How To Rope A McCoy (Hell Yeah!)
Oblivious, Cato took a sip of the punch, smiling when she saw Patrick dip Savannah and then kiss her. She could still remember how Savannah had suffered when she’d thought Patrick had been killed in the war. His homecoming had truly been a miracle.
Hot and tired, Heath tried to get the woman’s attention again. He was beginning to lose his cool. “Hey! What does someone have to do to get a drink in this place?”
Happily Cato patted her foot, wishing someone would relieve her of punch patrol so she could kick up her heels.
A sudden jerk on her arm startled her and she swung abruptly around, the contents of her punch cup flying through the air and all over the face, jacket and shirt of the very cowboy she’d been mooning over. Kabluey!
“Oops. Oh, no!”
“It’s you!” Heath bellowed as red liquid dripped off his hat, down his chin and onto his white shirt. “Are you deaf?”
Cato didn’t need auditory skills to hear him that time. She was reading him loud and clear. An angrier visage she had never seen.
“Me, deaf? Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” she answered defensively. This relationship wasn’t exactly getting off to the start she’d hope. “If you’d calm down a second and just let me ex—”
While she was trying to answer and pour him another cup of punch, the handsome jackass proceeded to lecture her on the techniques of proper punch distribution.
“If you’re going to take on a job, you ought to do that job and stop staring off into space like some wall-eyed owl.” Heath was voicing his objections so loudly, he’d missed what she said. He was about to ask her to repeat herself, but he didn’t get the chance.
The little vixen doused him again.
Cato lunged forward.
“What?” Oh, my God! She’d just baptized cutie-pie again. If she hadn’t grabbed the
table, Cato would have fallen herself. Somebody had pushed her. Whirling around, she found three little girls in pink frilly dresses, giggling. They were running from a little boy and had used Cato’s wide butt as ‘home.’
“Sorry!” They chimed together and ran off.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Heath sputtered and spit as a fresh cascade of sticky drink poured off his face and clothes. “Why you little she-devil!” Heath growled.
“Oh, my goodness.” Cato grabbed a towel and came around dabbing at his body. She wiped his face, chest, stomach and was rubbing roughly at the stain on his crotch when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Jerking her head up, she saw him drawl.
“I think you got that spot.” She was still patting his growing erection when he snorted. “Now, look what you did.”
Cato glanced down, realized where her hand was and that the bulge she’d been cleaning was now considerably bigger. Good grief! Oh well, she could wilt from embarrassment or let the ‘new and improved Cato’ shine through. She opted for door #2.
“Is it like rubbing a lamp? Do I get three wishes?”