far as he’s concerned. None good enough for Olivia and his grandkids.”

“Uses himself as an example of why women ought not date cowboys,” someone else offered, and everyone went back to whatever they’d been doing.

“Great,” Calhoun said. “Guess that means I won’t be painting her.” Or getting her clothes off. Or going out with her. And marriage was definitely out.

Marriage? Why had that thought floated through his brain?

“Of course anyone with a half cup of sense knew Olivia’s marriage wasn’t going to last. She married a first-class jerk, but that doesn’t mean anybody else is going to get a chance,” a cowboy muttered.

Calhoun looked up at the four faces staring at him. “Oh, don’t tell me,” he said. “I’m standing in the middle of the Olivia Spinlove Fan Club.”

“It’s Members Only,” one of his buddies said glumly. “Outsiders Not Welcome. So you have a better chance of staying on Bloodthirsty Black than you do of ol’ Barley letting you take a walk with his daughter.”

For some reason, Calhoun thought as he tugged on his creased, well-worn leather riding glove, that challenge just made him determined to be the one who took Olivia Spinlove for a moonlight stroll.

IN ACTUALITY, that stroll would have to be postponed.

Calhoun limped from the arena after Bloodthirsty tossed him to the ground with a flare of outstretched hooves and a ha-ha! attitude. He took stock of his body after he eased onto a barrel in an abandoned stall. Spleen rearranged, armpit felt loose, knee seemed dicey—perhaps a cranial dislocation. Damn, he was seeing stars.

“You okay, cowboy?” he heard a worried child ask.

And his two new friends seemed to be anxious to stick to him like gum on a boot heel. “I’m fine,” he gasped out. “You two run along.”

The girl looked at him curiously. “You don’t look fine. You look like you might need a cup of hot tea. That’s what Momma always gives us when we’re not feeling ‘up to par.’”

He groaned. “Well, now,” he said, stripping off his glove and swallowing a pained groan. “I’d have to say I’m about three strokes shy of par.”

“Not your best day,” the boy said. “You’ll play better another time.”

“There won’t be another time.” Calhoun wished they’d go find another time in the next county and leave him to his busted pride. “Hey, you kids beat it for now, okay?”

With some guilt, he watched the little boy’s eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, come on,” Calhoun said grumpily. “You can’t expect me to be friendly right now. My tongue’s lodged somewhere behind my ears and my teeth seem weirdly disconnected.”

“Kenny just wants an autograph,” the little girl said, her tone mildly reproachful. “At least you tried to ride that bull, and that oughta be worth getting an autograph from you. So we can say we met the cowboy who tried.”

Calhoun perked up. “An…autograph?”

The boy nodded, his eyes round and huge with either adoration or hope.

Calhoun’s chest puffed out a little with male pride. “No one’s ever asked me for an autograph before.”

“You stayed on for three seconds,” the girl said. “Kenny’s easily impressed.”

“Hmmph.” Calhoun gave her an assessing eye. “You’re too young to be sarcastic.”

“Sarcastic?” Her eyebrows raised.

“Never mind.” He scribbled his signature on the number he’d been wearing and gave it to Kenny, who seemed astonished over the gift. The little boy clutched it to his chest as if he feared Calhoun would change his mind and take back his number. “Now what? Don’t y’all have someplace to be?” He eased himself into a different sitting position, wondering if he should take off his shirt to inspect his rib cage when there was a young lady about.

Probably not.

“Well, since the show’s over,” Minnie said, “we should go watch Gypsy find Grandpa in the barrels. Wanna come with us?”

Kenny’s face beamed at him when he heard his big sister’s offer. “Uh—” Calhoun began.

“You don’t want to miss what Gypsy can do,” Minnie bragged. “Mom’s a great rider.”

He perked up at the word “Mom.” What the heck. At the end of every bull tossing should be a pretty woman. And he had a couple hours before the art showing. “Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Can you stand up?” Minnie asked. “’Cause we can help—”

“I can stand!” Calhoun insisted, annoyed that the kids thought he was so flimsy. “Now look, you two ragamuffins don’t try to work me over, okay, because I know what you’re up to.”

Minnie blinked her big, innocent eyes. “You do?”

Satisfied, he nodded. “Yeah. I do. You want me for your mom.”

The children stared at him.

“Grandpa said he’d kick the bejesu—” Kenny started.

“Shh! You’re not supposed to say that!” Minnie reminded him. She looked up at Calhoun. “Cowboy, we want you to hide in a barrel. And that’s all we’re looking for.”

Calhoun blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Hide in a barrel? Do I look like the kind of stuffingless cowboy who needs to hide in a barrel?”

“From the way you ran from Bloodthirsty Black, we think you’ve got what it takes,” Minnie said earnestly.

“Now, look,” Calhoun said, pretty certain now that he was getting railroaded, “just because I said you were too young to be sarcastic doesn’t mean I don’t know when you are.”

Kenny looked at him sorrowfully. “You don’t want to be in our act? It’s lots of fun.” He got big tears in his eyes. “I told Mom I’d do it, but she said no. She said Gypsy goes out to pasture when Grandpa does.”

They stared at him solemnly. Sighing, Calhoun eased to his feet. “You know what? You two are kind of strange. But I’m from the original House O’ Strange, so I’ll go along with the game for a couple hours. I’ve got nothing better to do.” And if it meant getting a second look at Olivia Spinlove, then a man could do worse with his time.

THE GAME THAT BARLEY and Gypsy played was basically hide-the-pea-under-the-shell, only they used Barley and a barrel. Audiences were thrilled with the hide-and-go-seek game between Grandpa and Gypsy, because Gypsy wore blinders and therefore seemed to really be able to figure out where Grandpa was hiding, even when Olivia made Gypsy go over to a child in the audience, giving Grandpa a chance to hurriedly switch barrels. Gypsy always went to the new barrel immediately, making the audience laugh as she reached in with her nose to check for him. On command, she would whinny very loudly, as if to say, Ahha! She could push barrels over with Barley in them, and she could kick them, making Barley yell “Ouch!” much to the delight of the children in the crowd.

Olivia was responsible for the gag running quickly and smoothly. She herself wore a mask over her eyes, so that she couldn’t “cue” Gypsy to the correct barrel.

Sometimes Gypsy pretended she didn’t know where he was, and Olivia would ask the kids to “help” Gypsy find Grandpa. While they called out answers, clowns would run through the audience giving fresh apples to kids who participated, even if they just pointed a finger. Most of the time, every child ended up with a pretty apple.

And at the end, Grandpa did a sparkler show while sitting on Gypsy, his arms pinwheeling in figure eights and lasso motions as the children watched in amazement.

Then every child who wanted to could pet Gypsy.

Olivia adjusted her mask, thinking that it was sad that the show would be over at the end of this school year. In fact, this was the final time they’d perform in the south. Lonely Hearts Station had been one of the few places where they hadn’t performed. Barley had ditched the town many years ago, after Marvella and he had a row.

Olivia suspected he’d never gotten over Marvella. He really was an old softie, though he had a reputation for being mean. They’d probably never get back together, but first flames often burned in the memory. Still, life went on.

She waited for her cue to bring Gypsy into the ring.

“Hey, pretty lady,” a deep voice said next to her ear.

“Don’t take your mask off, Momma,” Minnie said. “Guess who’s come to watch the act?”

Her heart sank. He’d spoken the exact words she’d imagined him speaking. Truly, this cowboy was a player at the master level. “Minnie,” she said, her voice warning her daughter to remember the rules—no cowboys.

The man stopped Olivia’s fingers as she raised her hands to take off the mask. “I like it,” he said. “Mysterious women are quite interesting.”

“I’m not interested in being mysterious for you,” she snapped. “Kenny, Minnie, go sit in the stands, please.”

“’Kay, Mom. See ya, cowboy,” Minnie said.

“Now it’s just the two of us,” he said. “Clever of you to think of a way for us to be alone.”

She ripped off her mask, ready to dispel his over-enthusiastic appeal, when the huge grin on his face stopped her.

He winked, slowly and sexily.

Her breath caught inside her chest.

No, no, no, she’d told the kids about cowboys. And no she’d told herself. This man might be the best reason she’d ever met for saying no to cowboys.

“Your kids said I shouldn’t miss the show,” he told her, his husky voice sending chills down her spine. “My name’s Calhoun Jefferson, of the Union Junction ranch. Better known as Malfunction Junction,” he said with a grin.

“Why do I find that easy to believe?”

“Because you can tell I’m a man of my word.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “Cowboy, you are full of yourself.”

“And you find it strangely appealing.” He patted Gypsy under her mane, right along her neck where she liked it best.

“Is that what all the ladies tell you?”

He grinned. “What ladies?”

She rolled her eyes and snapped her mask back on.

“Oh, come on,” he said softly, “unbend a little. A little mama like yourself ought to enjoy some harmless flirting. It’s nothing more than keeping a lonely cowboy company. And you’re not exactly hard on the eyes, you know.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Jefferson. And please refrain from buttering up my kids.”

“On the contrary. They buttered me up, put me on a plate and brought me to you for a friendly snack.”

She flicked Gypsy’s reins. “Friendly snacks have a way of putting weight on a woman, cowboy, and I’m on a special snackless diet. Goodbye.”

Olivia moved Gypsy forward, away from Calhoun. Calhoun! She might have known he’d possess an unusual name. He’d said he was harmless, but they all said that.

After tomorrow night’s show, she would round up Minnie and Kenny and head out of Lonely Hearts Station. Time was not on her side. That darn cowboy was reading her mind like a newspaper, and he knew full well she was attracted to him.

It wouldn’t hurt to take that bold confidence down a peg. Turning, she lifted her mask. “Mr. Jefferson.”

He grinned, obviously thinking his charm had won her over. “Call me Calhoun.”

She nodded. “Calhoun, did you beat the buzzer?”

“No, ma’am. I must admit I did not.”

“Ah.” She pretended great interest in her mask before looking back at him. Her voice sexy, she said, “How long did you last?”

He grinned. “Three seconds. Generally, I last as long as I need to, though.”

Her lips flattened out as she realized he was on to her wordplay, and his confidence wasn’t dented a bit.

“Yes,” he said expansively, “they call me Countin’ Calhoun. Three is usually my minimum. I’m disappointed cuz it’ll bring down my average of nine.”

“Nine seconds?” She blinked.

“Oh, no, ma’am. Nine…well, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

She felt the blush hit her cheeks like summer’s heat. Her hands snapped Gypsy’s reins of their own accord, and she rode stiffly away from his laughter.

Blast him. Now her mind was racing! Nine hours, nine orgasms, nine what? “I would love to know,” she grumbled to herself. “Braggart!”

She hadn’t enjoyed making love with her husband. Truthfully, she had been no proper wife, because if there had been a night she could avoid even kissing him, she did. Maybe she’d only gotten married to have children.

As much as she loved her father, his stranglehold on her younger self had been too much for her. In her heart, she’d made peace with the fact that most likely her teenage rebellion had blossomed into two children. It didn’t matter now, but she knew well enough from her marital experience that she was not a good wife.

So it really didn’t matter what Calhoun was counting—though she’d never before heard a man so proud of his numerals.