Must Love Cowboys (2 page)

“It's practically a full-time job keeping them fed.” He grinned. “Kinda like keeping the hogs happy.”

“I heard that!” someone shouted from the mess hall. Good-natured laughter followed.

“You boys get on in here and grab a bowl,” Calvin called back. “Or should I just pour the chili in the trough?”

“We're coming.” After more scraping of chairs and scuffling of boots, the men descended upon the kitchen.

I should have turned around and smiled, but I simply couldn't face them. I would be gone in an hour anyway. No need to make friends with everyone. Not that I
could
…

Apparently, Ophelia wasn't interested in making friends, either. With a whine, she darted between me and the stove, sending me stumbling backward only to slam into a rock-hard body and be gathered up by a pair of strong arms.

“Good thing you'd already set down that cornbread.” His breath stirred the hair lying against my neck and morphed the tickles into goose bumps that skittered down my back. “Wouldn't want to make a mess.”

This wasn't the same cowboy. The voice was as different as the attitude. Heat flooded my cheeks.

He relaxed his hold but didn't let go. Nuzzling my neck, he drew in an audible breath. “Mmm…your hair smells even better than the bread.”

“Oh, way to go, Dean,” another man jeered. “That's sure to go down in history as the best pickup line ever.”

“Give me a break, Nick,” the one called Dean said. “I wasn't expecting a gorgeous blond to fall into my arms.”

Positioned as I was, he couldn't see my eye roll or my red face—yet. I stiffened as he spun me around. My gaze landed on the base of his neck where it met the open collar of a plaid shirt. Placing a loosely fisted hand beneath my chin, he tilted my head back.

His smile stole my breath before the other details even registered. Freckles, dimples, big blue eyes, and an unruly thatch of sandy hair. Men might have made me nervous as all get-out, but that didn't mean I never looked at them. This one was worth a second glance. And a third. And a fourth…

“Enough of that, now,” Calvin barked. “Tina's my best buddy's granddaughter. I won't have you teasing her.”

“Didn't know you had a best buddy, Calvin,” another man said. “Always thought we were your best buddies.”

“Me and John go back to way before you were born, Sonny,” Calvin snapped. “You don't know nothin' 'bout it.”

In response to Calvin's reprimand, Dean released me, although he certainly took his time doing it. Another wave of tingles raced over my skin as he traced the length of my arms with his fingertips.

He scanned my face with appreciative eyes then glanced at Calvin. “Never woulda guessed an old coot like you would be friends with a girl like this.”

In the space of ten minutes, I'd been called a
young lady
and a
girl
. Clearly, these guys didn't get out much.

“Yeah, well, I just met her myself.” Calvin waved his ladle at Dean as though about to swat him with it. “Back off and I'll introduce you.” Placing a hand on my shoulder, he used the ladle to point at each man in turn. “Let's see now… I imagine you've already figured out which one is Dean—his last name is Wayland, by the way. The bald guy with the handlebar mustache is Bull Russell. Sonny Ferguson is the kid with the curly hair. Nick Reno's the one with the ponytail and the smart mouth.” He pointed at a rather tall, homely fellow. “That's Joe Knight, the foreman.” I followed his gesture to the last man, who stood framed in the doorway. “And that mean-looking varmint over there is Wyatt McCabe.”

Without his hat, he was even more formidable, and his eyes weren't the only feature contributing to that impression. Tanned skin, dark beard stubble, and thick black hair in a crew cut gone wild with a rather prominent widow's peak marked him as the rugged outdoor type. The sharp planes of his nose and the grim set of a small mouth with a full lower lip that should have been sensuous but wasn't—at least, not at the moment—suggested he was not a man to be crossed. And then there were the eyebrows. Now that I could see them clearly, they reminded me of a seagull's outstretched wings—if there was such a thing as a black seagull.

One of those extraordinary eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “We've met.”

“Really?” Calvin shot me a questioning glance. “When?”

“About twenty minutes ago,” I replied, ignoring the peculiar sensation deep within my pelvis as goose bumps tingled along my spine. “He's the one who told me where to find you. Although we didn't get around to introducing ourselves.”

So his name was Wyatt. Too bad I'd already heard his last name and couldn't make the obvious “Earp” joke. He probably got that a lot—probably didn't like it, either.

“McCabe” also had a certain Wild West flavor to it. Regardless of his name, he certainly looked the part of a tough lawman—or maybe one of the outlaws. Without a sheriff's badge pinned to his vest, it was difficult to say.

“Well then, this is Tina Hayes,” Calvin said. “You men watch your mouths while she's here.”

“Sure thing, Calvin.” The bald guy mimed zipping his lips, then smoothed out his mustache, twirling up the ends.

Nick snickered. “Which means Bull can't say another word.” More laughter rippled through the group as they queued up with their plates and bowls.

Apparently Bull's vocabulary consisted mostly of swearwords, which didn't concern me very much. I doubted there were any I hadn't heard on a regular basis. Grandpa's language had been pretty colorful, especially when he got confused and combative.

I'm not going to think about that.

I found a pair of tongs and served up the cornbread as the men passed by, hoping my blushes weren't too obvious. I'd never been able to control that response, and with six young men in close proximity, the heat in my cheeks was almost continuous. I counted myself lucky to have the excuse of standing next to a hot oven. Too bad I couldn't
stay
in the kitchen.

After the men had all filed into the mess hall, I picked up a plate and bowl and Calvin dished up my chili.

“They're a good bunch of guys,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

My blushes must've been more noticeable than I thought. “I'm not worried. Just a little…shy.” A
lot
shy, actually.

“I know.”

I looked up from my plate to find him smiling at me. “How did you—”

“Your granddad told me.”

A grimace accompanied my blush. “I hadn't thought of that.”

All those letters…
Calvin had known Grandpa since long before I was born. I wasn't the only grandchild—I had two younger brothers—but Grandpa had obviously mentioned a thing or two about me.

“You're a lot like him,” he said, echoing the thoughts I'd had earlier. “Same hair color, same green eyes. Same way of avoiding eye contact.”

I glanced away, giving credence to at least one of those observations. “I'm worse about that than he ever was.”

“Maybe.” He nodded toward the doorway. “Better get on in there and eat that before it gets cold.”

I followed him into the mess hall, wondering what else he'd learned in those letters. Had Grandpa reported every scraped knee, passing grade, and graduation? If so, it was a safe bet he'd never mentioned anything about my boyfriends because I'd never had one. Had he actually told Calvin that, or had the men in my life been conspicuous by their absence?

Needless to say, I didn't ask.

I might have had the occasional schoolgirl crush on a handsome classmate, but that's as far as I'd ever gotten. I was always too shy to let anyone know what I felt or how much I cared. On the other hand, my fantasy men didn't frighten me. I was able to engage in all sorts of sexy, flirtatious activities with them. Too bad the real thing had the opposite effect.

The mess hall appeared to be used as much for recreation as it was for dining. A large rectangular room with a plain wooden floor and stuccoed walls, it contained a pool table, an enormous flat-screen television, a coffee table, and a couple of couches and recliners on the far end. In the center of the room, a potbellied stove radiated welcoming warmth, and a sturdy wooden table with seating for ten stood in the area closest to the kitchen.

To my dismay, the men had arranged themselves around that table in an alternating pattern, making it impossible for me to avoid sitting next to at least one of them. I wouldn't even have the option of sitting beside Calvin. Had they done it deliberately or did they simply like having plenty of elbow room? I felt as if I'd landed in the middle of a game of chess or tic-tac-toe with opponents who were far savvier than I ever claimed to be.

That's your imagination, Tina.

Calvin took a corner seat next to Bull, leaving me to sit between two men, which I did
not
want to do, or on the opposite corner. I chose the corner, thinking it would give Ophelia room to sit on the floor beside me. The moment I sat down, however, I realized my error.

I was across from Dean, next to Nick, with Wyatt on my left at the foot of the table.

Crap
.

The only things I dared look at were my dog and my plate.

After all I'd been through lately—taking care of my dying grandfather, helping Mom make funeral arrangements, executing his will, and driving halfway across the country and into the Tetons with my dog riding shotgun—I should've been more confident, but I wasn't. I closed my eyes, marshaling my courage.

When I finally glanced up and raised my head, Bull immediately gasped, crossed himself, and uttered a fervent “Amen!”

Nick burst out laughing. “Since when are you Catholic?”

Bull's face was as flushed as mine had undoubtedly been a few minutes before. “I'm not,” he mumbled. “Just thought Tina might be.”

I wasn't, but they didn't need to know that. Letting them think I'd been silently blessing my food was much easier than admitting the truth. “Thanks for the prayer, Bull.” I certainly needed one.

Squaring his shoulders, Bull lifted his chin. “You're welcome. I'm actually an ordained minister of the Church of the Holy Evangelical Society for the Spiritually Deprived.”

“Oh, Lord,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes. “Here we go again…”

“That's nice,” I said. “Never heard of that one.” Bull seemed sincere enough, although I couldn't help wondering if his credentials hadn't been obtained via the Internet.

Chuckling, Dean picked up his spoon and dug into his chili. “Neither has anyone else.”

“It's real!” Bull protested. “You're just jealous. You damn well better—”

Since Joe was the foreman, I would've expected him—or perhaps even Calvin—to be the one to censure Bull's outburst, but Bull had just glanced in Wyatt's direction when he snapped his mouth shut.

I stole a peek at Wyatt and caught a glimpse of his piercing scowl before he returned his attention to his dinner.

“How d'you like that chili, Tina?” Calvin asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

“It's wonderful,” I replied, despite the fact that I hadn't tasted it yet.

“That chili was her granddad's favorite,” Calvin went on, speaking to the group at large. “He always came back for more.”

The conversation shifted away from me after that, allowing me to relax enough to finally eat something. The chili was pretty tasty, although the cornbread was a little on the dry side.

“Have you been to Jackson Hole yet?” Nick asked me.

I had no idea how he knew anything about that part of my journey. Clearly, I'd missed something. “Yeah. I went there first. I'm on my way home now.”

“Cool place, isn't it?”

“Yeah. Sort of like a Wild West ski resort.” I probably would've enjoyed it more if I'd been there for a vacation instead of a funeral.

“I love that town,” Nick went on. “Go there every chance I get.”

Throughout the meal, Wyatt's plate had been directly in my line of sight, and I'd been aware of every spoonful the man put in his mouth. Even with my head turned toward Nick, I could still see him out of the corner of my eye. After buttering a piece of bread, he took a small bite, then slipped his hand beneath the edge of the table.

A moment later, I heard the unmistakable sound of Ophelia's mouth opening followed by a slurp of her tongue.

My sidelong glance revealed nothing more than an innocent cowboy wiping his fingers on a napkin before taking a sip of iced tea.

His eyes met mine over the brim of his glass. Again, no smile, no acknowledgment, no nothing. Just that same intense stare that made me drop my gaze, despite the peculiar fascination it triggered.

I really need to get back on the road.

If I left right away, I could make it to Rock Springs before dark and check into one of the nice, impersonal, dog-friendly hotels I'd discovered in the course of my online searches. If I couldn't find a room there, I could go on to Laramie or Cheyenne. I wasn't crazy about driving at night, but I'd done it before, and an interstate highway in good weather didn't pose much of a challenge.

I had to admit, I'd enjoyed passing through places I'd only heard about in history or geography class, and the names had gotten more interesting since I'd left Nebraska and crossed into Wyoming. I'd even considered taking a detour through Denver on the return trip, just so I could say I'd been there. I wasn't too far from Salt Lake City, either. I could even go on to Las Vegas if I wanted.

No. Vegas wasn't my kind of town, although the Grand Canyon was certainly worth visiting. I could take the southern route home and see that big crater in Winslow, then go on through Albuquerque, Amarillo, Oklahoma City, and Nashville before heading up I-65 to Louisville.

I'd spent a good part of the winter studying maps, and pored over them even more while recovering from a bout of flu in mid-March that knocked me down hard for over a week. Mom insisted that caring—and grieving—for Grandpa had made me more susceptible, but I blamed the worthless flu shot that I heartily wished I hadn't bothered to get. I still hadn't regained my usual stamina and had to stop more often on my journey than I would have liked, but I was finally making the journey—one I should've taken with Grandpa long ago.

“You've gotten awfully quiet.”

I glanced up from my musings to find Dean smiling at me from across the table. After our little scene in the kitchen, he hadn't said much. “So have you.”

He shrugged. “Not sure what to say.”

Somehow I doubted that. “Don't worry. I'll be out of here pretty soon and you guys can get back to normal.”

“You mean you aren't staying the night?”

I frowned. “Why on earth would I do that? I hadn't even planned on staying for dinner. This isn't exactly a hotel.”

“Oh. Right.” He sounded almost disappointed. “Where are you going from here?”

“That's what I've been thinking about,” I replied. “Rock Springs or maybe Cheyenne. Depends on whether I can find a room in a place that allows dogs.” Despite having compiled a list, without a set itinerary, I hadn't bothered to make any reservations.

“This may not be a hotel,” Wyatt said. “But we do have an extra room, and we don't object to dogs.”

The chatter at the other end of the table stopped abruptly. The fact that Wyatt's deep tones had startled me wasn't too surprising, but evidently they'd had a similar effect on everyone else.

“That's right,” Dean said after a moment's hesitation. “I'd forgotten about that.” My questioning frown prompted him to add, “It's the old foreman's quarters on the other side of the kitchen.”

I glanced at Joe. “You're the foreman, right? How come you don't use that room?”

Joe shrugged. “Just never saw the need to move out of the bunkhouse after I got promoted.”

Sonny chuckled. “Spends most nights with his girlfriend anyway.”

“Oh, I do not,” Joe protested, smiling.

Dean's disappointment had vanished. “We could clean it up for you real quick and you wouldn't have to be on the road all night.”

“It won't take me all night to get to Cheyenne. Just—” I paused, doing some rapid mental calculations. “Okay, so it would take about five hours, but—”

“We can have a room ready for you a helluva lot quicker than that!” Nick said. Apparently Dean's enthusiasm was catching.

I didn't know what to say, although the prospect of a nighttime road trip to Cheyenne was rapidly losing its appeal. “Don't you have a boss of some kind? Someone who might not want you letting a strange woman spend the night in the bunkhouse?” That didn't sound right. “I mean, the foreman's quarters?”

“Are you kidding?” Dean was already on his feet gathering up the empty plates. “Angela would rip us new ones if we let you leave now.”

“Angela, huh?” Clearly she had more nerve than I did. With the exception of Sonny, the Circle Bar K cowboys all towered over me, and at five-foot-ten, that didn't happen to me very often. Unfortunately, my height had never done much to alleviate my shyness. Not like spending an hour or so in the company of a bunch of cowboys. While I couldn't claim that sitting down to dinner with them had worked wonders, my blushes had definitely subsided.

“She's the boss,” Dean explained. “Along with her father and her husband.”

“You aren't in any hurry to get home, are you?” Calvin asked. “Be nice if you could stick around for a day or two.”

I hated to admit it, but I wasn't in any hurry at all. For the first time in my life, I actually had time to spare and a fair amount of money to burn, which was why I'd given some thought to taking a few side trips along the way.

Time.
I'd never known what it was like to have any extra, and I still hadn't quite figured out what to do with it.

The main reason I didn't like the idea of staying at the ranch was that I didn't want to discuss the last two years with Calvin. I truly hoped he wouldn't ask. Better for him to remember Grandpa the way he was before.