The Forgotten Cowboy. Kara Lennox
Nana getting senile? Something else to worry about.
She would try very hard to put her worries out of her head for now, however. She was going out dining and dancing with a handsome—at least, she thought he was handsome—man, and she was going to enjoy it. She decided to assign him a fictitious name, just until she discovered what his real one was.
Let’s see. Bill? Fred? No, those weren’t right.
Hank. She would think of him as Hank.
“Just let me get my purse and I’ll be ready.”
Hank drove a truck, she soon discovered. An old brown Chevy, sturdy and utilitarian, recently waxed and immaculate inside. He helped her into the high seat, his gaze lingering on her leg when her dress rode up a few inches. She gave him a look that let him know she’d caught him, but at the same time, his frank interest caused something to ignite deep inside her.
Oh, Lord, it was too early in the evening to deal with those kinds of feelings. She had to keep her wits about her, be alert for any sort of clue to her date’s identity.
His job. She would ask him about his work. “So, how is your work going these days?”
“I’m off for a couple of weeks. I don’t know if you heard, but that tornado knocked me around a bit, too. I didn’t have the sense to get out of my truck and find cover when the sirens went off. But, you know, we get so many warnings that never amount to anything, I just wasn’t worried when I should have been.”
“I know. Mick was sure we could make it home before the storm hit. I hope you weren’t seriously injured.”
“I got sucked right out of my truck, then pinned under it.”
“Oh, my God, I’m surprised you’re walking around.” Willow tried to remember whether she’d heard of any other serious injuries. But those first few days after her accident, she’d been so focused on her own recovery she hadn’t thought much about others’ misfortunes. And if she had heard about this man’s injuries, she probably wouldn’t remember, she thought grimly. Her week in the hospital was mostly a blur.
“I broke some ribs, punctured a lung,” he said, as if that were no big deal. “It could have been bad, ’cause the ambulances couldn’t get through, but Dr. Stack came along. He knew what to do.”
“That guy gets around. He helped rescue me, too.”
“Anyway, Jon gave me a couple of weeks off to recuperate. He also loaned me this truck, until I can get mine replaced.”
John Who? Willow wondered. She decided to go out on a limb. “You mean Jon Hardison?”
“Yeah. That’s where I’m working now.”
Willow’s breath caught in her throat. The Hardison Ranch was where Cal worked, last she’d heard. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask “Hank” if he knew Cal, which of course he would, but she stopped herself. She did not want to be one of those tedious women who talk incessantly about old boyfriends they hadn’t quite gotten over.
Anyway, she’d gotten over Cal. Completely.
All right, so her mystery man was a ranch hand. Nothing wrong with that.
“It’s good, honest work,” Hank said, almost as if he’d heard her. “I thought I’d do it just temporary, but I found I like it. Well, not all of it. Castrating calves and putting up fences and hauling hay—that’s just work. But I like hanging out with horses and cows. And I seem to be pretty good at it. In fact, Wade’s got me over at his place half the time, working with the green horses. I got to show some of his campers how I halter-train a colt once. That was a hoot.”
Wade was Jonathan’s younger brother, a national rodeo champion. He’d started a horse-breeding operation on his portion of the ranch, and he also ran a rodeo camp for city kids, which was gaining a national reputation.
Willow smiled at the image of “Hank” working with the kids. Oh, she was liking him more and more. What wasn’t to like about a guy who had an affinity for animals and kids?
Cal was kind to animals, she reflected. She’d always admired him for that. She’d been so proud of him when he’d gotten accepted into vet school. Not that anyone had been surprised. Cal was so smart, a straight-A student without even trying. The surprise had come when he’d dropped out after a year. And while it didn’t bother her at all that “Hank” worked on a ranch, because he was obviously suited to it, it seemed like a huge waste that someone with Cal’s intellect and abilities, and enough family money to pursue any endeavor in the world, chose menial labor.
Oh, hell, here she was thinking about Cal again.
“I didn’t mean to go on and on,” Hank said apologetically. “My work might not be glamorous, but it’s worthwhile. I wanted you to know that.”
“I have no problem with your work,” she said, be-mused. Did he think she was a total snob, that she wouldn’t be seen with someone who didn’t drive a Mercedes and wear a tie every day?
“I want to talk about you,” he said.
“Nothing about me is very interesting.” Besides, if they focused on her, she would never find out who he was.
“I beg to differ.” He gave her a smoldering look that could have set her panties on fire. Oh, come on. What was wrong with her that she reacted so strongly?
He must not be a stranger, she reasoned. Her subconscious must know this man. That was the only way she could explain her strong sexual response to him.
They parked in the lot, got their reserved tickets at a booth, then stood in line at the dock to board the gleaming white barge. The sun was still out, and it was warm. She hoped they wouldn’t have to stand in the heat for long.
Hank immediately sensed her discomfort. “Why don’t we sit at one of those picnic tables in the shade?” he suggested. “We’ve got our tickets. We don’t really have to stand in line.”
“But I want a good table,” she argued. “I’ve fanta-sized about doing this for years. I want it to be perfect.”
Hank winked. “I know the maître d’. Our table is reserved.”
Just then the gangway was opened and everyone started boarding, so they remained in line. Hank and the maître d’, whose nametag identified him as Ken, shook hands and did a little backslapping. Willow listened attentively in case Ken used Hank’s real name, but he didn’t, darn it. They were shown to a lovely table for two, tucked away in a private corner. But they had a good view out their own little porthole.
“Oh, this is perfect,” Willow said.
And it was, every nuance of the evening. As the barge got under way, beginning its languorous journey around the glass-smooth lake, Hank ordered some expensive French burgundy. Willow was only sorry she didn’t know enough about wine to fully appreciate it, but it tasted wonderful and she didn’t object when Hank refilled her glass.
She sipped slowly, savoring the deep, dark flavor. Every bite of her tender prime rib melted in her mouth.
And of course they danced. Hank was a really good dancer—not flashy, not a show-off. Just smooth. Her heart felt like a balloon inflating in her chest every time the band started up a slow song.
He pulled the same trick as he had at the wedding reception, dancing her into the shadows. But instead of pulling her more tightly into his arms and kissing her, he guided her out the hatch and onto the deck.
The deck was almost deserted. They found a secluded portion of railing and leaned against it, watching the shoreline slip by as the flaming sun settled behind a distant hill.
“It’s so pretty out here,” Willow said on a sigh. “I tend to take the lake for granted. I know it’s here, I cross over the bridge every time I go to my parents’ house. But I don’t think much about it.”
“It’d be nice to have a little