and pulled out swords of different lengths.
Lucy crossed her arms. “In my mind, I’m running through different scenarios where swords would be involved, but I can’t come up with one that makes sense . . . Well, I can, but it’s disgusting and painful.”
“I’m a sword-swallowing contortionist. That adds a little extra something when I strip.” She flashed her electric-white teeth. “I didn’t know this was a mixed party. It’s okay. I like girls too.”
She winked at Lucy.
CanDee turned to Cinco. “See, your brothers didn’t let you down this year. They got you a bisexual sword-swallowing contortionist. That beats the little-person acrobat from last year.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Have fun.”
Lucy linked her arm in CanDee’s and they walked out the door. CanDee had never met a stranger family. Maybe the next six weeks weren’t going to be nearly as boring as she’d thought.
CHAPTER 2
How exactly did a man apologize for confusing a total stranger with a stripper? Cinco Rose picked another bluebonnet to add to the bunch he’d gathered on his way to the cottage. Flowers were a good start, and there would probably be some groveling.
Normally, he didn’t grovel, but CanDee McCain was owed some. It had been an honest mistake, but he felt bad . . . really bad. In fact, he was missing his birthday party just to come apologize. That had to count for something.
He picked some firewheels and a couple of blackfoot daisies and added them to the ever-growing bouquet. CanDee was a looker. A fiery redhead with huge golden-brown eyes and a full bottom lip that was ripe for sucking. It was a wonder his eyes had made it off her face long enough to take in her body. She had a nice one, legs up to her armpits, but it was her face that kept popping into his head.
And her laugh. She had a nice laugh—full and genuine.
CanDee had spirit. He’d give her that. She should have decked him, but she’d only laughed. He liked a good sense of humor.
Now that his bouquet was so large that he had to hold it with both hands, he felt stupid for having picked them. Wildflowers were hokey. She was a city girl. He looked down at them. This was a bad idea.
“Are those for me?” CanDee sat on the porch swing right outside of the cabin where she was staying. He’d been so focused on the flowers that he hadn’t seen her. “Or is a love of wildflowers just another indicator of your complex personality?”
She wore a silky dress the color of ripe peaches, which came mid-thigh because she was seated, showcasing her mile-long legs. Her coppery hair curled around her shoulders.
“For you.” He stood in front of her and extended his hands. “By way of an apology.”
She tilted her head to the left. “Did your mother put you up to this?”
“No, ma’am. The flowers are all me.” He felt like a fool standing there holding a giant bouquet of wildflowers.
Slowly, she stood and took the flowers. “Tell me, is the charm part of the whole aw-shucks-ma’am cowboy thing you’ve got going on or is it real?”
Was he being charming? No one had ever accused him of being charming—surly, yes, but never charming.
She brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled. “They smell wonderful. Bluebonnets are my favorites.”
It was crazy to be this happy at having made her smile, but here he was, probably wearing a stupid grin. He needed to get out more and start dating. It was past time. His divorce had been final for more than five years. Several women in town had showed interest, but none of them seemed as much fun as standing here and staring at CanDee McCain.
“Can you get the door?” She nodded to the closed front door. “My hands are full.”
Manners, crap. He’d forgotten his.
He opened the door and stepped aside to let her in first. “I’m sure that my mother told you, this was the first house built on the ranch. Lacy Lehman built it for Brunhilda after she got tired of living in the dugout. When
Lucy crossed her arms. “In my mind, I’m running through different scenarios where swords would be involved, but I can’t come up with one that makes sense . . . Well, I can, but it’s disgusting and painful.”
“I’m a sword-swallowing contortionist. That adds a little extra something when I strip.” She flashed her electric-white teeth. “I didn’t know this was a mixed party. It’s okay. I like girls too.”
She winked at Lucy.
CanDee turned to Cinco. “See, your brothers didn’t let you down this year. They got you a bisexual sword-swallowing contortionist. That beats the little-person acrobat from last year.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Have fun.”
Lucy linked her arm in CanDee’s and they walked out the door. CanDee had never met a stranger family. Maybe the next six weeks weren’t going to be nearly as boring as she’d thought.
CHAPTER 2
How exactly did a man apologize for confusing a total stranger with a stripper? Cinco Rose picked another bluebonnet to add to the bunch he’d gathered on his way to the cottage. Flowers were a good start, and there would probably be some groveling.
Normally, he didn’t grovel, but CanDee McCain was owed some. It had been an honest mistake, but he felt bad . . . really bad. In fact, he was missing his birthday party just to come apologize. That had to count for something.
He picked some firewheels and a couple of blackfoot daisies and added them to the ever-growing bouquet. CanDee was a looker. A fiery redhead with huge golden-brown eyes and a full bottom lip that was ripe for sucking. It was a wonder his eyes had made it off her face long enough to take in her body. She had a nice one, legs up to her armpits, but it was her face that kept popping into his head.
And her laugh. She had a nice laugh—full and genuine.
CanDee had spirit. He’d give her that. She should have decked him, but she’d only laughed. He liked a good sense of humor.
Now that his bouquet was so large that he had to hold it with both hands, he felt stupid for having picked them. Wildflowers were hokey. She was a city girl. He looked down at them. This was a bad idea.
“Are those for me?” CanDee sat on the porch swing right outside of the cabin where she was staying. He’d been so focused on the flowers that he hadn’t seen her. “Or is a love of wildflowers just another indicator of your complex personality?”
She wore a silky dress the color of ripe peaches, which came mid-thigh because she was seated, showcasing her mile-long legs. Her coppery hair curled around her shoulders.
“For you.” He stood in front of her and extended his hands. “By way of an apology.”
She tilted her head to the left. “Did your mother put you up to this?”
“No, ma’am. The flowers are all me.” He felt like a fool standing there holding a giant bouquet of wildflowers.
Slowly, she stood and took the flowers. “Tell me, is the charm part of the whole aw-shucks-ma’am cowboy thing you’ve got going on or is it real?”
Was he being charming? No one had ever accused him of being charming—surly, yes, but never charming.
She brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled. “They smell wonderful. Bluebonnets are my favorites.”
It was crazy to be this happy at having made her smile, but here he was, probably wearing a stupid grin. He needed to get out more and start dating. It was past time. His divorce had been final for more than five years. Several women in town had showed interest, but none of them seemed as much fun as standing here and staring at CanDee McCain.
“Can you get the door?” She nodded to the closed front door. “My hands are full.”
Manners, crap. He’d forgotten his.
He opened the door and stepped aside to let her in first. “I’m sure that my mother told you, this was the first house built on the ranch. Lacy Lehman built it for Brunhilda after she got tired of living in the dugout. When
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