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They found a tire store an exit away from the
stockyards. The clerk took one look at the pink Caddy’s enormous
whitewalls and cackled. “Those are special order, man. I can have
’em tomorrow, or maybe next day. Ain’t seen them beauties in a long,
long time.”
Looking grim, Elliot jammed his hands in his pockets.
“We’ll get back to you then. Thanks.”
Alys trotted out of the store on his heels. “Is the
small tire safe?”
“Yeah, but it’s probably tearing up the transmission
and brakes and wreaking havoc on the other three tires. Let’s just
hope Mame comes to her senses before tonight.”
Alys was ambivalent about that, but she didn’t
mention it aloud.
Elliot drove down to the next exit, circled the
block, and parked the car near the historic district of the
stockyards.
“Writing books is out too, huh?” Picking up on her
earlier topic of careers, she climbed out beneath his withering
look. “There ought to be some fun job I can do.”
“Like sing in a rock and roll band? You’re showing
your age again. C’mon, this way.” He led her down the main street of
the district.
Passing a western-wear store sporting ten-gallon hats
in the window, Alys tried to picture Elliot in cowboy boots and
Stetson and liked the idea so well, she grabbed his elbow and
steered him inside. “You have to play the part right. You’re not
even wearing jeans. What kind of cowboy are you?”
“A comfortable one? What part am I playing?” Entering
the enormous old building with its warped pine floors and battered
wood counters, he stared around at saddles on the wall, cubbyholes
filled with jeans, and an entire corner devoted to felt cowboy hats.
“Exploring the old west, of course. Hats, first. We
can’t walk around in the sun without hats.” She pounced on a small
black hat with delight, balancing it on the back of her head and
heading for a mirror.
“It seems to me black would be hot in the sun,” he
commented, looking in the mirror over her shoulder.
He stood so close, she could feel the heat rolling
off of him in waves, and a longing so strong welled up inside her
that she had to step away. “Black matches my jeans,” she said
firmly, hoping he didn’t notice her avoidance. “You can buy a white
one.”
“I’m not wearing a cowboy hat,” he protested. “I’d
look like an idiot.”
“Wearing that knit shirt, you would. But try a hat
with one of these western shirts.” She pulled a red and black
number off the rack, complete with ivory snap buttons on the cuffs.
Not satisfied with just a shirt, she waltzed down the
crowded aisles gathering the necessary elements for her latest
fantasy, and Elliot cringed. On a slow week day, the cowboy-hatted
clerks were more than happy to assist, and she had a wizened old man
dancing to her tune. Before Elliot could explain that he was only
humoring an idiot, the old man ushered him into the dressing room
with jeans and shirts, and when he came out, the clerk was holding
up boots for his approval.
“James Garner!” Alys cried, eyeing the cream-colored
shirt with a top-stitched yoke that he’d chosen as the least
horrifying of the lot. “You need a fancy western vest and you could
look like a gambler instead of a cowboy.”
“I don’t want to look like a gambler or a
cowboy.” But Alys looked at him as if he were James Garner and Clint
Eastwood rolled into one, and with resignation, Elliot tried on a
pair of brown stitched boots.
They were remarkably comfortable. Standing, testing
the heels and toes, wearing the faded jeans she’d chosen, tucking
his fingers into the belt loops in imitation of some old cowboy
movie he must have seen, he felt like a cowboy. He even gave
in and let Alys pound a flattish brown Stetson on his head. He hated
his curly hair anyway. Might as well cover it up. At least the hat
wasn’t one of those ten-foot tall jobs, or one with a turquoise and
silver headband like the one she was trying on.
She looked cute with the broad brim shading her light
eyes. She tilted it at a rakish angle, and his heart picked up a
beat. She still wore her faded blue halter and black jeans, but the
black hat with its sparkly headband suited her.
He was disappointed when she hung it back on its hook
and turned to smile in approval at him.
“Perfect. Now we can go riding in the canyon
tomorrow, and you’ll look as if you belong there.”
She spun around to investigate a rack of leather
belts, leaving him reeling in her wake. Riding in the canyon?
Horseback? Tomorrow? He hadn’t even planned how to get through
today. He had deadlines to meet, work to finish. He hadn’t planned
on a roller coaster ride with a lunatic in a pink Cadillac from
which there didn’t seem to be any getting off.
When she handed him the hand-tooled belt she’d
chosen, Elliot refused to put it on. “Does this mean you packed
riding clothes in those enormous suitcases of yours?”
She blinked in surprise. “I’m wearing jeans. I have a
baseball cap to shade my eyes. And a scarf for my neck!” She beamed
as if she’d told him she had silver and gold.
Elliot caught her shoulder before she could spin away
again. “The hat you had on looked good. Get that, and I’ll agree to
wear the rest of this ridiculous gear.”
“Do you have any idea how much this stuff costs?” she
asked in incredulity. “You don’t have to buy any of it. I just
wanted to see how you looked in it. Cool, isn’t it?”
She darted off, leaving Elliot to stare at the
startled clerk who’d overheard. She just wanted to see how he
looked in it? No way. He wasn’t buying that for an instant.
Women did not simply look at clothes and walk away. He might be out
of touch, but he wasn’t comatose.
“I’ll take these,” he told the clerk, who looked more
than relieved. “And add the hat she was looking at.”
Elliot caught up with Alys in the bolero tie section.
There wasn’t any way she was getting him into one of those string
nooses, but that wasn’t on his mind when he caught her shoulder
again.
“Boots,” he ordered, steering her toward the shoe
department. “If I’m wearing them, you’re wearing them.”
“My suitcases are already too heavy,” she argued,
resisting his push. “I ought to be looking for cheap luggage. Or at
least a backpack.”
“Boots.” He sat her down in the women’s boot
department and gestured at the clerk following him around. “Black
ones. With some kind of silver things on them to go with the hat.”
“They cost hundreds of dollars,” she whispered. “I
had no idea they cost so much. Let’s get out of here before they
start toting up all this stuff.”
“Clothes cost money. These jeans were cheap. A
hundred bucks for a hat is no big deal. When was the last time you
looked at prices?”
At her wounded look, it dawned on him. Maybe he ought
to just go bang his head against the plate glass window a few times.
Dumb, Elliot. Her husband had died after years of illness.
She had no job. She’d sold her damned house. Mame had been
paying her way. He’d been hanging around with the comfortable crowd
too long.
“I’ll write it off as research,” he said with an edge
of desperation. “I can probably get a show out of it, and a chapter
in the next book.”
“Yeah, how to shop your way to fitness in two easy
days,” she scoffed.
She started to rise, but he stood in front of her
chair, blocking her egress as the short clerk tottered over bearing
a swaying tower of boot boxes.
“Out of my way, Elliot,” she said between clenched
teeth. “You forget, I know karate and a few other more useful
martial arts.”
“It won’t kill you to try the boots on.” He refused
to budge.
“I can break bones in your foot,” she warned.
“Not while I’m wearing cowboy boots,” he taunted.
Grasping his shirt front, she planted her feet on his
booted toes, and he rocked backward—into the clerk with the tower of
boxes.
Hats and boxes and boots flew everywhere, bouncing
off narrow shelves of more boxes, and toppling the stacks.
Wrapping his arm around Alys’s waist, Elliot hauled
her off his feet, but he couldn’t swivel fast enough to catch
anything.
Hanging on to Alys, gazing at the chaos they’d
created together, he had the amazing urge to laugh out loud, only he
figured he’d end up rolling on the floor with some of the loose hats
if he really let go.
“After this, we’re spending a lot of money here,” he
told her, before setting her down and hurrying to help the
traumatized clerk.
Alys dropped to her knees to scramble after boots and
boxes while the clerk insisted it was no problem at all. She was
trembling and didn’t quite know why. She should laugh this off. It
was no big deal. They were just a bunch of boots. She’d done
stupider things in her lifetime. Mame would be singing about
rounding up dogies right now.
She wasn’t Mame.
Had she thought she was?
She sure didn’t want to be, not after Elliot had held
her like that. He wasn’t even mad. He’d held her as if he’d done it
all his life, as if she belonged in his arms, as if they fitted
together like two pieces of a puzzle. It had seemed so natural, it
had scared her half to death.
She didn’t even know if he knew he was doing it.
She’d given him one glimpse of sex, and he’d adopted a decidedly
proprietary attitude. She didn’t think their little power struggle
was in any way similar to his manner toward Mame. It had felt like
raw sex.
Hiding her flushed cheeks, she dug under a chair for
a runaway boot. Broad hands captured her waist and hauled her
upright.
He was doing it again. She stared up into Elliot’s
short-lashed dark eyes and caught her breath. His gaze dipped when
she filled her lungs, reminding her that she was wearing a halter
with nothing under it. The smolder developing in his eyes warned
he’d noticed.
“We’ll buy them all if you don’t sit down and try
them on,” he growled.
“What happened to Doc Nice?” she asked in low tones
as he released her in front of a chair.
“He met up with Alys Oakley. I may have to buy
leather gloves and pack a pistol. Sit.”
She sat. She wanted to argue. She wanted to wriggle
away just to assert her rights. But he’d been cooperative with all
her whims until now, and she kind of liked the way he’d just
asserted his rights. If he had any. She hadn’t decided about
that yet.
“Remember, I know karate,” she reminded him as Elliot
pointed out a pair of boots to the clerk.
“You can break boards. Can you hit a moving target?”
He lifted his expressive dark eyebrows.
The boots he’d chosen for her had gorgeous stitching
all across the toe, a dainty silver and turquoise chain at the
ankle, and heels that would really let her look him in the eye. They
fit her feet as if they’d been tailored for her. Sighing with
regret, Alys stood. Well, she could almost look him in the eye. Her
nose reached his chin.
“Want to find out if I can hit a moving target?” she
asked.
In answer, he leaned over and kissed her.
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