Loving That Cowboy Read online

  For a brief moment she allowed herself to imagine what being with Cameron would be like. She could think of nothing better than making a home together. But how could it possibly work? These thoughts had to stop. They would lead nowhere.

  She wouldn’t risk the crippling pain of loss all over again. No, she would see him as much as she could while she was here and then she’d walk away.

  A sudden blast of music from the east end of town brought her out of her reverie, reminding her that today was Stampede Parade day. Maybe that was why Cameron had to leave so early. Was he riding in the Parade? He hadn’t said so but then, anything was possible.

  Trisha didn’t hear the car pull up behind her, wasn’t aware of anything or anyone until Samantha flopped down beside her.

  “Penny for them,” she said, nudging Trisha’s shoulder.

  Trisha turned to her, ignoring Samantha’s questioning look and shocked gasp.

  “Oh, my god, girl. I take it you had a good night?”

  “Unforgettable,” Trisha agreed in a voice not much above a whisper.

  She dropped her gaze to avoid Samantha’s piercing scrutiny but failed miserably. Samantha nudged her again and asked quietly, “You’ve fallen in love with him, haven’t you?”

  “What?” Trisha’s breath hitched in her throat. “No, of course I haven’t.”

  Another blast of music from downtown prevented Samantha from asking any more disconcerting questions. Trisha boosted herself off the rail, thankful for the interruption. How could she admit anything to Samantha that she was not first going to admit to herself?

  “Come on,” she said. “Don’t we have to watch a parade or something?”

  Samantha looked at her watch. “Not before we get you home for a fresh change of clothes. Your car awaits, my lady.”

  She did her best impression of an English accent, but her efforts went unnoticed as Trisha slid into the luxury of the car’s navy suede upholstery. The lost look in her eyes worried Samantha as did the weight loss and her friend’s dry, brittle manner. She appeared as fragile as a winter twig that would snap under the slightest pressure.

  “You know,” she offered as she stopped at traffic lights, “fantastic sex doesn’t necessarily equal love.”

  “This was not just sex,” Trisha insisted. “I don’t even want to try and describe what it was. And don’t you dare ask for details.”

  “Spoil sport,” Samantha grumbled, but then relented. “Look, you’ve never been hip-deep in cowboys before. They are overwhelmingly rugged, strong, sexy men. You could meet another guy in ten minutes that would obliterate Cameron Carter forever.”

  “Nice try, Samantha, but you’re wrong.”

  “Sweetie—”

  “Don’t say anything. Just don’t.” Trisha put up her hands as if fending off whatever Samantha intended saying. “You know I’ve dated, you know Tony and I had a long term relationship, but nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?” Samantha drove into the gloom of her condo’s underground parking lot.

  “Do?” Trisha sighed with resignation and shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Samantha pulled up in her stall and looked at Trisha in disbelief. “You’re telling me you’ve never felt like this before, not even with that jerk Tony who you fortunately didn’t marry and you’re going to do nothing?”

  “How could anything between us really work?” Trisha blurted. “Think about it Sammie, he’s this side of the pond and I’m the other. Whether I like it or not I travel, a lot. How’d we deal with that?” She rubbed her forehead wearily. “I’ll help you with your cowboy photographs and the cover models then I’ll complete my assignment and go home. End of story. Now I think it’s time to go get ready to watch this parade you’ve been yakking on about.”

  “Oh, crap,” Samantha muttered as Trisha, face pale and mouth a curt tight line, shot out of the car but then crumpled against it, dropping her head onto her folded arms on its roof. Samantha stood beside her and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Trisha mumbled.

  “I’m sorry I bugged you.” Samantha gave her a squeeze. “We must be the sorriest pair on the block. Come on. We’ll get changed and leave the car here. We can walk up Eighth Street and if we’re lucky we’ll find a spot to take in the parade.”

  Trisha agreed, too exhausted to argue. How she wished she’d never made that phone call to Samantha in the first place, or that she’d allowed herself to be jockeyed into Samantha’s wretched schemes.

  Most of all, and much too late, she wished she’d never loved that cowboy.

  Chapter Nine

  People crammed the sidewalks, shoulder to shoulder, for as far as Trisha could see. She doubted even a thin piece of paper could be wedged between them. Some spectators had settled themselves in lawn chairs or on camp stools and many of the children sitting on the curbs held flags ready to wave.

  She listened to smatterings of several languages from French to Japanese, all high on expectancy and the thrill of the moment. Heat shimmered off the road surface and intensified between the walls of the high rise buildings on either side of the street.

  The first group of riders came into sight and Trisha craned her neck along with the rest of the crowd in an effort to see them better. A car with a plaque on its side advertising the Parade Marshal drove slowly by, its occupants smiling and waving to the cheering crowds.

  The noise level rose and fell in waves of sound. She tensed, knowing what the shock of it could do but fought to control her breathing and braced herself. But the vivid and unwanted memories that often followed loud noises, the sickening sensation that sent her into spiralling panic, didn’t come.

  She relaxed a little as she watched more riders pass and then Cameron was there, riding on the wing of a group of cowboys. So that was why he left so early. Why hadn’t he said so? He grinned and waved to the crowd, his glance sliding easily over the people lining the route. And her.

  It was if he did not recognize her at all. A sudden chill ran down her back, making her shiver in spite of the heat. Puzzled, she watched the group ride away from her. She’d been almost under his nose, for heaven’s sake. How could he not have seen her? Or did he not want to?

  She stepped back, not caring now who or what came up the street. Had last night been a dream and had what she’d shared with him meant more to her than to him? Could he have forgotten her so easily? And what did it matter anyway? She would soon be gone.

  “Idiot,” she muttered. “Idiot, idiot, idiot.”

  She had to get away and pushed through the crowds until she could retreat around the corner. Samantha followed her and caught her arm.

  “Trisha, what’s up?”

  “Didn’t you see?” Trisha demanded.

  “See what?”

  “Cameron. He rode right by and never acknowledged me by so much as blink. You warned me about sexy cowboys but did I listen? Oh, no, not me. Now I feel so, so stupid.”

  “Maybe he really didn’t see you, Trish. Have you any idea how many people are out there?”

  Trisha ignored her. “I should never have let that attraction get the better of me. But just for once, I wanted feel pleasure again and not just pain.”

  “Okay, that comment needs an explanation.” Trisha gasped as Samantha grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “You and I hit it off as soon as we met so I consider us friends but now you’re holding something back and I need to know what it is.” Another shake, gentler this time and Trisha couldn’t ignore the genuine concern in Samantha’s face. “Trish, I want to help you so just talk to me. Cry on my shoulder if you want to, that’s what friends are for.”

  Trisha swallowed the apprehension that threatened to choke her. Her counselor encouraged her to talk about the incident but each time she tried, her tongue dried and clung to the roof of her mouth just as it did now. She closed her eyes but rather than block out her memories, it o
nly afforded a replay of the worst day of her life.

  “Was it really that bad?” Samantha asked, the compassion in her husky voice almost drowned out by a blaring marching band in the background.

  “You have no idea,” Trisha whispered. “I couldn’t believe how blasé I’d been about my life until that crash. It was the end of so much. I can’t talk about it, I just can’t.”

  “Whatever, sweetie. But don’t forget the saying a trouble shared is a trouble halved, or something like that.”

  Trisha half smiled at Samantha’s insistence. She’d admitted more than she wanted to, but somehow even that made her feel slightly easier. Maybe her counselor was right that letting go, little by little, might just get her past the nightmare her life had become. Behind her a Scottish band marched past and over the skirl of the pipes and rattle and tap of the drums, Samantha grinned at her.

  “Hang the parade,” she shouted. “Let’s go grab lunch or we won’t have time to eat until after the publisher’s event tonight.”

  Trisha groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’ve still not forgiven you and I’ve got butterflies already. What am I supposed to talk about anyway?”

  “Your choice, but I’d go heavier on the fashion and celebrity side than anything else. By the way, what do you read?”

  “Is that the test question?” Trisha asked as they walked away from the noise and the crowds.

  Samantha shook her head. “But it would help if you read some romance.”

  Trisha made a face. “I have to admit to rarely, if ever. You asked me to look at photos for you. Pick the man who best portrays a romantic image you said, which is subjective to say the least. My idea of a romantic image is likely to be totally different to anyone else’s. That being a given, I can’t say any more until I see the photographs. How many are there anyway?”

  “Twelve.” Samantha said promptly. “After they’re unveiled tonight they’ll be on display in the Western Art Showcase for the remainder of Stampede. The winner will be announced next Saturday. We’re running a draw too, the prize being the book the winner will be featured on, plus dinner with him.”

  “Hmm.” Trisha frowned. “That doesn’t sound like much of prize.”

  “Ah, but the dinner is all expenses paid. So if you win and you’re from oh, let’s say Australia, that’s not a shabby deal at all.”

  As they walked back to the condo, Trisha agreed that was not in the least shabby. She yawned. Lack of sleep from the previous night was catching up with her. She needed a nap, a shower and then time to conjure up a few words to present to the representatives of the popular publishing house sponsoring the event. Samantha made it all sound simple, even the fact there would be upwards of two hundred people in the audience was a breeze according to her.

  No problem. No problem at all.

  Trisha fell across her bed and thankfully closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Cameron stood outside the doors of the hotel’s ballroom, waiting impatiently for them to open. People cruised through the main lobby or gathered in groups bathed in subtle lighting from the spectacular chandeliers. Chatter and laughter buzzed around him. He would much rather be out at the ranch, but Greg had given him a ticket for this evening’s event and all but begged him to be there.

  “Hey, man, I need some support,” he’d pleaded and Cameron gave in.

  Besides, it would be an opportunity to watch Trisha unobserved. He could stand at the back of the room and maybe learn a little more about her. He’d tried calling her earlier in the day but her phone had been turned off. He hadn’t bothered to leave a message but hoped he’d be able to catch her before the evening ended.

  She’d said she was giving a short presentation before introducing the competitors. What was she likely to talk about? He turned to take a short stroll around the lobby rather than continue waiting for the doors to open. The information on his ticket read, ‘doors open at six-thirty p.m.’ He checked his watch. Ten more minutes. How come he’d arrived so early? Even stopping to shower and shave after the afternoon’s steer wrestling event, which he’d won, had taken no time at all.

  Intending to kill some time he made for the bar but stopped when he noticed a commotion in the doorway. He groaned inwardly when he recognized the red-head pushing her way aggressively through the crowd and followed her as she marched up to one of the ballroom doors.

  “Where are you charging off to in such an all-fired hurry?” He caught her arm and spun her around to face him.

  “Get your hands off me, you ...you ...” She kicked at his shins and tried to pull out of his grip.

  “Nice to see you too, Donna T.” Cameron continued to hold the woman. “Come over here and stop making a spectacle of yourself.”

  “Spectacle of myself?” Cameron found himself caught in a blaze of bright blue eyes sparking with anger. “Never mind about me, what about my husband? What kind of spectacle is he going to make of himself? Why’d you let him do it, Cameron? Why?”

  Cameron edged himself and the petite red-head to the side of the crowd. “I didn’t know anything about it until after he’d signed with the modeling agency which helped organize this gig. If he wins it, the prize money will get you out of your hitch with the bank. And if he doesn’t, he could still earn a fair few bucks from just modeling. That’s why he did it, Donna. For you. So you don’t lose your home and livelihood. Can you blame him for that?”

  Donna slumped onto a sofa and put her hands over her face. Her bright curls bobbed as she shook her head. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “For exactly this reason.” Cameron released Donna’s arm once he was sure she wouldn’t take another swing at him. “He knew you’d be mad as hell at him and likely try to stop him. All he can see is a big dollar sign if he wins. The book cover is secondary.”

  “What book cover?” Donna’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “All I know is that the competition is sponsored by some publishing house. The winner gets $25,000 and appears on the cover of a western romance novel.”

  “Western romance?” Donna sprang to her feet. “Is he mad? He knows nothing about romance. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time he bought me flowers.”

  “I don’t think he needs to know anything about romance, he just has to look good.” Cameron grinned suddenly. “Can’t say he’s my type, but I guess he might have what it takes. Don’t you think he’s good looking?”

  Donna punched Cameron’s upper arm with enough force to make him wince. He rubbed the spot thinking that ranch women never knew their own strength. “Of course I do. That’s part of why I married him but I don’t want other women looking at him.”

  “Not even for the prize money?”

  “Well,” Donna paused, a frown scrunching up her freckled face. “Yeah, I guess that might make a difference.”

  “Look, there’s a dozen photographs in the running. He’s got a one-in-twelve chance of walking away with it but no guarantees. Come on, the doors are opening now.”

  “I want to be right up front and in his face,” Donna hissed.

  “Not a good idea.” Cameron took her arm again as they passed unhindered into the darkened ballroom. “He’s going to be as twitchy as treed ‘coon. You don’t want to rattle him even more and spoil his chances of getting through this evening without egg on his face. Come and sit at the back with me.”

  Donna relented with a heavy sigh signifying her displeasure and Cameron took her to a table in the far corner of the room. If someone showed up wanting tickets for them both he’d cross that bridge if he came to it. For now he poured them glasses of water from the pitcher on the table while Donna looked nervously towards the stage. Twelve easels set in a semi-circle were already in place. Purple cloths, emblazoned in gold with a double PP interlinked to resemble a cattle brand covered each easel.

  Seats were filling fast. People pulled out chairs and seated themselves at the round tables. Donna reached for one of the five brochures fanned out at each p
lace setting.

  “Oh no.” She turned the brochure so that Cameron could see it. “He’s not got to compete with this, has he?”

  The title on the brochure proclaimed Purple Plain Publishing’s selection of its best book covers. Cameron took the brochure, chuckling. The covers showed men with bare chests, impressive abs and bulging biceps.

  He laughed aloud and handed the brochure back to Donna. “If you noticed, all these guys have their faces mostly hidden by the brim of their hats. Maybe they’re just embarrassed at how they look or maybe those poses are meant to make women drool at their muscles.”

  Donna flipped his arm with the brochure. “I don’t want any other woman drooling over my husband.”

  “You worried that fame would go to Greg’s head?”

  Before Donna could answer, the lights in the ballroom dimmed. Cameron looked towards the stage to see what was happening and if he could spot Trisha. A group of smartly dressed people, the men wearing tuxes and the women in evening gowns, filed into the room and took their seats at tables placed front and centre to the stage. They had to be from the publishing company he decided.

  A sound technician crossed the stage and checked the microphones. The spotlights flashed on and off, illuminating different areas of the stage and then the backdrop. The technician raised his thumb to someone in the wings.

  The lights dimmed even more. Denis Thompson, a local TV personality, bounced on to the stage and took his place in front of the microphone.

  “Show time,” Cameron muttered.

  Chapter Ten

  Trisha stood in the wings with butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She watched Denis playing to the audience. His banter made her smile and the crowd beyond the footlights laughed at his jokes.