Loving That Cowboy Page 12

  For a moment Trisha didn’t dare believe what she heard. He’d voiced the same doubts she had. And not see him again? Of course she wanted to see him again. As for making a relationship work when distance was involved, hadn’t her parents shown her that was possible?

  “Promise?” she whispered.

  “Promise.” He kissed the top of her head and he heard her sniff. “But not if you cry.”

  “I’m not crying,” she said with a shaky laugh, “but you’re right. I am scared and I don’t know what to do.”

  “So running away from whatever we have before we figure it out makes sense?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Okay.” Cameron kissed her again, then chucked her chin to make sure she was looking at him. “Hey, trust me?” She nodded. “Good. Then we can talk later. There isn’t time right now, we have to get going. I can shower first, or you can, or we can take a shower together.”

  Trisha came close to chuckling. “If we have to get going the last option is no option at all. I think I’m more shower ready than you, so I’ll go first. Too bad I don’t have jeans and a shirt with me, my dress is likely more than a little wrinkled this morning.”

  “And I don’t do ironing but while you shower I’ll make toast and eggs.”

  Cameron hummed an old country and western tune as he worked around the kitchen. By the time the toaster popped, Trisha had finished her shower and slipped back into her dress as easily as she’d slipped out of it the previous night. Cameron zipped it up reluctantly then headed to the bathroom for his shower while Trisha ate her breakfast.

  She rinsed the plates and mugs and collected her shoes and wrap. Cameron had already straightened the comforter on the bed and in no time they were ready to leave.

  As they hit the highway Trisha realized how easy their preparations had been. There had been no hitches, each doing simple things with no discussion and without getting in each other’s way. It was almost too easy, too orchestrated as if they had been doing it all their lives. She looked across at Cameron, at his firm jaw, at the sturdy column of his neck and the curl of hair beneath the top button of his shirt. He was so familiar to her, as if he’d stamped his character on her the moment he touched her in the store.

  And if he was to be believed, he felt the same about her. She rubbed her forehead to erase the negative thoughts that lingered there. Her past had an uncanny knack of jumping into the present but, if she was to have any chance at a life that could pass as normal, she had to deal with it.

  Cameron drew her out of her daydream when he pulled into the curb outside the condo building. Ever the gentlemen he opened the truck door, waited while she pushed her feet into her shoes then walked with her across the sidewalk to the entrance door.

  “I have no idea how you can walk in those things,” he said with a grin, “but I sure like what they do for your legs.”

  “That’s the general idea of high heels.” For the first time that morning Trisha laughed. “Best of luck for your event today. Will I see you later?”

  “I’ll call you. We should go to the Ranchman’s tonight. It’ll be noisy, but might give you some background material for your article. Think you’ll be up for it?”

  Trisha accepted his invitation without hesitation and he gave her a parting kiss on the cheek. All gentle, loving thoughts of Cameron began to fade as she keyed in the door code. By the time she reached the apartment she seethed with resentment at her friend’s deceptiveness.

  “Morning Sweetie.” Samantha, her hair still tousled from bed and wearing pink pyjamas and an artless smile, greeted her from where she sat curled up on her sofa.

  “Don’t you Sweetie me,” Trisha snapped, fisting her hands on her hips. “After last night I don’t even know how to speak to you, you made me so angry. Do you mind telling me exactly what you expect me to do? If you can possibly manage it, the truth would be extremely helpful.”

  “You’ll just get more irate than you already are.” Samantha didn’t sound at all repentant as she looked Trisha over. “God, don’t tell me you slept in my designer dress.”

  Trisha threw her hands up in exasperation. “To hell with the dress. I’m warning you, Samantha Monroe—”

  “Or are you going to tell me you didn’t sleep at all?”

  “Will you please tell me what’s going on?” Trisha huffed. “Or am I really going mad?”

  Samantha unwound herself from her seat, stood up and reached for Trisha’s hands.

  “You’re not going mad, Trish, and you probably won’t like it but come and sit down and I promise I’ll explain everything.”

  “You are such a bag,” Trisha complained but allowed herself to be drawn to the zebra-printed sofa.

  “After you phoned about coming to stay with me, I called your parents.” Samantha lifted a warning finger when Trisha opened her mouth to speak. “Yell at me if you must when you’ve heard me out. You sounded so disoriented that I wanted to know how you really were. You never told me exactly what happened after the crash and I didn’t want to push. Not then. Your parents were so worried about you and knew you wouldn’t listen to them but might listen to me. They think you’ve sunk too far into yourself. I do too. Pushing you in a round-about way seemed a sensible thing to do. I’d have got you on a horse again with or without Cameron Carter. And getting you in front of that crowd last night was part of trying to get you to see yourself for who you really are. Now, if I’d laid all that out for you up front, what would you have done?”

  “You didn’t even give me a choice.” Trisha crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her feet.

  “But if I had?” Samantha persisted. “What would you have done?”

  Trisha continued to hang her head.

  “Come on, Trish, time to ‘fess up.”

  “Stop bullying me,” Trisha mumbled.

  “Then answer me.” Samantha gently shook her shoulder.

  “Oh, enough already.” Trisha sprang to her feet and paced the floor. “I’d have refused. Happy now?”

  “Not entirely, but I think we’re beginning to get somewhere.”

  “You sound just like my counselor,” Trisha complained.

  “And how’re those sessions working out for you?” Samantha cocked her head to one side like a curious bird while she waited for a response.

  “Not as progressive as I’d hoped.” Trisha admitted with a sigh and sat down again. “I just can’t get past the nightmares and sharp, loud noises bring everything back as if it’s happening all over again and then, if I can’t catch my breath or control myself in time, I simply pass out. You have no idea how disconcerting and embarrassing that is.”

  “No, I don’t. I can only imagine.” Samantha gave Trisha’s hand a comforting squeeze. “Want coffee?”

  “No, thank you, and I haven’t finished with you yet either.”

  Samantha raised an eyebrow then fluffed up her bed-head. “Okay, go ahead and slap my wrists but while you’re doing it remember that I only had your best interests at heart.”

  “That maybe so, but now I have a problem that’s going to impact you and Marguerite and this damn competition. You should have been straight with me about what you wanted me to do. Finding out in a room full of people that I’m the final judge has put me in a situation I don’t want to handle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Brent Heywood.” Trisha ran the back of her hand across her forehead as if just saying his name gave her a headache. “He knows who I am and what happened. He threatened to make it public if I don’t pick him as the winner. My situation could wreck any credibility your competition might have.”

  Samantha got to her feet, frowning as she recalled the contestants. The moment she remembered Brent Heywood her mouth tightened. “I knew I didn’t like him. Nice smile on his face but not in his eyes.”

  “That’s the one. We are going to have to talk to Marguerite.”

  “I’ll call her.” Samantha pulled her phone out of her briefcase and ha
stily pressed buttons. “I have to be down at the grounds this afternoon to meet Purple Plain’s cover designer, Patsy Livingstone. The photo display went up in the Western Art exhibition at some ungodly hour last night and she wants to see them in all their full blown glory.”

  She stopped and held up a finger to indicate her call had connected. “Hi Marguerite. Are you free this afternoon? No? Okay, then it will have to be tomorrow. Yes, my office. Two o’clock. Bye.”

  She snapped the phone shut. “Did Brent threaten you physically?”

  “No, he didn’t have to. Making my past public when I’ve tried so hard to put it behind me is all the threat he needed, and he knew it.” Trisha shivered with foreboding and crossed her arms over her chest. “If only I could go back to that day and make a different decision.”

  “Sweetie, you can’t, and torturing yourself about it now can’t change that.” Samantha spoke softly as she laid her hand on Trisha’s arm. “No one blames you but you. Now, if you don’t have any plans for today, you should come with me because I don’t like leaving you on your own.”

  Trisha gave a suspicious sniff but her eyes were dry. “I’ve nothing until this evening. Apparently I’m being taken to the Ranchman’s.”

  “Cameron warned you it will be bursting at the seams, right?”

  “No, but I can imagine. By the way, is this Art exhibition a dressy affair?”

  “Nope. Just wear western and you’ll be good for the rest of the day.”

  * * *

  Samantha groaned as she got out of her car. “Hot, hot, hot. Thank god for my sunglasses and hat. Have you got the bottles of water?”

  “No, you have.” Trisha watched with amusement as Samantha shuffled through the debris on the back seat, grabbing papers and transferring them to a large shoulder bag where she had stashed the precious water.

  Muttering that she really should clean out her car, Samantha finally organized herself and slammed the doors shut.

  “Right.” She looked around to get her bearings. “The BMO Centre is this way. Got your pass?”

  Trisha reached for the ID hanging around her neck and flashed it under Samantha’s nose. “If I get lost shall I find a nice policeman?”

  “Yes, and make sure you get your ice cream.”

  Samantha waded into the crowd and Trisha, chuckling, followed her. Sneak-a-Peek, she realized, had simply been an appetizer. This was the main course. Wherever she looked there was something to see. Kiosks full of soft toys and outrageous cowboy hats vied with booths offering a variety of games. People stood in line for food from pizza slices to hamburgers. Chatter and laughter buzzed around her and a huge roar of applause billowed up from beyond the grandstand in response to whatever event took place there.

  She hurried after Samantha into the cool interior of the exhibition hall, glad of the respite both from the heat and the noise. Here the colors were muted, the conversation a murmur not a crashing wall of sound as outside. She looked in at the booths they passed, intrigued by the quality of the art work on display. Many of the paintings gave her the impression she could just step into them and the sculptures were so life-like she was almost disappointed to feel cool metal beneath her hand and not flesh-and-blood hair and hide.

  “Ah, here we are.” Samantha stopped and looked up at the wall behind several booths displaying handicrafts. She quickly scanned the aisles either side of her. “Not the best location, but at least there’s room for these blown up posters and they can be clearly seen. Purple Plain should be pleased. Hang on here, I’m going to get us a drink.”

  Samantha veered off into the crowd without giving Trisha a chance to comment but that gave her time to catch her breath and inspect the photographs once more. She perched on the end of a bench from where she could watch people as they looked up at the posters. Their comments swung from ‘yum’ to ‘practically porn’ as many of them filled in entry slips for the prize draw.

  “They look good don’t they? I think I could use any one of them for a Purple Plain cover.”

  Trisha turned to find Patsy beside her. “Will you?”

  “Of course. That’s the beauty of this competition.” Patsy subjected each poster to a closer inspection. “If the contestants do enter into a contract with Samantha’s agency, they have to also accept the clause giving Purple Plain exclusivity for one year. It means these guys can’t market themselves until the contract is fulfilled.”

  “Is that good?”

  “You bet it is,” Patsy said. “The trouble with the open photo stock I work from is that everyone can use it. We want our covers to be distinctive, and if the model is on half a dozen different covers in whatever pose, you lose that distinction. I thought about taking photographs for my own use, but I simply don’t have the time for it.”

  “Samantha will have these boys under contract in no time at all,” Trisha said with a laugh, “and then you can work with her.”

  “Are you taking my name in vain?” Samantha arrived with the drinks and sat down beside Trisha.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, but I do see Patsy’s point. I can’t even begin to imagine how many photographs may be out there or how difficult it is for you to pick the right model for the right cover. I’m glad I just take photos.”

  “Oh, excuse me, I see a client I need to talk to.” Samantha was on her feet, wine glass in hand.

  “Is that woman ever still?” Patsy asked as Samantha merged into the crowd again.

  “I’d guess only when she’s asleep.” Trisha picked up her wine.

  “So talking of taking photos,” Patsy persisted, “you could photograph the models Samantha signs up for us. Especially someone like him, with or without his shirt. If you could do that you’d be my best friend forever.”

  Trisha caught the lascivious gleam in Patsy’s eye and looked over her shoulder.

  There was no mistaking the height and build of the cowboy strolling along the aisle. Everything about him made Trisha’s pulse flutter. Her mouth curved into an involuntary smile as she watched him looking at the art work on offer on either side of him.

  She couldn’t prevent the warm current of happiness that swept over her as he got closer. He stopped at a booth to look at some leather face masks and anticipation bubbled in her stomach. She got to her feet, ready to excuse herself from Patsy’s company but then her jaw sagged in disbelief.

  Her heart lurched, skipped a beat then pounded painfully against her ribs at what she saw.

  Chapter Twelve

  A slim blonde girl, whose bare and tanned mile-long legs emerged from tight denim shorts, caught up with Cameron and grabbed his arm. Trisha heard his unmistakable laughter as he held a mask up for the girl’s inspection.

  The wine glass almost fell from her hand as she watched in awful disbelief as the girl reached up on tip-toe and kissed him on the cheek. Cameron wrapped his arm around her waist, hugged her to him and kissed her back.

  Ocean waves couldn’t have risen and fallen as quickly as did the joy in her heart. This could not be happening. She turned to face the posters, blocking out the sound of the girl’s giggles as she and Cameron passed behind her.

  She tried to shut out the image of the blonde girl’s off-the-shoulder white Mexican style blouse, shorts and pink cowboy boots. How tasteless were they, or did Cameron think them cute? If that’s what he wanted, then he was welcome to it.

  Humiliation warmed her face. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back.

  How could he pretend they might have something together and accuse her of being scared when he had another woman on his arm?

  She blinked furiously and swallowed hard. No way would she shed one single tear for him or what might have been. The burn in her lungs threatened to choke her and the crushing pain in her chest could only be her heart breaking. Every thought, every hope she’d allowed herself to think or feel in the past few days crowded into her head making it spin. She had no one to blame but herself. She’d let herself be drawn in by a sexy smile and a warm touch, by t
he dream of a future that could never be. She wanted nothing more now than to cut and run, but to where?

  She took a deep breath, hoping that Patsy hadn’t noticed her distress.

  “So what would you think about becoming Purple Plain’s official photographer then?” Patsy offered.

  Trisha did her best to calm herself and forced a smile and an apology. “Not going to happen, I’m afraid. I have too much work on my plate from now until Christmas and I leave Calgary as soon as Stampede is over anyway.”

  “It was worth a try.” Trisha sensed she hadn’t heard the last of that offer as Patsy changed the direction of the conversation. “So tell me, what criteria do you use when you judge photos? Lighting, composition and the type of camera the photographer used?”

  “All of the above.” Thankful for the diversion, Trisha turned her mind to answering the question. Right now her skill as a photographer was one sure thing to hang on to. “The key element every time I look at a photograph is to ask what it does for me. Does it tell me story? If I get a gut feeling, if that photo grabs my attention in some way, then I’ll give it my full consideration even if it breaks all the technical rules.”

  “I like that you can work outside the box. Not many people think that way” Patsy nodded towards the poster display. “Do you feel that any of these bad boys are rule breakers?”

  “Ah, now that would be telling and I still have a week to make up my mind.”

  Samantha rejoined them, wearing a satisfied grin. For once Trisha didn’t want to hear about another Samantha super-deal, or listen to recounted repartee illustrating how sharp and sassy she’d been. She wanted to get outside with her camera and start doing her job, the real reason she had come to Calgary and the Stampede. She picked up her bag and excused herself, telling Samantha she’d call her later.

  The heat hit her as she exited the exhibition hall but she didn’t let it bother her as she took out her faithful old Fuji camera. It served her purpose well enough for today. She checked her battery strength but before she could refigure the settings someone gently bumped her elbow. She looked up with annoyance only to find Brent Heywood grinning down at her.