Loving That Cowboy Page 18

  He had the satisfaction of seeing the color leave her face and her eyes widen in disbelief.

  “You wouldn’t,” she gasped. “You couldn’t get anywhere near him, anyway.”

  “Are you sure about that?” His mouth twisted into a smile. “You don’t know who I know, or how easy it would be for me to get back into the barns. It would be a shame if something happened to that horse’s legs. There are any number of injuries, both big and small, that would put it out of action for months, if not years. Or, worst of all, bad enough for it to be euthanized. And it would be so easy.”

  He saw the fear in her face and removed his foot from the bench. He considered showing her the photographs on his phone of Carter and his girlfriend but thought better of it. Reminding her of Carter’s cheating ways might back-fire on him if she decided she couldn’t care less.

  He stared down at her white face. She sat still as a stone and he knew how thoroughly he’d unnerved her. He tipped his hat to her and sauntered away, sure that he had her right where he needed her. She had no option now but to give in to his demands.

  Victory would be so sweet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Trisha watched Brent’s retreating back, half expecting him to glance over his shoulder and smirk with satisfaction at her.

  He couldn’t really mean to harm the horse, he just couldn’t. But was that a risk she dared take? Her hands trembled as she clutched the strap of her bag, rose from the bench and continued on her way to the station.

  As furious as she was with Cameron for being a cheat and a liar, she couldn’t bear the thought of another accident and another horse’s life on her conscience. Nor, in spite of everything that had happened, did she want to jeopardize Cameron’s chances of winning.

  You’re a fool, she told herself as the train sped into the downtown core. She’d allowed herself to be swept off her feet by a sexy cowboy who’d made her feel good about herself again. How fleeting a sensation was that. She would either have to ignore Heywood’s threat and live with the consequences, or put aside her hurt and warn Cameron.

  She chewed on her lip as she considered how she might do that. Every time he’d phoned her she had simply ignored his call. If she tried to phone him now, would he do the same to her? By the time she reached the condo she’d made a decision. However much she didn’t want to, she had to see him and the only way she could do that was to drive out to Coyle Creek.

  At her request to use the car, Samantha gave her the keys with no more than a sigh and a slightly raised eyebrow.

  “I won’t be long,” Trisha told her and added a quick thank you.

  On the previous occasions she had been out to Cameron’s place, he’d driven. On her own she found the drive tedious and wanted nothing more than to floor the accelerator to get there as quickly as she could. Cameron might already be back from the Stampede, but if not she would have to wait for him or simply leave a note on his door. Tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, she quelled the urge to put her foot down and send the car hurtling down the highway.

  Her stomach churned with nerves by the time she turned in at the ranch gateway. She desperately hoped he wasn’t there and her wish seemed to have been granted. As she crawled along the driveway there was no sign of the dogs or his truck. She’d just parked the car and stepped out of it when the door of the house opened. She couldn’t turn back now.

  He nursed a coffee mug in one hand, dropped into one of the chairs as casually as could be and propped his feet up on the veranda railing, something she’d never seen him do. She frowned. If this was how he wanted to play it, she would be as cool and uncaring too. She reached the steps and stopped, her feet suddenly unwilling to climb the shallow treads.

  “Hey, babe,” he said quietly. “What’s up?”

  “Babe?” She halted, unsure if his greeting was purposely callous or merely indifferent. “You’ve never called me babe.”

  “You don’t like it?” His grey eyes regarded her coolly from beneath the brim of his hat.

  Trisha stared at him, not sure that she even knew this man even though she’d shared his bed and his body. She shook her head. “No, I don’t. You can call Barbie a babe, but not me.”

  “So what would you prefer?”

  She preferred to not be there at all. She swallowed as she remembered the passionate moments they’d shared and her voice was husky when she answered, “I liked it when you called me sweetheart.”

  “All right, sweetheart it is.” He paused and she hated the flat sound of his voice. “So what can I do for you?”

  She swung up the rest of the steps and propped her back against the veranda post, hoping he wouldn’t sense her agitation. Two could play at this game and if that was the way he wanted it, she would be as offhanded as he.

  “It’s not what you can do for me,” she said as calmly as she could, “it’s what I can do for you.”

  He shrugged one of his impressive shoulders and took a sip from his mug as if he couldn’t care less. His sheer disinterest deflated her more than she could have imagined. Sapped of the little strength she’d arrived with she slumped against the post.

  “It’s Brent Heywood,” she said.

  “Brent who?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Stung by his apparent lack of perception, anger flared through her like a zap of electricity and she snapped to attention. “I told you. He’s the guy who threatened to expose my real identity if I didn’t declare him the winner of Purple Plain’s cover model competition. That’s the only reason I agreed to that television interview.”

  Another shrug. “Sorry, I didn’t see it.”

  “I’d be surprised if you did,” Trisha said bitterly, “but you might have heard about it if you’d been in any way interested.”

  “Okay, I’m interested. So what’s up with this Heywood guy?”

  “He’s threatened me again.” Trisha forced the words past the lump in her throat. “Only this time it’s an indirect threat. He knows that we’ve been together, that you’re likely to be in the steer wrestling finals and if I don’t declare him the winner of Purple Plain’s competition he’s threatening to harm Anchorman.”

  In a sudden lunge he hauled himself out of the chair and slammed his mug down on the railing. The force of the blow cracked it in half. Coffee spilled from between the broken pieces, dripping over his fingers where he still gripped the handle. She’d wanted a reaction, any reaction, but she didn’t know how to handle the white-hot fury she saw in his eyes and took a step back. This side of Cameron was a new and unwelcome revelation.

  “When? How?” he barked.

  She gulped in air to steady herself. “I don’t know but you have to make sure Anchorman is watched, that he’ll be safe. Whatever we had or didn’t have,” she nearly choked on the words and finished on a sob, “doesn’t mean I’d willingly spoil your chances of winning your last Stampede by letting your horse get hurt.”

  Trisha ran down the steps and raced to the car before he could say anything else. She half expected to hear him pounding along in the dust behind her to ask for more information but, when she slid into the driver’s seat, she saw him still on the veranda staring after her, his face a mask of anger.

  She drove as if the devil were in her dust, zipping past cars as if they were standing still, changing lanes as fast as she could blink the tears from her eyes. What was the matter with these people? Why didn’t they move? She dashed the back of her hand across her wet cheek and then glanced at her speedometer.

  One hundred and thirty five kilometers an hour.

  She couldn’t believe the figures on the dial. She needed a speeding ticket like yesterday’s news so slowed down and finished the trip back to town within the posted limits. When she pulled into Samantha’s parking stall she cut the engine and collapsed her head on top of the steering wheel.

  Damn Cameron Carter.

  He only had to raise an eyebrow to send a surge of overwhelming wanting through her. Her head told h
er it was lust but a small part of her heart, the part that wanted to heal and be whole again, told her it was something else. Something precious and worth hanging on to.

  But what about the other girl?

  He had outright denied knowing her and she’d believed him. But those other occasions when he’d seemed to not know her and look right through her? What did that tell her? Was there something she’d missed?

  Thinking about him made her heart pump so painfully she forgot to breathe. He’d hurt her in the worst possible way by not only cheating on her but flaunting that girl in her face. Whatever they had had together was of such short duration it didn’t matter. Just as well she hadn’t been more involved with him. She didn’t owe him anything at all and would soon be gone.

  She swung her legs out of the car and quickly stood up but her vision instantly blurred and her lungs constricted. Her knees almost gave way and she hung on to the top of the car door to support herself. Blowing out one breath she drew in another, held her side as if she’d been running and waited for her pulse to return to its regular, steady beat.

  When she reached the apartment she was thankful to find it empty. Right now she didn’t want to have to talk to anyone, just wanted to retreat into herself and hold all of her hurts in that familiar tight knot in her stomach.

  Chilled to the bone she wandered to the window to warm herself in the rosy glow of the late evening sunlight. Below her the river swept past, the pathway along its shore line bustling with families out walking with their children, cyclists dodging past them, and lovers holding hands or with their arms around each other.

  That sight made her miss Cameron and chiding herself for being foolish, she went to her room and pulled out her laptop. She checked her emails and then worked on her article, making a few revisions to what she had already written. She knew she would have to make more before she was completely finished.

  She clicked onto her online calendar, relieved to see she only had one more official engagement to go, the final of Purple Plain’s competition on Saturday afternoon. The Stampede finished on Sunday; her departure flight details were entered for Wednesday. She couldn’t wait that long to leave.

  Without any hesitation she logged onto her travel account and changed the date of her return flight.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Trisha drew back the heavy curtain and peered out at the audience.

  “There are twice as many people here than for the opening night,” she whispered.

  Samantha took her turn at peering through the opening. “That’s because Marguerite invited all their readers who’d helped with the draw count.”

  “She was so positive they’d get it wrapped up by noon.” Trisha let the curtain drop and stepped off the stage. “But I still can’t believe they did it. What an achievement.”

  “With time to spare,” Samantha agreed. “Marguerite told me they were relaxing with coffee and donuts by eleven o’clock this morning.”

  Trisha flicked a glance to the back of the stage and grinned. “I think it’s quite a novel idea to stack all the boxes of draw tickets the way they have done with the easels behind them. It looks a bit like they are all in a fort.”

  “Actually that was my idea.” Samantha looked very pleased with herself. “It’s in honor of Fort Calgary. I thought it rather went with the Stampede theme.”

  Marguerite, resplendent in turquoise and silver jewelry, a beaded and fringed deerskin jacket, black broomstick skirt and highly polished boots, approached and smiled broadly at them. “Everything’s under control. I had a word here and there and Brent’s been under surveillance. I don’t think you have a thing to worry about, Trisha, but I do wish you’d agree to finish off the event by making the presentation to the winner.”

  Trisha shook her head. “That honor’s all yours. I’ve done my bit but I am curious. Who scored the most draw tickets?”

  A genuinely amused chuckle burst from Marguerite. “That’s rich coming from the lady who said she had a week to make her decision for picking the winning photograph. You’ll just have to wait.”

  With that she swept to centre stage and waited for the curtain to rise.

  A murmur of voices and a shuffling of feet made Trisha look round. She saw six of the contestants being shepherded into place by a stage hand. She searched their faces and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized Brent Heywood was not amongst them and must be on the far side of the stage. She nodded to Jason Creevey, who grinned at her. The glint in his eye told her he didn’t give a joe darn that she’d seen him practically in the buff. She gave a thumbs up sign to Greg Tooley and turned back to listen to the rest of Marguerite’s presentation.

  She crossed her fingers and sent up a silent prayer.

  “And so we come to the part of the afternoon that everyone is waiting for.” Marguerite could hardly be heard above the racket from the ballroom. “But before I announce the number one model, I want to thank the Samantha Monroe Modeling Agency for producing this event. All the finalists will be offered a modeling contract with the Agency, but there is only one name on this piece of paper.”

  She produced a folded piece of paper and waved it above her head.

  “We want it now,” yelled someone from the middle of the crowd.

  Marguerite smiled and leaned in to the microphone. “Before I reveal the winner, I would like you all to put your hands together for these fine gentlemen.”

  She called them one by one from alternate sides of the stage. As Jason Creevey passed Trisha he gave her a broad wink and she couldn’t help but smile as he took his place in front of his photograph. Each professional studio shot was a replica of the tuxedo dressed contestant in front of it with not a naked body amongst them.

  Marguerite waited until the applause died down. She fanned her face with the folded paper before leaning to the microphone again.

  “All these gentlemen are winners in my book,” another round of applause rippled through the room. “But,” she unfolded the paper, took her time reading the name on it and paused again before looking along the line of hopeful faces behind her, “the winner from both the ballot and as selected by our judge is—Mr. Jason Creevey.”

  The noise in the room doubled as Jason stepped up beside Marguerite. He waved to the rowdy fans, handling his accolades with graceful good humor and none of the self-centered attitude she had sensed in some of the other entrants. With his kind of looks he could portray either a hero or a villain. Trisha smiled with satisfaction. At least she’d done something right.

  “Was it because he was naked?” Samantha’s eyes brightened with a hint of lasciviousness.

  Trisha shook her head. “Nope. Believe it or not, it was simply the expression in his eyes. The photographer did a good job of capturing it and I’d love to know what she asked Jason to think of to draw it out of him in the first place. The others just didn’t have that spark.”

  “She?” Samantha looked surprised.

  “Oh, yes,” Trisha chuckled. “I had to look at the photographers’ credentials too. If they were complete amateurs I had to balance that with the overall criteria of what I was looking for. And don’t you dare ever drop me into something like this again.”

  “Oh, get over yourself.” Samantha snorted, but there was no censure in her voice. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and talk to all my lovely new men.”

  With a graceful turn Samantha slid away backstage. Trisha watched the contestants file off the stage but Jason stopped beside her and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Couldn’t resist me, could you?” he murmured in her ear.

  She took no offense at his question, hearing in his voice the same self-mockery she’d seen in his eyes. This man just did not take himself seriously.

  “Tell me something,” she said, and laughed as he bowed over her hand and promised to tell her anything she wanted to hear. “What did your photographer ask you when she took your shower shot?”

  Jason grinned. “She asked me to seduce her
with my eyes. Guess it worked.”

  Trisha congratulated him and laughed as he walked away to join the group of guys gathering around Samantha. She frowned when she noticed that Brent Heywood was not amongst them. An uneasy tremor zigzagged down her back. She looked about her, concerned that despite Marguerite’s promise she had everything under control. He might be loitering close by ready to accost her.

  Before she could give Brent any more thought, Marguerite hurried up to her. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement and her blue eyes sparked.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’re all going out to celebrate.”

  Trisha allowed herself to be caught up in the whirl of well being but a chilly uncertainty hovered at the edge of her enjoyment of the moment.

  Just where was Brent Heywood?

  * * *

  “If you ask me,” the girl with dark brown curls said as she took the stool beside him, “you were robbed.”

  Brent looked down at her with an expression of disdain on his face. “I didn’t ask you.”

  The girl sighed. “Can’t blame you for being out of sorts. Can I get you another beer?”

  His grunt may have been a yes or a no but he slugged down the drink he already had. No point in missing out if some chick wanted to chat him up. “And a whiskey chaser.”

  “I’m Annie,” the girl said by way of introduction after she’d ordered the drinks. “What do you plan to do now?”

  Brent shrugged. He’d planned to party but there was fat chance of that now and his once bright future was alarmingly dim. “Move on now this is over, I suppose, but I haven’t a clue where that might be.”

  Annie licked her lips suggestively. “Well, if you’re not in too much of hurry, we could move on to my place. I could offer all sorts of consolation prizes.”

  Brent brightened a little at that. Free booze here and a bed for the night with her didn’t sound like a bad deal at all. In anticipation of improving his accommodation, at least for the rest of the weekend, he’d already checked out of his motel. He had no intention of checking back in. He loosened up a little with the next round of drinks, some more with the round after that and was quite relaxed when Annie smiled invitingly at him and pressed a kiss on his cheek.