Free The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl by Nancy Martin Page A

too.”
    “You are a saint,” Hank said, unwrapping the olives from plastic wrap and offering some to her. The ripe black olives had come to the ranch in Hank’s suitcase from his favorite deli in Seattle, and he couldn’t imagine a more special occasion to celebrate their deliciousness. He helped himself when Carly began popping her share into her mouth one by one. She moaned with happiness as the flavor exploded in her mouth, and he couldn’t help smiling at her pleasure. He asked, “Beer or coffee with this feast?”
    She shared his smile, still savoring the olives. “I rarely drink beer, but somehow it’s right here. Let’s save the coffee for later, shall we?”
    The beer wasn’t quite cold, but the sandwiches were perfect—slices of Becky’s own smoked turkey on whole wheat bread with lettuce, mayo and a hint of dill. Hank’s estimation of Carly’s character rose even higher. A woman who knew how to make a good sandwich was worth ten who could prepare an elaborate dinner party.
    Carly fed a bite to the pup, and it immediately began nosing around for more food. It ate a whole sandwich with quick dispatch, then plunked down on the blanket and licked its chops as if complimenting the chef. A moment later it flopped down and prepared to go to sleep.
    Obviously Hank soon felt the same way—sated and appreciative. He took off his hat and lounged back on one elbow to finish his beer and enjoy the sunshine and radiating heat of the fire.
    Carly ruffled the wolf’s fur, but found herself staring at Hank instead. He looked at ease and contented, stretched out on the blanket with the beer bottle cradled against his chest. The picture of a sexy man at rest.
    At last she ventured to say, “This would be the ideal moment to take those preliminary photographs.
    He opened one eye to look at her. “Sorry to disappoint you, but your cameras were in Buttercup’s saddlebags. They’re probably back at the ranch by now.”
    She sighed. “Darn. You look perfect right now.”
    He snorted a laugh and closed his eyes again. “I can’t figure out why you’d pick me of all people for this calendar thing.”
    “Because you’re—well, you’re a normal guy who happens to be very appealing to women. You’re not plastic or—well, you don’t look as if you spend all your spare time at the gym admiring your pecs in the mirror. You’re just sexier than most.”
    “I am, huh? You’re the first to notice.”
    Carly shook her head. “I’m sure I’m not the first.”
    “Okay, maybe not. But I’m not exactly fighting off the opposite sex all the time.”
    “Because you live out here in the middle of nowhere,” Carly guessed.
    “That’s not it.”
    “You don’t think you’re an attractive man?”
    He grinned. “Let’s just say I’m hard to get along with.”
    Carly found herself intrigued. She was glad he had his eyes closed against the sunlight, because she wanted to absorb everything about him just then. “Why are you hard to get along with?”
    He shrugged and tried to think of a way to explain himself without going into detail about his double life—that of a responsible journalist with deadlines to keep and his other half—the outdoorsman who enjoyed his free time. Most women had a hard time keeping his two halves straight.
    One former girlfriend had said succinctly, “You only want a part-time lover, Henry.”
    She’d been right, he thought. Any woman who wanted to be with Henry Fowler had to have a life of her own. She couldn’t depend upon him to provide constant attention and entertainment. He was too busy.
    Carefully he said, “I like having things my own way. And I’m getting too old to be flexible.”
    “You’re spoiled.”
    He laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”
    “That’s why you’re not married?”
    “I’ve come close,” he said. “A couple of times. But...”
    “What happened?”
    “Oh, nothing unusual. Everybody has different expectations. I guess my former girlfriends