Crazy for Cowboy (11 page)

“But I don’t know that for sure. I wouldn’t want to take the risk.”

Emily’s shoulders sagged. “So, you wouldn’t kiss me?”

“No,” he said. “Not right away. I’d ease into it.”

“How?” she asked, hoping that her interest would be construed as scientific.

“Well, first I’d touch you. Your cheek, for example.” He lifted his hand and gently stroked her face.

“Go on,” she urged in a voice that had suddenly grown husky.

“If I didn’t get an adverse reaction, then I’d try something else.”

She moistened her lips. “Like what?”

“I’d run my fingers through your hair.”

Tingles rippled along her scalp as his hands moved through her mop of curls.

“I’ve been wanting to do this from the first moment I met you.”

“I think most men have a thing about hair.”

“We’re a tactile bunch,” he whispered.

“Then what?” Why was she hurrying the guy? Wasn’t anticipation the best part? In this case, Emily figured, anticipation could wait.

“Then, if I didn’t sense any resistance from you, I’d pull you closer.” He cupped her shoulders, drawing her toward him until her body rested against his.

“Like this?”

“Just like this,” he said, as those tingles shot off the Richter scale.

“And then?”

“Then I’d...” He bent his head lower, his mouth almost touching hers. “But remember, this is all hypothetical.”

“I’ll remember,” she murmured just before their lips met.

Yup. Anticipation was definitely overrated.

CHAPTER SIX

Back at home, her body still humming from his touch, Emily couldn’t control the dreamy smile that tugged at her lips.

Man
, that cowboy knew how to kiss.

She’d known they were in a public place, that during the day the riding stables were overrun with people. But, draped in moonlight, she and Houston had been alone. As if they were the only two souls in the world.

Under the stars, they’d kissed and caressed for nearly an hour, until she was so drunk with desire the satellites above started to spin. She could almost feel his hands, almost hear his sexy voice and that deep moan he’d made when she’d fondled him through his clothes.

The man had a deliciously hard body. And one part of it had been particularly hard.

Forget about second or third base. Emily would have gone for a grand slam, there and then. Heedless of the fact that neither of them had thought to bring protection. But Houston had been the perfect gentleman.

“You are so beautiful,” he’d whispered, pulling away as though it had taken all his strength. “But this isn’t the setting I’d planned for the first time we make love. I want it to be special, for you to feel cherished. Because that’s how I feel about you, Emily.

Her heart melted all over again as she remembered his words. This was a man who put her needs above his own, who wanted her but was holding back to protect her, to satisfy her. In that moment, she was hooked and, even though they’d only just met, she knew.

Houston was the cowboy she’d been waiting for all her life.

With a sigh, Emily plunked her keys down on the kitchen counter, the sound reverberating through the small condo. She took in the noises around her: the ticking of the clock, the whirr of the fridge. It was so quiet she could hear her heart pounding. After her evening with Mr. Saveloy, the one bedroom apartment seemed extra lonely.

Her smile faded. Now she understood how her mother had felt when Emily moved out of the house. It had been just the two of them for so long. Her mom had confessed to a bout of empty nest syndrome and, at first, called almost every day. Now, three years later, the older woman had a better social life than her daughter. She was out almost every night of the week, playing bridge, going bowling, seeing friends. More often than not, when Emily phoned, she ended up listening to her mother’s voicemail message.

She really couldn’t find fault with the arrangement. Her mom had gone without adult companionship for years. It was wonderful that she was finally enjoying herself. Still, there were times when Emily wondered if her mother was purposely avoiding her. And the forbidden subject of her father.

Emily kicked off her shoes and padded into the living room. Wide awake and tingling with memories of Houston despite the late hour, she plopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote control, craving company. With a flick of a button, the television came to life.

She channel surfed, pausing on a popular series with a couple locked in a tight embrace, then a game show where three young men competed to win a date with a stunning blonde, and onto an old black and white movie with Bela Lugosi, his fangs poised over the heroine’s neck. Seemed everyone was pairing up this evening. Even Emily. Just thinking about her night with Houston sent a rush of heat to her lower body. She’d never get to sleep at this rate.

“I could call him.”

As quickly as the idea came to her, she realized she couldn’t. They’d never exchanged phone numbers.

“Darn.”

With cell phones and a host of service providers, it was all but impossible to uncover someone’s number. Emily wasn’t even sure how he spelled his last name. Her only hope was that they’d meet up the next day at the riding stables. In the meantime, she’d just have to munch her libido into submission.

She made a beeline for the kitchen and, standing on tiptoes, reached into the cupboard above the stove and pulled out a bag of popping corn. She measured the kernels and poured them into the top of her hot air popper. She was about to plug it in when a familiar voice caught her attention.

“I’m a guy who likes a soft touch.”

Emily peeked around the corner at the TV, the cord of the popper dangling in her hand. The commercial was one of those cheesy low-budget jobbies, created to run in the wee hours. On screen a sexy James Bond type was shown from the waist up, his trusty revolver held across his chest. When Emily recognized the man, her mouth fell open. She sunk onto the couch, the air swooshing out of her lungs.

“After a day chasing bad guys and saving the world, I like to come home to soft hands.”

A woman’s hand appeared reaching around him, the lady herself invisible, as if she stood concealed behind his back. She caressed his cheek, showing off her long, beautifully painted nails, while sultry music played.

“As many as I can get.”

Six more hands came into view, all belonging to women, all perfectly manicured. Fingers stroked his chest, straightened his tie, but the Bond character kept his gaze on his audience, unfazed.

“Don’t deny me, ladies,” he continued, the women’s hands enthusiastically exploring him, wrinkling his suit, mussing his hair. “Nail Me.”

Overwhelmed by the women, the man fell back wearing a sly expression. The words, ‘Nail Me Salon’ appeared on the screen, another announcer voicing them. “We specialize in manicures, pedicures, acrylics, gels and paraffin wax treatments. Look at us as your very own secret agent.”

Heart skittering, Emily grabbed the TV remote and jabbed the OFF switch, killing the power as her thoughts swirled. She played the commercial back in her mind. A stylish suit had replaced the usual jeans and shirt. A slicked back hairstyle had tamed that boyish tousle. The TV spot may have been filmed several years previously but there was no doubt that the guy who’d just been plugging the Nail Me Salon was Houston Saveloy.

What the heck was he doing on TV?

Her brain shifted into high gear, reviewing the facts, starting with this latest information. She added Houston’s eccentric riding technique, his interest in Shakespeare, his amazing kisses...especially his amazing kisses. Why hadn’t she seen it before? He just wasn’t cowboy material.

But if he wasn’t a cowboy, what was he?

She remembered Jackie’s probing questions, about cowboys in general and Houston in particular. Was it all a set up? Was this one of Jackie’s practical jokes? A gag that had gotten totally out of control?

Jacks was well known for her pranks. On her last birthday, Emily awoke to find thirty-odd plastic, pink flamingos on her balcony—some clad in bikinis. Two years earlier, Jackie had planted a tape recorder in an injured bull’s pen. When Emily had gone into examine the animal, he began talking, telling her she looked “Totally moo-velous”. And Jackie had matured since high school. Once, back then, she’d convinced a grade twelve boy to call Emily and pretend he was then heart-throb, Leonardo DiCaprio.

So would soliciting a guy to play the part of a romancing cowboy be much of a stretch? Maybe tell the man that Emily would be easy prey if he wanted to take things a little further.

No.
Not even Jackie would go that far.

And, yet, what other possible explanation was there? Wasn’t it a little too coincidental that Houston had shown up at Eduardo’s on the very day that she and Jackie had dined there? And wasn’t it Jackie who’d suggested the restaurant in the first place?

Following her train of logic, Emily went a step further and asked herself the million dollar question. If this was, indeed, a plan hatched by Jackie, who would she have asked to play the part of a rugged cowboy?

The answer bounced back readily. An actor, of course. And that solution certainly explained what the guy was doing on television, peddling paraffin wax treatments.

Emily dragged a throw pillow into her lap. She dug her fingers into its softness, twisting the material until it resembled a pretzel.

So, it had all been a performance. Right from the beginning, Houston had been pretending to like her. The man’s acting ability was phenomenal. He deserved an Academy Award. So did her pal.

Emily could picture Jacks, the armchair psychologist, thinking a little flirtation with a nice cowboy would help her friend get over her problems. But, somewhere along the way, the joke fell apart. Houston overplayed his role, made her care about him, and the farce spiraled out of control.

Hurt, betrayal and mortification—they thrashed around together in Emily’s gut and burned up her cheeks with flames of embarrassment and indignation. She rubbed her decidedly
un-
soft hands together, like the Wicked Queen in Snow White. Before slipping between the sheets of her bed in the wee hours of the morning, she’d figured out a plan to expose them both.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Emily usually took Sundays off. Unless there was a medical emergency, that day was traditionally reserved for laundry. She’d bum around in her sweats, throw a load into the washer, go grocery shopping, and generally chill out.

Not this Sunday, however. Inspired by Houston’s James Bond commercial, this day marked the beginning of her new career...in espionage.

She started with her disguise, a pair of dark sunglasses and an old baseball cap. She tossed the items onto the passenger seat of her truck, along with a brand new map of the city, a pair of binoculars and her copy of the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds.

The plan was simple. She’d go to the riding stables and ask for Houston’s address, claiming that he wanted her to mail him one of her business cards. Since everyone who signed out a horse had to be entered into the computer’s database, Houston’s particulars would be there. As soon as she had the information, she’d check her map, go to his home, park her truck at a discreet distance and pretend to be bird watching. When, in fact, she would be watching for quite a different species of fowl.

The tall, dark and devious kind.

As soon as Houston was in her sights, she’d call Jackie and concoct a story about her truck breaking down and needing a ride. When the two culprits were on scene together, Emily would expose their partnership and claim she knew about their scheme from the start, saving face and having the last laugh at
their
expense, for a change.

Emily arrived at the stables early and went into the main office. One of the teenagers who generally worked on the weekends was behind the desk, chatting on the telephone. By the way he was grinning it was obvious there was a pretty, young female on the other end of the line.

Emily searched her memory banks for the teen’s name. It started with a C, she knew that much.
Charles? Chuck? Chip?
What the heck was it?

The young man finally hung up and turned toward her. She had a split second to read the nametag on his shirt before he spoke.

“Hi. Doctor Em, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, Gene.” Okay, so she was way off with the name. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Sure.” He leaned against the counter, his eyes shielded under the brim of a brown Stetson.

“There’s a guy who’s been hanging around here lately,” she began, trying to sound casual. “Goes by the name of Houston Saveloy. He asked me to mail him a business card, but I’ve misplaced his address.”

“You can leave the card with me, Doctor Em. I’ll pass it on to him.”

Gene was a helpful fellow. Too helpful. In one sentence, he’d completely ruined her strategy.

“Ah...you see...the problem is...” she began, scrambling for an idea. “He wasn’t sure if he’d be coming back this way again. Is he on your computer system, by any chance?”

The teen’s bottom lip protruded as he considered her question. “We don’t usually give out that kind of information, ‘cause of privacy laws and all, but I trust ya.” He went back to his desk, punched a button on the computer and a database popped up. “How do you spell the last name?”

“I’m not sure. S-a-v-e-l-o-y, I think.”

“That’s okay. I can look it up using his first name. You said it was Houston, right?”

“Right.”

He typed in the letters using two fingers, lifting his head a couple of times to check the screen. Satisfied at last, he hit another button. The computer was silent for a moment then beeped.

“Nope. No one here called Houston.”

“Oh.” Damn. It was probably a made-up name. Why hadn’t she thought about that possibility before? “I must have heard him wrong. I’ll ask around, Gene. Thanks anyway.”

“No problem, Doctor Em. See ya later.”