Date with a Cowboy: Iron Cowboy / In the Arms of the Rancher / At the Texan's Pleasure

“Thanks, Harley.”

“Thank you.”

She watched him walk away. He was good-looking, local and pleasant to be around. What a difference from that complaining, bad-tempered rancher who hadn’t even sympathized with her when she’d almost drowned delivering his stupid books!

Now why had she thought about Jared Cameron? She forced herself to concentrate on the puppies.

Harley picked her up at five on Saturday in his aged, but clean, red pickup truck. He was wearing a suit, and he looked pretty good. Sara wore a simple black dress with her mother’s pearls and scuffed black high-heeled shoes that she hoped wouldn’t be noticed. She draped a lacy black mantilla around her shoulders.

“You look very nice,” Harley said. “I figure there will be people there in jeans and shorts, but I always feel you should dress up to go to a fancy concert.”

“So do I,” she agreed. “At least it isn’t raining,” she added.

“I wish it would,” he replied. “That nice shower we got last Saturday is long gone, and the crops are suffering. We’re still in drought conditions.”

“Don’t mention that shower,” she muttered. “I was out in it, sliding all over Jeff Bridges Road in my VW, bogged up to my knees in mud, just to deliver Jared Cameron’s books!”

He glanced at her. “Why didn’t he go to the store and get them himself?”

“He’s very busy.”

He burst out laughing. “Hell! Everyone’s very busy. He could spare thirty minutes to drive into town. God knows, he’s got half a dozen cars. That big fella who works for him is something of a mechanic in his spare time. He keeps the fleet on the road.”

“What sort of cars?” she asked curiously.

“There’s a sixties Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow, a thirties Studebaker and several assorted sports cars, mostly classics. He collects old cars and refurbishes them.”

“He arrived at our store in a truck,” she said flatly.

“From time to time that big fella wearing fancy suits drives him around.”

“Do you know where he came from?”

Harley shook his head. “Somebody said he was from Montana, but I’m not sure. He came here for a funeral about eight months ago. Nobody can remember whose.”

“A relative, you think?”

He shrugged. “It was at one of the old country churches. Mount Hebron Baptist, I think.”

“That’s where I go to church,” she said, frowning. “Grandad’s buried there. But I don’t remember reading about any funeral in the bulletin for out-of-town people.”

“It was a private service, they said. Just ashes, not even a coffin.”

She pursed her lips and whistled softly. “I wouldn’t like to be burned.”

“I would,” he said, grinning at her. “A true Viking’s funeral. Nothing wrong with that. Then they can put you in a nice-looking urn and set you on the mantel above the fireplace. Nice and neat. No upkeep.”

She laughed. “Harley, you’re terrible!”

“Yes, but I do have saving graces. I can whistle and carry a tune. Oh, and I can gather eggs. Just ask the boss’s wife!”

They had a nice meal at the local Chinese restaurant and then Harley drove them to the high school. There were a lot of people on hand for the rare big city musical talent. Both Ballengers and their wives and teenaged kids, and a few of the Tremaynes and two Hart brothers and their families.

Harley caught Sara’s arm gently to help her up onto the sidewalk from the parking lot, and then let his fingers accidentally catch in hers. She didn’t object. She’d always liked Harley. It was nice, to have a man find her attractive, even if it was just in a friendly way.

He was smiling down at her when they almost collided with a man in line. The man, nicely dressed in a suit and a wide-brimmed top-of-the-line John B. Stetson cowboy hat, turned his head back toward them and green eyes glared belligerently.

“Sorry, Mr. Cameron,” Harley said at once.

Jared Cameron gave them both a speaking glance and turned his attention back to the line, which was rapidly moving inside. When he was out of earshot, Sara muttered, “He ran into us. You didn’t have to apologize.”

He chuckled. “It isn’t the place for a skirmish, you know,” he teased.

She grimaced. “Sorry, Harley. I don’t like him, that’s all. He’s too full of himself.”

“He’s just bought that huge ranch,” he reminded her. “He must live on a higher level than most of us. I guess he thinks he’s above normal courtesies.”

She only nodded. She hadn’t liked the antagonism in the tall man’s eyes when he’d looked at Harley.

They got their tickets and found seats as far away from Jared Cameron as Sara could possibly manage. Then she lost herself in the beautiful musical landscapes created by the themes of Claude Debussy. Harley seemed to enjoy the concert as much as she did. It was nice to have something in common.

On the way out, they noticed Jared Cameron speaking earnestly with Police Chief Cash Grier, who’d shown up just after the concert began and stood at the back of the room. Sara wondered what they were talking about. But it was none of her business.

It was ten o’clock when Harley dropped her off at her home. She smiled up at him. “Thanks, Harley. I had a really nice time.”

“So did I. Want to go to a movie next Friday?”

Her heart jumped pleasantly. He liked her! She beamed. “Yes. I would.”

He chuckled. “That’s great!”

He hesitated. So did she. Her experience of men was extremely limited. Her upbringing had been strict and unrelenting on the issue of morals. Her past wasn’t widely known around Jacobsville, but her reputation was rock-solid. It was why she hadn’t dated much. Harley knew that. But it didn’t seem to bother him overmuch. After a minute’s deliberation, he bent and brushed his mouth briefly, softly over hers. “Good night, Sara.”

She smiled. “Good night, Harley.”

He jumped back into the truck, waved and took off down the driveway,

She watched the truck disappear into the distance, frowning as she considered that brief kiss. It hadn’t touched her. She liked Harley. She’d have loved having a steady boyfriend, just for the novelty of the thing. But she hadn’t felt anything when he kissed her. Maybe you just had to work up to those feelings, she told herself as she unlocked her door and went inside. It was early days in their relationship. They had plenty of time to experiment.

It was the week after the concert before her nemesis placed another order. This time he did it on the telephone, and to Dee, who got to the telephone first early Monday morning.

“What a selection,” Dee exclaimed when she hung up. She read down the list, shaking her head. “Greek and Roman writers of the classics, some science fiction, two books on drug interdiction and two on South American politics. Oh, and one on independent contractors. Mercenaries.”

“Maybe he’s thinking of starting a war,” Sara offered. “In some other country, of course.” She pursed her lips and her eyes twinkled. “Maybe he’s anxious to skip town because he’s so fascinated by me!”

Dee looked at her over her glasses. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just a theory I’m working on,” she said facetiously. “I mean, I’m growing into a femme fatale. Harley Fowler can’t resist me. What if my fatal charm has worked its magic on Mr. Cameron and he’s running scared? He might feel a need to escape before he gets addicted to me!”