Country Courtship (The Texas Two-Step Series, Book 2) (7 page)

Moving from one haunch to another, Kelli continued brushing. Cheeto loved being groomed, so he stood still for her, lapping up the attention. Kelli wished she could ride him every day, but the vet clinic kept her very busy.

Her favorite task was combing out Cheeto's mane. It was pure black, in contrast with the mix of brown and white on his body.

Her mind began to wander again—back to Bobby Gray again. She saw right through what he obviously thought was his craftiness, and yet, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

Her psyche must prefer the wrong kind of men. Look at her relationship with Ed. He'd dated her only to get an introduction to her mother. He worshiped royalty and had literally groveled at Kelli's feet when she'd told him to get lost. She should have known when he'd had her family crest polished. Or when he'd introduced her to his friends as the daughter of the Princess Elizabeth, fifty-first in line for the Valrovian crown.

Well, dropping him had been a no-brainer. But, still.

Kelli put a saddle pad on Cheeto's back and lifted the saddle to place it on top.

Before Ed she'd dated Jim the Journalist. He hadn't been content with just an entré into the Palmoral Estate. He'd wanted an exclusive interview with her mother, with photos, of course.

Jerks. Jerks. And more jerks.

Attaching the girth to Cheeto's saddle, Kelli considered how important it was that a man treat her like a normal woman, with normal needs. So she didn't look all dainty and feminine on the outside. So she had a little aristocratic blue blood on the inside. Her heart was strictly red-blooded American Woman.

And the finest Texas crude ran in her veins, too. It was the only logical reason why she couldn't get Bobby Gray out of her head.

Cheeto opened his muzzle, allowing Kelli to slip in the bit as she put on the bridle. What a lovely animal he was.

Cheeto was good motivation to get busy with her equestrian rescue fund-raising. That should change the direction of her thoughts from men—Bobby Gray in particular—to something substantial and meaningful.

Rescuing horses like Cheeto was extremely important.

But rather than dialing the director of the non-profit as she had planned, she hit the speed-dial for her sister Lori.

No answer.

Again.

Kelli snapped the phone closed and led Cheeto from the stall. She mounted him and they were off, with the wind whipping through her hair and his mane, clearing the cobwebs from her brain, all thoughts of a certain cowboy fleeing.

Mostly.

* * *

Bobby Gray looked at the cute kitten curled on his lap. They were snuggled together in Davis's favorite lounge chair in front of his TV. However, Bobby Gray didn't pay any attention to the news program blaring from the TV. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts about kittens and Kelli. Idly flipping a feather for Dick's pleasure, he said, "I'm not about to let one roadblock get in the way of Plan B."

The kitten seemed to nod before reaching out a claw toward the feather.

One of the problems was that Bobby Gray couldn't get his folks out of his head. The morning before their deaths on the way to the rodeo, his father had said, "There's no such thing as a buckless bronco, so get out there and ride, Son."

Bobby Gray took that to mean that, if you get tossed, you get right back up again. He took his father's words to heart in everything he did and couldn't have asked for better counsel in the current situation.

"You like Dr. Kelli, don't you?" he asked Dick. The kitten purred.

Well, there was more than one way to woo a hard-headed woman. They all have their weaknesses, and he had found her Achilles heel—or maybe he should say Achilles hoof.

All he needed was another sick animal.

* * *

Once a month their almost-highnesses, the Palmer girls, converged at Barbara's home for classic movies and their family special, the backwards dinner. They always put the movie on the big screen in the family room off the kitchen and started with enormous ice cream sundaes. Next came the main course and vegetables, followed by appetizers. They'd never made it all the way back to salad.

Tonight was unusual, because only five sisters were in attendance.

The kitchen was large, warm and friendly and filled with the aromas of everything from lime juice to spicy beef.

"Where's Lori?" Heather asked around the whipped cream she had stuffed into her mouth.

Thistle stood nearby, grating cheese while Abby dumped things into a skillet. The main course tonight was composed of burritos, Doritos and Mojitos.

"I don't have any clue where Lori is," mumbled Barbara around a mouthful of Doritos.

"I have an idea where she is." Kelli put the third triple fudge brownie she'd contemplated eating back on the platter. She generally ate five, but tonight she didn't have her usual appetite.

"Where?"

"I pretty sure she's in Europe, on some extended junket for her airline." She took a seat at the kitchen table.

Abby gave her a pointed look. "What's wrong?"

"Lori's upset with me."

"Why's that?"

"What's going on?" asked Barbara as she joined them at the table.

"Lori won't return my calls."

"She still mad about the cowboy?"

"I think so." Kelli rested her head on her arms. "I tried to explain that night, but she wouldn't listen. Now she won't call me back."

"Just leave a voice mail telling her you're not seeing him."

Kelli slumped even lower.

Barbara and Abby straightened in their chairs and simultaneously squealed, "Tell!"

The noise brought over the rest of her sisters. Kelli wondered if she'd make good on an escape if she made a dash for the powder room. Judging by the determined look in her sisters' eyes, she didn't have a chance.

"So, you did steal him," said Abby.

"No. Well." She couldn't explain this when she didn't really understand it herself. She sighed. "Maybe. I don't know. Is it stealing when he's chasing you and you aren't letting him catch you?"

"It is if you don't tell him to stop."

Kelli had told him, but even in her own ears her protestations didn't sound entirely sincere. She raised her arms in defeat.

Abby laughed. "Now we
know
there's a story to tell."

"Back up a minute." Thistle grinned.

"Tell," said Barbara.

"Spill," demanded Heather.

Feeling ashamed of herself was something new to Kelli and she wasn't sure how much she could omit without her sisters catching on. "There's not really much to tell. I haven't encouraged him, but I probably could do better at discouraging."

Her sisters gave her sympathetic looks, which made her confession feel worse. "I just don't want Lori to be hurt."

"Even if she is upset," said Barbara, "she should have called one of us. It's no excuse for missing the
Palmer Sisters' Can't Get A Date Night
! I'm calling her."

Everyone stilled as Barbara dialed the number.

"What's she saying?" demanded Thistle.

Barbara held up a finger to her lips and put the conversation on the speaker phone.

"Lori, you dead or dying?" she asked.

"No." They could almost hear Lori's saucy head toss. "Are you?"

"Don't be a smart aleck. Where are you?"

Lori didn't reply at first, then asked, "You're on the speaker phone, aren't you?"

"You got it."

"Well, I have a message for Kelli. Remind her that she promised to keep her paws off my men!" Lori abruptly disconnected the call.

"So now we know," said Barbara sadly.

Great. Just great, thought Kelli. The man who might be of her dreams was off limits if she wanted Lori to ever forgive her.

She loved her sister. So why couldn't she get Bobby Gray out of her thoughts?

* * *

"You're going to have to find some other way to entice your girl, Bobby Gray," said his sister Charlie as they got back to the truck he'd borrowed from Davis.

It was a large silver pick-up, with storage behind the seat, a golf club rather than a rifle on the rack and stainless steel mud flaps. It was a far cry from Bobby Gray's work truck and, if he hadn't liked Davis as much as he did, he would have called it sissified.

He grunted, but didn't reply to his sister's advice as he held open the door for her. The truck was so high off the ground that she had to leap in order to get in.

He passed behind the truck, then lumbered into the driver's seat. "There's got to be the right sick animal out there somewhere. If I have to, I'll scour the entire DFW area."

"Hopefully it won't come to that," said Charlie. "Would you mind stopping at that drug store? I need some aspirin for the headache you're giving me."

She pointed to a store at the far corner of the intersection.

"Very funny." Since it was her truck, he figured he'd better go along with her wishes and he pulled into the parking lot.

Bobby Gray got out with Charlie, planning to buy some gum, but all thoughts of it left his head as soon as he walked in the building and heard an enormous sneeze coming from a big bird in a cage right by the door.

"Aaachhoo."

"Bless you," Bobby Gray replied.

"I'll just be a minute," said Charlie.

He barely heard her. He was concentrating on the sick bird.

Bobby Gray had visited three pet stores in search of the perfect ailing animal and had come up empty handed.

For years he'd heard rumors about puppy mills and the poor condition of animals at pet stores. However, all the stores he'd visited the past few days were in top condition and the animals were healthy, yipping and eager to play. Except for the snakes, who weren't very frisky, but he doubted they were ill.

This sick bird was the answer to his problem. He homed in on the cage and saw a small sign saying, "My name is Vladimir."

"Hey, Vlad."

"Hi, Dude," replied the bird, who then sneezed again. Loudly.

Bobby Gray sent up a silent prayer of gratitude as he hunkered down to talk with Vlad. "You sick, guy?"

"Sick guy."

"You're the answer to prayer. You know that?"

"Know that."

That was it. Vlad was the most intelligent animal he'd ever met—and he was definitely smarter than lots of humans. Bobby Gray
had
to buy Vlad, but he didn't see a price tag. He headed to the register.

Behind the counter was a steel-haired middle-aged woman with an expression he couldn't read. Was it a smile or a frown? He glanced down and saw that her name was Debra. "Hey, there, Debra. How ya doin' today?"

"S'all right."

Was she in a good mood or bad? "I was wondering..."

"Yes?"

"About the bird there."

"Vladimir."

"Yeah, Vlad. About him—"

"I don't know if I can help you. He belongs to the owner."

"Well." Bobby Gray was determined to purchase the bird. "Can I see the owner then?"

"Why do you want to see the boss?"

"About the bird."

"Did 'e bite ya?"

"No."

"'S good because the last kid he bit didn't get a cent outta her, even for the rabies shots."

With that bit of wisdom the woman turned and headed for the back of the store.

It was a good thing he'd come to save Vlad. The bird was likely to be killed and examined for various diseases if he didn't make a fast escape.

Walking toward him a few minutes later was a woman who looked remarkably like how he imagined Mrs. Santa Claus would look. Her blue eyes twinkled.

"Hi," he said. "Are you—"

She cut him off. "The owner, yes."

The woman's snappish attitude was in direct opposition to her gentle appearance. "Where'd Vladimir bite you?"

"I'm not bit."

She immediately spun and began to walk toward the back again.

"Wait," he said quickly. "I want to talk with you about Vlad. How much do you want for him?"

She turned back and it occurred to him that the glimmer in her eyes was more from greed than kindness.

"He's not for sale."

"Sure he is. Everything is for sale. We just arrive at a price."

"Fine," she said shortly. "Three thousand dollars."

He was stunned. "For a bird?"

She turned away with a shrug. "Told ya he wasn't for sale. Would tick off my daughter anyway. She gave him to me before she went on tour."

"What kind of tour?"

"Dance."

"Well, she won't be quite so upset with you if you give her five hun—"

Again she cut him off. "I told you my price."

Okay. Mrs. Grinch wasn't going to negotiate. "Sold."