Read The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl for Free Online

calendar.”
    “Trust me. If you were really my enemy, we wouldn’t be so civilized, Miss Cortazzo.”
    “Carly,” she corrected automatically, picking up a fork. “I detect a chill in the air, nevertheless. Or don’t you go for city girls?”
    “I go for all kinds of girls,” he retorted, slugging his beer as if to steel himself for a difficult conversation.
    “All kinds of girls? Care to tell me about some of them?”
    He regarded her warily over the glowing candle. “Well, we don’t get many unattached women in these parts.”
    “What about attached ones?”
    “Married women? No, I don’t go in for that stuff. Too messy. I like to get in and out of relationships as cleanly as possible.”
    “I gather you don’t go in for the lasting kind of relationships, either.” Carly sampled the stew and found it warm and savory.
    “I haven’t been lucky in love.”
    “You certainly are the quintessential cowboy.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    Carly glanced up, surprised by the heat in his voice. “Why, nothing really. You must fall in love with horses, not women.”
    He snorted. “That’s a laugh.”
    “Then you do have a girlfriend?”
    “Look, I don’t know why we’re talking about me,” he began irritably, looking surprisingly uncomfortable.
    “I like to get to know my subjects, that’s all.”
    He leveled her a suspicious stare. “Really?”
    Carly sipped from her own beer bottle to give herself time to think. “To tell the truth, no. But you—well, I’ve never met a real cowboy before. I just—I want to know what your life’s like. Call it professional curiosity. For example, do you and your sister run this ranch all by yourselves?”
    “Um, well, we have a hired hand, of course, to help out. But usually, it’s just a one—er, two-person operation.”
    “That must mean a lot of hard work.”
    He shrugged. “If you love it, it’s not really work.”
    “You love it, then?”
    He took a huge forkful of stew into his mouth and took forever to chew it. “This stew is great, isn’t it?” he asked, after swallowing.
    “Yes, it’s delicious.”
    “Becky has been adjusting the recipe again. I like the sage. And not too much onion.” He thoughtfully selected a carrot with his fork. “The touch of jalapeno is just right. Not overwhelming, but definitely a statement.”
    Delighted, Carly laughed. “You’re a cowboy foodie!”
    He looked up at her as if startled out of his thoughts. “A foodie?”
    “Someone who appreciates good food.”
    He bristled. “I’m not a gourmet. I hate pretentious stuff—”
    “Like snooty French restaurants?”
    “I do like French cuisine,” he said cautiously, “if it’s done well. But not an overly rich menu and a wine list that’s past its prime.”
    “Provençal food, though?”
    He nodded. “Simple, but elegant.”
    Carly leaned forward, glad to see him relaxing at last. “What’s the best restaurant you’ve ever visited?”
    Hank hesitated only for an instant. “There’s a diner in Cheyenne that’s top-notch. The best homemade sausage this side of the Mississippi.” He looked cautious again. “Why are you asking?”
    “No special reason. Conversation, I guess. And I like food myself. I keep a scrapbook of my favorite restaurants.”
    He looked surprised. “Yeah? What’s in the. scrapbook?”
    “Well, I’m not exactly an expert,” Carly admitted modestly. “I enjoy atmosphere as much as the food. I hke to travel, so I’ve collected menus from restaurants in other countries. There’s a small café in Vienna I loved—it just dripped with Italian color. But for food, I’d have to say a wonderful Chinese restaurant in Mexico City of all places—”
    “Don Ho’s!”
    Carly couldn’t hide her astonishment. “You’ve been there?”
    Hank suddenly began to choke and reached for his bottle of beer. After a calming swallow, he shook his head. “Uh, no, I’ve never been there. I must have read about it in a magazine,