How to Rope a McCoy (Hell Yeah!) by Sable Hunter

dancing with
another man who resembled the McCoys , but he wasn’t
the handsome devil she’d spied earlier. Hmmmm , now
where could he be? Her eyes perused the crowd, looking for him. Thinking about
how broad his shoulders were and how she’d love to knead the hard muscles, Cato
couldn’t be still. She moved a little bit to the beat of the music, aware of
the vibrations from the drums and the bass guitar. Helping out was great, but
she longed to mix and mingle. Darn, it was hot. She twisted her hair into a
knot and secured it with a piece of blue ribbon she’d placed in the pocket of
the apron tied around her waist, protecting the pristine gown from splashes of
red punch. 
    Behind
her, Heath asked, “Can I have something to drink, ma’am?”
    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.
    “Huh?”
    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.
    Oaf.
    “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.
    WHOOSH!
SPLAT!
    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?”
    “Ha!”
Heath threw back his head and laughed. “You might not be able to handle the
genie that comes out of that bottle, baby.”
    Licking
her lips, Cato let out a long breath. “I’d like to try.” Gasping, she covered
her mouth. This talking out loud