The Cowboy and the Centerfold
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Debbi Rawlins
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18.2K
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17
Chapter 1
It was the last one.
Rainy Daye’s gaze riveted on the glossy magazine cover barely visible behind the store counter. The cola she was about to sip stalled inches from her lips. A bag of M&M’s she’d picked up slipped from her other hand, and she made a quick grab for it before it beaned the sweet-looking, gray-haired lady standing in line in front of her.
They weren’t supposed to sell things like that in here. This was a small, west Texas general store. The sign outside read Bait, Beer And Ice, for goodness’ sake.
Rainy shoved the sunglasses more securely up the bridge of her nose, then swept a casual glance around the near-empty store. Catching another glimpse of Midnight Fantasy’ s taunting cover, she reached around the elderly lady and her young companion to grab three more packages of soothing chocolate.
She’d made a mistake. Rainy knew that now. Here she’d driven more than fifteen hundred miles and her problems had managed to stick to her like road tar. She snatched another bag of M&M’s. And sighed.
“Can I help you?”
I doubt it. Rainy shifted her focus from the brazen strip of magazine covers to the curious store clerk peering at her over his glasses. The elderly woman, her companion and their purchases had vanished.
Rainy pasted on a passable smile and dumped her assortment of goodies and aspirin on the counter. Maybe this was only a nightmare. Or possibly she had read the map wrong. Perhaps she was still hundreds of miles from her destination, where, hopefully, such trashy magazines were unheard of.
“How far is Maybe?” she asked.
“Two towns over.”
Rainy nodded slowly. The man didn’t look up. He punched the price of each item into the ancient register, while Rainy, taking total leave of her normal, rational senses, decided what she had to do.
“Is that it?” The man licked the tip of his finger and peeled off a small paper sack.
“And that.” Rainy aimed a relatively steady finger at the bane of her existence. “I’ll take that last copy, please.”
The man jerked his attention to the small selection of magazines tucked discreetly behind a strip of plywood. “You mean this?”
She could’ve sworn his glasses fogged.
“Yes,” she murmured and darted a sideways glance toward the back of the store. Two teenage boys approached the counter.
“You want Midnight Fantasy?” the man asked in a voice designed to carry halfway across Texas.
No, she didn’t want the damn thing. But she certainly didn’t want it available to the good citizens of nearby Maybe, either.
“Yes,” she repeated through clenched teeth, bending her head to count out her money and to avoid any stunned looks. Her humility could only be tested so far.
But one less copy was, after all, one less copy.
CASH McCLOUD, barefoot and bare chested, crouched down and peered at his green cotton prey through the glass window. Timing was everything, he reminded himself as he froze, his hand firmly wrapped around the clothes dryer handle. As soon as he saw the shirt start another pass, he opened the door and yanked it out. He had a bunch of things he needed to do today, but ironing wasn’t one of them.
“Son of a...” He tossed the shirt from one hand to the other until it cooled, then slipped it over his head. He adjusted the collar and pulled the hem down over the jeans that were still too tight from their earlier bout with the dryer. With a satisfied smirk, he headed for the kitchen.
“Dang, that’s hot.” Smiley Ferguson threw the wooden spoon down near the simmering pot and fanned his exposed tongue with fervor. “Too many jalapenos. Pass me another can of tomato sauce, will ya, Cash?”
Cash shook his head, ignoring his ranch foreman’s request. “Damn it, Smiley. I told you this place has got to be cleaned up before Miss Daye arrives.” He eyed the red splatters dotting the white kitchen walls and the smears beginning to dry and cake atop the stove.
“Who?” His eyebrows drawn together, Smiley lifted a shoulder to rub at his whiskered chin. “Oh, you mean Aunt Bea?” He nodded and stuck the wooden spoon back into his brew. “Hope she knows somethin’ about chili. I ain’t lettin’ Violet Pickford win again this year.”
“Don’t call her Aunt Bea.” Cash retrieved a sponge from the sink and swept it across the spice-dotted counter. A medley of unfamiliar aromas erupted and he sneezed. “Jeez, what have you got in there?”
Smiley chuckled. “Pretty near everythin’. Wanna taste?”
“Pass. Now start cleaning up this mess.”
“Aunt Bea ain’t gonna mind. Might be darned impressed that us bachelors can cook.” The foreman scrunched up his face. “Course, bein’ a Yankee, she might not cotton to my chili. Gimme the ketchup, will ya?”
“Don’t call her Aunt Bea. I mean it, Smiley. Just because a woman’s over sixty doesn’t mean she can’t be vain. And this is Maybe, not Mayberry.” Cash took another swipe at the counter, but this time leaned back and angled his nose away. “We need her. Josh needs her. I don’t want you ticking her off.”
“I ain’t gonna tick her off. When she’s not teachin’ Josh, she can help me with this here recipe. I only got two weeks before the competition.”
Cash exhaled a large breath. It had taken him more than a month to find a full-time tutor for his fourteen-year-old son. He couldn’t afford to screw up the deal now. Josh had only two months to get his academic act together. Cash leaned against the counter and watched the older man dump another can into the pot.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt if you invited her out to dinner sometime soon. Try to make her feel welcome,” Cash added.
Smiley nearly spat out the sample he’d just deposited in his mouth. “Aunt Bea?” He puffed out his sixty-something chest and shoved back his ever-present Stetson. “You gone plum loco? Don’t go gettin’ no ideas, boy. I ain’t takin’ her, or Violet Pickford, nowhere.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Cash’s mouth, but he refrained from pointing out that he hadn’t mentioned Violet at all. Smiley had gotten busy cleaning up and Cash knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He tore a paper towel from the roll and followed behind Smiley, swiping and blotting the misses for the next twenty minutes. But as soon as Cash plunged his hands into a sink full of soapy water, the doorbell rang. He swatted the suds from his elbows and cursed under his breath.
It couldn’t be her, he thought, eyeing his bare toes. It was too early. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten his boots on yet. Probably one of Josh’s friends, he assured himself. But when the bell pealed again and his son hadn’t come bounding down the stairs as he usually did, Cash sighed and headed for the door.
Rainy tugged the baseball cap lower over her eyes. A defensive move she recognized as ludicrous, since she’d be living here for the next two months. But the newly acquired habit reassured her, nonetheless, and she pushed the doorbell one more time.
Before she could withdraw her hand, the door swung open. Rainy took an automatic step backward and tipped her head to look up into a pair of dark, emerald green eyes. At five foot nine, herself, she seldom had to look up to anyone, but her head angled considerably in order to meet the man’s surprised gaze.
“Yes?” He swept a long black lock of hair off his forehead. His dark eyebrows puckered, a small scar bisecting the left one.
Rainy glanced down to the slip of paper in her hand and gripped it for all she was worth. One single word and she’d recognized the voice. Low and gravelly, it reminded her of a crackling fire, warm brandy, satin sheets... Chocolate—she needed another chocolate fix ... bad.
The man’s displeased expression snagged her wayward attention. “I’m looking for Cash McCloud,” she said as she shot a glance to the black script numbers, high to the left of the door. “Do I have the right house?” she asked, suddenly wishing she didn’t. Phone voices never matched the actual person. Wasn’t there some kind of rule about that? She had counted on that rule, damn it.
The man frowned. Rainy repositioned her feet. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. He couldn’t possibly recognize her. Could he? She shoved her sunglasses up the minuscule fraction they had slipped.
“I’m Cash McCloud.” He stood with his arm stretched across the screen door, holding it open, but making no attempt to welcome her inside.
Rainy’s confidence took a brief nosedive. She adjusted her cap and lifted her chin a notch. “I’m Rainy.” She gritted her teeth at his deepening frown. “Rainette Daye. You are expecting me?” Her tone was a little too clipped, so she forced a weak smile for her prospective employer.
“Well, yes.” Cash McCloud blinked. She watched a convulsive movement make its way down his throat. When he dropped his arm, the screen door nearly slammed in his face, but he caught it in the nick of time. Instead he stepped outside and let the door slam behind him.
That was when Rainy noticed that his feet were bare. And that the jeans he wore were tight. Not just tight. Sprayed on. The soft, worn denim clung to every muscled curve of his thighs, his hips, his...
Rainy drew in her lower lip and briefly shut her eyes. She cocked one open, then the other, grateful for the very dark glasses she wore. “Mr. McCloud? I distinctly told you I’d be arriving today. I don’t understand...”
He was regarding her with such open surprise that Rainy lost track of her thoughts. Once again, her confidence faltered. Oh, God. How could he possibly recognize her?
“What the dickens is goin’ on out here?” An older man came to a halt at the door. His oversize hat shadowed his thin, weathered face. When he transferred his puzzled gaze from Rainy to Cash McCloud, she saw the long black braid, liberally threaded with silver, hanging down the older man’s narrow back.
No one answered, and the man looked back to Rainy. “She ain’t the tutor.”
Cash merely nodded without taking his solemn gaze from her, and Rainy felt the M&M’s she’d just inhaled do a tap dance in her stomach. She held her breath. They had recognized her. Way down here, in the middle of nowhere... even with the hat, the sunglasses. But how...
Rainy swallowed back the small bit of hope she’d brought with her from Boon, Michigan, and wondered if she had enough money left to make it to Siberia.
“Holy smokes... And she ain’t no Aunt Bea.” Gaping, the older man pulled off his hat with one bony hand. Then a huge grin cracked his sun-beaten face. “I’d be Guy Ferguson. But everyone calls me Smiley. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
Rainy smiled. She was glad somebody was. Her attention immediately drew back to Cash McCloud. One black brow lifted in an arrogant arch, while an impatient hand tumbled into his thick, collar-length hair. Her smile faded.
“Look, Ms. Daye. I think there’s been a mistake.” Her almost-new employer rolled his shoulder a half turn while adjusting the collar of his shirt.
Déjà vu. The action felt like a lightning strike to Rainy’s frazzled nerves. One after another, the members of the Boon High PTA had taken a similar posture...right before Rainy had found herself out on her well-publicized butt.
But not this time, she told herself, she was not going to let it happen again. “Mr. McCloud, I don’t believe there has actually been a mistake yet. ” Rainy gathered her renewed confidence around her like armor. She was qualified for this job. He had extended the offer, and she had accepted. She was not going to be pushed around anymore. “So let’s not be too hasty, shall we?”
Cash McCloud lost the baffled look. His strong, square chin came up and his lids lowered to half-mast. In a low tone, he said, “Lady, I’m not the one who made it.”
“Well, neither did I, Mister.”
“Yeah? And if you have forty years’ experience under your belt...” He ran a slow and deliberate gaze down her body making her feel like her long, baggy T-shirt was invisible. “Then I’ll eat my hat.”
“Glad you didn’t say shoes.” Rainy forced her gaze off his bare feet. She kept her eyes level with his.
Cash McCloud pursed his lips. He didn’t look down, either. He simply crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the open door and trained his disturbing green eyes directly on her.
Smiley chuckled, and Rainy and Cash reluctantly gave up their silent combat. “Seems like someone’s got some explainin’ to do,” he said, chuckling again. He plopped his hat back on his head and let the screen door close behind him.
Rainy felt foolish all of a sudden. It wasn’t at all like her to go on the attack like this, and being obnoxious certainly wasn’t going to save her job. A job she desperately needed, she reminded herself. But if he had recognized her, she wished he’d just come out with it. “Mr. McCloud?” Rainy squelched a sigh. “I’m not trying to be difficult—”
“And I’m not the one who lied about having forty years’ experience,” he cut in. He looked totally relaxed—except his toes, which curled tightly into the cement floor of the wraparound porch.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pulled off her glasses. Not much use for them now. Not that she’d ever believed they’d serve any purpose other than giving her a temporary reprieve. She looked up into his expressionless face and threw up a hand. “I really don’t.”
Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and tucked his hands into his back pockets. Although how he’d managed to find room for them Rainy couldn’t figure, the soft denim stretched so...
She abruptly switched her attention to his face. “What forty years?”
“In your newspaper ad.”
“My ad?”
“I’ve got it right inside.”
“My ad said four years.”
Cash shrugged. “You want to see it?”
Rainy stared at him in disbelief. Then she realized this was the mistake to which he’d been referring. Giddy relief, like bubbles from a newly opened bottle of champagne, frothed up inside her. She pulled off her baseball cap and caught herself just short of throwing it up into the clear blue Texas sky.
“Sure, Mr. McCloud.” Rainy flashed him a brilliant smile. “I’d love to see the ad.”
He pushed away from the door. “Well, you’d better come in, then.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he gave her one last wary, yet slightly resigned, look before stepping aside. “And I guess you’d better start calling me Cash.”
Cash watched Rainy precede him through the door, her long, dark blond ponytail bouncing behind her. Damn, but she didn’t look like any tutor he’d expected.
“Have a seat. I’ll go get the ad.” Cash paused at the door to his study, while Rainy sashayed toward the pine green leather couch in the living room. Well, that wasn’t exactly a fair description of the way she walked, it only looked that way because of the ridiculously big T-shirt she wore. But as she moved, the shirt snagged briefly on an interesting curve or two. And although her legs were covered to the ankle, the clingy leggings hugged the head-turning curves of her calves.
Maybe she thought she was hiding things, but as far as Cash was concerned, she was dead wrong.
It only took him a few minutes to locate the ad and another couple to pull on his socks and boots. When he got back to the living room, her head was bent over a notebook full of scribbled pages.
As soon as she heard him, Rainy put the notebook aside and looked up. An arrow of tension zapped Cash right about navel level. She had extraordinary eyes. They were large and brown and shaped like two perfect almonds. Her skin wasn’t too fair—more warm and golden, as if she might have a speck of Indian in her.
“Here it is. Forty years.” He handed her the clipping and was surprised to see the slight tremble in her fingers as she accepted the piece of paper.
Cash sat in his usual tan recliner and tried to find a comfortable position as he watched her scan the ad. After a moment, her shoulders slumped a little and she nibbled at her lower lip.
She sighed. “You’re right. There has been a mistake.” She gave him back the ad with an apologetic smile. “It should have read four years. I had no idea...” She shrugged. “There was no way of checking all the papers I’d sent it to.”
“I understand,” he lied. He didn’t understand any of this. Just how many newspapers had she advertised in and why? And what in the hell was he going to do about Josh? “As I’m sure you can understand my position.”
“Your position?” She lounged back in her seat, the passive posture putting him on edge rather than reassuring him. “What I understand is that you offered me a job. I accepted. Then, in good faith, I drove all the way here from Michigan. Mr. McCloud, you owe me this chance.”
“Actually, Ms. Daye, I don’t owe you a thing.”
“Really? I think the courts might disagree. Ever hear of breach of contract?” Rainy asked sweetly.
Great. Just what he needed. First his ex-wife manipulating the legal system to muscle him out of custody of Josh. Now this new tutor—who had the nerve to not even look like one—threatening him with a lawsuit.
Cash studied her another moment, waffling between throwing her shapely little butt out of his house and giving in to reason. Time was running out. “That offer was based on misinformation.”
“Look. I need a job, and you need me.”
Wrong. She was trouble, and Cash didn’t need trouble. He watched her in silence for a lot longer than he cared to, except he couldn’t quite come up with anything to say. Because the hell of it was, he and his son really did need her.
Finally, he shook his head in slow and deliberate repetition and said, “It’s not going to work.”
Rainy let out an exasperated sound. “What exactly are you afraid of?”
Was she kidding? She was too young, too pretty, and he had a hormone-raging son who was too fourteen. Cash closed his fist around the chair’s worn leather arm. Hell, his son’s father’s hormones weren’t exactly out to pasture, either. Hiring Rainy was becoming less and less a hot idea.
“Not a thing,” Cash finally forced himself to answer.
“Then give me a chance. Let’s agree on two weeks. If it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings. What could go wrong?”
What could go wrong? A lot. He’d be up a creek without a tutor for one, yet he didn’t have a barn full of choices, either.
Jeez, he didn’t want to think about this. He wanted to think even less about the blatant challenge in her eyes. Subtle, but no less potent than the dares he’d received as a twelve year old. He’d had enough trouble ignoring them then and found he liked them no better at thirty-five.
When he didn’t respond, she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together in front of her, her short, well-groomed nails making small ridges in her skin.
“I’m a darn good teacher. My references are impeccable.” She nailed him with those almond-shaped eyes. “I can help your son, Cash.”
He’d never heard his name said quite that way before. Soft and slow, like it got caught on the tail end of a sigh. Again, he wondered why she’d sent out so many ads, and he wondered if his recent celibacy was about to make a fool of him. “Okay.”
“Okay?” She straightened.
“It’s a deal. For two weeks, at least.”
Rainy let out a long breath, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. “You won’t be sorry.”
Yeah? Too late. Cash rubbed his jaw. “About the living arrangements. I told you it was live-in.”
Rainy smiled. His gut tightened and he knew for certain he’d just made a grave mistake.
“I think you’d be more comfortable near town.” He pushed out of his chair and headed for the hall phone. “We don’t have a motel, but Violet Pickford usually rents out rooms. I’ll foot the bill.”
“But I was counting...” She paused, a small frown settling above her troubled eyes. Then she got this skittish look all of a sudden, like a brand-new colt who’d just come into the world. “Can’t I stay here?”
Cash rocked back on his heels, weighing his answer. She couldn’t be that naive, and if she was, he wasn’t crazy about explaining the situation to her. “Violet’s place is closer to town. You’ll be happier there.”
Her eyes widened a fraction, then she got up and paced a few steps to the window. “I don’t consider this a vacation.” She sent a pleading look his way. “I’d rather stay here.”
“Look, Rainy, it’s just Josh and me here. Smiley’s my foreman and lives out in the bunkhouse with the other hands.”
Her teeth caught at her lower lip. She twisted her hands together.
“And our housekeeper only comes out three days a week.” He gave a slow shake of his head and wondered why he felt like the bad guy all of a sudden.
She seemed to clearly sense his hesitancy, because what looked like hope tugged cautiously at the corners of her mouth and she gave him an expectant look.
“Well...” He cupped the back of his neck and blew out a puff of air.
“Great.” A wide, radiant smile spread across her face, as if everything was settled, and she strode toward him.
“Darn it, Rainy. I don’t know...” She stopped a couple of feet away from him and squinted at his mouth. He reared his head back and brought a hand to his chin. “What?”
She peered closer. “Right there. Something red. Just a speck. Catsup maybe.”
Cash swiped at the area where she was pointing.
“No. You missed it.”
He tried again.
“Almost.”
Cash was about to take another run at it, but Rainy dabbed a finger at the corner of his mouth.
Heat rushed through him. With a lightning reflex, his hand jerked up to capture hers.
Their eyes met and hers widened in horror. “I am so sorry.” Her free hand worried her shirt neckline. “My nephews—my brother’s kids—I do it to them all the time.” Her shoulders sagged. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Cash cleared his throat. “No problem.” The problem was, he was still holding her hand. A soft, warm, fragile hand. He dropped it like a hot-handled iron skillet and beat a quick retreat toward the hall.
“Cash?”
She was doing it again. He stopped at the door and faced her.
“I really do want to stay here.” She tilted her head to the side. “Please.”
With any other woman, Cash would’ve been irritated by the manipulative, coquettish tactic. But Rainy looked so earnest, almost pleading. He didn’t know why, didn’t want to know. He had his son to think about. And Rainy didn’t even appear a whole lot older than Josh. Four years’ experience, she’d said. That would put her at about twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven, he figured.
He looked into her clear, hopeful brown eyes, glanced at the ponytail draped carelessly over her narrow shoulder. She barely looked twenty.
“I’ll call Violet Pickford and get you a room.” He turned away to avoid the disappointment clouding her gaze.
