A Christmas Baby For The Cowboy. Deb Kastner
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could do to keep her head above water, between the hardware store renovation and struggling to keep the business afloat virtually on her own.
Recently, she’d also begun to make all sorts of changes according to the contract she’d signed with Kickfire.
Eddie had abandoned the shop for ranching. Her mother had walked out on the family for unknown reasons just after Aaron died. And her father had just plain given up on life.
She sighed inwardly. Just as well she’d won Cash. No chance of a romantic entanglement there. He had the skills she needed—both in sheer muscle and in the knowledge of her store. She might never trust him to serve customers at the register as a clerk, but she had plenty for him to do even without handling money.
Cash hesitated as Alyssa unfolded a red-checked wool picnic blanket and dropped onto it with her legs folded underneath her. Only then did he seat himself, leaning on his forearm and stretching out one long, jeans-clad leg. She tried not to notice the way his bicep bulged under his T-shirt, but she found it difficult to avert her eyes.
She was a woman, after all. And once upon a time, she had been attracted to Cash.
Silently, she unpacked the picnic basket, passing him a plate, utensils and a cloth napkin before revealing the meal she’d made.
She’d cooked a turkey the day before and had prepared several sandwiches stacked high with all the fixings for them to feast on. She’d also wrapped the turkey legs as an extra treat. She’d made mashed potatoes and had topped them with a brown gravy. She’d prepared a cheesy broccoli casserole as a side and fudgy chocolate brownies for dessert.
She was starving. Her mouth watered just looking at the delicious spread. It had been a long time since breakfast and her stomach growled in anticipation.
Cash picked up a turkey leg. It was halfway to his mouth when Alyssa bowed her head to offer a short, silent prayer of thanksgiving to God, as she always did before a meal. When she opened her eyes, Cash had returned the turkey leg to his plate and was staring at her, his gaze, the vivid blue of the summer sky, wide with surprise.
Guilt speared her gut. She hadn’t even asked if he wanted to pray with her, assuming, based on the rumors she’d heard, that he wouldn’t be interested in offering thanks to God.
Heat flooded her cheeks. Where was her Christian charity? She should have at least asked if he wanted to share in the blessing.
But it was too late now. She gestured for him to eat and he picked up the turkey leg he’d previously dropped to his plate. He took a healthy bite, then another.
“Really good,” he said between mouthfuls.
“Er—thank you,” she replied, not quite sure what to do with his compliment. The warmth in his gaze made her feel as if fire ants were swarming over her skin. This situation was beyond uncomfortable.
And they hadn’t even begun talking about the results of the auction yet. How was she supposed to explain what she expected from him?
They were eating in silence, which only made the situation worse. Could this be any more awkward? At least if they were talking she could try to lead the conversation toward her expectations.
A movement to her right caught her eye and she turned to see the stranger in the gray suit approaching, followed by a laid-back-looking fellow in a white T-shirt and ratty blue jeans. He carried a high-end camera with a long lens and a boxy camera case slung around his shoulder.
Without waiting for an invitation, the well-dressed man crouched next to the picnic blanket. He shifted his gaze from Cash to Alyssa.
“So. Here’s the deal,” the man said, not bothering to introduce himself. “We’re looking at a six-month hiatus while we put together Cash’s publicity campaign. Our goal is to have him back in the saddle and the public’s good graces by the National Western Stock Show in Colorado in January. With that in mind, this charity auction thing is our first event.”
The man paused for her to acknowledge what he was saying, but rather than nodding, she shook her head. Even when Aaron was in rodeo, she’d never been interested enough to follow his career, so she knew nothing about the stock show he’d mentioned.
“You don’t know of it? Well, never mind. That’s not the point. Here’s what’s going to happen. Cash does whatever you have in mind for him to do, along with some carefully orchestrated acts of charity I’ll prepare. I’ll also line up some public appearances, so his fans can meet him. Something that emphasizes his hometown roots.”
The man put an odd emphasis on “acts of charity,” as if the words didn’t mean what they were commonly meant to describe.
“I’m sorry—and you are?” Alyssa didn’t like the way this man was looking at her—or talking about Cash, as if he was a piece of merchandise and not a man.
“Martin. Martin Brandt. Cash’s agent and publicist,” Martin answered in a clipped tone.
“I’m Alyssa Emerson.”
He waved aside her introduction and continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Our goal is to photograph Cash in the best possible light, capturing him working hard and doing good—for the sake of his new sponsors, of course.”
Cash scoffed loudly, and Martin narrowed his deep-set eyes on him.
“What new sponsors?” Cash growled.
“Potential new sponsors, then,” Martin corrected. “You’ve burned a lot of bridges, but I still think with the right publicity campaign we can get you back on track. You were once at the top of your game. You do exactly what I tell you, and I see no reason for you not to recover from your fall from grace.”
“I’m sorry—photograph?” It was a lot to take in all at once, but the first part of the stranger’s statement was what grabbed Alyssa’s attention.
The guy with the camera just shrugged and smiled sheepishly.
Alyssa had won Cash in the auction, paying her hard-earned money for his services—not the other way around. So why did she suddenly feel like they were expecting, no—demanding—all take and no give?
This whole thing felt very much like they were ganging up on her, these three men, and she didn’t like it one bit. If they thought she’d be a pushover, they had better think again.
“Yes. Photographs. By a photographer,” Martin repeated. “Pete Drexler here is from Rodeo Times, the top rodeo magazine in the world. He’ll be tailing Cash over the next few weeks and taking pictures we can use for good publicity. Which he desperately needs,” Martin added.
Cash scoffed.
“The benefit to you being three months of free labor,” Martin pressed. “More, if I think it’s necessary. I’m sure you’ll see it my way when you consider all the facts.”
Oh, yes, indeed. She could see. The picture was becoming increasingly clear. She snorted under her breath, but there was nothing funny about this situation.
She was being used. They intended to play upon her kindness to bring Cash back into the good graces of the rodeo world.
Not to mention she was now in possession, so to speak, of a sullen cowboy who clearly didn’t want to be here in the first place. This was obviously not Cash’s idea. It didn’t take a genius to see Martin was twisting his arm, forcing him to do something he would rather have rejected.
It didn’t matter what Martin said. This was never going to work.
Between keeping the store running, taking care of her ailing father and committing to a renovation that she now realized might be perfect on paper but in execution was going to be more complicated than she’d imagined, she was already in way over her head.
The last thing she needed was to worry about a photographer getting in the way all the time. The guy would be blocking the merchandise.