Lazy Days (52 page)

Sage
followed the group across the busy intersection to an upscale coffee house. He
had the beginnings of a headache. He'd wanted to decline the "java fix"
and return to his hotel room, but he needed the modeling job. He couldn't
afford to offend his bread-and-butter provider.
God, I wish I could quit
modeling.

They
entered Jet Setters Java Junction and he watched Sissy Johansen take charge. No
surprise there. She was a bulldozer, which was probably the reason she and her
husband had such a successful company. Although Sage didn't read romance
novels, he knew the genre outsold all others.

Someone
behind the counter approached Sissy and gave her preferential treatment,
motioning them to another room. They followed Sissy and their Jet Setter
hostess to a room glassed off from the main one. A few high class business types
sat in comfortable booths. Sage knew he looked out of place in his old T-shirt,
but he didn't give a rat's ass. A beautiful woman wearing a classy business
suit looked him up and down as he approached. She gave him that slow,
I-like-what-I-see smile. He'd encountered that same smile thousands of times
since the age of fourteen. His headache felt worse. He ignored her.

At
their booth, he stepped aside so Sissy and Mims could slide in. The little
photographer slid next to Sissy, so he sat next to Mims. She was a little on
the well-endowed side of the fork. She seemed self-conscious, something else
he'd encountered thousands of times with women.

The
hostess handed them menus.
Menus to order a damn cup of coffee.
He laid
his on the table and didn't even glance at it. Mims looked her menu over, front
and back, and so did the others. The hostess returned and he listened to Chuck,
because he couldn't bring himself to call him Chuckie, order a Muddy Mocha
Miracle. Sissy ordered a double shot Hammerhead Bottom Feeder and he was
curious about what the author would order. Very politely, she said, "I'd
like a Latin Lover Latte, with lite whipped cream, please." He had to bite
the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

The
hostess turned to him. "And for you, sir?" She batted her false
eyelashes.

"Black
coffee."

"Whatever
you want," she said suggestively, and slid the tip of her tongue across
her Botox lips.

Sage
wanted to ask for aspirin.

* * *

Mims
watched the interaction between Sage and the waitress who was trying her
damndest to get his attention. Maybe she could use the little scene in her next
book. The poor girl wasn't getting anywhere with him. He looked utterly bored.
Actually, he looked gorgeous and bored.

Mims
rubbed behind her neck, wishing she'd left right after the photo shoot. Sissy
was speaking to her. "I'm sorry, Sissy, what did you say?"

"I
said, 'Earth to Mims'," she laughed. "Actually, I was just telling Chuckie
and Sage what a great writer you've become. How you've improved with each book.
Now you're one of our top authors. Although…" she sent a sly look around
the table and leaned in, "…you'd probably be number one if you'd use your
talent to write some erotic scenes instead of dancing around them."

Mims
felt color flood her face and rubbed the back of her neck again, a habit she'd
carried from childhood whenever she felt flustered or nervous. She didn't know
how to reply. "I…I…"

Chuckie
added his two cents. "Don't worry about it Mims, practice makes
perfect." He winked at her.

Mims
wanted to crawl under the table.

The
flirty waitress saved the day when she brought their orders. Serving Sage his
coffee last, she said seductively, "Can I get you
anything
else?"

Sissy
had obviously had enough because she said, "Honey, he's taken by the lady
next to him. Show your wares elsewhere."

The
young woman glanced from Sage to Mims and her eyes widened, as if to say,
No
way!

Mims
rubbed her neck harder and shot an apologetic glance at Sage. He chuckled and
picked up her free hand resting on the table. Bringing it to his lips and
kissing her palm, he said, "Yep, I'm taken."

The
waitress's jaw dropped, she stammered something, and then hurried away.

Mims
jerked her hand back. Her previous embarrassment turned to anger; first at
Sissy and then at Sage. She didn't like being the butt of their jokes.

"You
know, I really have to get back to my hotel and pack. I don't have time for
this. Would you please let me out of the booth, Mr. Tanner." She started
scooting over, even though he hadn't moved. He gave her a quizzed look and then
stood.

"Mims,
you can't leave!" Sissy cried. "I just wanted to put the little tart
in her place."

Mims
slid from the booth and turned to say a cool goodbye. With her head held high
and her back straight, she walked out of Jet Setters Java Junction.

* * *

Sage
watched Mims stiffed-back retreat. Hell, he hadn't meant to offend; he'd just
been playing along with the game her publisher had started. Any other woman
would have played along, too. How could a romance novelist be such a prude? He
placed his fingers on his temple. Now he had a migraine.

Willing
her creative juices to flow, Sarah Carter looked at the blank computer screen.
Nothing. The final chapters of
Dream Kisses
refused to breathe life and
her publisher wanted the "whole enchilada" in rough draft in two
months!

Visions
from the horrible coffee break a week before danced across her mind. She still
got angry when she remembered how she'd become the object of first Sissy's, and
then Sage Tanner's, strange sense of humor.

After
lambasting Mr. Tanner for the thousandth time in her mind, she turned her
thoughts to Sissy's voicemails. Her publisher had left several messages
apologizing for
whatever
she'd done, but not really owning up to
anything. As usual, Sissy had addressed her by her author's name, Mims.
I
don't think she even knows my real name.

Sarah
minimized her word processing page and clicked on the internet. Maybe her book
needed field work. It was a cowboy romance, and being born and raised in Los
Angeles, she knew nothing about cowboys, cows, horses, or ranching. She could
do some rewrites and finish the last chapters based on firsthand experience.
She scrolled her bookmarks and clicked on
Lazy M Dude Ranch.
Viewing the
website with pictures of men, women, and children laughing and riding horses,
sitting around a cozy camp fire, and eating together at long tables in a ranch
style dining room, she made a sudden decision.
Heck, you've got the advance
money from Dream Kisses, do some investigative research. Find out what it's
like to be a cowgirl.
Sarah clicked on the reservation page and signed up
for six weeks.

* * *

"Here're
the signups for the next go-round." Newt handed Sage a computer print out.

"Thanks,
Newt." Sage scanned the list of names.

Newt
said, "Ya got one signed up fer six weeks."

"That's
unusual. Most folks only come for a week or two. Says her name is Sarah Carter.
Ring any bells with you?"

"Nope.
My guess—it's one of those gals that found out you're that hoity-toity model
and she's hopin' fer a roll in the hay with ya."

"God,
Newt, please don't say that."

"Yeah,
well so much fer puttin' this place in yer middle name,
Michael
Tanner.
It still don't stop em from findin' out who ya are. I bout went crazy when that
last lass showed up hopin' ta become the Missus."

Remembering
her hasty retreat, Sage grinned. "It didn't take us long to get rid of
her. A few
long
horse rides, lots of beans, and a policy of no makeup,
sent her packing fast. If need be, we'll employ the same tactics with Sarah Carter."

"Ya
got that right, boss!"

* * *

Following
the sign,
Lazy M Ranch,
Sarah turned her rented Escalade onto a gravel
road. She pushed a sweaty lock from her cheek and pulled on the neckline of her
silk shell to allow air down her drenched bosom. An hour after leaving Denver
International the Escalade's air conditioning had sputtered and died.
I didn't
think Colorado got this hot. Thank goodness, I'm almost there. Surely, they
have air conditioning.

The
vehicle hit a rut that slammed her shoulder into the door. "Ouch!"
A few bends in the road later, with still no ranch in sight, Sarah started
to worry. Braking to a stop, she scanned the countryside for signs of life. Oh
yeah, there was life, but the cows scattered across rolling pastures wasn't
what she had in mind.
I'll just go a little further. You'd think they'd post
more signs.

Sarah
started to put the car in gear, but it stalled. She turned the key in the
ignition; dead as a doornail. Sucking a deep breath so as not to panic, she
muttered a prayer to the car gods and turned the key again. Click…silence.
Click…silence. After a dozen attempts, she laid her head on the steering wheel.
No, no, no. What about your cell phone!
Overjoyed, she grabbed her
high-tech phone out of her purse and looked at the face.
What? No Service?
Crap.
She rubbed the back of her neck.
Okay, what would Tarah in Dream
Kisses do?
Sarah raised her head, grabbed her purse, exited the Escalade,
and slammed the door. After that she waivered; should she walk back to the
road, or continue on.
How would Tarah choose which way to go?
Reaching
back into her purse, she pulled out a coin and flipped it; heads, she'd return
to the main road; tails, she'd continue on. The coin landed on tails. Sarah
grabbed a tissue from her purse, wiped perspiration off her neck, and started
forward.

* * *

Sage
finished repairs on the north fence and mounted Jackel. He needed to get back
to the ranch to prepare for the arrival of the latest greenhorns. He adjusted
his Stetson against the blazing sun—just the kind of day he liked—and nudged
his horse.
Damn, this dude ranch crap gets old after awhile.
Flicking
the reins and urging his horse into a gallop, he headed home.

When
he crested a rise, a glint in the distance caught his attention and he turned
toward it. Soon he realized it was a vehicle. Reaching the expensive Escalade,
he dismounted and peeked through the windows. Whoever it belonged to had locked
it up tight. He noticed a disturbance in the gravel and, from the small tracks,
surmised the car belonged to a woman. She was walking toward the ranch.
Great,
now I'm gonna have to take care of some rich dame's car. I wonder if this is
Sarah Carter.

Sage
mounted Jackel and nudged him into a gallop. Before long, he saw a lone figure
hobbling in the distance.
Shit!
He pushed his horse into a faster
gallop. The woman turned and watched his approach.

* * *

Sarah's
ankle hurt like hell. She'd twisted it in the loose gravel shortly after
leaving her car. She heard a sound and looked around. Headed straight toward
her on a black horse was a cowboy. She was so happy she wanted to do a happy
dance, but her ankle hurt too much. Besides, it would only make her perspire
more.

The
horse slowed at about thirty feet out. She grinned and waved. A Stetson
shadowed the cowboy's face. She raised her hand to shade her eyes against the
brilliant sun.

At
twenty feet, the cowboy dismounted and walked forward holding the reins of his
gigantic
horse. Sarah took a step backwards, stumbled, and fell on her ass. The cowboy
dropped the reins and rushed toward her.

"You
okay, ma'am?"

I
know that voice.
Sarah's
mouth gaped as she stared up into the sky blue eyes of Sage Tanner.

* * *

Sage
stared down at Mims Murphy, the author; the one he'd pissed off in New York.
From the look in her eyes, she was still pissed.

He
squatted beside her. She moved her leg and winced. "Don't move, Mims,
until I can check your leg out." She tried to scoot backwards. He glared
at her. "Damn it, don't move." Whether it was pain, or his tone of
voice that kept her still, he didn't know. He gently touched her ankle,
watching her face. She winced again. Slowly running his hands further up the
leg of her designer jeans, he studied her expression. Other than her eyes
rounding like saucers, she didn't flinch. He did the same with her other ankle
and leg. "I think you've sprained your ankle."

"What
are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I
live here."

"What?
Since when?"

"Since
I was born."

"Is
this the
Lazy M Dude Ranch
?"

"It
is."

"And
you live here?"

"I
think I already established that." He grinned. "Actually, this is a
cattle ranch that offers dude ranch accommodations. Is there a problem?"

"Yes,
there's a problem. I came for the dude ranch, but I didn't know you owned
it."

"I
didn't see your name on the list."

"I
used my real name, Sarah Carter."

Sage
pushed his Stetson back. "So you're six-weeks Sarah." His grin
widened.

"I
want an immediate refund!"

Sage
ignored her demand. "Now, why would the famous author, Mims Murphy, book
six weeks at a dude ranch?"

"It's
none of your business. Just refund my money and I'm out of here."

"Well,
Mims, if you haven't noticed, apparently your car isn't running and you've got
a sprained ankle. How do you propose to leave?"

Sage
stood and watched Mims, or rather, Sarah, sputter her indignation. "Okay,
Mims, we're not far from the ranch. It's just around that bend."

"Yeah,
right. I've been around a dozen bends."

"I'm
gonna lift you onto Jackel. It'll only take about fifteen minutes to get
there."

"Just
get a car."

"Unfortunately,
my van is in the shop and my ranch hands drove our trucks to the other side of
the ranch." Sage bent to lift her. "Put your arms around my neck,
Mims."

"My
name is Sarah."

"I
like the name Mims. Put your arms around my neck. We need to get ice on that
ankle as soon as possible."

Gingerly,
as if he were a swamp creature, she placed her arms around his neck. When he
lifted, regrettably, a grunt escaped his throat. She wasn't skinny like the
models he posed with.

When
he glanced at her, she'd turned scarlet and was glaring daggers at him.
"Put your good ankle in the stirrup."

She
fumbled, and he grunted again. Finally, she had her foot in the stirrup.
"Grab the pommel and pull."

"Grab
the what?"

"Grab
the big hump thing on the saddle and pull yourself up." She pulled and he
hoisted her onto the back of Jackel.

She
gave a tiny shriek and held the pommel for dear life. He mounted the horse
behind her, placing his arms around her body and flicking the reins. His
stallion started forward. She gave another shriek and hooked her arms around
his.

"Mims,
you really are a greenhorn, aren't you. What I'm wondering is why you want to
spend six weeks at a dude ranch? Could it be because you missed me?"

"Don't
flatter yourself."

Sage
had a sudden flash of insight. "You're doing research for a book, aren't
you?"

Still
clutching his arms, she said, "Well done, Sherlock. However, my research
won't be here, that's for sure."

"You
hurt my feelings. What's wrong with my ranch?"

"It's
not your ranch. It's you."

Sage
thought back to the photo shoot. Mims had been cute and nice; even a little
flustered. Then he thought about the incident at the coffee shop when the
waitress had gotten her come-uppins' from the scary publisher, Sissy. He'd play
acted her game by pretending he and Mims were an item. What the hell was wrong
with that?

"God,
Mims, I didn't mean to piss you off in New York. I didn't think playing the
game was such a bad thing. I'm sorry."

"My
name is Sarah. And you're right about one thing. You didn't think. That makes
it even worse."

The
ranch house and outbuildings came into view and she shifted in the saddle,
trying to lean as far forward as possible. She'd released her grip on his
forearms and now gripped the pommel. However, no matter how much she tried to
distance herself, the sway of the horse kept pushing her back against him. Her
prudish attitude was starting to irritate him. He hadn't met a woman yet that
didn’t want his attention. He pulled the circle of his arms tighter and heard
her gasp.

He
led Jackel to the front porch and because she'd pissed him off, he leaned in,
put his mouth against her ear, and said low and sexy, "We're home."
She bristled and he grinned.

Dismounting,
he reached to circle his hands around her waist. She gave him a venomous look
but cooperated. When she was off the horse, he kept his hands on her waist when
she swayed and yelped after trying to take a step forward. Reaching an arm
under her legs, he lifted and carried her up the stairs of the wide porch.
"Mims, you're gonna have to open the screen and front door."

She
obeyed without argument, probably because she was in so much pain. He set her
on the couch and went to the kitchen, grabbing the ice pack he always kept in
the freezer. By the time he got back, she had pulled off her loafer and
stocking to reveal an excessively swollen ankle. He knelt in front of her and
when he saw the pain in her eyes, he didn't feel pissed anymore.

"Honey,
I'm gonna roll your pant leg up and put this ice pack on your ankle. I want you
to lie back." He grabbed some throw pillows for her head. She twisted and
lay back and he gently lifted her leg onto the couch. Placing a pillow under
her ankle, he folded back her pant leg and placed the ice pack on the swelling.
She jumped when he did so. "This will help bring the swelling down."

Leaving
the room, he returned to the kitchen and lifted the receiver from the wall
phone to call Doc Jones.