

Calhoun was impressed with Olivia's act---the one where she pretended she wasn't interested in him even more than the one with Gypsy, Grandpa and the barrels. He left the show, heading to his truck.
Olivia's no-sizzle charade intrigued him. Never had he seen a lady with more sex appeal trying so hard to hide her light under a bushel basket, as the old-timers used to say. She wouldn't even let loose with a smile for him---and that told him a lot.
It told him Olivia was chicken. He'd caught her checking him out, and she didn't mind dueling with wordplay, so the passion was there. She'd simply turned her sex switch to the Off position.
A better man might find a way to flip that switch back on.
It would be a fun chase, and he had no doubt she'd give him the run of his life, which he would enjoy thoroughly. Yet it seemed to him that was probably how his brothers had ended up at the altar---thinking with their Sex Switch Fix-It Kits.
He had his nudes to keep him company, and he'd have to be satisfied with that.
"Calhoun?"
The voice stopped him before he took the tarp off the truck bed. He turned. "Olivia?"
She blushed. "Can I talk to you?"
She could talk to him. She could walk with him. She could--- "Sure. What's up?"
Glancing around, she said, "It's a private matter."
Oh, yeah. His favorite kind. "Well, we could sit in my truck, or we could walk to the tearoom, or---"
"Your truck is fine. Thanks."
She hopped into the driver's side and slid across the seat before he could open the door for her. Dang, he'd never had a woman so eager to spend time alone with him. He shut his door and waited expectantly.
"I won't take up much of your time," she began. "I must ask you to stay away from my children as much as possible. I know they've been seeking you out, and I'm going to talk to them about that, but in any case, I'd appreciate your help with this."
Now that wasn't the prelude he'd been hoping for. His spirit dimmed a bit. "Why? Have I upset you somehow?"
"No. It's complicated, actually, and forgive me for not wanting to explain more, but it would just be best."
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "For you, for me or for them?"
"For everyone."
Hmm. This lady was more afraid of her switch than he'd thought. Tapping the steering wheel, he said, "Of course I will do whatever you ask."
"Thank you."
He nodded, sensing her relief. "Can I ask one question?"
"Yes."
"If we weren't attracted to each other, would I be getting this No-Kids-Zone request?"
She looked at him. "Cowboy, I never said I was attracted to you."
"You wouldn't say it, even if it were the truth."
Her lips formed a rosebud of disapproval. He made a mental note that this woman was darling even when she was annoyed, which was important. Some women were downright scary when they were annoyed. A man factored in facial expressions when he was getting to know a woman. An artist such as himself was particularly attuned to the range of expressions each female possessed.
She might be affecting his barometer of sexual attraction, but this female's needle gauge was hovering right around the Back-Off-Buddy range.
"Thank you for understanding about the children," Olivia said, opening the truck door. "They are always scouting for men. Although I will say that they're a little more enthusiastic about pitching you."
"Thanks. I think." He let her get out of the truck, though he was sorely tempted to take her fragile little wrist and pull her back inside for a goodbye kiss that would make her think ten times before she shut that door in his face.
However, the combination of her switch turned off and her lips budded with displeasure signaled he should keep his tendencies to himself for the moment. He also sensed sweet talk was not the way to crack her defenses.
Damn, she was a puzzle.
"I'm good with puzzles," he murmured out loud.
"I beg your pardon?" She halted before shutting the door.
"Oh. Never mind. Sorry."
"It sounded like you said 'I'm good with puzzles.'"
"No."
She looked at him suspiciously. "Have a good afternoon."
"Goodbye," he said, his meaning clear. Might as well join the game of hard-to-get since that seemed to be her seduction of choice.
But she closed the truck door without even a moment of regret or coyness, and Calhoun realized she really wasn't up to anything more than what she'd said: asking him not to buddy up with her kids.
The whole thing hurt his feelings a helluva lot more than it should have.
So it startled him when she tapped on the driver's side window a few minutes later. It rattled him, he admitted, because he'd figured she was long gone with dust trails behind her. He opened the door. "Did you forget to spoon out the last chunk of my feelings? Come back to play the last song as the lights dim at the bar and Calhoun goes home somewhat annoyed and depressed?"
Olivia blinked. "Why would you be depressed? You don't even know us."
He shifted, pushing his back against the seat cushion. "What am I supposed to do, Olivia, if I see your kids again? Walk on by?"
Her eyes opened. "The rodeo's only going on for one more night. After that, it won't matter."
"No, it won't---but, to be honest, I've never had a woman ask me to stop being friendly to her kids. And I will admit that it kind of sucks." He frowned. "I don't see what harm I've done."
"You haven't. It's very difficult to explain, Calhoun, but my children are sort of...thinkers. Worriers, if you will. And they try to manipulate their environment. In this case, the environment is you."
He really didn't know what to say to that much honesty.
She looked at him, and he could tell she was embarrassed.
"So you're saying I'm just a target for their attention?"
"Right. One in a long line."
Ouch. He didn't like to be in long lines anywhere, unless it was a cattle parade at the rodeo.
With a sigh, she said, "This isn't easy to say about my children. But I'm sure you can appreciate my position as a single parent."
"Sure. You don't want your kids scoping out potential fathers."
She frowned. "Fathers? I don't think that thought ever entered their mind. They have my dad as a father figure."
Hmm. He hadn't considered that. They did have a version of the classic nuclear family. "So what do they want from me?"
"The question is better posed as 'What do you want from us?' Because I think that's where the problem comes in."
He ran his hand through his hair and put his hat back on. "Look, I think my M.O. is pretty simple. I just want to kiss you. And if being friendly to your kids comes along with the package, I'm cool with that. They're a different sort of crew, but what you don't know, because you don't know me well enough, is that I'm kind of at home with strange characters."
"Kiss me?"
Her eyes were open with something like shock, or maybe alarm. Calhoun considered that. Clearly, kissing him had not crossed her mind. Pow! One more sock to the ole ego. Man, this woman had her sex switch permanently lodged in the Off position, and it would take a god of Herculean enterprises to move the damn thing.
"A kiss is not exactly asking you to jump off a bridge, you know," he said sourly. "Pardon me if I thought you might, you know, find me attractive. Like I do you. Although you are getting on my nerves with your lack of response to my manly attributes."
She started to laugh. He thought it sounded more like nerves than amusement, though, so he decided to go with it. "Share the joke."
"I can't. There's no joke. Really. It's just that...you don't want to kiss me, cowboy. Trust me."
"I think I will be the judge of my sexual desire, thank you very much," he said. "But let me find out for myself so I can be honest with both of us."
Calhoun swept Olivia into his lap, just the way he'd been dying to do since meeting her, and he planted a kiss right on her lips. Olivia didn't move, probably from surprise, so he cradled her face in his hands and began a more gentle assault on her locked-down security position. Softly, he moved his lips against hers, then lightly ran his tongue across her lips before pressing his mouth against hers over and over again.
And everything in his jeans went straight to attention. He might have burst a seam somewhere. Yowza, this little mama smelled good, she felt great, and her mouth was made for his.
He could spend a lifetime kissing her.
Calhoun shoved her out of his lap. "You're right. I didn't want to kiss you."
She gasped, and then, to his everlasting surprise, she slapped him one across the face before whirling off.
Now, granted he'd been hit harder in his life, and goodness knows, it had been more a whisk than a smack that she'd landed---but it was the intention that startled him.
The little minx. And he still had an erection---blast her curvy little rump that had heated his zipper as she'd sat in his lap. "I'm pretty certain she's annoying me," he muttered. "She tried to slap me, and I still have the itch to go after her. Where I come from, I know that would be considered a bad omen!"
Especially since he'd been fibbing to save his soul.
He had wanted to kiss her. And he wanted to do it again---soon.
THE WORST THING a man could tell a woman, Olivia decided, was that he didn't want to kiss her---after he'd insisted upon it. The arrogant cowboy! Once again, her theory about cowboys was proved true. The Elusive Sexy Cowboy was the most devastating thing that could happen to a woman.
He'd managed to tear apart the first budding of her heart without even trying.
Maybe not actual budding, she thought. Maybe just a scratching of new growth hidden beneath a winterized girdle of dormant seed, but she'd felt the stirring. Like a new plant turning toward the sun, she'd felt herself warming to Calhoun. A surprising ray of hope had lit inside her when he'd put his mouth against hers, touching her kindly and gently, awakening feelings she'd never known she could possess.
It had felt so wonderful to kiss him. He had no idea how much she'd delighted in finding that a man's kiss could give her pleasure instead of revulsion.
And then, he'd crushed her new growth.
He'd think twice before he tried to steal another kiss from her---and then insult her inexperience.
Crawling into the bed inside the trailer, Olivia slipped between her kids. They curled up next to her, as they always did, making her relax with contentment. Here was what mattered to her heart. Kenny and Minnie: the best part of her life.
At the other end of the trailer, she could hear her father snoring as he took his nap. Everything was in its place. In a little while, she'd take the kids to see tonight's fun. There would be face painting and art exhibits and other exciting things for them to do---and she was going to forget all about Calhoun and his effect on her.
She was going to forget everything except his kiss. That had been a surprise, making her tingle all over. Even if Calhoun was a bad thing for her, his kiss had been very good.
He need not ever know exactly how one simple kiss had changed her awareness of herself. Today, she felt as if life was starting all over again.
She was glad she'd slapped him for being a horse's ass, though.
"I SHOULD KISS HER AGAIN," Calhoun told himself when he saw Olivia and her kids wander into the exhibit pavilion that evening. "And then tell her I'd been tweaking the truth just a wee bit."
But she'd asked him to stay away from her kids because they were seekers of some kind. He frowned, wondering what they needed so bad that they had a habit of trolling for men. It didn't matter. Olivia was with her kids, and she'd asked him not to be friendly with them, so no kissie-kissie, duck-the-slappie for him tonight.
"Nice paintings," a man said.
"Thanks." Calhoun nodded. "Been painting all my life."
"You've done some beautiful work." The short cowboy had a little daughter with him, Calhoun noticed, and he hoped the child wasn't affected by all the nudes. She was pretty young, and she was busy with the cotton candy that was smudging her face with pink webs of sugar. Calhoun exercised his right to be friendly with the child. "Hey," he said, lifting the girl onto a barrel so that she could sit and eat her cotton candy---and be out of range of the paintings while her father shopped. "Keep my chair warm for me, would you, princess?" he asked.
She giggled and smiled at him, and Calhoun felt momentarily sad that he couldn't enjoy the company of Kenny and Minnie this way. They'd had a good repartee going---something he didn't expect to have with young children---and he was surprised to find that he missed them.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?" Kenny asked Minnie as they spied on Calhoun across the pavilion. "That little girl is shopping for Calhoun."
"I don't think so," Minnie said, making certain their mother's attention was on merchandise in one of the makeshift booths. "She has a father with her. Now if she had her mother with her, I'd say she might be shopping for him---"
"I don't see why we can't talk to him," Kenny grumbled. "He's nice."
"Yeah." Minnie certainly agreed that the cowboy was nice. So she understood Kenny's concern. They'd sort of chosen Calhoun for themselves. And they didn't like sharing, especially not with a little girl who was younger and cuter, who wore a pretty pink dress and white ankle socks with lacy edges, and who had blond ringlets and cotton candy.
Minnie's lips pressed together as she looked down at her overalls and scuffed shoes. Did she remember to use her hairbrush today? Momma always said she should, and usually Momma made sure of it, but tonight her mind had been elsewhere, and Minnie had taken advantage of that to slip out without brushing. Self-consciously, she ran her hand over her long hair, smoothing it, then spit on her hand to flatten down Kenny's hair.
"She's already got a father," Kenny said. "I want to go push her off that barrel."
Minnie stopped her spit adjustment of Kenny's bristly head. "She does seem to have everything." Feeling badly for her jealousy, she glanced toward her mother, who had moved to the next booth. "Sometimes life doesn't feel quite fair."
"We need a father," Kenny said stubbornly.
"We have Grandpa."
"Yes, but if he's getting too old to jump in and out of barrels, then..."
Then what else might he be too old for? Minnie thought. Playing? Living? She glanced back over to Calhoun, then gasped as she saw him painting something on the little girl's plump cheeks. "Come on," she said to Kenny, "I can't see when we're this far away!"
"I CAN PAINT A WOMAN on a saddle for you," Calhoun said, "but I'm afraid it won't last."
"Still," the man replied, "my butt will be happy while she does, if you know what I mean. And it's probably longer than most real-life women last."
Calhoun held back a grimace. Rough as the Jefferson household could be, he was pretty certain a man didn't talk about naked women in front of a child.
"Let me see your unicorn, sweetie," he said, as he finished the last strokes of sparkly paint he was applying to her cheek. "It's almost as pretty as you," he told her, though he'd wager cotton candy would be dulling the sparkle in no time. The child seemed very impressed with her treat, and not as impressed with Calhoun's rendering on her face, but he figured with both of his customers happy, the world was good.
At least he thought so, until he saw two little faces peering at him from behind an easel that held a large portrait.
"Thank you, sir," he said, pocketing the money he'd been paid. "I'll get on that saddle right away."
The man grinned, taking his daughter by the hand. "I can't wait to see what you can do."
Calhoun waited until the customer was gone, then glanced around. No Olivia. "Okay, you two, come on out."
They did, rather sheepishly. "What are you up to now?" he asked.
Minnie blinked at him. "I want a sparkly unicorn on my face."
"And I want a sparkly deer," Kenny said. "A reindeer. Like Santa has."
"Er---" Calhoun squirmed. How could he turn them down? And yet, he couldn't go against their mother's wishes. "Where is your mom?"
"Over there," Minnie said airily. "Don't worry. She won't want her face painted."
"Yeah. You can just do us." Kenny beamed.
Calhoun sighed. "You two are a pack of trouble, you know it? Your mother says I'm to stay out of your clutches."
Minnie nodded. "And we're not to bug you."
"Bug me?" Calhoun cleaned a paintbrush. "Bug isn't the word I'd use. And I don't think that was the word your mom used. Was it?"
"No." Kenny frowned thoughtfully. "She said we were not to take up your time. Which means 'bug.'"
Calhoun shifted as he thought through his dilemma. Should he tell the children to go away? That would hurt their feelings. He'd seen the look in Minnie's eyes as she'd watched him painting the little girl's face. He'd seen a lot in that moment. "Hey," he said suddenly, "what exactly is it you two want from me, besides some face painting? Tell the truth."
"We told you," Minnie said. "We think you'd make an awesome barrel act with Gypsy on account of how fast you can run. But," she sighed, "now Kenny's decided you'd make a better father."
Calhoun halted. "Father?" He glanced at Kenny.
The kids shrugged at him. "Maybe," Kenny said. "I'm thinking 'bout it."
Whoa. Olivia would freak if she heard her son say that! "Ah, okay. Here's the deal. This is my price for face painting."
The kids edged closer to him, eager to barter.
"I will paint one thing for each of you, but you have to promise me that you will never say to your mom what you just said to me."
They stared at him.
"Why?" Kenny asked. "We don't usually keep secrets from Mom."
"Trust me, this is a good one to start with." He patted Kenny's back. "Is it a deal or not?"
The kids nodded. "Deal. We won't tell Mom how fast you can run," Kenny said.
Calhoun squatted down to where they could look down into his face. "That wasn't it, exactly. Skip the part about looking for a father. That's not something she wants to hear."
Kenny sighed. "Okay."
Minnie stared at him. "We're not dumb, Calhoun. We know it'd never work."
After a moment, he nodded.
"I mean, there are other girls in the world, ones who wear pretty dresses and ribbons in their hair and who don't spit-comb their brother's hair," she said mildly.
He glanced at Kenny's hair with some interest. "Spit-comb?"
Minnie shrugged. "Works better than water."
"Hmmph." He took her small hand in his. "Just for the record, I'm the kind of guy who's more impressed by ingenuity than froufrou, okay?"
"Cowboy, I'm pretty smart because my momma homeschools me, but I don't know what froufrou means. And neither does Kenny."
Kenny shifted from boot to boot. "Can we start now? Before Mom finds us and drags us off for another lecture on how we're not supposed to be bothering Calhoun?"
Calhoun grinned. "Just remember what I said," he told Minnie. "One day you'll meet a guy who feels the same way I do about froufrou, and you'll know he's the one."
Minnie sat on the barrel, taking the little girl's place and feeling pretty good about it. "Maybe Momma would like you better if you spit-combed your hair," she commented.
Calhoun smiled and picked up his paintbrush. "Keep your head turned this way and don't glance at the paintings."
"We already saw them," Kenny said. "They're naked women. You must like naked women a bunch."
"And you're going to paint a naked woman on a saddle for that man, to make his butt happy," Minnie said. "I guess that's what you mean by froufrou."
Calhoun looked at Minnie, with her honest eyes, her straight hair and her wide mouth, which was, coincidentally, budded up into the same expression of disapproval he'd seen on her mother's face earlier. On Olivia's face he'd found it cute---but on Minnie's face, it was disconcerting. Olivia was right: her child was a worrier.
And her equally worried brother sat beside her, with eyes like Minnie's, only Kenny's had a deeper reservoir of sadness, almost like Charlie Brown, as if his world was never going to be quite right but he'd keep searching for the good in life anyway. Catch 'em being good, adults liked to say about children. In Kenny's watchful gaze, it was as if Kenny was waiting to catch Calhoun being good.
"You know," Calhoun said heavily, sitting down next to them. "I should paint you two."
"I want a deer," Kenny said, as Calhoun touched the paintbrush to his cheek.
"I meant, paint a portrait of you. Together."
Minnie watched over his shoulder as his hand moved deftly over her brother's face. "Why?"
"I don't know why. Change of pace, maybe." He'd never painted anything but nudes. Well, once in high school, he'd painted graffiti on the gym walls and gotten suspended for three days---after he'd painted the entire gym again, by himself, in a new coat of school colors. The school had suspended him, but it had been Mason who'd dragged Calhoun back to the school to tell them he wanted to make right what he'd done wrong.
Curse Mason, and curse Maverick's legacy of trying to instill rightness in all of them. It was almost like having a Goody Two-shoes gene one couldn't outrun.
"If you paint us," Minnie said, her voice colored with wonder, "paint me with a pretty dress and ribbons. My hair done right, and Kenny's lying down, not stuck up like a bird perch on his head. Okay, Calhoun?"
Calhoun stopped, his hand floating in the air, paintbrush suspended, as he realized what she was saying.
Minnie dreamed of a world she was never going to have, even if she was practical enough to know that her life with her family was better than the little girl's with the ribbons and cotton candy and father who wanted his butt to be happy. But still, she dreamed of adding more color to her personal portrait. She'd remodel Minnie Spinlove.
"Minnie and Kenny, what are you doing?"
Olivia's voice startled Calhoun. He turned to face the mother of the children whose faces he was painting. She looked none too happy.
Before he could stop himself, Calhoun reached out and painted a big dot on Olivia's cheek.
She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"Face painting," he said. "And we're obeying all the rules. They're paying customers, Ms. Spinlove. Scout's honor. Just like the little girl who was here before getting her face painted. Even ladies like to get their face painted. It takes them back to their childhood. Would you like your face painted?"
"No, thank you," Olivia said. "I will wait until you are finished, though. I suppose, Minnie, that you managed to find the only cowboy in Texas who paints faces?"
"At this rodeo, Momma," Minnie said. "At least I didn't see any others. And even if I did, I'd still want Calhoun to do it, 'cause he's an awesome painter. He can paint a pretty naked woman, Momma," she added as Calhoun gently wiped off the blue splash of paint he'd put on Olivia's cheek.
Olivia looked behind her at the exhibits where people were milling around, gazing at the paintings. "I...see."
"Ah, Minnie," Calhoun said, taking her face in his hands to finish her unicorn. "You certainly are mini," he told her. "But I suspect you're high voltage all the time." Then he painted a sparkly unicorn on her cheek.
Kenny scooted a barrel next to Calhoun so he could intently watch the process now that he had a deer on his cheek. Olivia hung back, her boot tapping nervously on the ground.
"These customers waited patiently for their turns," Calhoun said conversationally to Olivia, hoping to calm her down. They were all breaking the rules, and he suspected she wasn't buying the paying customer routine, but he knew the kids were after a little attention. He was willing to supply it until everybody said sayonara tomorrow night, so what was the harm? As their mother said, they pestered everybody for attention.
And Minnie wanted him to paint a doctored-up portrait of her and her brother that represented the image in her mind, the one she wished for. An image that was right up there with the idea of unicorns being the fabled symbol of happiness.
He couldn't give the kids what they wanted, any more than he could give them real unicorns. Or an idealized family with picture-perfect hair and dolled-up dresses.
He knew all about trying to create a reality out of the painted picture in one's mind of the perfect family. "There," he said gently to Minnie. "The best one I've done all day." And he rumpled Kenny's hair so that the spit-combing was shot. "Yours, too, kid. Y'all got the best I had."
"Thanks, Mr. Calhoun," Kenny said. Getting up, he went to his mom so she could inspect the artwork. "You should let him paint your face, Mom," he said. "It feels kinda funny when he touches you, but you'd like it."
Olivia blushed deeply. She could feel it, because it felt as if she'd just broken out in some kind of flu-like rash. Glancing at Calhoun, she was grateful to see that he was pretending not to hear. He was, simply, the most beautiful, clean-shaven and sexy-smelling cowboy she'd ever met, and her heart thump-thump-thumped in warning. She knew all about how wonderful it felt when he touched her face.
She laid a ten on the table to pay for the face painting. "Thank you. Kids, let's go."
"Thank you," they told Calhoun, and then hugged his neck, being careful not to smudge their painted faces.
"You're welcome," he said, not looking at Olivia or the ten dollars. "Goodbye."
Olivia didn't know what to do except stiffly walk away, her gaze anywhere but on the paintings.
The worst part was, he did paint extraordinary nudes.


