Cowboy Crush

“Sure, we got that,” Freda said, eyeing Cal. She tapped on her order pad for a few seconds. “And you watch out for this one here. He’s got sweet words that’ll have you outta your drawers before you can blink.”

Maggie looked at Cal like he was a cottonmouth curled up on a rock.

Cal gave Freda his patented smile. “Don’t be scaring the little lady just because Punch won’t let you come play with me, querida.”

“If I did play with you, cowboy, you’d have no good reason for looking for any other fun. I have a big playground right here,” she said, smacking her large backside and laughing.

“Wait a sec, I’m here on business, not—” Maggie started.

“Relax, she’s just flirting with me. Did you see Willie and Jeb? Ain’t much to mess with around Coyote Creek.”

Maggie gave a lift of a delicious shoulder. “Okay, so can you give me some information about the Triple J, Mr....”

“Lincoln. Cal Lincoln.”

“As you can tell, I’m not from here.”

“No way,” he joked with a smile.

He saw her relax a little. “I’m from the Northeast actually. Uh, Philadelphia. This is my first time in Texas.”

“Welcome to the Lone Star State.”

“Thank you,” she said with pretty manners. Her eyes were the color of smoky brown topaz. His mama had had a ring with the stone when he was a boy. She dragged it out every time she went to church...which wasn’t much since she’d worked days at the Coyote Creek Motel. She’d loved that damn ring.

For a few seconds they didn’t speak. Freda plopped a huge glass of Diet Coke down in front of Maggie. After a few seconds of neither Maggie nor Cal talking, Freda sighed and went back to her usual spot wiping the counter down. Her ear remained tuned in their direction.

“Are you kin to Old Man Edelman? He croak or something?”

“He passed away last month,” Maggie said, her eyes shadowed with sadness. “He was a good man.”

“You related to him?”

“No. I was his administrative assistant.”

“How’d you end up with his place, then?”

Her expression grew guarded. “People down here sure are nosy.”

“Part of being a Texan. We’re friendly and nosy.” Cal picked up his half-finished coffee and took a sip. It had grown cold so he motioned for Freda to give him a warm-up. She ignored him. “Might as well spill right here and now.”

“Well, if you must know, he grew sick in his later years. I was his assistant, helping him run his day-to-day affairs. When he passed and the will was read, I found out he left the Triple J to me. I expected nothing, of course, since I was an employee. But Mr. Edelman was a good man. His children made a bit of a fuss, but what Bud Edelman wanted he got even in death.”

Everyone in Coyote Creek knew old Bud Edelman had more money than hell had sin. He owned a company that sold ice cream all over the country. The Triple J had been a self-indulgent lark for the old tycoon. He’d shown up every summer for a month and played at being a cowboy before he went back to Pennsylvania and his millions. But the place hadn’t been occupied in over ten years and had been left in the care of Charlie Lowery, an irresponsible drunk.

“That’s quite a story,” Cal said, eyeing this woman who’d flown out to look over the ranch. What in the world had possessed her to come to Coyote Creek? Nothing glamorous about the small Texas town, nothing particularly pretty about it, either. “But why did you come all the way out here?”

She looked at him like he was a moron. Which some would say was accurate but Cal wasn’t admitting to it. “Because I’m a responsible person who can’t ignore something she’s been gifted. I called the town hall to inquire about the property and someone named Millie gave me Mr. Lowery’s name and number. Took me a week to get in touch with him. He told me the place needed a good scrubbing, but there were cows and a horse. He wanted me to wire him money. But I’d rather meet him and view the property in person.”

“If you were Bud’s assistant, how come you didn’t know all that to begin with?”

She looked annoyed at the question. “Mr. Edelman liked to take care of matters with the Triple J himself. My job was to transfer money into the ranch account. He handled everything else.”

“Millie should have given you the number to a good realty company and saved you the trip out here.”

“You’re assuming I’m selling the place?” she asked, placing those plump lips around the straw. He noticed. Gosh damn, did he notice those lips.

“I ain’t assuming nothing. Tell you what. I’ll drive you out to the ranch,” he said. She needed to see what she was getting herself into. He hadn’t been out that way since he’d come home last time, but he knew all the local kids sneaked out there to drink and shoot Coke cans. Someone had mentioned a load of feral cats in the barn, too. Supposedly, Charlie had allowed it to slide into disrepair which was a damn shame because it had once been a nice place.

“I need the keys. Otherwise I could have gone myself, Mr. Lincoln. I do have a navigation system.”

Cal smiled. “Of course you do, but the thing is, some of these Texas roads aren’t on the map.”

“This one is. But I figured it would have a gate or something. Mr. Lowery said he’d bring all the keys and show me around. I’m not sure I could even get on the property without a key.”

Cal smiled. “I guarantee I’ll get you to the front door.”

“I suppose I can follow you in my rental,” she said, like any good city girl who knew better than to climb into a pickup truck with a stranger wearing Wranglers with holes in the knees. Of course his straw hat was new and expensive...not that a girl from Philly would know.

“Sure,” he said, motioning for the check. This time Freda hurried over.

“You paying for her Coke?” she asked, hooking an eyebrow.

“No, here, let me,” Maggie said, reaching for her bag.

Cal plopped a twenty down on the handwritten ticket Freda had ripped off and sat on the chipped Formica. “I always buy pretty ladies a drink.”

Maggie made a frowny face which made her look cute. Still sexy. But cute, too. “Thank you.”

“Keep the change, Freda. I’m going to take Mrs....Miss?”

“Miss,” Maggie conceded.

“Miss Stanton out to the Triple J. Send the sheriff if I ain’t back in two days,” he joked as he grabbed his hat and slid out of the booth.

He was damned glad to know she wasn’t married. Not that it really mattered. She’d take one look at that dump out on Highway 139 and all he’d see was a trail of dust out of Coyote Creek. In fact as soon as his body healed, he’d be hitting the road, too. The day-to-day boredom paired with his mother harping about him getting killed, about him finding something safer to do...about him being too much like his deadbeat father drove him crazy. His cracked ribs were better and the punctured lung had healed, but his shoulder still hurt like a bitch. His agent called every other day wanting to know his progress. PBR and PRCA reps called, too. His sponsors emailed him. Friends texted him. Everyone wanted him back on the tour come August, except for his mother. And maybe the bulls. They’d never liked him much ’cause he could stay on almost half the time.

“Wait,” Maggie said, rising beside him. “Why would someone have to come get us? What are you guys not telling me about this place?”

“No worries, Maggie,” he said, gesturing toward the door before sliding the pill out of his pocket and popping it in his mouth. Only half the dosage. He had to wean himself from the painkillers. “I’m banged up but perfectly capable of looking after you.”

“I don’t need looking after. I’m a grown woman,” she said, quite serious about it.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he said, refusing to slide his eyes suggestively down her body like he wanted to. Didn’t want her to think he was a pervert. She looked skittish enough at the thought of following him out to the Triple J.

Freda snapped her fingers. “See? Don’t say I didn’t warn you about this cowboy.”

Maggie shouldered her bag and perched her sunglasses atop her head. Then she gave Freda a wry smile. “I’ll be sure to keep my legs crossed.”