Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
K ieran hadn’t meant to bring up his shitehawk father, but the words had slipped out before he could stop them. Sara had a way of making him want to tell her things.
And when he did, the sympathy in her green eyes warmed his heart. Not that he needed any comforting where his father was concerned.
That said, he appreciated her kindness. Within minutes of arriving in Wagon Train he’d located a woman who was both stunning and compassionate. What were the chances of that?
Justine finished with her other customers and came to check on them. “Whoa, Kieran, that hat looks amazing on you.”
“Thanks. I like it.”
“I think we’re both ready to check out.” Sara swept a hand in his direction. “He hasn’t eaten since early this morning so I suggested heading for the Buffalo.”
“Then let’s get you on your way.” Justine turned and walked toward the register at the back of the shop. “I’ll grab a couple of boxes.”
“I’d like to skip the box,” Kieran said as he and Sara followed her. “I’ll wear my hat on the plane home or keep it in my lap.” He wouldn’t trust it to a box in an overhead bin. He’d seen how folks crammed their luggage in.
“I don’t need one either, Justine. I’ll do the same as Kieran when I fly back.”
“Alrighty, then.” Justine stepped behind the counter. “Who’s going first?”
He gestured Sara to go ahead of him while he dug out his wallet. He’d noted the price of the hat before he’d tried it on. Probably shouldn’t have reached for it, but it was exactly what he’d had in mind. Sure enough, the fit was perfect and Sara liked it.
He'd be using a credit card, but no getting ‘round it. The hat was dear, way over budget. Maybe he’d skip a few meals to make up for this splurge.
Then it was his turn to pay and Justine told him he owed even more. “Did the price go up?”
“That’s including tax.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. It wasn’t much in comparison to the entire cost, but the surprise of it snapped him back to reality. He’d established a saving habit early in his life, which was the only reason he was standing here. Was he an eejit for buying this hat?
“Irish citizens don’t pay sales tax,” Sara said gently. “I learned that from my Dublin tour group.”
And he could just hear them complaining. He didn’t want to give Sara the impression he was tight as two coats of paint. “The tax is fine. It’s only a wee bit more, after all.” He studied the machine on the counter. “Looks like I just slide?—”
“Wait.” Justine reached over and blocked the machine with her hand. “Let me check something. The other day Eddie made a spreadsheet of everything we’re including in our pre-Labor Day sale.”
“Isn’t that in May?”
“Not in this country.” Sara glanced at him. “We have a different date than you do.”
“And it’s coming up.” Justine took a sheet of paper from a shelf under the register. “If your hat’s on the list…” She scanned the contents. “It most certainly is.” She tapped some buttons on the register and he suddenly had a sizable discount.
Suspicious as hell. “When does the sale start?”
“Soon enough that I’m fine with giving you the sales price.”
He met her gaze. She was hedging with that answer and likely stretching the truth, but arguing the point would be ungrateful. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Now you two vamoose. I’ll be in touch if my folks know anything.”
“I appreciate it and thank you for the discount.” Before he turned away he tipped his hat.
“Oh, my.” Justine fanned herself. “You have the makings of a cowboy, Kieran.”
“Thanks.” He was laughing as he and Sara went out the door. “Good thing she’s never seen me on a horse.”
“You don’t know how to ride one?”
“Never had the opportunity.” He fell into step beside her as they walked down the footpath toward the Fluffy Buffalo. He adjusted his stride, changing to more of a saunter, like Chuck Connors might have looked on his way to the local pub.
“Maybe you’ll have a chance to get on a horse while you’re on this trip.”
“There’s a stable in town?” He hadn’t thought to include that in the budget.
“Not that I know of, but I might be able to arrange something out at Rowdy Ranch. They have a lot of horses.”
“Is it one of those dude ranches, then?” He’d heard they were expensive. Likely he couldn’t afford their rates.
“No, just a sprawling family setup. We came into the mix when my brother Dallas moved here and became friends with one of Desiree’s nine sons.”
“ Nine ?”
“And one daughter. Desiree loves kids.”
“Her husband must love ’em, too.”
“He does, but… no, I’m not going into that now. Long story short, Dallas married Desiree’s daughter and my brother Trent also moved here. He’s married a local woman and they’re expecting a baby. My parents, my sister and I flew in yesterday.”
“Do you like it here?”
“For visits, sure. It’s fun pretending to be a cowgirl. That’s why I wanted the hat.”
“Looks good on you.”
“I could say the same about your hat. You’d pass for a cowboy until you open your mouth.”
“Can’t do much about how I talk.”
“I wouldn’t want you to. Your accent is charming.”
“Is it, now?” He’d never considered his way of speaking as an asset. “Why is that?”
“There’s a lilt to your voice and a way you brush past consonants that’s very appealing.”
“If you say so.” In other words, she enjoyed listening to him. He’d take it.
“But you don’t sound like a cowboy. It would help if you sprinkled a few yes, ma’ams and no, ma’ams into the conversation. Assuming you’re talking to a woman, of course.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s considered polite. The cowboys around here use that phrase a lot.”
“Where I come from, a woman doesn’t like it when you call her ma’am . It’s insulting, like you think she’s old.”
“That’s not the case here. The McLintock men say it all the time.”
“To you?”
“Sure.”
“Even though you’re so young?”
“I’m twenty-six.” She lifted her chin a notch.
He smiled. “Still too young to be called ma’am. ”
She waited for a lorry to drive past before they crossed the street. “Ah, but if they say it with a twinkle in their eyes, it’s adorable. If they add enthusiasm, like yes, ma’am! you know they’re excited about whatever you’ve suggested. Then there’s slow and sexy, like yeess, maaa-aaam. That delivery can be extremely seductive.”
“Not in Ireland.”
“I believe you, but in cowboy country, that phrase is the secret sauce.” She headed across the street.
He kept pace with her. “I see.”
“If it’s a stretch for you, since you’ve been taught the opposite, then never mind. And here we are.” She walked toward the Buffalo’s front entrance.
He beat her to it, grabbing the brass handle and swinging the door wide.
She glanced up, amusement in her eyes. “You must be ready for lunch.”
He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. “Well, done, cowboy.”
The flash of arousal in her gaze wasn’t lost on him. Secret sauce, indeed.