THE COWBOY FLING

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  THE COWBOY FLING

  Dawn Atkins

  ~Harlequin Temptation #871~

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

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  Chapter 1

  ^»

  "Look out! It's the Thing!"

  At the shout, Lacey Wellington rushed through the archway from the café to the Amazatorium in time to see the python slide out of its terrarium, slip over the placard labeled The Thing and slither smoothly across the wood floor heading straight for her.

  "Awesome!" A kid bounced up and down in terrified delight, holding the terrarium lid he'd pried off. His mother stood against the wall, pale-faced and rigid as an oak, her souvenir postcards scattered like multicolored leaves at her feet.

  "He's perfectly harmless," Lacey said to reassure the woman, then plastered herself against the wall to let the snake pass. Monty Python – as Uncle Jasper called him when he wasn't dressed for the exhibit with aluminum-foil spine scales – was as docile as a cat, but he still was a whopper of a creature and she didn't want to annoy him by blocking his flight path.

  With the snake out of sight, the woman snapped to life. "I told you not to touch!" she scolded her son. "I'm so sorry," she said to Lacey, then gripped the boy by his shoulder and hurried him out the door.

  Lacey felt a flash of dismay over the lost postcard sale, but she had bigger fish to fry … or rather snakes to snare. She needed capturing tools – and quick, before Monty holed up somewhere she couldn't reach. Her gaze searched the Amazatorium, past the pyramid of gopher skulls, the six-foot-tall tumbleweed, the two-headed bobcat and the furry tarantula, to the wall of gewgaws – mugs, collectible spoons, key chains and pennants emblazoned with the Amazatorium logo.

  Then she saw the perfect item – a plastic snake head on a long stick ending in a handle that she could use to open and close its mouth. She snatched that and a tote bag, figuring to grab the python with the gripper and drop it into the bag. Easy breezy.

  She raced into the diner, her eyes peeled for Monty. For the first time in the two days she'd been here she was glad the place was empty of customers, so no one would shriek when the snake slid by. The kid and his mother had been the only visitors to Jasper's collection of desert oddities today. Lacey had been making coffee to accompany the strawberry-rhubarb pie – Uncle Jasper's specialty and the only thing he cooked worth eating – when the kid had made his dastardly move.

  She stared and squinted, searching the room in vain, until she caught a glint of light off the metal triangles glued to Monty's spine, which made him look like a legless, wingless dragon. He slid like syrup up the back of a booth, across a ledge and then wrapped himself around the neon beer sign above the café's door, his head weaving upward, tongue flicking in search of a crack in the ceiling by which to escape.

  Just great. Not only did she have to grab a snake armed only with a gripper and a bag, but she'd have to do it from a five-foot height. She'd handle this, though. She'd handle it all. She'd insisted on no special treatment when she convinced her brother, Wade, CEO of Wellington Restaurant Corporation, to assign her to work at one of their properties. He'd sent her to the most backwater, least profitable of all the restaurants to help her favorite uncle. No special treatment, all right. But that made her plan all the more fabulous. She'd not only help Uncle Jasper, she'd prove herself to her brother in one fell swoop.

  It was true that she preferred strategic planning to flipping pancakes – and chasing reptiles, for that matter – but M.B.A.s weren't built in a day, so she couldn't expect her corporate career to be established overnight. To someone with her commitment, a twelve-foot constrictor shouldn't even slow her down. She'd wrestle alligators bare-handed, if it got "corporate acquisitions" on her nameplate.

  She'd just consider the snake escape a test of the new, decisive Lacey, who made a plan and went after what she wanted, no matter what it took. She'd handle this snake, all right.

  Or pass out trying.

  She shoved the stool against the heavy wooden door, clutched the duffel and gripper and climbed up to stand eye-to-eye with The Thing. Monty's foil horns were bent at comic angles, so he shouldn't scare her any more than the exaggerated painting of him on the billboard five miles down the highway, but still…

  Talking a breath, Lacey shook open the tote bag, pinched the handle that opened the plastic snake mouth, and slowly reached for Monty. "There's no place like home … there's no place like home," she purred like a snake charmer.

  She immediately realized the gripper would be useless for holding the heavy animal and dropped it in disgust. She'd have to grab the snake with her bare hands. She was reaching for Monty when the door banged against her stool. Criminy! She'd forgotten to lock the door against the possibility of a visitor.

  "Wait a sec!" she shouted, but the person on the other side shoved harder. The door opened, knocking her stool out from under her. She dropped the duffel to grab the top of the door so she could grip the edge with her knees like a fire pole.

  Instead, strong arms grabbed her around the legs. She yelped.

  "I've got you." The man's voice was muffled – by her thighs, she realized to her horror, feeling his breath through her gauze skirt. Then he shifted her so she flopped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Humiliation and blood pounded in her upside-down brain.

  "Shut the door or it'll escape!" she yelled, her face inches from the man's behind. A nice one, she insanely noted, in tight jeans.

  The man whipped around and hip-checked the door.

  "Thank you," she said with as much dignity as she could muster with her rear end in the air. "Could you put me down?

  "Whew," Lacey said when she was finally back on her feet. She brushed her hair out of her face, then smoothed her hand-painted skirt, which now sported an ugly tear. When she looked at the man, he was looking up at Monty.

  "There's a snake over your door," he said mildly, lowering his gaze to meet hers. Dark eyes in a Marlboro Man face flickered with male interest, then steadied into amusement. "At least I assume that's what's under all that tin – a snake?"

  "It's The Thing." She bent and retrieved her tools and, while she was at it, the fawn-colored Stetson hat that had fallen off the man's head. She handed it to him, noticing his black hair showed no hat dents. She looked at his stubble-darkened, square-jawed face, his broad shoulders in a cotton work shirt rolled to the elbows, and realized she was face-to-face with a real cowboy-her first one this close up.

  "Thanks," he said, accepting the hat. He gave her a shot of white teeth in a slow smile.

  "I was getting him down when you came in," she said, blowing a curl out of her eye with a puff of breath.

  "You went after the snake?" For a second, he looked at her with admiration, then his gaze fell on her snake-catching equipment. "What was the plan? Distract him with a puppet play?"

  "This is a gripper," she said, extending the toy and flipping its mouth open and closed. Not very impressive, she realized, and the cowboy didn't buy it, either.

  Without a word, he put the tipped-over stool against the door and climbed up. He was going to get the snake for her. Double criminy!

  "I can handle it," she said, then gulped. "Really."

  Her knight in bleached-out denim ignored her and focused on the snake looped leisurely over the beer sign, evidently liking the warmth.

  Easily lifting Monty from the sign, the cowboy bent his knees, then stepped gracefully to the floor, a move that normally would have set her female fibers aquiver, but right now just made her feel inadequate. Just like her brother, the cowboy thought she was a bit of fluff who couldn't handle any of life's escaped snakes.

  "Thank you
, but I could have done that." She felt so guilty about being rescued.

  Sure you could, his eyes said. He probably thought she was an airhead, just because she was a woman … and petite … with curly blond hair … and she'd been trying to catch a snake with a puppet. Okay, maybe she hadn't given him much to work with, but she didn't appreciate that don't-worry-your-pretty-little-head look etched in the laugh lines of his cheeks and the crinkles around his eyes.

  "I'm more of a strategic planner than a reptile wrangler," she said, so he wouldn't think she was an idiot.

  "I see." He, on the other hand, looked exactly like a reptile wrangler, standing there holding the python, his biceps rounded, his abdomen clenched – or maybe the muscles were so firm they just looked clenched. Monty had coiled his lower half around the man's forearm, which was tanned and scraped, she noted. He also had a purple bruise under one eye. Probably from a fistfight or some other cowboy thing.

  "Where do you want him?" he asked, as casually as a mover placing a sofa.

  "In the Amazatorium next door. I'll take him," she said, swallowing a knot that had formed in her throat at the thought. Even though Monty looked silly in his crooked horns, the idea of that muscle of snake flesh tightening on her arm the way it held the cowboy's chilled her.

  "You sure?" He didn't believe her, she saw, and that was all she needed to hear.

  "Absolutely." She forced herself to grip Monty's width with both hands and lift, while the cowboy gently uncoiled the rest of the snake from his own arm and laid it on hers. As the snake tightened itself around Lacey's forearm, her legs turned to water. Did Monty sense fear? Would he squeeze harder? Docile as a cat, Uncle Jasper said. Trained to be handled. She could do this, Lacey told herself. And she would, despite the doubt in the cowboy's eyes – and her own shaky heart.

  With all her might, she willed her wooden legs to move forward. Just another brick in the wall of her success. A learning experience that would enrich her decision-making skills. The squeezing snake was a metaphor for the big chains trying to choke off family businesses like Wellington Restaurant Corp. A metaphor. Right.

  Agonizing seconds later, she stood at the abandoned terrarium with her metaphor wound snugly around her arm. The cowboy picked up the discarded lid and waited for her to put Monty inside.

  Except she seemed to have exhausted her quotient of courage just getting here. To make matters worse, Monty tightened his grip. He did not want to go home.

  "Can I help?"

  Hating herself for her weakness, she gave a quick nod.

  The cowboy carefully peeled the resistant Monty off her arm, then lowered him into the tank. Close up, the man smelled of spicy soap and clean sweat. Lacey felt safe and hyper-aware of him. An oddly pleasant feeling in the midst of her tension and embarrassment.

  The cowboy dropped Monty into the terrarium, and Lacey snapped the lid into place and blew out a breath. "I wasn't holding him at the right angle," she explained, hotly blushing under his gaze. But the truth was she'd chickened out. Period. Disappointment washed through her. She'd failed the first test of her new determination.

  "I had a king snake as a kid," he shrugged.

  He was being nice about it, but he didn't respect her, and she hated that. More than anything she wanted respect. That was why she was in this sad little spot – to make something of it and herself.

  "I'm Max McLane," he said, holding out his hand. "I work at the ranch across the way."

  "Lacey Wellington," she said, taking his hand. "I'm from Phoenix, but I'm helping my uncle with the café for a while."

  Max McLane had a firm grip and his palm was rough. He was a man's man, as different as could be from the pampered, buttoned-downed Pierce Winslow, the VP of Food Services for Wellington Restaurant Corporation she'd been seeing – with Wade's annoyingly enthusiastic approval.

  Unlike Pierce, Max McLane knew hard labor. Honest sweat streaked the sides of his face. The only time Pierce got sweaty was on the racquetball court – and that was useless sport sweat. Max McLane perspired for a purpose.

  Lacey and Max looked at each other for a long, silent minute. Thank-you. Glad to help. These messages flashed between them, but also something electric that went from the handshake down to Lacey's toes and back again. A man-woman, I-want-you thing as swift as lightning and just as bright. Pierce never made her feel this way – not even in his tux.

  Max felt it, too, she saw by the way his gaze seemed glued to her lips. "You probably want to put something on that," he said.

  "Huh?"

  "The lid," he said. "To weigh it down."

  "Oh, right." He meant the terrarium lid, not her mouth. She hurried to the shelf for two heavy scorpion-in-amber bookends. She handed one to Max and they each placed a bookend on a side of the lid. "I guess I'll have to get a lock, too." She studied the glass enclosure a second, then turned to him. "Now, you didn't come to the café to wrestle a snake. What can I get you?"

  "Just some coffee," he said. His eyes were intelligent and clear. Free of worry or stress. This man lived a simple, basic life – completely different from her own. Abruptly, those worry-free eyes gave her a simple, basic once-over. He wanted her. Wow! She'd never had such a direct exchange before.

  "Follow me," she said, ducking his gaze. "I was just making a fresh pot when a kid let the snake out." She hurried through the archway, feeling his eyes on her the whole time.

  Unfortunately, the coffee decanter was full of cold brown water instead of piping hot coffee. Triple criminy! She banged the ancient coffeemaker. "This seems to be broken," she said, then leaned to look into it, as if that would tell her anything.

  "You need to flip the switch under the top box," Max said, pointing.

  As she did, the machine hissed. "Oh, yeah. I'm used to newer models." She wasn't used to any models, really, but learning how to make coffee, wait on customers and manage the kitchen – if you could call the antique grill where Jasper overcooked burgers and undercooked hash browns a kitchen – would help her understand the nuts and bolts of the family business. That was what Wade had done when he started. She didn't think she should be exempt from the experience, even though Wade thought the requirement unnecessary for her.

  "I know it looks like I don't know what I'm doing," she said, as she gathered what she needed to make more coffee, "but I'm a little out of my element." Jasper had gone to Tucson to see about ordering a storage shed for his old art pieces they would be clearing from the café's storage area. She'd assured him she could handle things while he was away. Now she'd gone and let Monty practically escape.

  "I don't think anybody's in their element catching snakes," Max said.

  "Still, I'm really a businessperson."

  When Max didn't say anything, she thought he probably didn't believe her, so she explained more. "Actually, I'm changing the whole concept of this place." She dumped out the water and put a new coffee packet into the coffeemaker.

  "Oh, really?" He seemed suddenly alert.

  "Yes. I'm turning the Wonder Café into the Wonder Coffeehouse."

  "Why would you want to do that?"

  "Don't worry. We'll have brand new coffeemakers."

  He still looked alarmed, so she said, "And we'll still serve food, except—" she leaned forward to speak confidentially, "—better food. Between you and me, my uncle Jasper should stick to making pie." She turned to pour fresh water into the coffee machine. "We'll offer exotic coffees, mixed drinks and fabulous desserts. Plus, we're expanding into the storage room over there" – she gestured at the adjoining room – "so we can have a theater."

  "A theater?"

  "Oh, yeah. You'll be able to mosey over here at night and listen to folk singers, stand-up comics, poetry readings." When she caught his skeptical look, she realized he probably wasn't a poetry kind of guy and said, "The point is this'll be a hot spot."

  "A hot spot in the middle of nowhere?"

  "That's the kicker," she said, feeling her excitement rise. "This area's a hidden gold min
e. We're close to Tucson, which is fairly hip for a medium-size town, and there's a dude ranch and a health spa not far from here. Plus, we're right at the crest of the coffeehouse wave. With a little promotion we'll be fighting off the crowds."

  She bent for a coffee mug and saucer, which she placed in front of Max, then looked up to see what he thought of her plan.

  He was staring at her chest. Sheesh. Maybe his kind of man only saw women as sex objects, but he could be more subtle about it.

  "You got somethin' there," he drawled, indicating her breasts.

  She looked down and saw a brown swath of coffee grounds across her chest like a nipple-high racing stripe. "Oh. Gee." She scrubbed at herself with the dish towel she was holding. "Thank you."

  "My pleasure," he said, with a sexy edge to his words. He was a rascal, all right. Definitely a love-'em-and-leave-'em-panting kind of guy. She got a little electric zing at the thought. She'd had no idea she had a thing for cowboys, but this one had set off an internal hum – like central heating – that she felt to her toes.

  "Sounds like you've got big plans," he said, then narrowed his eyes. "When is all this taking place?"

  "We start tomorrow with cleanup. I hope to open in two months." The faster she acted, the more likely she'd be able to keep her brother from discovering her plan and ruining the surprise. She poured fresh coffee into Max's cup.

  "That's gotta be big bucks."

  "I'm keeping costs down as much as I can." She frowned, a little worried about that really. She had a trust fund, but it wasn't huge, so every penny counted.

  "What does your uncle think about this? He owns the place, right?"

  "No. He runs the place for my family. And he supports my plan." More or less. He'd refused to consider closing down the Amazatorium and she didn't have the heart to push it.

  "Impressive," Max said, though he looked exactly the way Wade would have – doubtful.

  "Yes, it is impressive." She lifted her coffee-striped chest with pride. She'd show Wade, all right. And this skeptical cowboy – who seemed more taken with her chest than her ideas – while she was at it.