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“We put on a hell of a show, don’t we?”

He slipped the beer bottle out of her hand and took a swallow from it himself, slipping it back into her cold fingers as Remington lassoed a tall blonde and pulled her toward him, making the crowd laugh as he then dipped her as though they’d been in the middle of some ballroom dance.

“And you call me charming,” Bowie said, dropping another wink to Lea as he got up and wandered off.

“You called him charming?” Westin asked.

“He is. You should see him with these women!”

“I’d rather not. I get my fill of this stuff with the chuck wagon.”

“Hmm—the stereotype.”

“Excuse me?”

Lea glanced back at him. “You like everyone to think you prefer your own company to anyone else’s, right? Just you and your horse?”

“I do, most of the time.”

“It’s a stereotype. The modern-cowboy stereotype.”

“Is it? Or is it that I’m just not the kind of guy who gets along well with strangers? I work just fine with Clint and the others—just not these… city women.”

“You grew up in a city, didn’t you? Didn’t you tell me you were from Denver?”

“I got to the country as quickly as I could.”

Lea finished her beer, setting the empty bottle with her discarded plates. Westin gathered them all and tossed them in a metal barrel they were using for trash before coming back to her, sweeping into a low bow, and offering her his hand. She giggled, not only because it was the most charming thing he’d yet done, but because she caught jealous looks coming from a couple of women who were paying more attention to them than the show.

Their jackets were too thick to allow much contact, but it was still nice walking side by side with him, her arm tucked into his. He didn’t talk, and she didn’t encourage him to. She decided she kind of liked the silence, liked the companionship without the need for chatter. Her life was spent talking to people, trying to get information from them. It was nice to just be quiet for a change.

“Clint says you’re going to try to arrange to get out of here on Monday.”

“I’m going to see what I can do. I have to make a few phone calls, visit a few people.”

“Do you know someone locally?”

“No, not really. But I have friends who might.”

“I don’t even know where you’re from,” Westin commented. “Every time I ask you something personal, you find a way to distract me from the fact that you never answered the question.”

He didn’t seem annoyed; he just said it like he was making an observation. It caught Lea a little off guard, so she fell to what she always did. She told him the well-practiced lie she’d always told, mixed with just enough truth to make it easy to remember.

“I was born outside of Austin, Texas, but my mother took me to California after my dad died. I grew up in Van Nuys in a lovely neighborhood where most of my friends were either latchkey kids or in the foster care system.” She glanced at him. “Do you remember that term? Latchkey kid? That’s what my mom called them.”

“I’ve heard it.”

“I’m not a big mystery, Westin.”

“Not a mystery. Just a woman with a lot of secrets.”

“Wouldn’t you like to learn a few of my secrets?” They’d reached the bunkhouse and Lea leaned against the door, smiling up at him as she carefully unwound her scarf from her neck. “I’d be willing to show you just about anything you want to see.”

“You already have,” he reminded her even as he leaned close to her, his lips nearly brushing hers, but not quite. “Do you not remember the little game with the towel? Or the topless greeting you gave me this morning?”

“You wake a woman from a sound sleep—you risk seeing whatever she has to offer.”

“Then it was my fault, was it?”