How to Rope a McCoy (Hell Yeah!) (7 page)

“As
well you should,” Heath agreed, solemnly. “I deserve two apologies.”

“Don’t
push it,” she warned him, giving him a pinch in the side. “I told you that you
startled me.”

Her
hands on his body made him want to groan. “I don’t know how I could have. I
asked you three times for a glass of punch.”

Cato
studied his face, realizing he had no idea of her handicap. Hadn’t he heard her
agree when he asked if she was deaf? Apparently not. Oh, the temptation to keep
the information to herself. To have a man see her as average—normal—just like
anyone else. “I’m sorry, I said I didn’t hear you.”

“Well,”
he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I guess the band was loud. And
everybody was talking.”

“Are
you married?” The thought sprang to her mind and she asked it without thinking.

Married?
Holy hell! Heath pulled back farther, putting another two inches between their
bodies. “No, and I’m not planning on getting married either!”

Ah,
the gauntlet had been tossed down. Cato patted his chest. “Calm down, no one is
picking out china patterns.”

“It
wouldn’t do you any good if you did.” Heath spouted off, trying to ignore how
sweet she smelled and how good she felt in his arms. Man, he needed to get out
of here. Women like this should be illegal. He needed something to distract
him, some adventure. Hell, where was Jimmy
Dushku
when he needed him?  

“Well,
we’ll see.” She gave him another heart-stopping smile. “I’ll go easy on you.”
When he looked decidedly uncomfortable, she decided to level with him. “You can
relax. I’m not going to bonk you over the head and kidnap you.” Pity, he was
unbelievable hot. “And to answer your earlier question—again. The reason I
didn’t respond to you when you asked me for punch was because I couldn’t see
your lips.”

He
was confused. Her beauty must be muddling his brain. “I don’t understand.”

“You
asked me if I was deaf and the answer is yes, I am.” She told him the truth,
watching his face carefully. “My condition doesn’t change who I am, Heath. I’m
just a regular girl. I’m nice and fun to be with, I just can’t hear.” Her
mother, God rest her soul, had not been entirely successful in stripping Cato
of her self-confidence. She tried to be the best person she could be and anyone
who didn’t want to be around her—well, it was just their loss. Still, she held
her breath, waiting for Heath McCoy’s reaction. For some reason, it was very
important to her.

“Deaf?”
He looked at her perfect face, the big doe eyes, the slender neck which he
would love to lick and taste. Surely, he misunderstood. “You can’t hear me? At
all?”

“No.”
Cato shook her head sadly.   

“But
you can speak.” Heath insisted, as if that made all the difference in the
world. Her voice was different, adorable really, but nothing like he would have
expected, knowing her circumstances. 

“I
was eleven when I lost my hearing. It’s not the same as being deaf from birth.”

“Hell,
I’m sorry.”

“Don’t
be, I’m well adjusted.” She patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“Yes,
you are. How do you dance?” Heath persisted. They weren’t really dancing now.
He was mostly just moving in a slow circle—she was doing all the work.

Cato
couldn’t resist, she might not get a chance to practice her flirting skills
again for a while. And to say she was attracted to this man was the
understatement of the decade. Pushing up against him, Cato ground her lower
body into his, her self-confidence skyrocketing when she encountered a baseball
bat size erection. “Very well. Don’t you think so?” Her action made him groan.
Cato didn’t miss that—his entire chest vibrated.  

Holy
Hell. Even though he knew it wasn’t a good idea, Heath couldn’t resist. He
lowered his head and kissed her hard, once on the lips. Lord Have Mercy. Pure
sugar.

Cato
almost tripped, she faltered and he caught her closer. Oh, my goodness! She
wanted to grab onto the moment and press it between the pages of her mind.
“Could you do that again?”

“No.”
He chuckled. “Once was enough.” Who was he kidding? Once, with her, would never
be enough. And that was why Heath knew he needed to keep his distance. “How do
you know what the beat is?” he asked, needing to change the subject, but not
willing to turn her loose, not just yet. The music had stopped playing, but he
kept swaying back and forth.

Cato
laughed. “I can sense the vibrations. Like now, there aren’t any. The band has
stopped playing, but we’re still moving.”

“You’re
right, smart-ass.” He grinned at her.

“Guilty.”
She conceded with a mischievous grin. “A woman has to have some method of
defense against such a fine specimen of manhood as yourself.”

“I
think you’re dangerous, is what I think.” He looked over her shoulder and down
at her shapely derriere.

 Cato
thought Heath was a handful. A delicious handful. “So, do you forgive me for
throwing punch in your face?”

Heath
appeared to consider his reply. “I think I can bring myself to forgive you for
cup one, but I don’t know about the second cup. That appeared to be deliberate
and premeditated.”

“Oh,
you can’t hold me responsible for the second cup. That was an accident. I was
way-laid by three little girls playing chase with boys. Besides, you called me
a wall-eyed owl, insulted me unnecessarily and got my dander up.” Cato felt the
music start, the pulse softer and slower. In response, she nestled closer. “We
should be slow-dancing, hold me tighter.”

“You’re
a bossy little thing, aren’t you?” He inspected her smooth shoulders. “I don’t see
any dander by the way.”

“Well,
I washed my hair,” she said close to his mouth, still keeping an eye on those
firm masculine lips. After all, she had to know what he was saying. “You just
had a shower, didn’t you?”

“Yea,
a long, hot one.”

The
way he said the words made her have some seriously lascivious thoughts, so she
took a moment to study him. “I bet you have a long, hot one all right.”

“
Shhh
, not so loud, people can hear you.” Heath snorted,
closing her mouth with another kiss.

 She
put an arm around his neck, trying to make the delicious kiss go on and on.
“More,” she pleaded.

“Not
a good idea.” He pulled back.

“Why?”
Cato kneaded his shoulders, loving the way it felt to touch him. The man was
seriously good looking. Well over six feet, six-feet-four if he was an inch,
two hundred forty or so pounds, a sculpted body, high cheekbones—yep, she could
make a meal of this man.

Should
she go for it? Heck, what did she have to lose? Here she was in Texas and he
was in Texas, might as well take advantage of the opportunity.

“Why?”
He struggled to find the right words. “I’m not the settling down type and I
assume you are.”

Cato
ran her tongue over her lips. Dang, he was warning her off. She was going to
miss her chance. Time to take a chance. “You know what they say about people
who assume.”

He
was mesmerized by her little pink tongue. “Yea, I’ve heard that before, ‘you
make an ass out of you and me both’.” Heath took his thumb and caressed her
plump lower lip longingly.

“That’s
right, so don’t be an ass.” She stood on tiptoe and placed another soft kiss on
his cheek.         

“Don’t,”
he moaned. Despite his better judgment, this woman was getting to him. It had
been way too long since the last time he’d had sex. And Heath loved a woman’s
body—the curves, the softness, full tits, a tender wet pussy. It was like
having an all-season pass to an amusement park. He wanted to touch, kiss and
ride all the rides. Right now, he wished he could lay her down and rub his
hands all over her silky skin. The notion had him hard as Texas granite.

But
he couldn’t. “So, your name’s Cato?”

“Yes,
Cato, Cato Vincent.”

“I’m
Heath McCoy.”

“I
know.” When he raised a quizzical eyebrow, she explained with another slow lick
to her lower lip. “You have the look of a McCoy…and your sisters came to
introduce themselves to me.”

Her
announcement was like a splash of cold water to his face, as arresting and
riveting as a cup of punch.

Nope—not
gonna
happen.

Enough
was enough. He would not end up being manipulated by his matchmaking sisters.
“Look, I need to go.” He eased back from her. “It was very nice to meet you,
but I need to say goodnight and goodbye.”

“What?”
Cato didn’t know what had happened. “I thought we were getting to know one
another…making a connection? And don’t ever say goodbye. Saying goodbye is bad
luck.” Thoughts of Tessa ran through her mind.   

Heath
held up his hand as if to ward her off. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Cato
Vincent. It was nice meeting you and I wish you well.”

The
sting of rejection almost paralyzed her. “Okay. I understand.” But she didn’t.
Cato wanted to ask him why—was it her looks, something she said? But shouts and
people moving around drew their attention away from the awkward situation.

People
were holding up glasses and smiling. “What’s going on?” she asked a woman
standing near her.

“Libby
had her babies! Colt and Jordan McCoy have arrived!”

After
that, everything went crazy.

*  *  *

When
the party was over, Cato looked for Heath, but she didn’t find him. Living as
close as she did, staying at the ranch hadn’t been necessary. So, soon after
saying goodbye to Savannah and Harley, Cato couldn’t put off the inevitable any
longer. Touching her lips, reliving the kisses he’d given her, Cato began
walking toward her jeep.

A
figure dashed in front of her, effectively halting her forward progress. When
she focused, it was Ryder, Heath’s sister. “Wait a minute.”

“Hey,”
Cato said shyly, wondering if Ryder had seen the quick kiss Heath had given
her.

“I
wanted to talk to you before you left.” Ryder was careful to keep in view of
Cato’s eyes, apparently having picked up on the fact Cato was deaf, when her
brother had missed it.

“Okay,
sure.” 

“We’re
having a BBQ next weekend. We have it every year at the same time. It’s a
tradition. You’ve got to come.” From the expectant look on her face, Cato knew
Ryder could sell ice to Eskimos.

“I
just moved in, I don’t really have a lot of time…” Cato began, but Ryder didn’t
give her time to finish.

“Everybody
is coming, except maybe Libby and the babies, and Isaac and Avery who will
still be on their honeymoon.” She motioned one of her brothers over. “This is
Philip. Philip, tell Cato we’d love to have her come to the BBQ.”

“Sure.”
Philip looked at his sister and knew to fall in with the program. Cato almost
laughed at the sibling manipulation. “We’d love to have you.”

After
everything that had gone on today, Cato doubted whether or not this would be a
good idea. Never one to beat around the bush, she took the bull by the horns.
“I’m not sure your brother Heath would appreciate you inviting me.” She looked
around again, as they did—Heath was long gone, which spoke volumes to
Cato. 

Ryder
leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t give up on Heath, Cato. We’ve been worried
about him. He works so hard. He never takes a break. He puts all of us first
and he hasn’t been lucky in love.”

“Wait,
wait.” Cato held up her hands. “Your brother has no interest in me. He as much
as told me so earlier.”

“Look,
we won’t do any type of matchmaking. I just want you to come for the weekend
and stay as my guest. Whatever happens between you and Heath will be strictly
up to you and Heath.”

“Well…I
don’t know.” She was torn. Cato would’ve liked to know why Heath had been hot
one minute and cold the next. If it was because she was deaf, she wanted to
know. If it was something else…well, she wanted to know that too. Bottom line,
some things and some people were worth risking everything for and Heath McCoy
fit the bill. “Okay, okay.” She threw her hands up in surrender. “You convinced
me.”

“Yay!”
Ryder pumped her fist. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

Cato
was skeptical. “I’ll withhold judgment on that matter.”

Giving
them a quick hug, she made it to her vehicle. As she was pulling out, Cato saw
Heath standing on the porch, watching her leave. Damn that man. He had been
hiding from her, she’d bet her life on it. Feeling a little mischievous, she
held up her hand and waved. “Thanks for the dance, cowboy. See you soon.”

Heath
stood up straighter, jamming his hand down in his pocket. That woman was
trouble, nothing but trouble. “Not if I see you first,” he mumbled under his
breath.

CHAPTER THREE

A
week is a long time to wait when you’re looking forward to something.

Cato
had started her new job and been assigned an area and a few topics for her
research. It had always been her contention that history was being forgotten
and lost at an alarming rate. She wanted to do her part to preserve the past
and keep alive as much of the culture of their ancestors as possible. She was
lucky. Being homeschooled, Cato had ‘graduated’ early and had more freedom to
study topics she’d been interested in. History and languages had been her first
love and she’d also studied philosophy and anthropology. Learning had been her
only outlet, since a social life hadn’t been a possibility.

Before
Edith took sick, Cato had dreaded her future. She didn’t want to just walk away
from her mother, but that was what she’d been prepared to do. Cato firmly believed
that if her mother knew what a great gift she’d given Cato in her job, she
would have snatched it back if she had the power. The job and the people she
met at the Culture Center became her salvation. Her work didn’t entail going to
a desk from nine to five. For the first time, Cato was free to travel, meet
people and come and go as she liked—it was amazing. And here, as she had in
Louisiana, Cato spent much of her time on the road visiting libraries, museums,
private homes or the countryside—anywhere and everywhere she could dig up
interesting, relevant facts and relics to be chronicled and preserved for
future generations.

For
example, at the moment she was climbing through a fence, trying not to get her
jeans hung in the sharp barbs. Her destination was Dead Man’s Hole, a gaping
Texas sinkhole which was used during the Civil War as a place to throw the dead
and dying. One known victim was Judge J. R. Scott, but there were at least
sixteen others. A gruesome piece of history, but history nonetheless. The state
had acquired the land it was on and a heavy metal grate covered up the hole.
Cato wanted to see the place for herself. As soon as she climbed from the jeep,
a chill swept over her. The weather didn’t warrant goose bumps, it was warm and
there was no breeze whatsoever. “Spooky,” she muttered as she moved forward.

Scrub
oaks and prickly pears surrounded her and a pathway covered with white rock led
up to the historical marker. The gravel crunched under her feet, Cato could
feel it. A movement to the left caught her eye. It was a hawk diving down to
catch a field mouse. She didn’t stop to read the history carved on the marker,
but rather stepped around it to view the deep cave itself. Now it was covered
by a grate, but Cato knew it was at least a hundred-fifty feet deep with two
offshoots. Dangerous gases once filled the space, which had made exploration
impossible until the 1950s. The grate was necessary to keep people or animals
from wandering near and falling in.

When
she drew near, Cato stopped and let herself feel the past. A large oak once
stood over Dead Man’s Hole, used to hang hapless victims. Rope marks marred its
branches for all to see. Most of those who died here had only committed the
crime of having a different opinion than those who sentenced them to death.

Another
shiver made her tremble. Cato glanced around, but she couldn’t see anything
amiss. There wasn’t another soul in sight. She shrugged her shoulders and
hugged herself. “Guess someone walked over my grave,” she spoke, knowing the
words sounded as unsure as she felt. As she’d been researching the area, an
article about area ghost hunters had caught her eye. They’d investigated Dead
Man’s Hole and supposedly recorded EVP’s, the voices of the deceased caught on
tape. Cato smiled, remembering, because the ghost voices they’d captured had
been more concerned with going to Dairy Queen and getting out of the rain—not a
murderer or a dead Civil War soldier had even shown up. How scary could a ghost
be who just wanted a DQ Blizzard?

Still,
something just didn’t feel right. She got down on her hands and knees with a
flashlight and peered through the hole in the top of the grate. There wasn’t
really anything to see but sharp rocks, a ledge to one side and what looked to
be a never ending inky blackness. She stood up and took out her iPad to make
some notes, concentrating on what could be done to improve the site and make it
more conducive for research and visitors. There was no seating and the rocks a
person had to walk over were large and uneven. Turned ankles and other injuries
were highly possible. The historical marker gave a minimal amount of
information, but Cato thought an interactive marker which could work with a
person’s cell phone would be helpful. It could tie in this site with other
places of Civil War significance.

After
scouting out the territory, she started back to the car and jumped when she
noticed something slither across her path. A snake! Cato froze and let the
reptile go on its own way. Dang, if she wasn’t mistaken, it was a rattlesnake!
A good size one to boot. “Ick, time to vamoose.” There was probably a snake den
down in Dead Man’s Hole. Cato shivered. She was much more afraid of snakes than
ghosts.

Gingerly,
she made her way back to the jeep, watching where she stepped. She refused to
let the snake completely unnerve her. Cato was getting used to being on her
own, but she still didn’t like to encounter wild animals. Gosh, maybe she just
needed to stand her ground and face down big, scary things. Heck, it might work—even
on Heath McCoy.

Just
the thought of the grouchy, gorgeous hunk made her quiver. Last night she’d
fantasized about him and touched herself until she came hard enough to shake
the bed. Cato smiled, wondering if he’d spared her a single thought since they’d
parted. How would he react when he saw her again? She knew how she’d respond to
his nearness—just like the last time—her nipples would swell, her pulse would
pound and her pink parts would tingle with anticipation.

Climbing
into her vehicle, she fastened the seat belt and started the engine. Cato had
one more stop before she headed home for the day and this excursion was to a
place which had fascinated her for years—a location which could potentially be
the lost San Saba mine. Of course the region she wanted to explore might not be
the San Saba mine. After all, it wasn’t called lost for nothing. But she’d
poured over old documents, diaries of men who had gleaned information from
James Bowie and from old Spanish land records.

Of
course, better minds than her had searched for it, everyone from the novelist
O’Henry
to the owner of the Borden milk company. But Cato
felt she had pieced together enough info to make for a grand adventure. Either
way, it would be fun.

The
only problem was that she had to get permission from the current land owners.
Making money off the quest was not her mission. She was much more interested in
the mystery and history itself. Heading deeper into the hill country, she went
down one ranch road after another. The cave complex she wanted to check out
covered a pretty large area and according to the records she’d read, more than
one owner controlled the land. The section she was about to enter was called
The Highlands, a fairly large ranch in the area. It had changed hands several times
during the last hundred years or so. To her chagrin, Cato had been so busy
getting her facts together that she hadn’t traced who The Highlands belonged to
presently. Oh well, she wouldn’t be there long nor would she bother anything.
Surely the property holders wouldn’t mind her just looking around for
educational purposes.

Checking
her map, she returned her gaze to the horizon. The caves in question were north
of the Enchanted Rock formation, but were considered to still be part of the
Llano Uplift, a roughly circular dome of exposed Precambrian rock, primarily
granite. This region was considered the mineral hotbed of Texas and was rich in
many varieties; from quartz to garnets to topaz, to silver and gold, which had
provided a draw since time immemorial to all who hungered to discover buried
treasure.

Gazing
out at the grand scenery, she thought it reminded her of the Moab, Utah area.
The colors were amazing—oranges, reds, pinks, all against a bluer than blue
sky. Spotting some foothills up ahead that looked familiar, she pulled off on
the side of the road underneath a big cedar, parking where the jeep wouldn’t be
easily seen from the road. Casually, she glanced around. There was no traffic,
so she climbed out and locked the door, stuffing her keys in her pocket. Why
did she feel guilty? She wasn’t doing anything wrong, much.

This
time when she crawled through the barb wire she got hung, one of the sharp
prongs snagging her white blouse and scraping the skin of her back. “
Ow
!” she yelped. Wiggling around, she finally got her body
through the strands. If it wasn’t her boobs getting caught, it was her rear
end. Hell, guess this meant she’d have to go on a diet again—not that it did a
lot of good. A giggle of frustration bubbled out. “Whew!”

Cato
stood up and dusted off her jeans, picking off a few grass burrs. Full of
anticipation, she stood and surveyed the horizon. A car whizzed past. Not
wanting to draw attention to herself, she hurried on past a stand of mesquite.
She smiled, wondering why she felt like she was on a stealth mission. She had
to step carefully because the ground was strewn with rocks and a few armadillo
holes. That was the last thing she needed, to step into a hole and break her
ankle. Why, no one would find her here till doomsday! Phone reception in this
neck of the woods was negligible at best.

Glancing
ahead, she saw some outcroppings of rock and her blood pressure escalated.
Maybe this was it! Either way, it was definitely worth exploring. Easing
forward, she saw a small gorge which would be Sandy Creek. In her imagination
she could see settlers panning for gold and if she squinted her eyes she could
see Mexican explorers fighting off a band of Comanche or soldiers with old maps
trying to discover where their predecessors had uncovered priceless veins of
silver or gold.

Cato
was so excited she could hardly walk. Things like this were what she lived for.
Year before last she had helped locate a rusty chest half full of gold coins
buried on a farmer’s swampy land just west of De Quincy, Louisiana. Rumors had
run rampant for years that the old man had unearthed some of Pirate Lafitte’s
treasure and just kept it quiet. Anytime he needed money, he had it. But he
didn’t squander it or flash it around. In the fall when the kids needed new
shoes, he’d take a walk into the swamp with one of his dogs and come back with
a few gold coins. When people would try to follow him, he would walk in circles
and lose them. Since his property was awash in alligators and poisonous snakes
as big as your leg, he didn’t get many trespassers. Couple the wild animals
with the pit bull he kept, Old Boudreaux didn’t get much trouble.

Old
Boudreaux died, however, and his wife and kids had no clue if the story was
true or where the gold was buried, if there was any. The old coot had been
closed mouth about the whole thing. A few months after he passed, his wife
succumbed to pressure to sell and the new owners wanted to know the truth. The
Culture Center was brought in and the research team had included Cato. Lafitte
was another figure she’d studied in depth. And while she didn’t believe any
treasure near De Quincy originated with the infamous pirate, there were a few
more possibilities such as a cache of lost Mexican gold hidden when the
soldiers were on the run from the Royalist army.

Cato
had used her research, offered up a little prayer and set out. The idea that
Lafitte had buried treasure was an intriguing one, but she had concluded that
Jean and his brother Pierre stayed in so much legal trouble that they paid
their fortune out to lawyers instead of burying it in the sand. But her
instincts had paid off. Cato merely found out who got custody of Boudreaux’s
dog. With a little bit of charm, she borrowed him and took him for a walk on
the bayou near the old house place. Sure enough, he’d took off through the
palmettos and flopped over near a sandbar. Cato had been patient and soon the
dog had started digging. She helped. After about a half hour, she’d unearthed a
rusty strongbox full of gold. 

After
the Culture Center had studied the find, the proceeds had been given to the
state of Louisiana and Savannah had personally seen to it that half of the
monetary value was given to Boudreaux’s widow and children. The Mexican minted
gold eagles had dated back to the early 1800s and had been the first of their
kind found in that part of the state. Cato had been proud of the role she’d
played. And now she was after much bigger game.

There
had been talk of lost silver and gold mines around the Enchanted Rock region
ever since legendary Sam Maverick, signer of the Texas Declaration of
Independence, had purchased it in 1844. He was the man whose very name coined
the term ‘maverick,’ since he steadfastly refused to brand any of his cattle.
His interest and belief in the riches of the region found its way into many
books written at that time by speculators and adventurers such as Stephen F.
Austin. Cato had read and digested every scrap of information she could find.
Any mine she found would be stupendous. She didn’t care if there was silver in
it or gold. As long as she could tie the cave back to some of the history of
the area, it would be a notable find.

As
she stepped carefully, watching out for more snakes, she saw something
glimmering in the dirt. What in the world? It couldn’t be this easy—most likely
it was fool’s gold or a piece of buried quartz. Still…