Page 72 of Cowboys at Coconuts

“Please don’t stop. I rarely hear country music in New York. It’s a treat. What do you like about it?”

Cole grinned. “Usually the songs are about exes, drinkin’, dogs, and trucks.”

Cheri laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

Gripping the wheel with his calloused hands, Cole increased the volume and turned onto a narrow, country road. “I hope you don’t get car sick. It’s a curvy drive. If you feel woozy, look straight ahead and crack the window. It’ll help.”

“Good to know.” Cheri stared out the windshield. “I’d hate to puke in your truck.”

He chuckled. “You and me both.”

As Cole drove, they got behind a giant green John Deere tractor pulling a trailer loaded with massive round bales of hay. “Darn. This will slow us down quite a bit.”

Frowning, Cheri said, “Oh, no.”

Cole defended the driver. “A man’s gotta work. Have you ever watched someone bale hay? What am I asking? Of course you haven’t.”

“Nope. I’ve also never seen such a huge tractor either, let alone those gigantic hay bales. We don’t have tractors snaking around Manhattan.” She giggled. “This would cause a nasty traffic jam. I can just hear the taxi horns now.”

As if on request, “International Harvester” by Craig Morgan came on the air. “Do you think the radio heard us talking about that tractor?” Laughing, Cheri said, “Cute song.”

Twenty minutes and several songs later, they finally passed the tractor. Cole turned down what looked like a deserted, rocky road. A cloud of dust followed them. He eventually pulled up to a wooded area.

Cheri shivered. “It’s a good thing I trust you. This is desolate.”

Rubbing his chin, Cole said, “Gosh, I hadn’t thought about that.” He held his key near the ignition. “If this makes you nervous, we can leave.”

Cheri held her hand in the air. “The thing is I do trust you. I really do. I just won’t mention this adventure to my parents.”

“Are they protective?”

Cheri threw her head back. “Is there a stronger word thanprotective?”

“They should be protective of a gorgeous young woman like you. I bet you have good parents.”

Cheri decided not to mention the fact she had a nanny and chef as a kid and rarely saw her globetrotting parents while growing up—or now, for that matter.

Cole parked. “Hop out. I’ll gather our gear.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Gear?”

“Yep. Campin’ requires a lot of gear.” Cole reached into the back, grabbed a duffel bag, and a blue tent that was rolled up like a patio umbrella. He handed a wooden picnic basket to Cheri.

Her mouth fell open. “You brought food?”

“Yep.” He winked. “Even remembered the wine.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Let’s go.” Cole motioned with his head. “There’s an openin’ over yonder.”

Cheri lugged the wicker basket. “Thank goodness you told me to change. I’d hate to do this in heels, although I walk all over New York City in them.”

Nodding, Cole trudged forward, obviously on a mission.

Pointing to an opening in the woods, he said, “There’s a clearin’ over there, plus a spring. Perfect for a picnic.”

Stopping short, Cheri asked, “In the woods? Are there any animals?”

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