Cowboy Incognito. Alice Sharpe
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Zane looked up at her. All the protective layers she’d erected that day teetered under the blue intensity of his gaze.
After a long second, he crossed the short distance to her side in one step. He sat on the edge of her mattress.
For several seconds they stared at each other. Kinsey felt as though she was going to explode.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said as he ran a lock of her hair through his fingers. “Of course, you always look beautiful.”
“For all the good it does us,” she whispered. When he leaned over her and kissed her cheek, she turned her face. “Don’t.”
“Sorry,” he said, and slowly sat up. He didn’t leave, however, just sat there, still and silent, one hand on her shoulder as he stared into the room. Finally he looked down at her again.
“Last night I asked you to give me one more day. That day is now over. I think you should drive away tomorrow and let me finish this.”
Cowboy
Incognito
Alice Sharpe
ALICE SHARPE met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.
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This book is dedicated to the newest member of our family, Tyler Lawrence Shumate.
Live long and prosper, sweetie.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Kinsey Frost loved her adopted home of New Orleans no matter what the weather threw at her. Since moving there a few years ago, various storms had flexed their muscles and she’d kind of enjoyed the drama of it all.
However, on a summer day like this, when the humidity hovered close to a drizzle and no breeze blew off the Mississippi River, mixed feelings tended to sneak their way in. Add a crowded hot sidewalk, time restraint and a sore back from climbing up and down a ladder all day and she was about five seconds away from hailing a cab to take her the six blocks home. She was painfully aware she had an hour to take a shower, change her clothes and return to the gallery she’d just left.
That was cutting it close and she decided on the spot that once she had cleaned herself up, she would drive back to the gallery instead of walking as she usually did.
To take her mind off her wilting condition, she focused on her fellow pedestrians. As an artist, she was always interested in people watching, even when they had their backs to her. Directly ahead walked a woman who had twisted her hair into an intricate knot and secured it with what looked like red chopsticks. In front of her two businessmen in lightweight suits argued about something, their profiles twisted with emotion. Then came a woman wearing a pink dress who held the hands of two little girls. Twins? Probably, as they were the same size and wore identical clothes.
Looking even farther ahead, Kinsey caught a glimpse of a tan Stetson hat. She tilted her head to see on whom it perched and found a tall guy with dark hair touching the back of his shirt collar. A black leather vest stretched across broad shoulders. Through the legs of those between them, she caught sight of jeans and black boots.
This was not Bourbon Street. Few tourists visited this area at five o’clock on a Friday afternoon, fewer still dressed like this man. She watched him for another half block, struck by his steady gait and the aura he emitted of knowing where he was going and what he was going to do when he got there. She couldn’t help being curious about his ultimate destination.
Life was full of interesting people with fascinating stories you never had a chance to know. Right now, for Kinsey, the far more pressing issue was time. The gallery was holding an opening-night show for an “outstanding new talent.” That’s what the owner called anyone to whom he dedicated wall space and a wine-and-cheese party. In Kinsey’s opinion, this time he was dead-on right. She’d spent most of the day hanging one beautiful painting after another, striving to suit both owner and finicky artist. No doubt there would be a fair amount of hand-holding required that evening.
The light on the corner changed and the crowd up ahead slowed down to wait it out. Kinsey had lost track of the cowboy, but now he caught her attention again. He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, slightly apart. The giggling antics of the two little girls apparently caught his attention and he turned. As though he sensed Kinsey’s stare, his gaze darted from the children straight to her.
The word handsome didn’t do him justice, didn’t begin to hint at the smoldering warmth of his eyes, the curiosity, the intelligence. His tan was deep, his eyes an unexpected blue, his brows straight and dark. He appeared to be several years her senior, maybe in his midthirties, and she’d bet a bundle he