Corporate Cowboy. Pamela Bauer

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      Austin wasn’t sure which was worse—riding with his eyes wide open and watching for a critter to leap out of the darkness or sitting with his eyes shut and waiting for her to slam on her brakes. In the beam of the headlights he could see all sorts of flying insects and occasionally one would plop against the windshield.

      What was he doing here? he asked himself, growing more restless by the minute. He wasn’t a nature lover and he certainly had no affinity for the wide open spaces. He was a city boy, born and bred, and while other people complained of the congestion and noise, he thrived on it.

      “You know, you look awfully tense sitting there clutching your briefcase. You can lean back and close your eyes. I won’t run us off the road.”

      Easier said than done, Austin thought. “How much farther is it?”

      “We’re almost there.”

      A short while later Austin realized that almost in North Dakota was not the same as almost in Chicago. Just as she predicted, the pavement gave way to a gravel road which she drove across at an alarming speed. He could hear rocks hit the underside of the pickup and was tempted to plead with her to slow down. Instead he gritted his teeth and sucked on his horehound drops.

      By the time they reached the ranch the rain finally stopped. As she drove through an iron gate arched with the words “The Triple J,” Austin could see a smattering of lights in the distance.

      “Am I going to be able to get a change of clothing at this hour?” he asked.

      “My sister Suzy runs the western wear shop. She’s probably still hanging around the lodge, but even if she isn’t there, I can let you in.”

      The closer they got to the conference center, the less apprehensive Austin became. The building she referred to as the lodge was made out of logs, giving it a very rustic look. At first glance it appeared to be long and narrow, but as she drove around the side he saw that it was actually L-shaped.

      “Here we are. Welcome to the Triple J Guest House,” Kacy said as she pulled up under a large canopy. “We’ll check you in at the front desk, get your room key and then we’ll go look for Suzy to see about getting you some clothes.”

      Austin nodded and followed her inside where the decor was definitely a style befitting a dude ranch. Dark paneling, thick beams and coach lanterns on the walls gave one the feeling of stepping back in time to the old west.

      Kacy walked ahead of him, sliding her arms out of the slicker as she moved, thereby giving Austin a bit of a surprise. The body beneath the rubber rain coat was as near perfection as any he’d seen. She wore a long denim skirt that was unbuttoned to the knees revealing a most attractive pair of legs. But it was the leather vest that garnered his attention. It clung to her bosom in a most delectable manner and brought to his attention that despite the initial tomboy impression she had given him, she was all woman.

      She hung the slicker on a wooden coat tree that had antlers for hooks, then led him to the front desk in the lobby. In keeping with the decor, a hitching post separated the guests from the employees.

      “Normally there’s someone working here, but I think everyone’s in the lounge listening to Wild Bill Bordon. It’s not often we get a man of his fame here.” Slipping behind one of the posts, she unlocked a drawer and pulled out a ledger, flipping through the pages until she found what she was looking for.

      “You’re in number ten—a private, as you requested.” She had him sign several forms, gave him a folder containing the schedule for the upcoming week, then handed him a key.

      She checked for messages in the row of wooden boxes behind her on the wall, pulling out a stack of pink slips which she handed to Austin. “Someone’s been trying to reach you. A Daphne Delattre. I guess you didn’t tell her that you’re not supposed to get phone calls here, did you?” Her delicate brow arched with a hint of impatience.

      He shoved the messages into his pocket without any explanation, knowing perfectly well that she had heard his phone conversation in the truck.

      “The first thing I’d like to do is get a change of clothing,” he stated in no uncertain terms.

      “Suzy is probably at the campfire…or I should say in front of the fireplace. We had to move the cowboy poetry reading that should have been outside around a campfire indoors.”

      “Oh, what a shame that I missed it.” He didn’t try to hide his sarcasm.

      “You don’t like poetry, Mr. Bennett?”

      “I’m just wondering what makes poetry cowboy poetry?”

      “Why, when it’s about the life of cowboys,” she said with an engaging grin. “And tonight we have one of the best poets in the West—Wild Bill Bordon.”

      A man named Wild Bill reading poetry? He had never been a fan of poetry readings when they were done by literary figures, but to listen to a cowboy reading poetry? Austin could feel his discomfort level rise.

      “Wild Bill puts so much energy and emotion into his readings his poems become quite powerful,” she told him. “If you’ve never been to a cowboy poetry reading you’re in for quite a treat.”

      Austin studied her face to see if she was being facetious. She wasn’t. She truly thought that some guy sitting around reciting rhymes about horses and cattle would be an engaging experience. “I’ll pass on the poetry reading,” he told her.

      He saw a flicker of annoyance cross her face, but it was quickly replaced with a cajoling grin and a wagging of her finger at him. “Uh-uh-uh. That is no way to start the program, Mr. Bennett. Come on. This is a great way to get into the western theme of the conference.” She steered him down a corridor lined with portraits and landscapes, all featuring cowboys.

      “You like art, Mr. Bennett?” she asked, noting his interest.

      “As a matter of fact I do.” He paused in front of a painting of an elderly man wearing a buckskin jacket. The brass plate at the bottom of the frame read James Judd. “Is this your grandfather?”

      “Great-grandfather. He was eighty-nine when that was done.” He would have liked to ask her who the rest of the faces were on the walls, but she again was nudging him along.

      “You’ll have more time in the morning to look at these. Right now we need to find the rest of your group. Your employees will be eager to see that you’ve arrived safely. Besides, it’s where we’ll find Suzy and you do want to get a change of clothes for tomorrow, don’t you?”

      She had him over a barrel. Reluctantly he allowed her to escort him to a lounge in which one entire wall was a huge rock fireplace. Several leather sofas and large overstuffed recliners provided comfortable seating while a large wagon wheel chandelier glowed overhead, giving off just enough light so that the room had a warm glow.

      Everyone was silent except for the toughened old cowboy who sat on a stool in front of the fireplace reciting poetry. Although a few guests chose the leather furniture, most sat on the floor forming a semicircle around the poet. Instead of their usual business clothes all of them wore western wear.

      To Austin they looked like a bunch of dimestore cowboys in their stiff jeans, yoked shirts, leather boots and straw hats. What was even more surprising was that every one of them appeared to be СКАЧАТЬ