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Catching Calhoun
Tina Leonard








“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 your act?”

Her heart sank. He’d spoken the exact words she’d imagined him speaking. And his husky voice sent chills down her spine. Truly, this cowboy was a player at the master level.

“Minnie,” she said, her voice warning her daughter to remember the rules—no cowboys. “Go sit in the stands, please.”

“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 overwhelming appeal. The huge grin on his face stopped her.

He winked, slowly and sexily.

Her breath caught inside her chest.

Oh, no. She’d told the kids about cowboys. She’d told herself.

And this man might be the best reason she’d ever met to keep saying no to cowboys…if she could.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Tina Leonard loves to laugh, which is one of the many reasons she loves writing Harlequin American Romance books. In another lifetime, Tina thought she would be single and an East Coast fashion buyer forever. The unexpected happened when Tina met Tim again after many years—she hadn’t seen him since they’d attended school together from first through eighth grade. They married, and now Tina keeps a close eye on her school-age children’s friends! Lisa and Dean keep their mother busy with soccer, gymnastics and horseback riding. They are proud of their mom’s “kissy books” and eagerly help her any way they can. Tina hopes that readers will enjoy the love of family she writes about in her stories. Recently a reviewer wrote, “Leonard has a wonderful sense of the ridiculous,” which Tina loved so much she wants it for her epitaph. Right now, however, she’s focusing on her wonderful life and writing a lot more romance!




Catching Calhoun

Tina Leonard







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




THE JEFFERSON BROTHERS OF MALFUNCTION JUNCTION


Mason (38), Maverick and Mercy’s eldest son—He can’t run away from his own heartache or The Family Problem.

Frisco Joe (37)—Fell hard for Annabelle Turnberry and has sweet Emmie to show for it. They live in Texas wine country.

Fannin (36)—Life can’t be better than cozying up with Kelly Stone and his darling twins in Ireland.

Laredo (35), twin to Tex—Loves Katy Goodnight, North Carolina and being the only brother with a reputation for winning his woman without staying on a bull.

Tex (35), twin to Laredo—Grower of roses and other plants, Tex fell for Cissy Kisserton and decided her water-bound way of life was best.

Calhoun (34)—Doesn’t want the family mantle passing to him.

Ranger (33), twin to Archer—Fell for Hannah Hotchkiss and will never leave the open road without her.

Archer (33), twin to Ranger—Talking with a faraway woman in Australia by e-mail is better than having a real woman to bother him.

Crockett (31), twin to Navarro—Paints portraits of nudes, but never wants to see a woman fully clothed in a wedding gown saying, “I do” to him.

Navarro (31), twin to Crockett—Fell for Nina Cakes when he was supposed to be watching her sister, Valentine, who is carrying Last’s child.

Bandera (27)—Spouts poetry and has moved from Whitman to Frost—anything to keep his mind off the ranch’s troubles.

Last (26)—The only brother who finds himself expecting a baby with no hope of marrying the mother. Will he ever find the happy ending he always wanted?


To Texas Readers Dawn Nelsen, Sarah Procopio, April Massey, Pat Wood, Cheryl Chan, Joanne Reeson, Marcy Shuler, Melissa Lawson, and Denise Renae Vellek. You ladies have meant so much to my career and my life. Thank you so much.

Lisa and Dean—you are now fifteen and eleven. I started writing when Lisa was two and a half years old, and I went to my first writers’ meeting when I was pregnant with Dean. Many thanks to you both for supporting my career, and for always being proud of me. Mimi, thank you for believing in my talent. Fred Kalberer and Kim Eickholz—I was lucky when God gave me you.

Georgia Haynes—thank you for everything.

Last, but certainly not least, many thanks to Stacy Boyd and Paula Eykelhof and all the wonderful people at Harlequin who make Tina Leonard a success. I have loved writing this cowboy series for the best house—and surely the most patient editors—in the world.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen




Prologue


The treasure lies within.

—Mason to his sons when they wanted to know if there was such a thing as fairy dust on butterfly wings and a box of Civil War gold in the well on Widow Fancy’s farm.

At exactly midnight, as a chilly November turned into a stormy, cold December, Mason Jefferson walked back into the main ranch house at Union Junction, wondering if he was ready to return home after being gone for so many months.

There were ten women in sleeping bags around the fireplace, where the fire had burned nearly to embers. His jaw dropped and he felt a sweat break out along the back of his neck. There were pretty faces, openmouthed faces, snoring faces, faces mashed into pillows.

Clearly nothing had changed around Malfunction Junction. Possibly the situation had worsened.

It gave a man pause about the reason he’d stayed gone so long: Mimi Cannady, his next-door neighbor and wife to another man.

If women were so easily found around his fireplace, if they dropped easily into a man’s life like blossoms from a cherry tree, if there were always many unattached females hanging around the Jefferson ranch, then why couldn’t he get over the woman he thought he could only love like a meddlesome baby sister?

I came home too soon, Mason thought.

A crash sounded upstairs and a baby wailed. Mason closed his eyes. I stayed gone too long.

And after all his journeys he still had not a single lead on what had happened to Maverick, the father of the twelve Jefferson brothers.

“Hi, Mason.” One of the women raised her head. It was Lily of the Union Junction hair salon in Union Junction. He and his brothers had helped her and her co-stylists set up shop in town, after Delilah Honeycutt had to let them go from the salon in Lonely Hearts Station.

“Hey, Lily,” he said. “Go back to sleep. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He jerked his head toward the ceiling. “Think I’ll go scare my brothers and see whose baby they’re torturing.”

Lily smiled. “Welcome home.” She put her head down and Mason saw her eyes close. Sighing, he headed up the stairs.

In the second-floor family room, there were five brothers and a baby. A sweetly chubby baby, maybe a year old, he guessed, from the three tiny blond curls on the back of her head and her consciously erect posture. The brothers were arranged in a semi-circle, all of them flat on their chests staring at her as she stared back at them. It was like a Mexican standoff, and the baby was winning, clearly bemusing her older companions.

It wasn’t worth wondering whose baby it was. What mattered was that it seemed nothing had changed around Malfunction Junction. Still fun and games. “Howdy.”

His brothers looked up and stared at him. Calhoun was the first to jump to his feet. “Mason!”

Mason tossed his hat onto the sofa. “I wasn’t gone long enough for any of you to have a baby.”

The other brothers halted, midrise.

“True,” Calhoun said. “And this is not our baby, per se.”

The baby turned her head to look up at him, and Mason felt his heart stop inside his chest. He would know that baby in a field of children; he could pick her out with ease. Fair, fine blond curls, big blue eyes that were her mother’s, the sparkle of mischief in her expression as she’d enjoyed commanding the attention of her covey of “uncles.”

“It’s Nanette,” Bandera said. “We’re helping Mimi out ’cause she’s been cooking for all of us and the ladies downstairs.”

“Heat went out over the salon. Been out for three days,” Last said. “Seemed the right thing to do to bring Lily and her crew here.”

Crockett nodded. “They stood it as long as they could. We found out they weren’t telling us, and had Shoeshine bring them over here in his bus.”

Mason ignored his brother’s blabbering, bending instead to scoop up Nanette and hold her to him. She didn’t cry out at the chill in his fingers. Instead, she touched his face, patting it with curiosity, though he told himself she touched him because she recognized him.

“Been a long time since I held you,” he murmured to her, so that his brothers couldn’t hear. “You can sit up now. When I last saw you, you were just a tiny potato. I didn’t know you would grow so fast,” he said, nuzzling her. “You weren’t supposed to grow up without me. I missed you.” She patted his face again, and his eyes welled up with tears he wouldn’t let his brothers see. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

The softness of her skin and her instant trust of him shattered his barely healed heart. Being gone hadn’t solved a damn thing. He still loved Mimi, in a way he knew he should not. And he loved her child, the child he’d helped deliver, as if she were his very own.

In his heart, she was his very own.

Mason gruffly cleared his throat, aware that his brothers were uncomfortably silent. “What else did I miss?” he demanded.

The brothers glanced at each other. Last looked ill.

“How about we talk later?” Calhoun asked.

“We can talk now,” Mason said.

“Not really,” Calhoun said, glowering. “We’ve been amusing twelve months of dynamite. We’re torn between using pacifiers, sippie cups, back rubs and guitar lullabies as good-luck charms to ward off the displeasure this child seems to feel at being out of her element. She doesn’t like us, and quite frankly, we’re beginning to wonder why babies aren’t stored in pods until they ripen.”

“We’ve had some ripe occasions,” Archer said. “That one, delicate flower that she may be, can put forth some really ripe diapers.”

“What we’re trying to say, Mason,” Bandera said, “is that we’re tired. We’re actually ragged. Let’s get one thing straight from the start. You left. You took your bad moods and your broken heart and you deserted us. We’ve handled everything while you were gone. Now, we’re of no mind to have you walk in here demanding answers.”

“That’s right,” Crockett said, “we get first shot at Answer Number One.”

Calhoun stood tall, crossing his arms. “Exactly. And our first question is, what in the hell do you think gave you the right to disappear like that?”

Mason stiffened. He’d had no right; it was just something he’d had to do. But he couldn’t explain that to his brothers. What did they know of broken hearts, except when they were haphazardly doing the breaking?

Calhoun looked at him curiously. “Yeah, and while you’re thinking of the answer, Mr. Wandering Foot, you might be interested to know that Mimi’s filed for divorce from Brian.”

Mason instantly went cold.




Chapter One


Nudes. Calhoun Jefferson loved painting nudes, he loved the color of bare skin and he loved women who were willing to get naked. That was a bounty for the eyes: women in the flesh—the different, varying skin tones that harmonized with the female personality. Dark, light, medium—he loved all the colors under the sun.

Particularly nude.

Some men saw heaven in a sunset. Some found God in the ocean’s waves and secretive depths. “Ah, for me, it’s the color of a nipple shadowed against the velvet of a rounded breast, the shades contrasting and yet complimenting, so tantalizing in hue,” Calhoun explained to his brothers.

“Oh, God,” Last said on a moan. “He’s been to Hooters again.”

“I have not,” Calhoun said, indignantly slinging a saddle over a wooden rail. “I’m trying to explain my latest work of art to you undercultured dunces. I’m calling it ‘Hues from Heaven.’”

“I feel more cultured already,” Crockett said. “And my IQ has risen commensurately.”

Calhoun sighed. “I’m heading over to Lonely Hearts Station for the rodeo. Anybody interested in going?”

“What for?” Archer asked. “Wait a minute, are you paintin’ hooves again?”

Calhoun stood straight, staring at his brothers. “It just so happens that, this time, I’m entered, thank you very much.”

“Entered as what?” Bandera asked. “Rodeo clown?”

“Rider,” Calhoun said, deciding he wasn’t going to let his brothers’ jiving get to him. He had a mission today, and that was to advertise his afternoon art showing of first-class nudes by riding in the rodeo.

Of course, his show wasn’t anything he wanted Mason to know about. Or his other brothers. They simply did not understand his love of artistic nudity.

“What I just can’t get,” Last said, “is if you like nekkid women so much, why don’t you just get you one? We got about ten sleeping in our house this week, if you were too scared to notice. Just a set of jammies or a big sleep shirt between you and heaven’s bounty. I say, pick one already.”

Calhoun felt heat color his neck and rise up under his hat. “Have you been too scared to tell Mason that you have a woman living at the ranch who’s expecting your child?” he asked, his tone deliberate and mild.

Every brother went still. Not even a jaw moved as they stared at Last.

“He just got home yesterday,” Last said. “And he’s been hiding from Mimi. I think I’d better give him a few more days to settle back in.”

His point made, Calhoun walked from the barn. He wasn’t scared of women! He revered women. And that was his brothers’ problem, one of a thousand. They didn’t understand that a man didn’t necessarily have to sleep with his passion.

Of course, it was nice when he could.

But sleeping around had gotten some of the brothers married lately, and one of them was now expecting a child. “I’m figuring on keeping my jeans zipped, a lesson no one else around here seems to want to learn,” he muttered, getting into his truck. “Broken hearts, babies, wedding rings—I’d say that nude women on canvas are a helluva lot safer than women in the flesh.”



OLIVIA SPINLOVE knew about broken hearts and broken homes. She knew about cowboys and broken promises. She also knew about breaking bad patterns—and when her children, Minnie and Kenny, dragged the long, lean, hotly handsome cowboy toward her, Olivia defiantly crossed her arms over her chest.

“Hello,” she said, her voice chilly. “I must apologize if my children have been bothering you.”

“Not at all, ma’am,” he said, lifting his hat and showing a toothy grin. “I find them charming.”

“We got lost,” Kenny said.

Sure they did, Olivia thought. They’d been raised on the rodeo circuit. They knew where their grandfather was and where the trailer was. “Thank you for escorting them back to me,” Olivia said. “Sometimes they can be quite the handful.”

“No, we’re not,” Minnie said. “We’re angels.” And she grinned up at the cowboy.

Olivia shivered. “Excuse us.” She took the children by their hands and led them back to the trailer. Once inside, she sat them on the bed. “Minnie, Kenny,” she began, “no. No, no, no.”

The children looked at her woefully. “We need help,” Minnie pointed out. “Grandpa’s getting too old to do the act.”

They were speaking of Grandpa Barley’s knees being too arthritic to allow him to jump in and out of barrels these days. Olivia knew the kids were right, but that didn’t mean they were going to interview cowboys at every rodeo in the United States until they found one suitable for their act.

“Your grandfather is fine, for now,” she told them. “Please don’t worry so much.” She hugged them to her. “Really. It’s going to be fine.”

“How?” Minnie asked. “How is it going to be fine when we don’t have an act?” Her large eyes were too old for her nine years and too worried. So little childish spirit lingered in Minnie’s gaze.

Olivia smiled at her daughter, kissing her forehead. “Trust me, it’s going to be fine.”

Kenny began to bite at a hangnail. “It’s not fine. I could get in the barrels, and Gypsy could find me instead of Grandpa.”

How could she explain to him that Gypsy and Grandpa were a team, and that teams couldn’t be broken apart? Once one member of the team no longer worked, the other went to pasture, too. At least in this case. Barley and his Gypsy were a horse and a man who could not be separated. Tough old Dad, Olivia thought. And tough old horse.

The two had always worked together to feed and take care of her family.

“Here’s the deal,” she told the kids. “I have to go ride Gypsy in a bit. If you promise not to ‘interview’ any more cowboys for Grandpa’s job, I’ll let you go watch the bull riding. If not, you can stay inside the trailer and do some math charts and spelling. I know you love to study, but I heard that there was going to be a superspecial bull tonight.” She lowered her voice with excitement. “And no cowboy can stay on. It’s a bounty bull. Mean as a three-headed rattler.”

“Whoa!” Kenny breathed. “I gotta see that!”

“Me, too.” Minnie slid off the bed. “It’s a deal. No more cowboys tonight, Mom.”

“Ever.”

“Okay,” Minnie said, giving out the promise at least, Olivia figured, until tomorrow. “No more cowboys.”

“Good. I’ll see you after the events. Kenny, stay with Minnie, and Minnie, you know the rules.”

“Yes, I do,” Minnie said, taking her brother’s hand as they left. “No, no, no.”

Olivia smiled as her children left the trailer. Someday she’d explain to them that their father had been a cowboy, one with a wandering heart. And though she loved her children dearly, the reason they were all in the shape they were in today was because Olivia had fallen under the spell of the Elusive Sexy Cowboy.

No more spells for her.



“WHOA,” KENNY SAID, fifteen minutes later, having hotfooted it to the right to see the bull of which his mother had spoken. “Look at the size of ’im!”

Minnie nodded. “He’s going to throw his cowboy into the next state.”

Kenny giggled. “I can’t wait. Cowboy’s gonna look like a smushed grape by the time Bloodthirsty Black gets through with him.”

“I like that bull’s name,” Minnie said thoughtfully. “The cowboy who stays on him wins a lot of money, cuz no one ever has.”

“How much money?” Kenny asked.

“I don’t know….” Minnie squinted her eyes at the bull. “A lot. That’s what we need to stay out of trouble with—”

“The tax man,” Kenny said helpfully. “Grandpa’s always cussin’ him.”

“We need a lot of money,” Minnie murmured. “Too bad you’re not old enough to ride.”

“I’d stay on ’im,” Kenny bragged. “I’d stay on ’im like a gnat on his horn. Like spit in his eye. Like—”

“Hey, kids.” A man’s voice interrupted. “What’s happening?”

Minnie glanced up into a pair of twinkling black eyes. Friendly, and kind. Too nice for a bull like Bloodthirsty. She took a breath. “What’s your name?”

“Calhoun.”

“Are you going to ride Bloodthirsty Black?”

Calhoun nodded, amused by her question. “Yes, I am. Shouldn’t you kids be with your parents?”

“Mom works with the rodeo,” Minnie said bravely, thinking that the cowboy was awfully tall, the tallest one she’d seen in a long time. Maybe the biggest, too. “I’ve seen more rodeos than you’ll ever see, cowboy.”

He laughed. “Is that so, young lady? Well, then, I’ll be on my way.” Tipping his hat, he left the pair.

“Hey, I hope you win,” Minnie called after the cowboy.

“If he doesn’t, I’m gonna ride that bull,” Kenny muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Minnie said. “Mom will never let you.”

“And Mom said you weren’t to size up any more, uh, marks,” Kenny reminded her. “You looked like you’d seen a movie star when you talked to that cowboy. You got all goo-goo.”

“That’s what I’m doing wrong,” Minnie whispered. “I’m looking for marks, when I should have been looking for goo-gooey.”

“Huh?” Kenny stared at his sister.

“We don’t need a cowboy to work for us, we need one for Mom.”

They watched as the cowboy lifted a child, a little girl her own age, Minnie estimated, onto a pony.

“You mean, like a dad?” Kenny asked. “Grandpa Barley said he’d kick the bejesu—”

“Shh,” Minnie said, “you’re not to quote Grandpa when he goes south of good manners, Mom says. If that cowboy can stay in the saddle, we’re going to find a way to drag him over to Mom. You can cry and I’ll pretend to be lost.”

“And you’ll get in trouble,” Kenny said. “Mom knows when you’re, you know, looking out for her.”

“Yes,” Minnie said, “but Kenny, our life would be simpler with a man who can jump into a barrel. And that cowboy looks like he can handle barrels just fine.”

“Maybe we should get Mom to watch him,” he said. “Maybe she’d change her mind, although she’d probably say he was too big to…” His gaze wandered as he watched Calhoun walk to the other side of the arena.

“…to fit inside a barrel,” Minnie finished for him.

“Yeah.”

“Kids,” Olivia said, walking to their side as they hung over the rail, looking out into the arena. “I’m about to start the act. You guys are going to be okay for another hour, right?”

“Yes,” Minnie said. “Look at that man, Momma. That’s the cowboy who’s gonna ride Bloodthirsty Black.”

Olivia glanced in the direction Minnie was pointing.

“He’s very tall,” Kenny said. “I don’t think he’ll be able to stay in the saddle.”

“But he looks like Antonio Banderas,” Minnie observed. “In that movie we weren’t supposed to be watching when you fell asleep, Momma? Antonio could do anything.”

“Let’s all stick to G-rated movies from now on,” Olivia murmured, her heart beginning to beat faster as she watched the cowboy walk. He did have a saunter to him, a loose swagger of confidence that caught the attention of every woman in the arena.

Then he turned around to wave to her children, and Olivia’s heart sank deep inside her chest.

He’s gorgeous.




Chapter Two


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.




Chapter Three


Calhoun was impressed with Olivia’s act—the one where she pretended she wasn’t interested in him even more than the one with Gypsy, Grandpa and the barrels. He left the show, heading to his truck.

Olivia’s no-sizzle charade intrigued him. Never had he seen a lady with more sex appeal trying so hard to hide her light under a bushel basket, as the old-timers used to say. She wouldn’t even let loose with a smile for him—and that told him a lot.

It told him Olivia was chicken. He’d caught her checking him out, and she didn’t mind dueling with wordplay, so the passion was there. She’d simply turned her sex switch to the Off position.

A better man might find a way to flip that switch back on.

It would be a fun chase, and he had no doubt she’d give him the run of his life, which he would enjoy thoroughly. Yet it seemed to him that was probably how his brothers had ended up at the altar—thinking with their Sex Switch Fix-It Kits.

He had his nudes to keep him company, and he’d have to be satisfied with that.

“Calhoun?”

The voice stopped him before he took the tarp off the truck bed. He turned. “Olivia?”

She blushed. “Can I talk to you?”

She could talk to him. She could walk with him. She could— “Sure. What’s up?”

Glancing around, she said, “It’s a private matter.”

Oh, yeah. His favorite kind. “Well, we could sit in my truck, or we could walk to the tearoom, or—”

“Your truck is fine. Thanks.”

She hopped into the driver’s side and slid across the seat before he could open the door for her. Dang, he’d never had a woman so eager to spend time alone with him. He shut his door and waited expectantly.

“I won’t take up much of your time,” she began. “I must ask you to stay away from my children as much as possible. I know they’ve been seeking you out, and I’m going to talk to them about that, but in any case, I’d appreciate your help with this.”

Now that wasn’t the prelude he’d been hoping for. His spirit dimmed a bit. “Why? Have I upset you somehow?”

“No. It’s complicated, actually, and forgive me for not wanting to explain more, but it would just be best.”

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “For you, for me or for them?”

“For everyone.”

Hmm. This lady was more afraid of her switch than he’d thought. Tapping the steering wheel, he said, “Of course I will do whatever you ask.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, sensing her relief. “Can I ask one question?”

“Yes.”

“If we weren’t attracted to each other, would I be getting this No-Kids-Zone request?”

She looked at him. “Cowboy, I never said I was attracted to you.”

“You wouldn’t say it, even if it were the truth.”

Her lips formed a rosebud of disapproval. He made a mental note that this woman was darling even when she was annoyed, which was important. Some women were downright scary when they were annoyed. A man factored in facial expressions when he was getting to know a woman. An artist such as himself was particularly attuned to the range of expressions each female possessed.

She might be affecting his barometer of sexual attraction, but this female’s needle gauge was hovering right around the Back-Off-Buddy range.

“Thank you for understanding about the children,” Olivia said, opening the truck door. “They are always scouting for men. Although I will say that they’re a little more enthusiastic about pitching you.”

“Thanks. I think.” He let her get out of the truck, though he was sorely tempted to take her fragile little wrist and pull her back inside for a goodbye kiss that would make her think ten times before she shut that door in his face.

However, the combination of her switch turned off and her lips budded with displeasure signaled he should keep his tendencies to himself for the moment. He also sensed sweet talk was not the way to crack her defenses.

Damn, she was a puzzle.

“I’m good with puzzles,” he murmured out loud.

“I beg your pardon?” She halted before shutting the door.

“Oh. Never mind. Sorry.”

“It sounded like you said ‘I’m good with puzzles.’”

“No.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Have a good afternoon.”

“Goodbye,” he said, his meaning clear. Might as well join the game of hard-to-get since that seemed to be her seduction of choice.

But she closed the truck door without even a moment of regret or coyness, and Calhoun realized she really wasn’t up to anything more than what she’d said: asking him not to buddy up with her kids.

The whole thing hurt his feelings a helluva lot more than it should have.

So it startled him when she tapped on the driver’s side window a few minutes later. It rattled him, he admitted, because he’d figured she was long gone with dust trails behind her. He opened the door. “Did you forget to spoon out the last chunk of my feelings? Come back to play the last song as the lights dim at the bar and Calhoun goes home somewhat annoyed and depressed?”

Olivia blinked. “Why would you be depressed? You don’t even know us.”

He shifted, pushing his back against the seat cushion. “What am I supposed to do, Olivia, if I see your kids again? Walk on by?”

Her eyes opened. “The rodeo’s only going on for one more night. After that, it won’t matter.”

“No, it won’t—but, to be honest, I’ve never had a woman ask me to stop being friendly to her kids. And I will admit that it kind of sucks.” He frowned. “I don’t see what harm I’ve done.”

“You haven’t. It’s very difficult to explain, Calhoun, but my children are sort of…thinkers. Worriers, if you will. And they try to manipulate their environment. In this case, the environment is you.”

He really didn’t know what to say to that much honesty.

She looked at him, and he could tell she was embarrassed.

“So you’re saying I’m just a target for their attention?”

“Right. One in a long line.”

Ouch. He didn’t like to be in long lines anywhere, unless it was a cattle parade at the rodeo.

With a sigh, she said, “This isn’t easy to say about my children. But I’m sure you can appreciate my position as a single parent.”

“Sure. You don’t want your kids scoping out potential fathers.”

She frowned. “Fathers? I don’t think that thought ever entered their mind. They have my dad as a father figure.”

Hmm. He hadn’t considered that. They did have a version of the classic nuclear family. “So what do they want from me?”

“The question is better posed as ‘What do you want from us?’ Because I think that’s where the problem comes in.”

He ran his hand through his hair and put his hat back on. “Look, I think my M.O. is pretty simple. I just want to kiss you. And if being friendly to your kids comes along with the package, I’m cool with that. They’re a different sort of crew, but what you don’t know, because you don’t know me well enough, is that I’m kind of at home with strange characters.”

“Kiss me?”

Her eyes were open with something like shock, or maybe alarm. Calhoun considered that. Clearly, kissing him had not crossed her mind. Pow! One more sock to the ole ego. Man, this woman had her sex switch permanently lodged in the Off position, and it would take a god of Herculean enterprises to move the damn thing.

“A kiss is not exactly asking you to jump off a bridge, you know,” he said sourly. “Pardon me if I thought you might, you know, find me attractive. Like I do you. Although you are getting on my nerves with your lack of response to my manly attributes.”

She started to laugh. He thought it sounded more like nerves than amusement, though, so he decided to go with it. “Share the joke.”

“I can’t. There’s no joke. Really. It’s just that…you don’t want to kiss me, cowboy. Trust me.”

“I think I will be the judge of my sexual desire, thank you very much,” he said. “But let me find out for myself so I can be honest with both of us.”

Calhoun swept Olivia into his lap, just the way he’d been dying to do since meeting her, and he planted a kiss right on her lips. Olivia didn’t move, probably from surprise, so he cradled her face in his hands and began a more gentle assault on her locked-down security position. Softly, he moved his lips against hers, then lightly ran his tongue across her lips before pressing his mouth against hers over and over again.

And everything in his jeans went straight to attention. He might have burst a seam somewhere. Yowza, this little mama smelled good, she felt great, and her mouth was made for his.

He could spend a lifetime kissing her.

Calhoun shoved her out of his lap. “You’re right. I didn’t want to kiss you.”

She gasped, and then, to his everlasting surprise, she slapped him one across the face before whirling off.

Now, granted he’d been hit harder in his life, and goodness knows, it had been more a whisk than a smack that she’d landed—but it was the intention that startled him.

The little minx. And he still had an erection—blast her curvy little rump that had heated his zipper as she’d sat in his lap. “I’m pretty certain she’s annoying me,” he muttered. “She tried to slap me, and I still have the itch to go after her. Where I come from, I know that would be considered a bad omen!”

Especially since he’d been fibbing to save his soul.

He had wanted to kiss her. And he wanted to do it again—soon.



THE WORST THING a man could tell a woman, Olivia decided, was that he didn’t want to kiss her—after he’d insisted upon it. The arrogant cowboy! Once again, her theory about cowboys was proved true. The Elusive Sexy Cowboy was the most devastating thing that could happen to a woman.

He’d managed to tear apart the first budding of her heart without even trying.

Maybe not actual budding, she thought. Maybe just a scratching of new growth hidden beneath a winterized girdle of dormant seed, but she’d felt the stirring. Like a new plant turning toward the sun, she’d felt herself warming to Calhoun. A surprising ray of hope had lit inside her when he’d put his mouth against hers, touching her kindly and gently, awakening feelings she’d never known she could possess.

It had felt so wonderful to kiss him. He had no idea how much she’d delighted in finding that a man’s kiss could give her pleasure instead of revulsion.

And then, he’d crushed her new growth.

He’d think twice before he tried to steal another kiss from her—and then insult her inexperience.

Crawling into the bed inside the trailer, Olivia slipped between her kids. They curled up next to her, as they always did, making her relax with contentment. Here was what mattered to her heart. Kenny and Minnie: the best part of her life.

At the other end of the trailer, she could hear her father snoring as he took his nap. Everything was in its place. In a little while, she’d take the kids to see tonight’s fun. There would be face painting and art exhibits and other exciting things for them to do—and she was going to forget all about Calhoun and his effect on her.

She was going to forget everything except his kiss. That had been a surprise, making her tingle all over. Even if Calhoun was a bad thing for her, his kiss had been very good.

He need not ever know exactly how one simple kiss had changed her awareness of herself. Today, she felt as if life was starting all over again.

She was glad she’d slapped him for being a horse’s ass, though.



“I SHOULD KISS HER AGAIN,” Calhoun told himself when he saw Olivia and her kids wander into the exhibit pavilion that evening. “And then tell her I’d been tweaking the truth just a wee bit.”

But she’d asked him to stay away from her kids because they were seekers of some kind. He frowned, wondering what they needed so bad that they had a habit of trolling for men. It didn’t matter. Olivia was with her kids, and she’d asked him not to be friendly with them, so no kissie-kissie, duck-the-slappie for him tonight.

“Nice paintings,” a man said.

“Thanks.” Calhoun nodded. “Been painting all my life.”

“You’ve done some beautiful work.” The short cowboy had a little daughter with him, Calhoun noticed, and he hoped the child wasn’t affected by all the nudes. She was pretty young, and she was busy with the cotton candy that was smudging her face with pink webs of sugar. Calhoun exercised his right to be friendly with the child. “Hey,” he said, lifting the girl onto a barrel so that she could sit and eat her cotton candy—and be out of range of the paintings while her father shopped. “Keep my chair warm for me, would you, princess?” he asked.

She giggled and smiled at him, and Calhoun felt momentarily sad that he couldn’t enjoy the company of Kenny and Minnie this way. They’d had a good repartee going—something he didn’t expect to have with young children—and he was surprised to find that he missed them.



“DID YOU SEE THAT?” Kenny asked Minnie as they spied on Calhoun across the pavilion. “That little girl is shopping for Calhoun.”

“I don’t think so,” Minnie said, making certain their mother’s attention was on merchandise in one of the makeshift booths. “She has a father with her. Now if she had her mother with her, I’d say she might be shopping for him—”

“I don’t see why we can’t talk to him,” Kenny grumbled. “He’s nice.”

“Yeah.” Minnie certainly agreed that the cowboy was nice. So she understood Kenny’s concern. They’d sort of chosen Calhoun for themselves. And they didn’t like sharing, especially not with a little girl who was younger and cuter, who wore a pretty pink dress and white ankle socks with lacy edges, and who had blond ringlets and cotton candy.

Minnie’s lips pressed together as she looked down at her overalls and scuffed shoes. Did she remember to use her hairbrush today? Momma always said she should, and usually Momma made sure of it, but tonight her mind had been elsewhere, and Minnie had taken advantage of that to slip out without brushing. Self-consciously, she ran her hand over her long hair, smoothing it, then spit on her hand to flatten down Kenny’s hair.

“She’s already got a father,” Kenny said. “I want to go push her off that barrel.”

Minnie stopped her spit adjustment of Kenny’s bristly head. “She does seem to have everything.” Feeling badly for her jealousy, she glanced toward her mother, who had moved to the next booth. “Sometimes life doesn’t feel quite fair.”

“We need a father,” Kenny said stubbornly.

“We have Grandpa.”

“Yes, but if he’s getting too old to jump in and out of barrels, then…”

Then what else might he be too old for? Minnie thought. Playing? Living? She glanced back over to Calhoun, then gasped as she saw him painting something on the little girl’s plump cheeks. “Come on,” she said to Kenny, “I can’t see when we’re this far away!”



“I CAN PAINT A WOMAN on a saddle for you,” Calhoun said, “but I’m afraid it won’t last.”

“Still,” the man replied, “my butt will be happy while she does, if you know what I mean. And it’s probably longer than most real-life women last.”

Calhoun held back a grimace. Rough as the Jefferson household could be, he was pretty certain a man didn’t talk about naked women in front of a child.

“Let me see your unicorn, sweetie,” he said, as he finished the last strokes of sparkly paint he was applying to her cheek. “It’s almost as pretty as you,” he told her, though he’d wager cotton candy would be dulling the sparkle in no time. The child seemed very impressed with her treat, and not as impressed with Calhoun’s rendering on her face, but he figured with both of his customers happy, the world was good.

At least he thought so, until he saw two little faces peering at him from behind an easel that held a large portrait.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, pocketing the money he’d been paid. “I’ll get on that saddle right away.”

The man grinned, taking his daughter by the hand. “I can’t wait to see what you can do.”

Calhoun waited until the customer was gone, then glanced around. No Olivia. “Okay, you two, come on out.”

They did, rather sheepishly. “What are you up to now?” he asked.

Minnie blinked at him. “I want a sparkly unicorn on my face.”

“And I want a sparkly deer,” Kenny said. “A reindeer. Like Santa has.”

“Er—” Calhoun squirmed. How could he turn them down? And yet, he couldn’t go against their mother’s wishes. “Where is your mom?”

“Over there,” Minnie said airily. “Don’t worry. She won’t want her face painted.”

“Yeah. You can just do us.” Kenny beamed.

Calhoun sighed. “You two are a pack of trouble, you know it? Your mother says I’m to stay out of your clutches.”

Minnie nodded. “And we’re not to bug you.”

“Bug me?” Calhoun cleaned a paintbrush. “Bug isn’t the word I’d use. And I don’t think that was the word your mom used. Was it?”

“No.” Kenny frowned thoughtfully. “She said we were not to take up your time. Which means ‘bug.’”

Calhoun shifted as he thought through his dilemma. Should he tell the children to go away? That would hurt their feelings. He’d seen the look in Minnie’s eyes as she’d watched him painting the little girl’s face. He’d seen a lot in that moment. “Hey,” he said suddenly, “what exactly is it you two want from me, besides some face painting? Tell the truth.”

“We told you,” Minnie said. “We think you’d make an awesome barrel act with Gypsy on account of how fast you can run. But,” she sighed, “now Kenny’s decided you’d make a better father.”

Calhoun halted. “Father?” He glanced at Kenny.

The kids shrugged at him. “Maybe,” Kenny said. “I’m thinking ’bout it.”

Whoa. Olivia would freak if she heard her son say that! “Ah, okay. Here’s the deal. This is my price for face painting.”

The kids edged closer to him, eager to barter.

“I will paint one thing for each of you, but you have to promise me that you will never say to your mom what you just said to me.”

They stared at him.

“Why?” Kenny asked. “We don’t usually keep secrets from Mom.”

“Trust me, this is a good one to start with.” He patted Kenny’s back. “Is it a deal or not?”

The kids nodded. “Deal. We won’t tell Mom how fast you can run,” Kenny said.

Calhoun squatted down to where they could look down into his face. “That wasn’t it, exactly. Skip the part about looking for a father. That’s not something she wants to hear.”

Kenny sighed. “Okay.”

Minnie stared at him. “We’re not dumb, Calhoun. We know it’d never work.”

After a moment, he nodded.

“I mean, there are other girls in the world, ones who wear pretty dresses and ribbons in their hair and who don’t spit-comb their brother’s hair,” she said mildly.

He glanced at Kenny’s hair with some interest. “Spit-comb?”

Minnie shrugged. “Works better than water.”

“Hmmph.” He took her small hand in his. “Just for the record, I’m the kind of guy who’s more impressed by ingenuity than froufrou, okay?”

“Cowboy, I’m pretty smart because my momma homeschools me, but I don’t know what froufrou means. And neither does Kenny.”

Kenny shifted from boot to boot. “Can we start now? Before Mom finds us and drags us off for another lecture on how we’re not supposed to be bothering Calhoun?”

Calhoun grinned. “Just remember what I said,” he told Minnie. “One day you’ll meet a guy who feels the same way I do about froufrou, and you’ll know he’s the one.”

Minnie sat on the barrel, taking the little girl’s place and feeling pretty good about it. “Maybe Momma would like you better if you spit-combed your hair,” she commented.

Calhoun smiled and picked up his paintbrush. “Keep your head turned this way and don’t glance at the paintings.”

“We already saw them,” Kenny said. “They’re naked women. You must like naked women a bunch.”

“And you’re going to paint a naked woman on a saddle for that man, to make his butt happy,” Minnie said. “I guess that’s what you mean by froufrou.”

Calhoun looked at Minnie, with her honest eyes, her straight hair and her wide mouth, which was, coincidentally, budded up into the same expression of disapproval he’d seen on her mother’s face earlier. On Olivia’s face he’d found it cute—but on Minnie’s face, it was disconcerting. Olivia was right: her child was a worrier.

And her equally worried brother sat beside her, with eyes like Minnie’s, only Kenny’s had a deeper reservoir of sadness, almost like Charlie Brown, as if his world was never going to be quite right but he’d keep searching for the good in life anyway. Catch ’em being good, adults liked to say about children. In Kenny’s watchful gaze, it was as if Kenny was waiting to catch Calhoun being good.

“You know,” Calhoun said heavily, sitting down next to them. “I should paint you two.”

“I want a deer,” Kenny said, as Calhoun touched the paintbrush to his cheek.

“I meant, paint a portrait of you. Together.”

Minnie watched over his shoulder as his hand moved deftly over her brother’s face. “Why?”

“I don’t know why. Change of pace, maybe.” He’d never painted anything but nudes. Well, once in high school, he’d painted graffiti on the gym walls and gotten suspended for three days—after he’d painted the entire gym again, by himself, in a new coat of school colors. The school had suspended him, but it had been Mason who’d dragged Calhoun back to the school to tell them he wanted to make right what he’d done wrong.

Curse Mason, and curse Maverick’s legacy of trying to instill rightness in all of them. It was almost like having a Goody Two-shoes gene one couldn’t outrun.

“If you paint us,” Minnie said, her voice colored with wonder, “paint me with a pretty dress and ribbons. My hair done right, and Kenny’s lying down, not stuck up like a bird perch on his head. Okay, Calhoun?”

Calhoun stopped, his hand floating in the air, paintbrush suspended, as he realized what she was saying.

Minnie dreamed of a world she was never going to have, even if she was practical enough to know that her life with her family was better than the little girl’s with the ribbons and cotton candy and father who wanted his butt to be happy. But still, she dreamed of adding more color to her personal portrait. She’d remodel Minnie Spinlove.

“Minnie and Kenny, what are you doing?”

Olivia’s voice startled Calhoun. He turned to face the mother of the children whose faces he was painting. She looked none too happy.

Before he could stop himself, Calhoun reached out and painted a big dot on Olivia’s cheek.

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“Face painting,” he said. “And we’re obeying all the rules. They’re paying customers, Ms. Spinlove. Scout’s honor. Just like the little girl who was here before getting her face painted. Even ladies like to get their face painted. It takes them back to their childhood. Would you like your face painted?”

“No, thank you,” Olivia said. “I will wait until you are finished, though. I suppose, Minnie, that you managed to find the only cowboy in Texas who paints faces?”

“At this rodeo, Momma,” Minnie said. “At least I didn’t see any others. And even if I did, I’d still want Calhoun to do it, ’cause he’s an awesome painter. He can paint a pretty naked woman, Momma,” she added as Calhoun gently wiped off the blue splash of paint he’d put on Olivia’s cheek.

Olivia looked behind her at the exhibits where people were milling around, gazing at the paintings. “I…see.”

“Ah, Minnie,” Calhoun said, taking her face in his hands to finish her unicorn. “You certainly are mini,” he told her. “But I suspect you’re high voltage all the time.” Then he painted a sparkly unicorn on her cheek.

Kenny scooted a barrel next to Calhoun so he could intently watch the process now that he had a deer on his cheek. Olivia hung back, her boot tapping nervously on the ground.

“These customers waited patiently for their turns,” Calhoun said conversationally to Olivia, hoping to calm her down. They were all breaking the rules, and he suspected she wasn’t buying the paying customer routine, but he knew the kids were after a little attention. He was willing to supply it until everybody said sayonara tomorrow night, so what was the harm? As their mother said, they pestered everybody for attention.

And Minnie wanted him to paint a doctored-up portrait of her and her brother that represented the image in her mind, the one she wished for. An image that was right up there with the idea of unicorns being the fabled symbol of happiness.

He couldn’t give the kids what they wanted, any more than he could give them real unicorns. Or an idealized family with picture-perfect hair and dolled-up dresses.

He knew all about trying to create a reality out of the painted picture in one’s mind of the perfect family. “There,” he said gently to Minnie. “The best one I’ve done all day.” And he rumpled Kenny’s hair so that the spit-combing was shot. “Yours, too, kid. Y’all got the best I had.”

“Thanks, Mr. Calhoun,” Kenny said. Getting up, he went to his mom so she could inspect the artwork. “You should let him paint your face, Mom,” he said. “It feels kinda funny when he touches you, but you’d like it.”

Olivia blushed deeply. She could feel it, because it felt as if she’d just broken out in some kind of flu-like rash. Glancing at Calhoun, she was grateful to see that he was pretending not to hear. He was, simply, the most beautiful, clean-shaven and sexy-smelling cowboy she’d ever met, and her heart thump-thump-thumped in warning. She knew all about how wonderful it felt when he touched her face.

She laid a ten on the table to pay for the face painting. “Thank you. Kids, let’s go.”

“Thank you,” they told Calhoun, and then hugged his neck, being careful not to smudge their painted faces.

“You’re welcome,” he said, not looking at Olivia or the ten dollars. “Goodbye.”

Olivia didn’t know what to do except stiffly walk away, her gaze anywhere but on the paintings.

The worst part was, he did paint extraordinary nudes.




Chapter Four


After putting the kids to bed that evening, Olivia decided to sit out on the stoop of their motor home. The evening air was inviting, and she wasn’t ready to crawl in bed. She needed to think, and the topic of her thoughts was Calhoun. The paint had now faded some from the children’s faces—they wouldn’t remove the art at bedtime, claiming the drawings were special—but her thoughts about Calhoun were in no danger of fading at all. She felt as though her heart was running away inside her chest, wild and free where she couldn’t lasso it or tell it to calm down.

“I’m too old for such silliness,” she murmured, scratching at a bug bite on her leg just below her shorts.

“Ms. Spinlove,” she heard Calhoun say. “You forgot this.” He held out the ten dollars she’d left for him.

Her heart raced faster, thrilled to be out of reach of the lasso. “We’re paying customers.”

“I’ll charge you when I’ve actually worked for it. Your kids are a pleasure.”

Of course he would say that, the louse. A man who painted women’s naked bodies as brilliantly as he did also knew their minds intimately, no doubt. Everything was laid bare before him. “Please don’t sweet-talk me. I’m real sensitive about my kids.”

“You should be. May I?”

He asked permission to sit next to her on the stoop. She didn’t want him to, but there was no place else to sit, and besides, it seemed somewhat rude after he’d put the money back in his pocket to save her pride. It wasn’t as if he was going to kiss her again—though her feminine wishes delighted at the thought.

“I didn’t just come to return the money,” Calhoun said. “I also wanted to tell you that we didn’t deliberately go against your rules today. I kind of got caught in the cross fire. Your daughter watched me paint a little girl’s face, and—” he shot her a glance she’d have to call pleading “—Olivia, I couldn’t send Minnie away. The hope for a face tattoo was written all over her. And Kenny looked so old and wise and sad—”

“I told you,” she interrupted. “They’re worriers. And it shows. So people worry about them.” She sighed deeply. “I don’t know why they worry as much as they do.”

“Probably because they see you doing it. And you talk to them like they’re little adults. Which is not an entirely bad thing, but it does make them realize that the world around them requires some figuring out rather than magical zippedee-do-da.”

“You’re right,” she said, surprised.




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