Whatcha Gonna Do With a Cowboy (A Sample) - Page 13/15

"Just like home." I slid my fingers under his Stetson and played with his hair. "Are we drunk, Mr. Miller?"

He nodded as he licked his lips. "I reckon we are."

"Maybe you should take me home."

His shoulders shagged a little, but he nodded. "Yes, ma'am. That'd be best."

I smiled. "I meant your home."

"Darlin', I ain't gonna tell you no, but I don't want you regretting tonight." He lowered his face to mine. "I wanna make you mine, Miss Katie. All mine."

I laughed lightly and nipped at his lower lip. "I won't say no to anything you suggest."

"Ma'am, the only way I'd have you is if I made you my woman." His breathing was ragged suddenly, like he'd been riding hard for days. "And I don't think either of us is in any state for that just this moment."

I shrugged. "So make me yours. Let's go wake up some old judge and get him to marry us."

Dusty laughed. "That'd be a dang fool thing to do, Miss Katie."

"Yeah, it would. So, let's do it."

He stared at me in that stony, thoughtful manner he did most of his thinking. "Miss Katie, that's about the craziest thing I ever heard."

"Are you saying you don't want to?"

He smiled. "Nope. Just wanna be sure it's what you really want, Miss Katie. Marriage is forever."

I looked at my watch. "It's one-thirty right now. I don't have any plans for the rest of my life. Do you?"

"No, ma'am."

"So, let's go get married."

"Taco!" He bellowed. He smiled down at me and whispered, "You make me wanna be crazy, Kate."

"Yeah, Boss?" Taco asked as he seemed to appear out of nowhere with Holly still beside him.

Dusty's eyes never left mine. "Get the truck."

"Now, Boss?"

"Miss Kate?"

I nodded. "I'm sure."

"Now."

"Excuse me, Dusty," Holly interjected, stepping between us as she grabbed my arm at the elbow and hauled me in the general direction of the restroom. "I just need to talk to Kate for one minute."

The smell of stale beer and urine made my stomach flip. The restroom had four individual stalls shoved into the concrete walls like they were under arrest. The only privacy in the privy was the thin pressed wood walls that came down almost to an average woman's calf. They had been painted white at one time but had since yellowed from years of disrepair and cigarette smoke. The three sinks had been white as well, but were incased in a thick coating of filth around the rim turning them several shades of black.