Chapter 4

Beatrice

When I leave the inn, there's no more time to anguish. Outside, there's a beehive of activity with people coming and going, which reminds me that I'm here to work and that there's a lot of work to do. Cole's rodeo is an annual event, which takes a crazy amount of preparation. Employees and volunteers take over a week to get the ranch ready for the series of events and vendors. Cole is such a generous and gracious man that he puts on an amazing barbecue lunch for everyone involved before the rodeo gets started. Even though as an employee, the lunch is for me, too, I'm still working. I hug my notebook and tablet to me and climb into the van, which is supposed to take us to the barbecue, with all the professional self-confidence I can muster.

No, I can't sit down.

I try, but my knees won't bend more than two inches. Playing it off like I don't want to sit, I stand, half-bent over, as the driver puts the van into drive. Of course, all eyes in the van are on me, but it's a toss-up if it's because I'm leaning over, clutching on to the side of the van or because in the dim light, my legs are glowing neon pink.

Thankfully, the trip to the picnic grounds is a short five-minute ride. We file out of the van, and I take stock of my surroundings. We're next to the rodeo grounds. There are about twenty round tables set up, a lot of American flags, and a live band playing. All around us is open sky and mountains in the distance. It's paradise.

I walk into the center of the action and schmooze. I'm a great schmoozer when it comes to work. Talking to strangers and making them comfortable is another part of my job. I meet several locals, who are regular volunteers at the rodeo.

"I'm Bessie," one of them tells me. "I'm bionic. You want to feel my hip? It feels normal, but it's really titanium. That's better than steel." She's stuck like glue to me, probably because we're wearing similar outfits. Hers is a bright yellow, though, and she seems able to move better in her jeans. Maybe it's the power of titanium.

I nod and smile and glance at my tablet to show her that I'm busy and have to leave. She doesn't catch on. "I've been coming here since Cole started. He's a good boy," she says. There's a breeze, and a cloud of barbecue smells go up my nostrils. Yum. But I can't eat. If I do, my jeans might explode, and I could take out the whole crowd with projectile rivets. "There he is," she continues, nodding toward a group.

"Oh," I say, like the wind has been knocked out of me. There's no mistaking Cole Stevens in the group of guests. It's not just that he's a head taller than everyone, but he's the only one emitting waves of sexy like a human pheromone machine.

"You got the hots for him?" Bessie asks me.

"What? No!" I say, a little too loudly.

"I was his kindergarten teacher."

I whip around to look at her. "You're lying."

She touches her chest. "Cross my heart. And you're not the first chickadee who's interested in him. Ever since he was five years old, everyone with a hoo-ha and half of everyone without one has been after him." She looks me up and down. "You got a chance."

My eyes spin around in their sockets, and I might be having a stroke. Or a panic attack. I take a step closer to Bessie and grab a fistful of her fringe covered top. "Don't fuck with me."

She blinks a few times. "I wouldn't fuck with you...uh..."

"Beatrice," I supply.

"Beatrice. Easy does it, Beatrice. Men don't like desperation." Damn. If she's right, I'm shit out of luck. I'm one hundred percent desperation. Bessie gently removes my hand from her blouse. "I'll introduce you," she says, charitably and starts to walk toward him, but I don't follow her. Either I'm too scared, or I've lost the ability to move my legs.

"You're doing great," a woman whispers into my ear. It's Olivia. She's dressed in a black and white server uniform, and she's carrying a tray of drinks.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm undercover. I'm your backup."

"Do I need backup?" I ask. Of course I need backup. I need backup and frontup and side to side up. I'm ready to pass out, and I think I'm allergic to my cowboy hat because my throat feels like it's closing. Up ahead, Bessie is talking to Cole.

Then, she points at me, and he turns in my direction.

Holy shitballs.

Yep, my throat is closing.

"Rosalind has staked out the grill," Olivia continues. "She says that sexy men like meat, so Cole will have to give it a visit... oh my God. Is that him? Is that Cole? Oh my God."

I nod.

"That can't be. He's...he's..." She stops talking, and I wonder if her throat is closing, too. But I know what she's trying to say, because I'm thinking it, also. He's breathtaking. He's a God. He's a movie star, sex symbol, Adonis.

But a lot better looking.

Oh, no. This is never going to work. He's steak, and I'm hamburger. Worse, I'm a tofu burger. A gorgeous billionaire cowboy from Idaho doesn't want a tofu burger. According to Rosalind, sexy men want meat. A gorgeous billionaire cowboy would spit on a tofu burger. Tofu burgers are probably not even legal in Idaho. The cops are probably on their way right now to get me. Twenty-five to life for posing as a steak when clearly I'm a tofu burger. I can't go to jail. I look terrible in orange.

I don't want to be a cell wife.

"Abort. Abort," I hiss.

Olivia focuses back on me. "What? No! We can't abort. It's all going to plan."

"What are you talking about? Look at him. Look at me. The plan sucks!"

"Take a drink. That will calm you down."

"I can't pee, remember?"

"Don't look now, Beatrice, but Cole is looking right at you."

He is. Bessie is pointing in my direction, and Cole's sexy brown eyes are staring right at me. "No, he's not," I say.

"Yes he is. He's looking right at you."

I punch her in the arm, and a glass falls to the ground. "Shut up."

She stumbles but catches herself. "He's not even blinking. His eyes are focused directly on you."

I've got the biggest case of stage fright in the history of the world. I'm going to pass out, throw up, and pull out my hair all at once. "No, he's not. He's looking for a door or the exit."

"Beatrice, we're outside. There's no doors or exits. Oops, here he comes."

Cole is walking toward me with Bessie at his side, and Olivia ducks away. My backup hasn't got my back. I'm backless. My blood pressure is off the charts. I'm ready to blow a gasket. I'm not a religious person, but I send out a prayer that he's going to pass me by. It must be the wrong prayer because he stops two feet away from me and smiles.

My knees buckle, but my jeans are so tight that I stay upright. Bessie introduces me.

"Hello," he says, his buttery, velvety baritone singing. I open my mouth, but hysteria comes out. I'm a giggling fool. I can't stop. I sound like a cross between a hyena and a car with bad brakes.

"Uh oh, I've seen this before," Bessie says. "Beatrice, rev up your small talk. You can do it. Don't lose it, now. Oh, geez. She's got it bad. It's like she's left for the moon but forgot her rocket. Cole, honey, can you help?"

"It's all the fresh air," he says. "City folk aren't used to it."

He takes my hand, and time stops. I hear Barbra Streisand start to sing, and I glance over at the bandstand to make sure Babs hasn't made an appearance. Nope. Barbra is just in my head. It's the effect of Cole's hand holding mine.

His touch is Evergreen and The Way We Were all at once.

"Nice hat," he says, walking me away from the picnic grounds. In the corner of my eye, I see Olivia and Rosalind in heavy conversation, and I wonder if this was part of their plan.

"Your hat is nice, too," I manage to say. I'm not lying. He's got a whole James Dean look going on. Jeans, boots, white button down shirt, and beautiful hat. Not a glow-in-the-dark rivet to be seen. His hand is large, warm, and dry, and it has some kind of superpower to make my insides do a rollercoaster act. We walk to the outer edges of the crowd, and he lets go of my hand in order to pull out a chair for me to sit.

With all the strength that I can muster in my poor, suffocated legs, I bend to a sitting position. It's torture, and I'm sure that I'm getting varicose veins and a terrible infection where I don't want to get one, but the sight of Cole so close that I can smell his sweet breath soothes the pain.

"Better?" he asks. I nod, stupidly. "I don't think we've had the pleasure to meet. I mean, aside from Bessie's introduction."

I urge my brain to start working. Not even in my worst moments am I this stupid, but I blame the Cole effect. It's making my brain turn to mush. His close proximity is killing off my brain cells. I've never been more attracted to a man before. I've had a crush on him for a while, but being up close is overwhelming. The idea that he could be attracted to me is utterly ridiculous. He looks at me, giving me direct eye contact, and I wonder if he can read my mind. Because what I'm thinking is: I'd love to see you naked right now. Take me on this table like a wild man. You Tarzan. Me horny girl in tight pants.

I'm also wondering if I remembered to pluck the long chin hair I found in the mirror this morning. Damn. Pretty sure I didn't.

My eyes drift for a split second, and I see Rosalind and Olivia standing at a distance behind Cole. They're sending me signals, but I don't know sign language or semi-for, or whatever it is they're trying to communicate to me. But the presence of my backup bolsters me enough for me to remember my name.

"I'm Beatrice Hammersmith. I work for you."

He arches one of his dark brown eyebrows. "You do? I thought I knew all of my employees. Please forgive me if I've overlooked you. I don't know how that was possible."

Smooth. Smoother than pudding.

Is he flirting with me? Is that even possible? Or maybe he's making a snotty comment about my outfit. Yes, it's got to be that. Although, he doesn't strike me as snotty. But flirting? Can't be.

"Not really for you. I work for Extra Platinum Events, the company organizing the gala."

"Oh." He smiles, and I flinch. It's all I can do not to grab him and shove my tongue down his throat. I'm not exactly an assertive woman, but I don't know how much more I can take. Besides, my tight jeans are more or less giving me a Pap smear, waking up that general area of my body, and it's raring to go. I wish I knew the playbook. Rosalind and Olivia didn't give me all the plans. Now what do I do? I'm not great with witty repartee. Usually, men pick me up and then steal all my belongings. I'm not used to actual flirting.

"So, I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other this week."

We will? What did he mean by that? Is he asking me out, or is it another reference to my glow-in-the-dark legs? My brain searches for something clever and flirty to say back, and in the miracle on the level of the splitting of the Red Sea, I find one. It's the perfect line. It's a line that will make Cole believe that I'm a sophisticated, sexy woman who he should love forever. But before the line can leave my mouth, a dog walks up and sticks its nose in my crotch.

"Hello, little mutt," I say. It's a pathetic looking creature. Unloved and uncared for. I've never had a pet. Throughout my youth, I picked up strays, but my parents never let me keep one. "I think he needs water. Poor thing."

Cole smiles slightly, but he doesn't say a word. I scan the area and find a metal dish and a bottle of water nearby. I creak up and manage to get the dish and put it down next to the dog. The sun hits the dish and blinds me for a second. I put my hand up like a visor and with my other hand pour the bottle of water into the dish.

"There you go, little one," I say.

"That was very nice of you," Cole comments. My face gets hot, and I touch my chin. Damn. The hair is there. The sun is burning brightly, hitting the metal dish and reflecting back up at me, like I'm the star of a Broadway show.

"Uh," I say. What was that witty line I was going to say? It was something about me and him and the rodeo and...Oh, hell. Under Cole's gaze, my brain has turned to mush, again. To top it off, the dog ignores my friendly gesture and leaves in search of other crotches to sniff. I fiddle with the tablecloth, blocking the glare that's coming off the metal dish. "That sucker's hot," is all I can think to say. Geez, I want to kick myself.

Please, someone put me out of my misery. Do something. Make me smarter or distract Cole. Doesn't he have other people to talk to and places to go? Why is he sitting here, watching me in my crazy outfit, fiddling with the tablecloth in order to block the spotlight on my chin hair?

The universe hears me and dives into action.

I hear screams, but I figure they're in my head, along with Barbra Streisand, whose voice has dimmed, considerably. Cole stands and puts his hands out, palms forward. "Just stay calm," he says, in his ultra-calm voice. Stay calm? Am I that obvious? "Take a step backward."

"A step backward?" I ask. Wow, rejection before the first date. He can't even bear to be near me. I'm the biggest loser. I suck. But I want to know why. "Why?" I ask, throwing my hands up. The tablecloth, it turns out, is hooked on my watch, and it goes flying off the table.

That's when I notice the tablecloth is on fire.

I try to shake it off me, but it's hooked on good. I swing around like I'm a robot and it's Danger, Will Robinson time, but the swinging just makes the fire spread until I'm tethered to an inferno.

"Help," I squeak, but I'm sure this is the end. I'm going to burn to death by a checkered tablecloth that I've set on fire with the power of the sun and a dog bowl that the dog didn't even want. The only good thing is that the fire will burn my outfit and I won't be caught dead in it. But burned alive isn't a good look, even without the glow-in-the-dark pants.

And burned alive hurts. I mean, I have no personal experience with it, but I'm assuming.

"Help," I squeak, again, and I swallow a mouthful of smoke. This is it. The end of the line.

Just as I'm sure I'm toast-literally-I'm hit with a wave of liquid, which puts the fire out with a splash. I stumble backward a step under the pressure of the wave. I wipe my eyes just in time to see Cole tackle me, taking me down to the ground, wrapped in another checkered tablecloth.

I wonder if this is part of the plan.

Cole wraps his arms around me and takes most of the impact of the fall, but he's still on top of me, and I make a loud oomph noise when we land. The full length and breadth of me is covered by the most attractive man on the planet, and his face is nearly touching mine.

"Are you okay?" he asks. His voice is deep and rich, throaty and sensual. I so wish I were naked.

"You smell like beer," I say.

"That's you. I threw a keg of Coors over you to put out the fire."

"Domestic beer. Very patriotic of you."

He smiles, and I realize that he doesn't smell like beer. He smells like sex and money and something else I can't place. "Beatrice Hammersmith," he says, as if he's playing with the feel of my name in his mouth. His eyes grow dark and bigger, and it almost seems like he's going to kiss me.

Oh, please kiss me.

I don't dare take the initiative and kiss him, because maybe I'm reading the situation wrong. After all, the reason he's on top of me is that he's saving my life. The reason he's looking at me like this is because I almost set his ranch on fire.

And I smell like beer.

Gently, he gets up, lifting me up with him. He removes the tablecloth from around me and inspects my body for damage. I breathe deeply and try not to jump his bones.

It's so hard not to jump his bones.

I'm drenched with beer, and my hat has fallen off. Cole picks it up and hands it to me with a frown. "I'm sorry the brim got burned."

I take it from him, but I don't put it on my head. Around us, half of the barbecue guests are standing and watching the show. Bessie shakes her head at me, like I'm a bad hairstyle that she can't do a thing with. I grow embarrassed. Well, more embarrassed than I was already.

"All's well that ends well," Cole announces to the crowd. "There's more beer where that came from!" The crowd cheers, and two pairs of hands grab me and pull me away.

My backups have arrived.

Olivia and Rosalind rush me away from the picnic grounds, each taking one of my arms. "Well, I think that went well," Rosalind says. "Don't you think that went well, Olivia?"

"Yes, very well."

"There was a fire," I say.

"Yes, but it wasn't too bad of a fire," Olivia says.

"Nothing important burned down," Rosalind agrees.

"He threw beer on me."

"Interaction with the target," Rosalind says. "Perfect."

"He threw his body on me to put me out."

"Oh good. We're ahead of schedule," Rosalind says.

We get to a small car, and Rosalind puts a layer of paper towels down on the backseat. "There you go. Sit on that, Beatrice. I guess we can wash you in tomato juice when we get back to the hotel."

"That's for skunk smell," I say.

"What do we do for beer?"

"I hear beer does wonders for your hair," Olivia says, trying to put a positive spin on the situation.