Page 11 of Wild, Wild Cowboy

My brain finally switched back on. “The rodeo!”

“That’s right. The rodeo. We should start making plans, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. I get off work in—” I craned my neck to see the clock. Good grief. Today had flown by. “Thirty minutes. If you don’t mind hanging around for a bit, you could come to my place and we can discuss it over dinner.”

He squinted down at me. “You want me to come home with you?” he asked slowly.

“For dinner and rodeo planning,” I said. Firmly, so he wouldn’t think it was a pretext for something else. I knew Zack had plenty of women throwing themselves at him, and I wanted to be very clear on what I was offering, and what I was most certainly not. “I’m not even going to cook for you. We’re having leftover green chili chicken soup and cornbread.” My stomach growled at the thought of food. I had an hour-long lunch break, but as usual, I had forgotten to eat and worked right through it.

His lips kicked up again. “Sounds great.” He took the book from my hand and glanced at the cover, then back at me. “Go on and finish up. I’ll wait.”

I went back to culling books and Zack took my book to the chair cattycorner to Mrs. Spencer, who wouldn’t leave until we closed.

Five minutes later, I heard him laughing.

“I have five cats,”I warned as I unlocked the door to my sweet little bungalow and Zack followed me over the threshold. I should have thought to ask if he was allergic before inviting him over. I kept a clean house, but sweeping, vacuuming, and dusting could only do so much against five cats.

“Five?” he echoed. “Isn’t that a lot of cats?”

I sniffed. “Only compared to some. Others hold themselves to a higher standard.”

He grinned.

“You won’t see most of them,” I said. “They don’t like strangers.”

Evie took that moment to pad toward us, her plumy tail waving high, and proceeded to wind herself around Zack’s ankles.

He promptly dropped down to rub her head. No one could resist all that white fluff. Everyone who met her cooed over her pretty blue eyes, but I personally thought her best features were her brown ears and the matching tip of her tail, like she had been dipped in chocolate sauce.

“This one seems to like me,” Zack said, running his hand down her back in a way that made her arch and purr.

“Yes, well, Evie likes everyone,” I conceded. “She’s a slut.”

His head jerked up. “That’s not very nice.”

“It’s not a criticism. It’s a fact.” I scooped Evie into my arms and cuddled her against my chest. “She can’t stand to be alone and she’s happiest when someone is petting her. Plus she is forever trying to get St. Vincent to mate with her, despite the fact that they are both fixed.” I rubbed under her chin rightwhere she liked it the most. “Probably because she wasn’t spayed until she was three years old. I didn’t know that when I adopted her, so their names are fortuitous.”

“Why’s that?” Zack asked. He moved closer so he could pet Evie, who was still in my arms.

“They’re named after book characters who fell in love,” I explained. “All my cats are named for characters in my favorite series. Annabelle was my first. You won’t meet her, even if you do see her, because she doesn’t have a high opinion of people in general and men in particular. Then I adopted Lillian and Daisy from a litter that was abandoned here at the library a couple years ago. Lord Vincent came next, and Evie joined us last year.”

“Do you plan on getting more?” he ventured.

I gave him an exasperated look. “A person does notplanto have more than two cats. They just happen. If you’re lucky.”

Evie jumped from my arms and padded away. Off to find St. Vincent, probably.

“I hope you’re hungry,” I said as I lead the way to the kitchen. “There’s plenty of food.” I tended to cook large batches of things and then lived off it for the next week. Cooking for only one person involved too much math.

“Starving,” he said. “Anything I can help with?”

I shook my head, already pulling the container of soup out of the fridge. “It will only take a minute to get everything together, and five minutes or so to reheat the soup.” I nodded toward the table. “Sit down.”

He sat. I could feel his eyes on me while I turned on the stove and dumped the soup into a pot. I removed the tinfoil from the cornbread pan and put three squares on a plate—two for Zack and one for me—to heat up in the microwave.

“Do you like butter or honey with your cornbread?” I asked.

“Butter,” Zack said, so I put some on the table. “So, the rodeo. Do you have a date in mind?”

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