Page 47 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
“Good afternoon, Mr. Montgomery,” Carson greeted me as I approached the barn. Just the smell of the old wood and hay had me missing home like crazy. What I wouldn’t give to pick up a pitch fork and jump to work. Nothing like shifting a few hundred bales to really clear your mind.
“Afternoon,” I said gruffly. Less gruffly than I normally would have said it, but give me a break; I was still me. “Is everything ready?”
“Absolutely,” he said, handing me an envelope. “Inside are directions to the property and the standard information packet that all guests using the Trail Ride Experience will be receiving. I talked to Smitty out at the ranch and he said the place is yours for the day. They’ve got everything you asked for ready to go,” he added with a knowing smile. I wasn’t going to let him make me second guess myself.
“Excellent. Appreciate it, Young.”
He shook my hand and headed back to the hotel proper. Tucking the envelope in the back pocket of my jeans, I wandered over to the fence, leaning my elbows on the top rail and watching the pretty mare as she explored her new digs. With just a few weeks until guests would be arriving, Carson and Smitty, the ranch manager, and suggested that we begin rotating the animals in now, allowing them to warm up to the sights and sounds of the hotel. By exposing them to the place now, and having them present as it ramped up, we all hoped it would ease their transition into being part of our facility here. If any one could appreciate the amount of effort that went into properly working with animals, it was me, so Carson and I went to great lengths to ensure we had the best care team in place, including a dedicated veterinarian and health center at the ranch.
I heard Penelope’s footsteps coming up behind me, quiet and quick, and turned slowly to take her in. Her blonde hair, in its typical bun, glowed in the afternoon light. Her eyes were bright as she smiled at me, causing them to crinkle a bit at the corners. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved top, as I’d requested, and she looked beautiful, her happiness and curiosity shining through.
“Mr. Montgomery,” she said, her mischievous smile giving away that she still wanted to keep things as professional as possible at work, but that she remembered that outside this property, she called me Stone. Loudly. And often.
“Afternoon, Miss Lund,” I said, tipping my hat. I had been wearing my regular clothes more and more these last two weeks. Today I wore worn jeans, a long-sleeved button-down shirt, my boots, and my black Stetson. “I see you’ve almost dressed to the specifications of the memo I sent you yesterday.”
Penelope frowned, glancing down at her attire. “What have I missed, Mr. Montgomery?”
I smirked at her, then nodded to her feet. “Don’t you own a pair of boots, Blondie?”
“You know I don’t, Cowboy.” She relaxed her formalities seeing as we were the only people around this part of the property. “I wore flats. That’s the best I could do.”
“They’ll do just fine, Penelope. You ready?”
“I don’t know,” she sassed, placing her hands on her hips. “You won’t tell me where we’re going, so I can’t say if I’m ready to go there.”
I laughed, which was something else I was getting used to. Laughing. Relaxing. These weren’t typically things that I did, at least not with anyone other than Silas and my mom. But Penelope seemed to be able to get me to drop some walls, at least a little. Being around her just made everything seem lighter.
Glancing around quickly to be sure there are no other staff members around, I reached down and grabbed her hand to start towing her to the parking lot. Penelope gave a soft giggle, then hurried to follow me. When we reached the truck, I tugged her close, pulling the keys from the pocket of my jeans.
“Do you want to drive?” I had spent the last two weeks getting her comfortable behind the wheel again, having her drive around the quiet residential streets of Summerlin and gradually working her way to busier and busier streets. She was hesitant with the truck at first, but I hoped to get her driving it confidently before I moved her to the standard transmission Mustang.
Eyes wide, Penelope shook her head. “On a real road? I don’t think so, Stone. I’m not ready.”
“Sure you are. You’ve been doing great.”
Penelope bit her lip, working the flesh between her teeth, her face scrunched up in concentration as she stares at the big truck, and I give her the time to think it over. I watched her quietly as she looked from my face to the keys, leaning back like they might bite her. Finally, I see her eyes change, going from wide and frightened to narrowed with determination. Reaching out, she snatched the keys from my fingers and clicked the button, unlocking the big truck with a beep.
I smiled at her, opening the driver’s side door and helping her up. Penelope is not short, standing about five and half feet tall, but the truck is huge, and, besides, I like finding excuses to touch her.
By the time I’m in my own seat, Penelope has the truck started and the air on; even this early in the year, the sun makes parked cars unbearable in a very short amount of time. She turned the satellite radio to the alternative rock station we both like, then smiled up at me. “So, where to, Cowboy?”
“I’m still not gonna tell you,” I teased, plugging the address into the built in GPS on the dash board. The computer did its thing, and the snooty voiced chick came over the speakers, directing Penelope on her first turn. Putting the truck in reverse, she slowly backed us out of the parking stall and then headed out of the lot and onto the busy Las Vegas streets.
She was quiet, only occasionally asking for direction or confirmation in her actions, but I was glad because it gave me an excuse to just look at her. She was so different at work than she was around the house. At the office, she was all buttoned up; from her tight bun to her pencil skirts, Penelope was always the epitome of professional chic. But once we got to the house, she transformed, letting her hair down in both a literal and metaphorical sense. She had a lightness about her that was both addictive and contagious. Her smile was always genuine, and when you talked to her, you could see that she was really listening. She cared about the things I told her, and I found myself wanting to tell her more. Like my relationship with Harold, or how I always felt like I had to protect my mother, even if she didn’t really need it.
Penelope took in what I have to say, and she made me believe that I mattered, like my thoughts and my feelings were just as important to her as they were to me.
And that terrified me a little, because with every interaction we have, no matter how much she seemed to be working her way inside my fortified walls, there was still an expiration date for her and I.
I was finding that I hated that.
The GPS lady had guided us through town and out, the traffic dwindling as we went. When we passed the first sign for the Hoover Dam, Penelope’s eyes lit up.
“You ever been to the Dam, Blondie?”
“Stone,” she scoffed. “I’ve never been anywhere. Heck, that day we collided at the airport was my first time on a plane.” She shook her head. “It was memorable, that’s for sure.”
I laughed lightly, letting the matter drop, but as we turned off the interstate, which had only caused her to mildly hyperventilate when she realized I expected her to actually drive on it, I started thinking that I’d like to show her Hoover Dam one day. I’d like to show her the beaches of the Gulf Coast at Galveston, where I’d gone for weekends away with my mom. I’d like to take her to San Antonio and show her the real Alamo. I’d like to take her to San Diego and watch her eyes light up as she explored the zoo.
