Read The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl Online
Authors: Nancy Martin
The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl (9 page)
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Hank had unpacked a bundle of thin metal rods and some flimsy yellow fabric that hardly looked substantial enough to shelter a rabbit from a spring breeze. He was busily fitting the metal rods together. “No, I’ll have this up in a jiffy. Why don’t you look for Baby?”
Carly didn’t want to explain that she was afraid to venture more than shouting distance from Hank. “I...I think she’s wandered off.”
“Oh. She’ll be back, I’m sure. At least I hope so.”
“What?”
Hank hastily changed the subject. “Why don’t you pick out a good place for the tent?”
That job sounded like something she could handle. Carly’s confidence was at a low ebb, however, and she asked in a small voice, “What kind of place?”
“A dry and flat spot.”
Carly looked around and decided the most picturesque location would be the little grassy area beside the creek, just a few yards from their original fire. To make room for the tent, she picked up a couple of small rocks and threw them into the rushing water.
Hank took a few more minutes to get the tent assembled, and it looked a little crooked when he finally staked it down on the spot Carly showed him. But Carly was glad for the shelter two minutes later when the clouds burst open and dumped a torrential downpour upon them.
She scrambled into the tent to stay dry while Hank collected the rest of their gear and handed it to her. When he hauled Laverne’s saddle through the tent flap, however, Carly protested.
“There’s hardly room for the two of us let alone that monster!”
“We can’t let it get soaked Becky will kill me.”
Over the rush of rain, Carly wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “What?”
“I mean,” he shouted, “it’s important to take care of expensive equipment like this.”
Carly squished herself into the back of the little tent to make room for Hank and his infernal saddle. The space was very crowded once everything was safely out of the rain, but she bit down on her complaints.
“There,” said Hank after he’d zippered them into the tent. “Isn’t this cozy?”
“Sure,” Carly replied, mustering some enthusiasm. “When can we order from room service?”
“Ouch!” He shifted away from the saddle horn that had poked him in the thigh. “Okay, this isn’t exactly the Paris Ritz, but—”
“Don’t mention the Ritz right now, okay? I might start crying.”
Although he knew Carly was joking, Hank wouldn’t mind doing a little crying himself. Despite all the time he’d spent in the great outdoors, there was nothing he’d hated more than camping. And after spending the afternoon on the ground, his whole body was starting to stiffen. He could definitely feel the bruises caused by his assorted injuries that morning. At thirty-seven, he was getting far too old to fall off horses. He shook the rain out of his hair.
What I wouldn’t give for a trip to my club right now,
he mused.
Some time in the steam room would be perfect.
he mused.
Some time in the steam room would be perfect.
“I wish I could take a hot bath,” Carly said just then, echoing his fantasy. “Wouldn’t that be heavenly?”
“Heavenly, all right.”
She glanced at him wryly. “Okay, you don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t!”
“I’ll admit I’m not exactly a nature girl.”
I’m not exactly delighted with our circumstances, either,
Hank wanted to say.
There’s nothing I like better than a luxury hotel
—
preferably within walking distance of a good museum, a decent neighborhood bar and a ballpark.
But a clap of thunder prevented him from saying so aloud.
Hank wanted to say.
There’s nothing I like better than a luxury hotel
—
preferably within walking distance of a good museum, a decent neighborhood bar and a ballpark.
But a clap of thunder prevented him from saying so aloud.
Carly sighed pensively, listening to the rain. “I remember getting caught in a storm like this in London once.”
“What happened?”
She smiled dreamily and settled back against the saddle. “I was with an old girlfriend. To get out of the rain, we ducked into a spa near Kensington Palace. We had our nails done, facials, new makeup. They gave us herbal tea and little shortbread cookies—it was wonderful. Afterward, we went to the theater—the perfect ending to a perfect day.”
“Sounds great,” Hank said, completely truthful.
“I love being pampered.”
Hank liked the way Carly looked just then—happily daydreaming about creature comforts and the pleasures of civilization. Hank wanted to counter with a story of his own favonte day spent in London—starting with an afternoon punting on the Thames River with an attractive Englishwoman who wrote for the
London Times,
then dinner at a terrific Indian restaurant where the waiters spoke not a single word of English and finally a rock concert patronized by some very lovely members of the royal family. He’d been in England for a hiking tour, but Hank was willing to bet Carly would have enjoyed every moment of that day he’d spent in London, too.
London Times,
then dinner at a terrific Indian restaurant where the waiters spoke not a single word of English and finally a rock concert patronized by some very lovely members of the royal family. He’d been in England for a hiking tour, but Hank was willing to bet Carly would have enjoyed every moment of that day he’d spent in London, too.
But he roused himself to play the cowboy one more time. “Well, we have cold coffee,” he said cheerfully. “And at least half a sandwich to share.”
He reached for the thermos and unfastened the lid. Pouring cold coffee a moment later, he said, “Tell me about other trips you’ve taken.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t find them very interesting, I’m afraid.” She sounded depressed. “I like museums and concert halls and musty old bookshops.”
What I wouldn’t give to be in a musty old bookshop right now,
he thought wistfully. But he said, “What are your favorite bookstores?”
he thought wistfully. But he said, “What are your favorite bookstores?”
The subject was obviously near and dear to Carly’s heart. She pulled herself together and was soon rhapsodizing about shops in cities all over the world, told him about first-edition volumes she’d found in Rome and a complete set of Jane Austen novels in a lovely old shop in Edinburgh. There was a shop that served iced coffee in Istanbul and another in Greece that opened into a small café on a rear courtyard. Listening to her made Hank want to visit each and every spot she mentioned.
Carly did a great deal of traveling, Hank decided. Some of it was business, but mostly she visited faraway places for pleasure. She sometimes traveled alone, sometimes with friends. He caught a hint that she once took a trip with a gentleman friend, but it hadn’t turned out well.
“It sounds like you do the calendar business just to finance your travels,” he observed.
Carly looked guilty for an instant, then smiled. “I suppose so. I don’t exactly love my work, but it allows me to pay hotel bills.”
“Why don’t you try something else?” he suggested. “Find some work you’d love to do.”
“Oh, my life’s not about work,” Carly said firmly. “I enjoy too many things to tie myself to a desk.”
“Besides travel, books and theater—what else?”
“I write a little. Nothing published, of course. I volunteer at a retirement village two Saturdays a month.”
“Doing what?”
“Mostly driving nice ladies to do their shopping. My parents moved there a couple of years ago. My mother passed away, but Dad’s still playing bridge with his friends every morning and hitting a few golf balls every afternoon.”
“You spend a lot of time with him?”
“My sisters and I have dinner with him once every week or so, but he’s busy with his pals. Mostly I go to visit with the ladies. I love listening to their stories. One of these days I’m going to put a bunch of them into a book.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Hank said.
“I think it would make my mom proud.”
“Maybe you ought to do some travel writing, too.”
“Who needs another travel writer?” she asked rhetorically, shaking her head as though it were a lost cause.
The paper I work for needs somebody,
Hank thought.
Not full-time, but writing on commission would earn a lot of frequent flyer miles.
Hank thought.
Not full-time, but writing on commission would earn a lot of frequent flyer miles.
“Besides,” she said before he could ask her to talk more about her writing, “I’m comfortable doing what I do with the calendars. Not delighted, but comfortable.”
And Carly liked her comforts, Hank decided, but he also decided to learn more about this part of her life later.
The conversation meandered for a while, gradually circling back to family. Carly delicately pressed for a few more details about Hank’s life.
“Your parents must have started this ranch,” she said, opening a new subject.
“My great-grandparents, actually. They came here from Boston and started the ranch from nothing.”
“No wonder you want to hang on to the land.”
“Well, not all of us do.”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Becky runs the—I mean, Becky and I run the place, but my parents are still alive. They moved to Florida a few years ago.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, I just assumed they had passed away.”
“Nope. They just hated farming. At least, my mother did. And when Dad broke his legs two years in a row, she convinced him it was time to get off the horses and onto the beaches. He wasn’t hard to convince.”
“How did your parents meet?”
“They grew up side by side. Mom’s family has a general store a few miles down the road.”
“A few miles?”
“Well, forty,” Hank said with a smile. “Distances are measured differently here.”
“So I’ve noticed. Forty miles is considered living side by side, hmm?”
“Yep. They went to school together and married at eighteen. Mom knew what she was getting into, but she never really liked being a rancher’s wife and quit after twenty-five years.”
Hank did not add his mother had been the one—frantic to escape the ranch herself—who encouraged her son to go east for schooling and a career. Becky had been born to ranching, but young Henry’s destiny had been different. Reading, writing and traveling had luckily combined into a lucrative career that Hank wouldn’t trade for anything. He had his mother to thank for that, he knew.
Carly said, “Your parents left recently?”
“Four or five years ago. Working the ranch has always been a struggle, but since they left it’s been even tougher.”
“But you must love it.”
“Well—”
“I can see that you’re a man with strong feelings and loyalties. Your roots must be important to you.”
“I’ve always thought,” he said slowly, “that a person had to be strong enough to put down his roots wherever he went. Would you like that sandwich now?”
Close call,
Hank thought. He could see that Carly was still enamored of the mythic cowboy baloney. And he realized that she was ready to pay Becky the ten thousand just to keep her romantic notions alive.
Better not screw up Becky’s chances.
Hank thought. He could see that Carly was still enamored of the mythic cowboy baloney. And he realized that she was ready to pay Becky the ten thousand just to keep her romantic notions alive.
Better not screw up Becky’s chances.
He felt a little rotten about keeping the truth from Carly—a sentiment that grew throughout the evening as she told him more bits and pieces of her life.
He heard about her sisters, both younger, who had three children between them and enjoyed life in the California suburbs. She also talked about her partner Bert, who sounded like a jerk to Hank, but he kept his opinions to himself. He suspected Carly’s relationship with her partner had not always been totally business.
They talked for a couple of hours without pause, getting to know each other little by little.
When the rain eased up, they ventured to put their noses outside the tent. Half to himself, Hank said, “We should try walking now. The moon may come out soon.”
The night was black and cold, and the moon did not appear. Carly shuddered. “Is it really safe walking back on a night like this?”
Hank hated to think of a long, wet hike, too. “Maybe it will be safer if we stay here.”
Carly shifted her weight and winced. “I should have cleaned up the rocks better before we put the tent here.”
She
had
managed to choose a very uncomfortable spot for their shelter. Not only was the ground hard, cold and rocky, but Hank didn’t like the sight of the creek rising quickly toward them.
had
managed to choose a very uncomfortable spot for their shelter. Not only was the ground hard, cold and rocky, but Hank didn’t like the sight of the creek rising quickly toward them.
“Maybe we’d better move to higher ground,” he suggested.
Carly looked alarmed. “Are we going to be flooded?”
“No, no,” Hank lied. “But the noise of the creek might keep us awake.”
Carly frowned as if she didn’t believe him. She helped Hank pack up their few belongings and shift everything to a different location. The work was made more difficult by darkness and a biting wind.
The second spot Carly chose was almost as bad as the first, and the tent collapsed into a heap as they moved it. Hank doggedly reassembled the damned thing and held back colorful curses while he worked. When they reentered the tent, they were both shorttempered, cold and tired.
“We should have started back sooner,” Carly said, bumping into Hank in the dark.
He bumped her back. “We were otherwise occupied.”
“I’m not blaming you.” She sounded touchy.
“I didn’t think you were.”
“Your tone—”
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