Jen balanced on the bar stool, tail draped over her knees
to discourage tugging and tried to find Clarabelle’s
mouth with a straw. She was discovering all kinds of
drawbacks to this outfit.
The barman leaned forward to help. “Let me.”
“Thanks.” The straw finally hit her teeth and she sucked
up the iced water gratefully. It had been a long hot walk
between their tent and the venue. Thirty minutes in and
she was already itchy and sweaty.
“You’re brave wearing that,” he commented. The bar staff
were menacingly chic, dressed head to toe in black –
jeans, T-shirt, apron and hat – but this one had tilted
his Akubra, which gave him an aw-shucks friendliness.
Clumsily, Jen removed the straw with her hoof mitten. “I
thought more people would be in costume.” At least no one
could see how humiliated she was.
“I meant once these cowboys get drunk, you might find
yourself a target.”
“Oh.” She’d smack her forehead if she could get past the
padding. “Never accept a dare on an empty stomach and a
margarita,” she said ruefully. “Come to think of it, I’ll
have one now. It’ll make this easier.”
The bartender laughed. “You’re kidding right? Your
choices are beer, rum and coke, vodka and raspberry, or
cask wine - both colors.”
“Bundy and coke please. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it
properly with Aussie rum.” While she waited, Jen swiveled
on her stool to check out the dance floor through the
black gauzy peepholes. Both Beth and Ellie looked like
they were having fun being whirled around by a couple of
light-footed cowboys.
Light-handed, too, in Ellie’s case. Her handsome dance
partner’s hand lay a little lower than was strictly
platonic.
On the other side of the dance floor Jen caught Rick’s
glower and gleefully rubbed her hooves together. “I do
love it when a plan comes together.” Much as she liked
Rick, Ellie’s childhood crush was overdue for a wake-up
call.
“That’s an evil laugh.” The barman plonked a rum and coke
in front of her. “And kinda sexy. Are you cute under
there by any chance?”
“Nope,” Jen said cheerfully. “Hideous.” She fumbled with
the zipper on her udder pocket where she’d stashed her
cash and cell phone, and dropped a ten dollar bill on the
bar. “Since I have trouble handling coins, keep the
change.”
“Thanks!”
It took Jen a good minute to re-zip – why the hell didn’t
the costume have separate gloves instead of hooves
stitched to the onesie? At least she was getting more
adept manipulating the straw. She was sucking in a
mouthful of rum and coke and grimacing at its sweetness
when Beth glanced over her youthful dance partner’s
shoulder to check on Jen. Jen raised her plastic goblet
in a toast and Beth grinned.
So what if this damn cow suit itched and was a practical
nightmare if she could make Beth smile? Her friends had
laughed until they’d cried when Jen sashayed out of the
tent in costume and warned, “If Clarabelle’s head is
hanging outside the tent, you gals will just have to find
somewhere else to sleep.”
Bottom line? Her heartbreak was nothing to Beth’s. Jen’s
humiliation had been witnessed by only a few dozen
colleagues, not the whole world. And, unlike her friend
who’d been crazy in love with her country rock star
husband, Jen had held something back with Karl.
Her parents’ divorce had taught her young that love was a
risky business and everything that happened since – her
failed relationship with Karl, Beth’s cheating ex and
Ellie’s unrequited love for Rick – had only reinforced
that conviction.
And yet...there was always this wistfulness when she saw
older couples who’d lasted the distance. She watched one
on the dance floor, early sixties maybe, ignoring the
upbeat tempo and slow-dancing to their own tune. She did
believe in true love...for those brave or lucky enough.
A man brushed past, walking away from her, his purposeful
stride at such odds with the meandering party-goers that
she was immediately reminded of the Terminator. He wore
the formal suit as it should be worn, with an indifferent
male grace and it didn’t hurt that his shoulders filled
the jacket nicely. His haircut was military short and Jen
wasn’t surprised when the security volunteer watching the
dancers lost his bored expression and straightened,
almost to attention.
Intrigued to see his face, she waited for the Terminator
to turn
Someone bumped her from behind and her rum and coke
splattered into her lap. “Careful!” She turned.
“Shit, sorry. It was an accident.” Her young male
assailant did a double take. “That’s some outfit, mate.”
“Don’t you know cows are girls?” Grabbing a cocktail
napkin from the bar, Jen dabbed at the sticky splotches
on her hide.
“Course I know cows are girls,” he said, reddening. He
was young, maybe eighteen, rangy and long-boned and his
too-big suit gave him the look of a scarecrow. “It’s just
usually the girls dress up for this. You know...to meet
guys.”
“Not me, I’m not interested,” she said, wadding the
tissue and dropping it into her now-empty goblet. “You
hoping to meet someone?”
Clutching his schooner of beer tighter, he shuffled his
feet. “I guess...I’m kinda learning the ropes.”
“So you’re a B&S virgin?”
His fiery color deepened. “W-what? Oh. Yeah. First time
here. My brother bet me I wouldn’t ask a girl to dance.”
Taking a slug of his beer, he glanced over to the gaggle
of cute teens edging the dance floor with the awful
fascination of a man faced with zombies.
Jen took pity on him. “Ask me, I’m a girl.”
“Yeah.” He looked her over doubtfully. “I’m not sure
you’d count.”
“C’mon,” she encouraged. “I’ll even take my head off.”
She did and smiled at him.
He blushed again.
“I’m twenty-six,” she encouraged, “that means I’m-”
“Old,” he said with some relief. “Sorry, I meant that-”
Jen laughed. “What’s your name?”
“Darryl.”
“Come on, Darryl, let’s at least get you closer to girls
your own age.”
Removing the schooner from his reluctant hands, she
replaced Clarabelle’s head – some clown would steal her
if she left her here – and encouraged her shy swain to
the dance floor, glancing around for her friends.
No sign of Beth, but Ellie and Rick were having an
intense conversation in the far corner of the pavilion.
Maybe the stubborn cowboy was finally coming to his
senses.
Once Darryl’s embarrassment subsided he proved to be a
good dancer and Jen had fun mirroring his moves. His
expression brightened as he recognized her skill and for
a couple of songs they boogied with the best of them. The
giggling teen girls on the sidelines noticed Clarabelle
and pointed and Darryl got a little carried away under
the attention.
Grabbing her hand, he spun Jen into a twirl that sent her
tail flying. The floor was slippery under hoof and she
stumbled into another couple. Apologizing, she returned
to her partner. “Steady, Darryl. As crazy as this sounds,
I don’t want to draw attention to myself.”
“Ha,” he said. “You’re funny.”
The song ended, giving Jen the chance to catch her
breath. Dancing inside Clarabelle was like dancing
wrapped in a duvet. “I’m not going to last much longer,”
she warned Darryl. “Too hot, too thirsty.”
His face fell.
“How about we dance over to the girls, and I’ll ask one
of them to swap with me?” she suggested, as the next song
started. “We’ll keep it low key,” she promised when his
Adam’s apple bobbed in a nervous swallow. “I’ll tell them
you need a real moover.”
“That’s a brilliant idea.” Darryl swept Jen into a two-
step and whirled a couple of tight circles toward the
bystanders. Jen lost all sense of direction, and when he
released her she careened into the girls, who shrieked
theatrically as they all fell down.
So much for not drawing attention to herself.
She was on her knees, about to push to her feet when a
firm hand grabbed the fabric between her shoulder blades
and hauled her upright. “There are better ways to sweep a
lady off her feet, mate.”
The Terminator frowned at her. His eyes were Atlantic
blue, in keeping with the implicit power of his warrior
body and the vise-like grip on her clothing. For the
first time, she noticed his security arm band. Uh-oh.
“How about we step outside for some fresh air, and you
can tell me how much you’ve had to drink.”
His face was strong, his jaw and cheekbones as
uncompromising as the rest of him. Jen had a nagging
sense she should recognize him. “I’ve only had two sips
of a rum and coke,” she insisted. And the effects of this
afternoon’s wine had long since been sweated away. Jen
checked her dance partner who was ignoring her in favor
of picking up - literally - some fallen women. Go Darryl.
The tight grip on her cow suit released abruptly. “You’re
female.”
Exasperation replaced embarrassment. “Hel-lo,” Jen shook
her udders at him, “I’m a cow.”
His eyes crinkled nicely when he smiled. “That explains
it.”
“Explains what?”
Placing a palm lightly on her back, he steered her clear
of the dancers. “I saw you arrive and it bothered me that
someone in that outfit could do so well with women.”
The penny dropped. He was the same dark-haired hunk who’d
frowned at her as she’d waltzed past between Ellie and
Beth. They’d all noticed him - heck, even Jen had been
tempted to swish her tail. Except he hadn’t been looking
at her. He'd been too busy checking out her girlfriends
with the appreciative glint of a sex-starved male.
“I didn’t recognize you with your mouth closed,” she
said.
He grinned, not denying it. “I’ve been in the desert for
months.”
“Next you’ll be telling me about the horse with no name.”
He chuckled. “Mine’s Logan. And you are...?”
Oh, no, anonymity was all that protected the last shred
of her dignity. She straightened Clarabelle’s head. “If
the horse won’t tell you his name,” she said reasonably,
“why would you expect a cow to?”
His laugh was husky, as attractive as the rest of him.
“Drink lots of water or you’ll suffer heat exhaustion.”
Come to think of it, she was feeling a little breathless.
“Yes, sir, I’ll go do that right now.”
“Hey, mystery cow,” Logan called after her. He held out
her ear tag. “You lost this in the fall.”
Bravado came easy when you couldn’t make more of a fool
of yourself. “Keep it as a souvenir, cutie.”
His laugh followed her to the bar.
No way was Jen interested in men right now...and yet. She
glanced over her shoulder.
Logan was still grinning after her.