Falling for the Cowboy. Mary Leo

to soak overnight, no doubt for some tasty new cake recipe she’d discovered in her latest vegan cookbook.

      “Then you should go to bed,” Maggie told her. “I can take care of cleaning up.”

      “But it’s only seven o’clock, and I wanted to finish knitting those booties for my babies.”

      “You can knit tomorrow. Your babies aren’t due for at least another five weeks. You have plenty of time.”

      Kitty yawned, then said, “You’re right.” And she waddled off in the direction of her bedroom with Maggie following close behind.

      Once Kitty was comfortably tucked into bed, with pillows scrunched under her legs, arms and head, Maggie kissed her forehead and turned out the lights. Then, she walked to her room down the hall, changed into tight-fitting jeans, combed her hair out so it hung loose on her shoulders, reapplied her makeup a little darker than she had worn it during the day and sprayed on her favorite perfume.

      Tonight, Maggie was going out. She finally had a reason to celebrate, and she refused to do it with a glass of organic sparkling cider. She hadn’t been able to justify a night out for quite a while, but now that she had a job, a glass of red wine seemed in order, along with the fattest steak her money could buy.

      Normally, only her platform stilettos would do with her skinny jeans, but she needed to start fitting in if she was going to live in this tumbleweed of a town for the next few months, so cowboy boots seemed to be the ticket.

      After quietly trying on several pairs of her sister’s boots, she settled on a slightly worn burnt-orange pair with a respectable heel, and a subtle pointed toe. She borrowed a deep blue sweater, and wrapped a white wool scarf around her neck. She went back to her own room and slid two crisp twenty-dollar bills into her back pocket and headed out for Belly Up, the bar she’d seen a few blocks away.

      As soon as she opened Belly Up’s heavy glass door, country music bounced from every hard surface causing the floor to vibrate with its steady beat. She knew she was stepping into a real honky-tonk complete with bare wooden planks on the floor, and a mirrored mahogany bar that extended along the entire west wall.

      A rather large painting of a nude, round woman with a thin draping of white fabric across her privates, lounging on a bright-pink velvet chaise, hung on the far wall behind a group of tables occupied by patrons eating dinner. The smell of beer dominated the air and caused Maggie to wonder if the place even served anything but a cold one.

      She hesitated in the open doorway, not quite sure if she was up to a hardcore-Country night out in Briggs, Idaho. Thinking how different all this was from her favorite martini bar in Pacific Heights in San Francisco, for a moment she considered leaving. Sparkling cider wasn’t all that bad, especially if she pretended it was sweet champagne.

      “Nice boots,” a man’s voice said behind her.

      Maggie spun around to see Doc Blake grinning at her from under the same Stetson he’d worn that afternoon. She smiled up at him. “Nice hat.”

      There was an awkward pause when neither of them spoke, almost as if each of them was waiting for the other to make the next move, each staring into the other’s eyes. Maggie wondered what it would be like to kiss his lips.

      Mr. Kissable broke the spell. “I’m starving for some real food. How about you?”

      “You read my mind,” she lied. No way did she want him to know what she’d really been thinking.

      “Steak?”

      “Bloodred.”

      He chuckled and Maggie wanted to hear more. “There’s a table in back with our names on it.” He bent his arm out for her to take it. She hesitated for a heartbeat, thinking this might be a mistake, while his smile assured her that she had little choice in the matter. Maggie grabbed hold and walked inside as if she had done it a thousand times before.

      When they were seated under the painting of the nude, a smiling twentysomething waitress, dressed in a gray Western shirt, black jeans and the prerequisite boots walked over to take their order.

      “Strange to see you here, Doc, on a Sunday night. Dodge burn the roast?”

      He tossed her a sly little grin, as if they had a past. Maggie figured this woman was probably another notch on his already frayed belt. “Not exactly. Let’s just say dinner wasn’t what I’d expected and leave it at that.”

      “Gotcha,” she said, her face lighting up for what had to be some kind of inside joke.

      He turned to Maggie. “What’s your poison?”

      Maggie smiled and looked up at the red-haired woman, wondering if there were any single women in the entire town who didn’t salivate every time Doc Blake was around. “Do you stock any decent wine?”

      The waitress ignored her. “Where’d you pick up this one, Doc? Don’t think I’m going to like her much.”

      “Go easy, Helen. She’s Kitty’s sister.”

      The waitress turned back to Maggie, looking all apologetic. “Honey, your sister is an absolute treasure. She’s been there for me more than once. Because of her friendship, I’m going to give you a pass on your snobby question. How about you give me an order and I go fetch it?”

      “A glass of pinot noir.” It came out in a whisper.

      “I’ve got a great bottle of Williams Selyem pinot from the Russian River Valley. You’ll love it—medium bodied and silky smooth, with a blend of red cherries and raspberries along with a hint of spice. It’s dry but the tannins linger on the tongue. It’s on the house, honey, as a sort of a ‘welcome to the town’ kind of thing.” She turned to Doc Blake. “That good for you, too?”

      “Perfect. Thanks. And two rare steaks with all the trimmings.”

      “You got it, Doc.” She wandered off toward the bar, disappearing into the colorful, raucous mix of patrons. A cowboy, large both in stature and in girth, stared at Helen, then back at Maggie as he leaned on the bar. Maggie had the feeling he knew Helen well and was protective of her. Mess with Helen and you messed with probably the biggest guy in town.

      Maggie threw him a sheepish grin.

      He tipped his hat then turned back to his pint.

      Maggie wanted to crawl under the table. She was going to have to accept that just because everyone dressed like movie-set ranch hands didn’t mean they weren’t part of the twenty-first century. She felt completely out of place again, with that familiar knot forming in her stomach.

      Doc Blake leaned in closer. “When my patients are as uptight as you seem to be, I tell them to take a deep breath, close their eyes and think of their favorite Disney movie.”

      Maggie smiled. “Their favorite Disney movie?”

      “Yeah, works every time. Trust me on this. Lean back, close your eyes and think of your all-time favorite scene. I know you have one. I can see it brewing on your face.”

      “What you see is confusion.”

      “Maybe about which scene is your favorite, but it’s there. I know it is.”

      “From a Disney movie? Not from movies in general?”

      “Yup, and don’t tell me you weren’t a fan of The Little Mermaid or Aladdin. You’re needing a dose of the little girl with the big imagination. I know she’s hiding in there, scared to come out. I get a glimpse of her every time you smile. Give it a whirl, Maggie. Just lean on back and close your eyes.”

      Maggie hesitated, but he persisted, gesturing for her to get going. She figured she might as well go along with him. After all, the man was her new boss. She slid down in the chair then leaned her head back until she found the backrest and instantly felt uneasy, vulnerable, as if everyone in the bar was staring at her.

      “This is silly,” she said, quickly sliding back up and looking around. Everyone