The Cowboy And The Calendar Girl. Nancy Martin

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      Dragging her brother into the privacy of the barn, Becky began to coach him urgently. “All right, the best thing to do is the strong and silent act. Cowhands are always strong and silent.”

      “Aren’t we perpetuating movie stereotypes?”

      “Don’t talk like that! You can’t—Oh, just keep your mouth shut when she gets here, and—”

      “Have you ever known me to keep my mouth shut?”

      “You’ve got to try!”

      “Listen, Beck, this woman can’t be looking for anything but a pretty face——or in my case, a beaten-up mug. She isn’t going to care if I can ride a horse or swing on a flying trapeze! Trust me. I know these Hollywood types, and all they want is a square jaw to photograph. If she’s so demented as to want mine—”

      “She said she wanted a cowhand. For ten thousand dollars, we’re going to give her a cowhand!” Becky pulled the huge black horse into a stall and proceeded to loop the reins around the hay rack. Then she moved to untie the saddle girth, saying, “Just behave yourself, all right? Can’t you remember anything about ranch life?”

      “I’ve spent the past twenty years trying to forget.”

      Becky sighed impatiently and shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re really my brother!”

      Hank put his arm across his sister’s narrow shoulders, finding them tense with emotion. “Hey, take it easy, Beck.”

      “This is important, dammit! I could lose this place. And it’s my home!” Her blue eyes suddenly flashed with tears. “I really need the money, Henry.”

      “Cool down,” Hank soothed, sorry he’d teased her. “I said I’d help, didn’t I?”

      Becky tried to focus on unfastening the saddle again. “It was a silly idea. I should never have asked you to come out here—”

      “Hey, I had a few vacation days saved up. No problem. I’ll just explain to this calendar lady that I’m not who she thinks I am. I’m sure she doesn’t give a damn about my line of work.”

      “But she does! She wants a real person. She said so on the phone.”

      “I am a real person.”

      “I mean an authentic cattle rancher.”

      “It doesn’t matter what I do. She’ll still want to put my face on her silly little calendar, so—”

      “It’s not just your face, Henry,” his sister interrupted.

      “What?”

      Slowly Becky said, “Maybe I should have told you the whole story before now, but I thought we had a few more days before she actually got here and started—”

      Hank glowered at his sister. “What whole story?”

      “This...this calendar thing,” Becky said uncomfortably. “It’s not just pictures of good-looking guys’ faces. If that was the case, you wouldn’t have made the finalists’ list.”

      Hank felt his mouth go very dry. “What are you talking about?”

      “All those years of climbing and racquetball have done you some good, big brother. She wants to take pictures of the whole package.”

      A pang of dread shot through him. “Hold it—”

      “I sent a bunch of old photos to the contest. She said she liked your look. Your total look.”

      “But—”

      “I know, I know, you’re not as young as you used to be, and there’s a little flab around your middle, but modern photography—”

      Incensed, Hank interrupted, “There is no flab around my middle!”

      “Great,” said Becky. “Then you won’t be afraid to take off your shirt.”

      “Now wait a minute!”

      “Or your trousers.”

      “Just a damn minute!”

      “I hear a truck.” Becky frantically tugged Hank’s bandanna askew and tilted his Stetson to the correct angle. “There’s no time to give you a complete makeover. Can’t you—Oh, don’t you have some tobacco to chew, at least?”

      She dashed out of the barn. Stunned by the information his conniving sister had just sprung on him, Hank stood frozen for a split second—just long enough for Thundercloud to reach around and sink his big yellow teeth into Hank’s arm.

      With a yelp, Hank leaped out of the stall and slammed the door behind him. He could swear he heard Thundercloud chuckle with satisfaction. Fuming, he followed his sister outside.

      Becky was already outside, calling hello to someone.

      “Hi. Miss Fowler?” asked a female voice.

      “That’s me,” Becky replied. “You must be Miss Cortazzo from Los Angeles.”

      “Call me Carly.”

      Hank arrived at the open barn door in time to see his sister clasp hands with the slender young woman dressed almost entirely in black. Her white-blond hair was a dramatic counterpoint to the dark clothes, and her fair skin and pale blue eyes looked gorgeous in the fading sunlight.

      “We weren’t expecting you yet,” Becky said.

      “I’m sorry. My office was supposed to fax you.”

      “Oh, we don’t have a fax machine.”

      “Well, I guess you really wouldn’t need one out here,” said Carly Cortazzo with a smile. She glanced around the barn and corral and let her gaze travel to the view of the Black Hills beyond. “This is beautiful country. I almost enjoyed getting lost in it.”

      “Hen—I mean, Hank says he gave you directions to the ranch. Maybe he should have led the way.”

      “Oh, I don’t think Hank wants to get too friendly with me.”

      She turned and met his eyes with a wry smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Hank hadn’t gotten a good look at her before. His terror of Becky’s runaway horse had muddled his head. But now he had a chance to give her a thorough once-over, and he liked what he saw.

      Carly Cortazzo had self-assurance in every sinew of her lean, athletic body. Her blue gaze was confident, and her clothing had a cosmopolitan flare of drama. Hank liked the way her light hair wisped around the sharp contours of her face and emphasized the slender grace of her long neck. She had a businesslike manner—belied only by the lush curve of her sensual lips that lent a vaguely vulnerable cast to her face.

      She wasn’t one of the fresh-scrubbed country girls Hank had grown up with in South Dakota, but had an energetic kind of beauty accompanied by a slight gleam of cynicism in her gaze.

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