Catching Calhoun (15 page)

Olivia closed her eyes, then peeked to see if Calhoun was walking away. He was, and she relaxed slightly.

Gosh, he’d looked handsome. Smelled so good.

She’d wanted to drag him into the trailer for a repeat of their lovemaking.

But sex wasn’t enough to build a lasting relationship on. She knew that too well.

Whether it was more than sex, they would never know. Marvella’s words had proven prophetic, because even if she didn’t come between them as far as Calhoun was concerned, she did as far as Olivia was concerned.

Banging on her door startled her again. She opened it.

Calhoun stood outside holding a potted poinsettia. “I know I said beware the dragon bearing gifts, but I should also confess. Beware the ogre bearing gifts.”

“Now that’s more like it,” she said, opening the
door to take the poinsettia. Then she let the screen door swing closed again.

“No invitation in?”

“No ogres allowed in my house. They mess up the carpet.”

He frowned. “Olivia, we need to talk.”

“I’m listening.”

A sigh escaped him. “I messed up,” he said simply. “And I have the worst feeling that you’re a high-risk kind of girl, and if I don’t tell you everything I should, I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and your motor home will be gone.”

“I was considering that,” she said, “but my kids are enjoying being here. I’m not going to steal their vacation time away from them.”

He nodded. “Could we start over?”

“No. There are no do-overs in romance. You may have had part of your brain jangled by falling out of a tree, but my memory is perfectly fine.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, “because everything in my life changed when I met you.”

She stared at him.

“For the better,” he said. “Everything about you feels like home to me.”

“Calhoun, I don’t want to be your home. I want to be your raging passion, like your artwork, and I want to be your friend, and I want to be your onetime show.”

“Of course I meant all that, but I didn’t want to scare you,” Calhoun said. “I’m trying to take it easy
on the stuff that seems cheesy. You know, like you really make me horny, and when I shave, I think about your breasts, and when I eat, I think about that curve of your behind, and when I’m putting out food for the dog, I lose my breath because I start thinking about that tiny little freckle on your third rib—”

“Calhoun, that’s a birthmark, not a tiny freckle.”

“No bigger than my pinkie,” he said. “That’s tiny.”

He had pretty big hands. Olivia figured he was doing his best to say that her birthmark was just a freckle in his eyes. She sighed. “I must admit I think about your love handles,” she said.

“I do not have love handles!”

“And I think about your beer belly,” she continued, “and the loose skin under your eyes, and your bald spot—”

He tore the screen open and grabbed her, kissing her until her breath left her. “You think about me,” he said, “because I gave you a rousing good time in bed. You think about me, Olivia Spinlove, because I love your kids, I honor your father and your horse digs my act. I appreciate your being in a snit over the whole Marvella thing, but now you’re holding it between us, which is exactly what she wants you to do, and so she wins. But you know something, Olivia? No one, including her, has ever beaten me at anything that mattered.” And he kissed her again, making her knees weak and her heart race before he set her away from him.

“Think about that,” he said, “while you’re decid
ing about playing hard to get. Think about my lie-detector test and tell me you could pass if I asked you if you love me. I don’t think you want to give me up, Ms. Spinlove. I sure as shooting don’t want to give you up, because you’re the only woman who’s ever, ever knocked my mind off of my nudes. All I ever wanted to do was paint nudes that Michelangelo would admire. Breasts Botticelli would praise. Hips that Renoir would swoon—”

“I think I get your drift,” Olivia said, interrupting. “You forgot all about nudes when you met me.”

“Well, I didn’t forget about one nude. And when a man can’t get his mind off of one special nude, then he best take stock of his situation. I took stock of mine, and I think you should make your family mine and vice versa.”

Olivia blinked. “I know you’re not proposing, because Helga said that every Jefferson male who’d ever gotten married had to leave the ranch to be with his true love. She said it was getting pretty tight around here and that she’d cut down her weekly grocery list.”

“I took a header out of a tree for you,” Calhoun said. “Could that count?”

“I don’t think so,” Olivia said.

“Are you saying you’d accept a proposal?”

She wasn’t falling for that. “Calhoun, you cannot have it both ways. You can’t prepropose on condition of knowing the outcome.”

He studied her. “Just checking.”

So? Was he proposing? She didn’t think so. Somewhere in here, she felt a Jefferson hook. One had to be very careful, she’d learned, when dealing with these men.

“I wasn’t proposing, anyway,” he said.

“I didn’t get the impression you were, cowboy,” she said mildly. “I would guess preproposals don’t often pan out. Sort of like looking for gold in your backyard pond.”

“Actually,” he said, brightening, “there was talk that on Widow Fancy’s farm—” He looked at her and hesitated. “Never mind.”

“Never mind what?”

“Just never mind.”

He strode away. “Just like that,” she murmured. “One second he’s talking about proposals, and the next he’s talking about Widow Fancy, and then he’s slipped away. Good thing Mason warned me about his state of mind, because he very nearly changed mine!”

I
T WAS THE MEMORY
of Widow Fancy’s rumored Civil War gold that made Calhoun remember his father’s sage advice:
The treasure lies within.

If there was treasure, he needed to make certain he didn’t end up with fool’s gold. And that meant running the proper checks to make certain his exploration was on target.

Olivia didn’t seem interested in preproposals, but a smart man didn’t waste time gambling.

He was pretty certain that if he did everything right, he wouldn’t be coming up with a dry well.

At the house, he found Kenny and Minnie, baking with Helga. They had flour on their faces and cookie dough in their hair.

“Miss Helga is good to you, isn’t she?” he asked the children.

They loved Miss Helga. He could tell by the light in their eyes as they gazed up at her. So much attention she wanted to give them.

So much attention Kenny and Minnie were willing to soak up.

So much attention
he
wanted to give them, too. And he wanted theirs, even when he was getting thrown from a bull or bungee jumping without a bungee. What would he do without hearing their little voices call, “Calhoun!”

“Hey,” he said to them, “I had an idea. I wanted to run it past you, since you’re the minds behind the show.”

“Okay,” Minnie said.

“I was wondering,” Calhoun said, drawing them to him, “I was wondering if you ever thought about having a…you know. A father.”

Minnie’s eyes grew round. “We
thought
about it,” she said, “we just don’t think Momma’s ever going to say yes. We’ve given up,” she announced.

“Totally?”

“Totally,” Minnie said. “Right, Kenny?”

He nodded, the lock of hair Minnie called his bird perch sticking straight up out of his crown.

“If she said yes to me, would you like having me for a dad?”

Minnie and Kenny stared at him silently.

“Well, don’t be in a hurry to say yes,” he said.

“We’re not,” Minnie said. “We’re thinking.”

“You’re always thinking,” Calhoun said. “When I become your father, you’re going to start acting like a little girl. And you, Kenny, are going to learn to be a little boy. You’re going to know the meaning of childhood.”

“And I’m going to have a dress,” Minnie said, “a pretty one with lace and ruffles—”

“And I’m going to have, to have…” Kenny said, trying to keep up.

“A Sunday suit,” Minnie said, “to match my dress. And ribbons in my hair. And Kenny gets Sunday-best boots and a real haircut. Not Momma mowing his head with Grandpa’s old—”

“Yes,” Calhoun said. “All that. No more thinking and worrying, though. You leave that to the adults, until you’re old enough to worry. Maybe fifteen is appropriate. I think seventeen’s about when we started. I’ll ask Mason,” he said, thinking.

“In that case, we accept,” Minnie said. “You can try to talk a yes out of Mom, but we suggest you have two plans because she’ll probably have a no for you right out of the chute. That’s what we do.”

“Yes, I know,” Calhoun said, “and from now on, yes means yes, and no means no, and there’s going to be no second plans. If I become your father, that is.”

Minnie sighed. “You drive a hard bargain, cowboy. We’ll sharpen our negotiating skills.”

He tugged her hair and ruffled Kenny’s. “Come on, then. We’ve got chores to do.”

“Okay. Bye, Helga!” they said.

She hugged them and handed Calhoun a gingerbread man.

“Thank you,” he said.

She nodded.

“All right. Do you know where your grandfather is?”

“He was with the sheriff, but then he said he was going to go down and chat with Gypsy.”

“Sounds good. Now this is the hard part—”

“Not really,” Minnie said. “He’ll say yes.”

“How do you know?” Calhoun asked, surprised.

“We heard him telling the sheriff that he figured you weren’t as bad as he thought you were. And the sheriff said there were no finer men, once they found the right woman. No card cheating, no drinking, no whor—”

“Whoa, that’s plenty,” Calhoun said. “Thanks. How long were you standing outside the door?”

“Long enough to hear the sheriff go south of good manners,” Minnie said, “and that’s when we knew Grandpa had found a friend.”

Suddenly, she stopped. Kenny stood beside her. “Calhoun, if you and Momma get married…will we live here, on the road, or in Kansas?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t know, either,” she said. “This is nice, but I sort of miss the show. And Kansas is home. What do you think, Kenny?”

He shrugged. “I don’t care. Long as I can keep Gypsy.”

“Oh, Gypsy. Gypsy is…Gypsy is part of the family,” Calhoun said.

“Momma would never get rid of Gypsy,” Minnie said to Kenny. “It’s catching and keeping Calhoun we gotta worry about.”

“Exactly my thought,” Calhoun said.

T
HIRTY MINUTES LATER
, Calhoun had asked and received permission to propose to Olivia. It was, as the kids had said, the simple part.

The hard part was taking care of the deal maker.

“Which one?” he asked the children.

Their eyes were huge, as was his, as they stared into the jeweler’s case. He could never have imagined that engagement rings came in so many styles. He had no idea what Olivia would want. Diamonds, pearls, emeralds, sapphires. Big, little, solitaire, heart shaped, round or square? Flaws? The four Cs?

He was totally confused.

“That one,” Minnie said, her face wreathed in a big smile.

“Which one?” he asked.

She pointed to a ring that had three diamonds across. Kenny bobbed his head in agreement. The diamonds were a fair size, he thought, and feminine
and deliciously round, reminding him somehow of Olivia’s nipples. How could that be? Was that a good thing? Would she be offended?

He decided he wouldn’t tell her. Because, after all, he was a man who saw beauty in a woman’s body—and hers was the only body he ever cared to see for the rest of his life. So if he saw her body when he saw beautiful things, then that just meant his eyes would always be full of her.

“We’ll take it,” he said. “Excellent choice, children. This one’s a keeper, I can tell.”

“T
HIS HAS TO BE DONE
just right,” Minnie told Calhoun. “Try to be a little more still.”

She flattened his hair with water from the sink. “I’m not spit-combing you,” she told him.

“Thank you,” he said dryly.

Kenny beamed. “It works good, though.”

Minnie had on a beautiful new dress. Lots of ruffles. A pretty cherry-fuchsia that complemented her skin and would be perfect to wear to church on Christmas Eve. Plus, she had pretty stockings and a pair of shiny black shoes with bows on top. Calhoun had worried about the bows—maybe Olivia would think they were too fancy—but Minnie had been so agog over the tiny heels and the bows he couldn’t say no.

Kenny wore a pair of charcoal slacks, a white button-down shirt, a blue blazer and a tie he’d picked out himself. The tie was green and printed with red candy canes and holly, and it made Calhoun’s eyes twirl to
look at it, but it was Kenny’s first tie, and Calhoun figured a boy’s tie ought to be a real positive experience. Kenny also had on black boots with gray pulls and toes, because Calhoun had told him he couldn’t have the ones with silver toes. That, he said, could come on his sixteenth birthday—wherever he was, he promised.

It was a bit too fancy for Calhoun, but when Kenny chose the black-and-gray boots, he knew they’d come to the perfect compromise. Kenny looked so grown-up, and he knew it.

Then Calhoun had taken the children to the Union Junction Salon, and let the ladies fuss over their hair. Lily had put so many ringlets in Minnie’s hair she looked like a princess.

Kenny, for once, had a manly, clean style. Just like a prince, Calhoun figured.

“All that’s missing now is Gypsy,” Minnie told him. “Let’s go before Momma starts looking for us.”

They got Gypsy from the pasture and put a saddle on her. She seemed to know something was up because she began putting on her show airs, prancing her way over to the motor home.

At the door, Calhoun gave her the command to tap.

Gypsy went tap-tap-tap! with her hoof, the way she did on Grandpa’s barrels.

Olivia came to the door with her hair wrapped in a towel and wearing a bathrobe. The minute she saw Calhoun with Minnie and Kenny in front of him on Gypsy, all dressed in their finery, she started to cry. And laugh.