Chapter Twelve
When Josh arrived at the B&B the next afternoon, he gave Whitney a smoldering once-over and a whistle. She did a little spin in the foyer, thinking that might be the first whistle to make her feel giddy rather than annoyed. She wore a short skirt and a bead-embellished white tank top. “Like the cowboy boots?”
“Heck with the boots, I like the legs they show off. And that little green skirt does things for your—”
She put a finger to his lips, and gestured with her head toward the dining room, where they could hear murmuring voices. He caught her fingers between his teeth for a brief, gentle bite, then put his hand on her ass and pulled her against him in a proprietary way that made her shiver.
Breathless and weak with pleasure, she said, “Come on into the parlor. I have something to show you.”
“God, that sounds inviting,” he whispered in a husky voice.
“Now, now, we’re going to a church festival. Keep your thoughts clean.” It was difficult to remain levelheaded at all, seeing him in snug jeans and cowboy boots, and a faded tractor-store t-shirt that hugged his pecs and biceps. When had a man in an old t-shirt turned her on? “It was hard for me to keep my thoughts clean when I saw the paper.”
He grinned. “The Gazette again?”
“Nope. The Denver Post. You mentioned letting a photographer take pictures a couple days ago. Here they are. My, you do look… delicious.”
He shot a glance at her, then propped one hand on the table as he bent over the photos. There were a few photos under the heading of “Our new Colorado celebrity,” him working on his horse—
“My backside is way too much of the focus,” he said, bemused.
—and then riding around the corral, sweating in the sunshine.
“Seems pretty harmless,” he finished. “He captured Bandit’s good side.”
She smiled. “When I saw this layout, I felt like I’ll be the queen of the festival today, attended by the newest Colorado celebrity.”
He rolled his eyes, then looked at something past her. She glanced over her shoulder to see two of the other female guests boldly staring at him from the dining room.
Josh waved, and they waved back. “Time to go,” he murmured, keeping his smile in place.
She laughed but let him take her arm and firmly escort her out the front door. They walked the couple blocks to St. John’s Church, even meandering through the paths in the Rose Garden that filled the central block between the Four Sisters B&Bs.
Holding her hand, Josh said, “When we talked last night, I never thought to thank you for taking my grandma and her friends out to that tea ceremony. She called me early this morning, gushing over what a good time she had.”
“Even with Mrs. Sweet there?”
“Even then.”
“There was an interesting vibe between them all. Any idea what started the problem?”
“Nope. Grandma won’t talk about it, and my parents are either sworn to secrecy or just as clueless and trying to hide it.”
She laughed and leaned her head casually against his shoulder as they walked. He was so easy to be with.
As they got closer to the festival, she could see the rides rising up above the one- and two-story buildings, and cars and pickups lining both sides of every street. Carnival music blared from speakers, competing with the sounds of hundreds of people mingling and laughing. Then, at last, they took the corner, and the church parking lot spread out before them, the stone church and its tall spire rising up behind it. Banners and streamers hung from poles high overhead, looping over streets blocked off to make way for dozens of booths. The lot was crowded with carnival rides, spinning and turning for the delight of children and teenagers—and a few adults. Mixed in were more food and game booths. Whitney caught sight of a cotton-candy sign, and her mouth began to water.
“I haven’t been to a carnival in… I have no idea how many years,” she said. “It wasn’t something my parents regularly took us to, you know? Although once, when we were spending time in Manhattan, my dad insisted Chasz and I had to attend the New York State Fair with our nanny because of some businessman he had to meet.”
“It can’t be in Manhattan,” Josh said with doubt.
She laughed. “Nope, it’s a five-hour drive up to the state fairgrounds in Syracuse. We flew, of course,” she added wryly.
“Of course.”
“And Dad’s assistant didn’t realize how hard it would be to get a hotel at the last minute. You can’t believe how many hotels were booked with state cops there to work the fair. The farmers themselves stay right on the fairgrounds, sleeping on cots and hay bales next to animal stalls.”
Josh gave her an amused look. “And this surprises you? I did the same thing growing up, when I wanted to enter my favorite calf.”
She gave him a considering look. “I can’t believe it was all that comfortable. In Syracuse, the farmers brought along fans for the heat.”
“For their cows, too, I bet.”
She laughed. “Them, too. All I can say is that I had so much fun. The people were so varied, and the food! Please tell me they’ll have fried dough here.”
“It wouldn’t be a festival without it.”
She grinned with excitement, then they strolled up Mabel Street, past the first booths.
“Speaking of my grandma…” Josh said.
The widows were manning a craft booth, where signs advertised that half of every purchase benefited the church, and the other half went to the Valentine Valley Preservation Fund.
“Do you have any of your work here?” Whitney asked.
“I’ve run out of the smaller items. Other bosses are keeping me too busy.”
She gave him an innocent smile.
Before they reached the booth, several men with cameras jumped out in front of them for a quick series of shots. Whitney turned her back but wasn’t sure she escaped the photo.
“Josh!” his grandmother called from her booth.
Josh took Whitney’s hand and pulled, ducking beneath the tent and circling behind the display so he could kiss the cheeks of each woman. This didn’t seem to be the sort of photograph the men wanted, so they soon disappeared.
“There’s our famous cowboy artist,” Mrs. Palmer said with satisfaction, pinching both his cheeks.
Today, she was wearing the bright red billowy pants of a clown, complete with white shirt, bow tie—and clown feet. Instead of elaborate makeup, she’d painted a red circle on each wrinkled cheek. Whitney couldn’t stop smiling as she took in the sight. She could still be surprised with every newly revealed eccentricity of the widows.
“So I take it you saw the latest photo spread.” Josh crossed his arms as he leaned back against a table.
“Oh, we did,” Mrs. Ludlow said, nodding. “And your grandmother made certain everyone we know heard about it.”
He winced. “The whole town’s probably sick of me by now. Who wants to get jumped at by photographers?”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Ludlow said with grave patience.
Whitney bit her lip to keep from laughing at the crestfallen look on Josh’s face. To change the subject and relieve his embarrassment, she said, “What time is the Married Women Race?”
“I have a schedule right here,” Mrs. Thalberg said, picking up a flyer, even as Mrs. Palmer went to help a customer. She murmured to herself, “Let’s see, there’s a Dog Agility show—”
“We have to see that!” Whitney interrupted.
Josh nodded.
“—and the Chain Saw Carving demonstration.”
Whitney’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Wait until you see his wildlife sculptures,” Josh said. “Incredible. Maybe you’ll want one for your store.”
Well, she probably wouldn’t go that far…
“—ah, there it is,” Mrs. Thalberg said with satisfaction. “Married Women Race is at five o’clock, starting in the field up above Second Street.” To Whitney she said, “That’s across from the entrance to the Sweetheart Inn. They race out toward the Sweet Ranch, and then back to finish where they started. It says 5K.” She frowned. “Is that far? I never remember how to convert.”
“Around three miles,” Whitney explained. She turned to Josh. “Then we have some time before it starts. Let’s get some cotton candy.”
“Not fried dough?” he asked, smiling.
“We have all evening.”
As they wandered from booth to booth, Whitney inhaled the scents and tried not to moan. More than once, people called out a tease to Josh about his newfound fame. They ran into all three Sweet brothers, and Chris told Josh he should have set up an autograph booth for charity. With a sly smile, Will amended that to a kissing booth, and Whitney firmly dragged Josh away before the guys got any more bright ideas.
She brought her Walk-Away Sundae to the race field, and when they were still a hundred yards or so away, she found herself squinting over the top of her chocolate-coated ice cream cone. “Uh… what is everyone wearing?”
Josh grinned down at her. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to see your reaction. I did say the race was originally from the early 1900s.”
She slowly smiled. “And so you did.”
The race participants were easy to spot by the number pinned to their clothes—and the very nature of those clothes. She saw women wearing Nikes beneath prairie gowns and bonnets, others with bloomers beneath shorter skirts—and then there was Emily waving at them from near the starting line as she returned from a warm-up jog, wearing a 1920s flapper dress with beads and sequins.
“Whalebone corset optional,” Josh said, rocking back on his heels, wearing his “aw shucks” expression.
“I think Em has the best idea,” Whitney said, licking at her almost-forgotten ice cream.
To her surprise, Josh caught her cone-holding hand, and capturing her gaze with his, slowly licked the long trail of ice cream that had traced down over her knuckle. Whitney stared at him, her smile dying, feeling that spark of urgency and longing and incredible heat he always made her feel.
Distantly, she heard Emily say with amusement, “Oh, go get a room—after my race.”
Whitney blinked her way back to reality, then turned away from Josh. “Oh, sorry. Em, I have to say—what a gorgeous outfit to run in. Please don’t fall in the mud.”
Emily wore a sequined headband across her forehead though her blond hair was still caught back in a ponytail. “I seem to be in the wrong era—but they said early 1900s, and didn’t specify frontier.”
The other Thalberg and Sweet family members strolled up, Sandy grinning as she looked Emily up and down.
Josh looked around at the forty or fifty women of all shapes and sizes. “So, Em, do you have any competition?”
She straightened up from a hamstring stretch. “Of course I do.”
“But she’s gonna win,” Nate said with confidence. “That’s the reason we got married—so she could enter.”
Emily ignored him, while his mom gave him an elbow to the side.
“So what do you think of our festival?” Sandy asked Whitney.
Whitney held up her ice cream. “I’m loving it, especially the food.”
Nate gave a whistle. “You sure look good in cowboy boots.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But you are not the first man to whistle at me today.”
“I hope not,” he said, glancing meaningfully at his brother.
Josh just gave an enigmatic smile.
“Good luck, Emily!” Steph called.
Emily gave her a quick hug, then turned to the young man at her side, “Hi, Tyler, thanks for coming.”
Steph’s boyfriend was a lanky young man with longish, curly black hair, a lean, bony face, and sparse stubble on his chin. Whitney remembered that the first time she’d been in town, Tyler had gotten into some trouble just as his brother got out of jail. But Steph had had a good effect on him, and he seemed to be doing better.
Soon a man with a bullhorn announced the start of the race, and Whitney laughed aloud at the sight of all the women in costume—and running shoes. A starter pistol sent the pack off across the field toward the Sweet Ranch.
Each entrant had had to make a poster with a picture of herself in costume, and a historical description, so Whitney strolled among them with Josh.
“Wow, you people go crazy,” she said, popping the pointy end of her cone into her mouth and chewing with satisfaction.
Josh spread his hands. “Hey, you can’t win the costume competition without a poster.”
“So there’s two ways to win? Exciting.”
About twenty-two minutes after the start of the race, the first woman could be seen running toward the finish line—and it wasn’t Emily. But Emily came in second, pumping knees making her skirt lift and the sequins sparkle.
She didn’t win the Costume portion either, and confided to Whitney, “How could I compete with a woman who tied herself into a corset and still ran?”
Whitney and Josh strolled back to the festival, and she found herself gaping as a man drove by in a golf cart that had cutout wooden horses on each side.
“We’re not exactly sophisticated,” Josh said ruefully.
She linked her arm through his. “That’s what I like about Valentine, though. You guys don’t take each other too seriously. Sometimes…” She paused, not knowing how to make her feelings clear. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there’s more to life than the pressures and ambitions of work.”
“Remember who you’re talking to,” he said, covering her hand with his. “I haven’t exactly been lazing around.”
“No, but you occasionally make time for relaxation. You know what’s important.”
“I don’t know about that. I don’t seem to be good at saying no.”
She came to a stop and ended up tugging on his arm. “If you regret our deal, just tell me now.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I want to do the necklaces. I probably shouldn’t have agreed to the shoulder bags…”
“Because of the fame?” she asked.
People streamed by them, maybe even his family, but no one disturbed them, and she almost felt alone with him, even though from the fringes of the crowd, eyes still followed them.
“No, just the demands on my time. Those people in Aspen don’t mean anything to me, unlike you or Monica.”
“But the work means something to you.”
“Yeah, it does,” he said after a moment.
“And that’s what’s driven me to expand Leather and Lace. The work is way too important to me. I’m a prime example of a driven businessperson.” She decided to lighten the mood. “I can think of another way you’re good at saying no—to me.” She gave him a saucy grin.
He tried to kiss her, and she ducked away from him. “I haven’t had a gyro yet. And you haven’t taken me on that little Ferris wheel.”
“If they say it’ll hold us, I’m game.”
“Then come on!”
Josh watched her dart ahead of him, that short skirt barely covering her ass, her legs long and tan above cowboy boots, and thought he might follow her wherever she led. The elegant, businesslike Whitney Winslow had disappeared tonight, leaving in her place a woman who kissed him with lips sticky from cotton candy, who ended up carrying around a stuffed gorilla he won for her at one of the shooting games, and eventually snuggled with him atop the Ferris wheel, with the night stars blazing above them and the colorful festival lights below. The music and voices almost faded up there, as did the laughter from her eyes when their gazes met and held. Though restrained by a safety bar, she leaned into him breasts first, and her kiss was hot and knowing and demanding. They made fireworks of their own in the dark, and the ones that started erupting in the sky faded in comparison.
When their lips parted, he looked into her eyes as the wind picked up, then gently slid a curl back behind her ear. His parents had always told him he’d know the right woman when he met her, and now he knew. Whitney was the only woman for him, but he suspected she’d take some convincing. How could they possibly merge their very different lives together? Could she live in Valentine, when she had homes all over the world? Or could he find a purpose and place for himself at her side, even if it was on another continent? He wanted kids, and didn’t know if a woman whose parents dumped her off at the state fair with a nanny would ever want to be a parent herself.
Or was he prepared to change everything about himself for her?