The Loneliest Cowboy. Pamela Macaluso

and carried it to the cash register.

      After paying, he said, “You never answered my question. Are you new to town?”

      She kept her gaze on the coins she was placing into the cash register drawer. Maybe she was afraid of him. Or maybe she was shy.

      Something twisted in his gut as he looked at her. A sudden primal urge galloped through him. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, kiss her, sling her over his shoulder and carry her off.

      Before he lost control and followed through, she looked up at him and said, “I...um...I grew up here, but I’ve been away for a while.”

      Clint studied her more closely, trying to put a name to her face. He didn’t remember her. How could he have missed those baby blues and those feminine curves?

      “Welcome home, then. Maybe once you’re settled in, we could take in a movie.” Okay, he thought, so it went against his rule, but what kind of self-respecting rule didn’t have at least one exception?

      “I haven’t moved back permanently. I’m only here to help out while my father recovers in the hospital from his heart attack.”

      When he’d called this morning, Smokey Joe, the cook at the Diamond S, had mentioned Lou Williamson was in the hospital. “You’re Lou’s daughter?”

      She nodded.

      Clint knew that Lou and Marge Williamson, owners of the Rocking W Coffee Shop and the bar, had a whole passel of kids. He’d graduated from high school with their daughter Heather, played football on the same team as their sons, Beau and Chuck, and knew Alice because she’d been waitressing in the bar when he’d reached drinking age, but he didn’t remember this woman. She looked about twenty-five or so.

      “How’s your dad doing?”

      She shrugged. “Doc Beechem wants him moved to San Antonio for tests as soon as he can travel safely.”

      “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. You can reach me at the Diamond S. The name’s Clint Slade.”

      She looked him square in the eye. “I know who you are, Mr. Slade.” Her voice had a coolness to it that puzzled him.

      He’d never had any gripes with the Williamsons, so far as he could remember. In his younger days, he’d broken his share of furniture in brawls at the bar, but he’d always paid for the damages. Maybe he’d imagined the coolness, he decided. After all, he was overly tired and, with her father in the hospital, she had to be under a lot of stress.

      “Other than your dad,” he asked, “how are things with the rest of your family?”

      “As well as can be expected.” She glanced away, then back at him. “How’s Teresa?”

      Well, that explains her cool attitude.

      She must think he’s still married. How long had she been away from Harmony Ridge?

      “She keeps cashing her alimony checks, so I figure she’s fine.”

      “You’re divorced?”

      “Technically, five years ago. I was only married five months, so I feel more single than divorced.”

      Whoa, where had that come from? he wondered.

      He hadn’t consciously analyzed his feelings about his solo status before. Obviously his subconscious had worked out the matter. He didn’t mind. What bothered him was that he’d never told anyone anything this personal until now, had never been tempted to. So why had he spilled his guts to a total stranger?

      “Did you refuse my movie invitation because you thought I was still married?”

      “No, I’m here to help pick up the slack at the coffee shop and bar until my dad is better or until they hire someone else,” she told him. “I won’t have time for socializing.”

      “Surely you’ll have some time off?” he said.

      “From work, yes, but there’s all the household chores to take care of.”

      It seemed logical enough to be the truth, rather than a brush-off. “Well, then, give my best to your family.” He tipped his hat, picked up his coffee and headed for the door.

      He walked to his pickup, trying to convince himself that his body’s reaction to Ms. Williamson and his personal revelation had been a by-product of too little sleep, too many hours behind the wheel and the endless litany of sappy love songs the country and western station had been playing on his truck radio.

      Then again, he thought, maybe sometime after he’d caught up on his sleep, he’d drop by the coffee shop again. Just to see...

      

      Skye Williamson tried to convince herself that she didn’t care one bit that her daughter’s father didn’t know her from Adam. She watched until she could no longer see the taillights of Clint’s pickup moving away along the Interstate 10. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

      Clint Slade was as attractive as ever. Sure he looked six years older, but time had not detracted from his rugged good looks. And the familiar deep, smooth drawl hadn’t changed a bit. It still sent shivers up her spine.

      His fingers had brushed hers when he’d paid for the coffee. For a moment, she’d almost taken his large, work-roughened hand in hers. The casual touch had conjured up a crystal-clear memory of how he’d once roamed his hands intimately over her body—more intimately than any man before, or since.

      His invitation to the movies didn’t soften the disappointment that he hadn’t recognized her. She’d been several years behind him in school, but there were fewer students at Harmony Ridge High than in big-city high schools. They’d passed each other plenty of times in the hall, but Clint had always had his eyes on whichever girl he’d had on his arm. Plus, Skye had to admit, she’d been a late bloomer. By the time she was turning guys’ heads, Clint had practically been engaged to Teresa Donnelly, whose father owned the ranch next to the Diamond S. They’d formalized their engagement several months before Skye had left town.

      Just then, the couple driving from Maine to California came to the register to pay their bill. She put on her brightest smile.

      She’d spent six years dealing with the disappointment that in the dark and with as much as he’d had to drink, Clint hadn’t realized who he’d made love to. But knowing he didn’t even remember she existed hurt more than she would have guessed.

      What did you expect? she asked herself. Violins? The swell of a full orchestra? Clint dropping to his knees to say he’d been looking for you for years, declaring his undying love?

      It was an unlikely scenario, but she couldn’t help imagining how good it would have felt.

      The rest of the late-night crew started arriving, then the customers. As busy as things got, Skye couldn’t banish the vision of Clint’s dark brown eyes watching her from beneath the shadow of his Stetson. The shape of his eyes and the thick dark lashes were the same as her daughter’s. But while Dawn’s eyes sparkled with laughter and curiosity, Clint’s flashed with sexual invitation backlit by confidence and a hefty dose of cynicism. It was a lethal combination.

      When things finally slowed at the coffee shop, the regular staff voted unanimously that Skye should go get some sleep. She was grateful, knowing Dawn would be up early. After saying her goodbyes, she stepped out into the parking lot. Most of the vehicles in the lot were closer to the coffee shop, but there were still a few parked near the bar. She had worked the three-to-eleven shift before she’d left town, the bar parking lot was usually packed when she got off.

      Her thoughts drifted back to one particular night. That night, she’d just gotten off work and was on her way home. She heard two voices having what sounded like an argument. The couple was moving in her direction and soon she recognized Clint Slade and Teresa Donnelly. The two had been an item for several months. Skye had assumed they were already lovers, but apparently not. From the sound of things, they weren’t