One Fine Cowboy (5 page)

Once Charlie listened to his instructions and left for the barn, Nate stood up. He still needed to call Ray about that bandage for Peach. The little roan mare was half Junior’s size, but she’d cut herself up in an apparent effort to get at the stallion. She was one feisty female—kind of like Charlie. He took a few steps toward the phone, then sat down again.

Things were still flickering around the edges, but at least the throbbing in his forehead was fading a little. Finally, he managed to make the call and drag himself to the sofa without passing out or falling down.

He flicked on the TV. He’d just sit down for a minute—only a minute. Then he’d go check on Charlie.

Animal Planet was on, and he didn’t bother to change the station. They were showing dog agility trials, and he watched a sheltie vault over a fence and crawl through a tunnel at top speed, then leap up onto a table into a down-stay. Pretty impressive.

The dog door thwapped and Buttercup waddled in.

“Watch this, Butt,” he said.

A dog barked on the show and Buttercup plopped down and stared at the screen, watching a saluki leap in graceful arcs through the course.

“See?” Nate said. “You could do that.”

Buttercup turned and grinned, then trotted to the sofa. Placing her front paws by Nate’s feet, she struggled to hoist her bulk up beside him, snorting with effort.

“Or not,” Nate said. He patted the dog’s flat head and sighed. “I guess you’re past that, aren’t you? You’re an old lady now.”

The dog grinned and panted, clearly relieved that she wouldn’t be climbing ladders or jumping through hoops anytime soon.

A documentary on alpaca farming followed the agility trials, and Nate soon drifted off to Magic Panty Land.

He woke with a start when the sun dropped low in the sky and threw a patch of golden light across his closed eyes.

“Shoot.” He looked out the window. Long shadows stretched across the prairie. “Why didn’t you wake me up, Butt?”

Charlie
, he thought. Where the hell was she? For all he knew, she’d done something stupid out there and got herself hurt. And that was the best-case scenario. The woman apparently had a criminal record, for God’s sake. He stood up, tottering a little as pain stabbed into his forehead, and headed for the barn.

He heard her as soon as he cracked the barn door open. She was singing some old blues song, low and slow, in a husky, whiskey-laced alto. It was pretty, and he stopped in the doorway so she wouldn’t see him and quit. He could hear the horses shifting in their stalls, munching their dinner rhythmically, soothed by the sweet, slow song. Heck, it even made his head feel better.

He eased the door shut and snuck around the corner to see what she was doing, then clapped a hand over his mouth before he could call out.

Yelling at her would only make things worse. And things were bad enough.

Charlie stood in the box stall beside Junior, working a currycomb over his bright bay coat as she sang. The open door cast a slash of sunlight across the horse’s face and Junior shifted, the white of one nervous eye showing as he scanned the barn for intruders. Charlie glanced up, her singing stopping mid-note when she spotted Nate.

Junior bobbed his head and pawed the straw with a forefoot. Nate put a finger to his lips and widened his eyes, signaling her to be quiet, but she straightened up and set her fists on her hips in her typical combative stance.

“What?” she said. “We’re fine.”

“Step away from the horse,” he said, holding his hands up in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “Move really, really slow.”

“What are you, an equine security system? ‘Step away from the horse,’” she repeated in a nasal, mechanical tone. She laughed. “I’m not trying to jack your stallion.”

Junior tossed his head and stamped a heavy hoof.

“See?” she said. “You’re making him nervous.”

She turned back toward the horse, tossing her hair. It flared up in angry spikes right in the animal’s face.

Junior stumbled backward. Slamming his rear into the stall door, he lifted his front feet from the straw and lashed out, one heavy hoof striking Charlie’s knee. She grimaced, but she didn’t fall down and she didn’t yell.

“Get out of there. You need to get out,” Nate said, trying to keep his tone level. “He’s dangerous, Charlie.”

Charlie eyed him from the far side of the stall. “He was fine until you got here,” she said.

“He was fine until you got all uppity and tense,” Nate retorted.

“You mean he was fine until you pissed me off.”

The horse whinnied a warning and they both lowered their voices.

“Whatever. We can argue later.” He had to give the woman credit. She had guts. The kick had to have hurt. Her face was pale, and tears stood in her eyes, but she wasn’t about to back down.

Sandi would have passed out by now.

Junior snaked his head out; his lips pulled back from his teeth and he snapped the air inches from Charlie’s shoulder.

“Oh, shit,” Charlie said. She kept her voice soft and calm, making the curse sound strangely out of place. “You might have a point. But I can’t get out, Nate. He’s in front of the door.”

The flickering around the edges of Nate’s field of vision intensified, and he set one hand against the wall for support as he struggled to tamp down his emotions—anger at Charlie for being so cocky and careless, and fear that Junior would stomp her into the straw at any moment. “We’re going to have to calm him down,” he said. “Take some deep breaths. Think good thoughts. Try to send some his way. Maybe talk to him, or sing. He seemed to like your voice.”

Charlie glanced at Nate, then flicked her eyes back to the horse. He was breathing hard, trembling slightly, and his eyes were wild.

“A green meadow,” she said softly, letting her voice drop into the low tone of her singing. “Grass, waaaaving in the sunshine. Yummy grass. Mmmm.”

Junior stamped a foot and shuddered.

“No fences,” she murmured. “Miles and miles of hills. You can gallop up and down. Up and down.” Her voice was low and slow, mesmerizing. Nate’s headache was starting to ease, but Junior only snorted.

“A mare,” she said. “She’s beautiful.” She drew out the word like it tasted good. “She has a nice round rump. A perky tail.” Nate’s eyes shifted down to Charlie’s own perky rump as she took a step to the right. The horse shifted slightly away from the stall door. “She likes you, Junior. That mare really likes you.”

Junior tilted his head to one side and blinked, swiveling his ears forward with interest. Something in Charlie’s voice had struck a chord.

“Put your hands behind your back,” Nate said. His tone echoed hers, gentle and slow. “You’re less of a threat that way. Now don’t look at him, and don’t face him. Angle away from him a little bit.”

Charlie did as she was told, moving a little stiffly.

“Good. You’re doing great,” Nate said. “Now breathe down your nose. You’ve seen horses greet each other? Like that.”

Charlie expelled a shaky breath.

“Easy,” Nate said. “Do it slow.”

Charlie breathed out again, smoothly. Junior stretched his neck toward her, but slower this time, and whuffled the air in front of her face. Charlie responded, leaning toward him, her eyes half closed, black lashes brushing her pale cheeks, her lips slightly parted. She seemed totally immersed in the moment.

Nate caught his breath. They were two of a kind, he thought. Both full of fight. In Junior’s case, it came from fear.

He wondered where Charlie’s combativeness came from.

She took a cautious step forward and the horse mimicked her, bridging the gap. Finally, the two of them stood face to face, sharing breath, Charlie’s nose almost touching the stallion’s muzzle. Her eyes were bright and Nate held his breath, praying she wouldn’t speak and break the spell.

She didn’t.

Nate held his breath as Junior turned his head and explored Charlie’s ear with his soft, mobile lips. She backed up a step and the horse followed, fascinated by this strange being. A few more steps and his hindquarters swung away from the stall door.

“Now,” Nate breathed. “Just ease over and open it real slow. Don’t move too fast.”

“He’s okay now,” Charlie said. “It’s okay.”

She slowly lifted her hands from behind her back and stroked the horse’s neck. It wasn’t a smart move, but Nate could understand it. Communicating with another species could dissolve your rational side, make you act from impulse—like an animal.

Fortunately, Junior didn’t mind. He continued his exploration, working his way down Charlie’s neck, mumbling her shirt collar between his lips. Charlie smiled.

Sandi would have run away screaming by now,
Nate thought.

“I can finish up, I think,” Charlie said. “He’s okay now.”

He couldn’t believe it. She was looking around for the currycomb.

“No,” he said. “Listen to me. Get out of the stall. Please.”

“But look. He’s fine.” She rubbed Junior’s chest and he stepped forward, hanging his big head over her shoulder and leaning into her.

“He’s a big baby,” she said, stroking his neck.

Nate stared at the tiny woman struggling to stand under the weight of the horse’s affection.

“Okay,” he said. “I give. You win. You’re good with animals. If I had a gerbil, I’d give it to you. Just please, please get out of the stall. Please.”

Charlie ducked out from under Junior’s head and limped toward the gate, giving the horse a quick good-bye kiss on the tip of his muzzle. Nate half-expected the horse to flare up again, but Junior only blinked.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly as she stepped out of the stall. “But he’s hard to resist.” She stepped through the gate, then turned back toward the horse. “You’re just a hunka hunka burnin’ love, aren’t you?”

As she closed the gate, Nate’s dizziness returned. It might have been the head wound, or it might have been relief at Charlie’s escape. When he grabbed her shoulders as she turned toward him, he realized it might have to do with something else about Charlie. She met his eyes boldly, amused by his stern expression and still elated by her encounter with the horse.

Nate shook her slightly, his mouth working, trying to form the right words. Part of him wanted to yell at her for being so reckless. Another part wanted to praise her for her courage. And another part—the biggest one, he had to admit—wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her until she felt as dizzy as he did.

Charlie smiled up at him and laughed, her eyes bright with triumph. A picture of what could have happened, of her body bruised and broken in the stall, flashed through his mind and he pulled her close, squeezing her in a quick, hard hug. She squeezed back with surprising strength, and he felt her heart pounding against his chest.

“Oh, he’s beautiful, Nate,” she said, her breath warm on the side of his neck. “Did you see…”

He took her hand and dragged her down the alleyway, away from Junior’s stall. She stumbled behind him, but she didn’t resist. Once they reached the door, he turned and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her out to arm’s length. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said, giving her a slight shake. “You knew from this morning how he could be. You could have been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t, was I?” Her eyes gleamed triumphantly. “Who’s the horse whisperer now, cowboy?”

“There’s more to it than that,” Nate growled.

“Oh, that’s right. I’m not a horse whisperer. I’m just a dumb girl, all clothes and makeup, right?” Charlie said. “And Junior’s vicious.”

“Hey, I never said you were dumb,” Nate said. “It’s just that you’re not used to horses, and you don’t know…”

“I didn’t know Junior was dangerous,” she said. “That’s what I didn’t know. And that’s why I could handle him.” She folded her arms. “If I’d believed that, I’d have been nervous, and I probably would have gotten hurt.”

“No,” Nate said. “You would have stayed away from him.”

She narrowed her eyes and hardened her expression. “You think I stay away from everything that’s dangerous? Think again.”

Nate backed away. Maybe it was the woman who was dangerous.

“No wonder he’s bad,” she said. “And no wonder Sandi left you. They’re just living up to the labels you go slapping on everything. She’s girlie, and Junior’s vicious. What’s Buttercup? Stupid?”

His head was spinning, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the concussion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“If you label things, they’re liable to perform right up to your expectations.”

“I don’t label things.”

“You labeled me. City girl, all hair and makeup. Well, I just cleaned up your monster killer stallion for you.” She tossed her head, and that crazy hair flared up again. “Label me now.”

Charlie planted her feet solidly on the barn’s worn floorboards, daring Nate to contradict her. Her face felt warm, flushed with excitement from the encounter with the horse.

Nate stared back, meeting her eyes with his own steely glare, and suddenly she felt an electric current flow between them—a deep, primal connection not unlike what she’d felt with the horse, but with an additional component she didn’t want to identify. She stepped forward, lips parted, then caught herself and looked away. It broke the bond, but the moment remained, throbbing between them like a promise.

Nate’s gaze dropped from her face and swept up and down her body, assessing every detail like a wealthy buyer at a livestock auction. She felt herself come alive under his scrutiny and wondered if he was noticing her bone structure, the length of her legs, the swell of her breasts.

She gave herself a mental slap.
Cowboy
,
she told herself.
Stupid cowboy.

But wasn’t that a label too?

That was different, she told herself. Sometimes you had to label things. You had to remind yourself of the facts when your impulses got the better of you. Sometimes a label was all that stood between you and sure disaster.

Because any connection between her and this cowboy was sure to end badly. They had nothing in common. Nothing. She was educated and determined to finish her degree. He obviously knew horses, and as a rancher, he was probably well versed in weather and crops and agriculture—but he was hardly dedicated to higher learning. She was sociable, loving parties and get-togethers with her girlfriends. He seemed perfectly content to commune with the horses and the sagebrush—anything that didn’t require words. Sure, there had been something between them for a minute there—a visceral connection, man to woman—but you couldn’t base a relationship on sexual attraction.

Sometimes it was fun to try, though.

Nate’s eyes finished their exploration of her finer points and rose to meet hers. She could feel him fishing for the connection, but she closed her heart and glared.

“So what am I now?” she repeated, hands on hips.

“Hm,” he said, putting a finger to his lips and squinting, pantomiming deep thought. His eyes widened when he hit the answer. “Pissed off?”

Charlie laughed in spite of herself. “You got that right.”

The tension drained out of his face, and she could swear the air cooled a little as he rested his shoulder against the wall. With the gauze taped to his forehead, he looked like a hero returning from a war. “And pretty crazy about the monster killer stallion,” he added. “Am I right?”

She tilted back against the wall herself, then glanced over at the tall, dark, handsome horse and smiled.

“Oh, yes,” she said.

“So.” He leaned forward a little, so she had to look up to meet his eyes. “Do you always like them dangerous?”

His tone was quiet, caressing, and she felt her pulse quickening. She could tame him too, she thought, just like the horse—but she shook her head and pushed that notion to the back of her mind. Looking down, she concentrated on sweeping a clear space in the dust and straw-specks with the toe of her boot.

She shrugged. “I guess I do have a thing for the bad boys,” she said. It was true. She always gravitated toward difficult men. That way she could have her fun and walk away unscathed. “That’s probably why I’m still—well, never mind.”

His lips quirked up on one side. “Single?”

She stepped back. “I prefer ‘independent.’”

“That would about cover it,” he said. His voice was low, almost a growl, and she took another step back. She was starting to think he was more dangerous than the stallion.

No wonder mares were so jumpy.

“How’s that knee?” he asked.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Throbbing a little.”

“You want me to look at it?”

“No. It’s fine.” She had some other throbbing parts that might need some attention, though. She wiped that thought out of her mind and pasted a polite smile on her face. “So,” she said. “Are you going to show me how to change that bandage?”

“No,” he said, but there was a note of humor in his voice. “I’ve got enough trouble without getting you and Peach together.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s—a lot like you.”

Charlie cocked her head. So the guy already thought he knew her. “Like me how?”

“Difficult.”

Maybe he did know her.

“And she’s in heat,” he added.

She gave him a sharp look, but he didn’t seem to realize what he’d said.

“Peach can wait ’til tomorrow,” he continued. “And anyway, I already called Ray. We have to leave something for him to do.”

She pouted, disappointed. “But you said—you said I could have your gerbil.”

He laughed. “You’re impossible. And Peach is no gerbil. Besides, it’s dinnertime, don’t you think? How ’bout some turkey and snot? Or maybe something new. I found some macaroni and vomit in the back of the freezer.”

“Mmmm,” she said. “Vomit. My favorite.” She grinned. “Hey, is there someplace around here I can use a cell phone? I need to call my mom.”

“Up the hill behind the barn.” He walked her past the stalls and swung open both halves of a Dutch door. “There’s kind of a path.”

He gestured toward a flat channel where the grass had been pressed down. It wound its crooked way up a gentle slope toward a twisted pine that arched over a weathered park bench. Charlie trekked up the hill, then sat down and dialed home.

“Honey?” Her mother sounded worried. “Did you make it? I thought you’d call yesterday.”

“I should have.” Charlie felt a stab of guilt. She’d promised to call as soon as she reached the ranch. “Sorry. I’ve just been so busy.”

“With the cowboys?”

“No.” Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes. She felt like a teenager again, defending even the slightest encounter with a boy. “Well, kind of. But not in a friendly way. There’s only one, and he’s a jerk.”

“Well, good.”

Charlie laughed. “You’re the only mother I know who hopes her daughter
doesn’t
find a nice guy and settle down.”

“No, I hope you do,” her mother said. “I just hope you don’t do it
now.
Don’t forget The Plan.”

“No worries,” Charlie said. “The guy’s a jerk, the place is a dump, and I can’t wait to get home.”

“I thought this was some kind of fancy dude ranch.”

“So did I. But the brochure exaggerated.” She looked down the hill at the ramshackle barn, with its sagging roof and weather-worn paint. “It exaggerated quite a bit.”

“Have you learned anything?”

Charlie thought about her encounter with Junior. “Yeah, I have, actually.”

“Good. You’ll be bringing back lots of information for your advisor, then?”

“I think so. I’m working on it.”

“Good. That’s what matters. Eyes on the prize, Charlie. Remember that.”

Charlie watched as Nate stepped out of the barn, pushing a wheelbarrow full of straw. He’d taken off his shirt, and Charlie couldn’t help admiring the way the sun glossed the tops of his shoulders and shadowed the muscles of his back.

“I know, Mom,” she said. “Eyes on the prize.”

***

Charlie twisted a soapy sponge into a tumbler while she mooned over the view from the window over the sink. Nate had protested when she set the table with plates and silverware, but she was pretty sure he’d liked eating like a real human being for a change. There was a nice, calm vibe over dinner—a feeling of family.

Not that she knew what family felt like. She’d never really had one—just an absent father and a mother who was always working, always stressed, struggling to raise a daughter alone. Her grandparents had pretty much ignored her since they’d put up a wall of holier-than-thou disapproval between themselves and their wayward daughter. If Charlie had learned one thing from her mother, it was to go it alone. You might love your family, and they might love you back as best they could. But that didn’t mean you could rely on them. It didn’t mean you could trust them to be there when you needed them.

And men? Men were even worse—users and opportunists, intent on their own pleasure, their own goals. Still, it had been kind of nice, sitting across from the table from a man, eating… well, eating macaroni and vomit.

Dinner wasn’t always about the food. Sometimes it was about just sitting down with somebody. Feeling connected.

But she’d feel a lot more connected if they were eating something they could actually look at without making distressing connections between the food and various unpleasant bodily functions. Maybe she could cook something.

She opened the pantry cupboard. It was neater than the rest of the house, with snacks and cereals lined up on paper-covered shelves. There were five different kinds of sugary cereal, several jars of peanut butter, a box of animal crackers, and two containers of Nestlé’s Kwik. The guy ate like a kid.

Hopefully there was something nutritious in the freezer. She opened the top compartment in the ancient fridge and sorted through an assortment of packages wrapped in white butcher paper. If some animal had died to feed Nate, there was no point in wasting the sacrifice. Charlie herself would never eat meat—not ever—but she tried not to be prejudiced against carnivores. They just didn’t know how animals were treated at the factory farms and slaughterhouses that provided their meat. They were uninformed.

Unenlightened.

She peeled back the paper on one packet and stared down at an angry red hunk of frozen flesh. It was obviously some part of a cow. She winced and pulled the paper back over it, reading the description slashed in magic marker across the front.

Brisket.

What the hell was a brisket, and what did you do with it? It looked like the kind of thing you saw centered on a platter, browned and surrounded by potatoes and carrots, but she had no idea how to get to that result. She shoved it back in the freezer and pulled out a slightly smaller bundle.

Another slab of meat. This one was rounder, kind of a bread-loaf shape. She pictured a cow she’d seen once at a PETA protest. Someone had spray-painted lines on it so it looked like the diagrams you see in cookbooks—a walking meat-cutting guide. It had been an effective image, the living, walking beast, with its soft brown eyes, crisscrossed with harsh black lines. The guy leading it had worn an executioner’s costume, with a black hood, and carried an axe decorated with fake blood.

She shuddered and flipped the corner of the paper over.
Boneless Shoulder Roast
, she read.

Boneless shoulder? She’d heard they were breeding genetically altered cows these days, but how did the poor thing walk?

She sighed and pulled out another package.

Ground beef. She never thought she’d be so glad to see an animal chopped up beyond recognition. This she could deal with. She could make spaghetti—with meatballs for Nate and whatever other students might show up.

Because they were bound to show up. Nate seemed confident no one would opt to stay at Latigo Ranch, but he hadn’t seen the brochure. Wherever Sandi had taken those pictures, it had been gorgeous—rustic, yet comfortable, with rough-hewn log furniture and open-beam ceilings.

She glanced around the kitchen, taking in the worn linoleum floor, the scarred countertops, and the chrome dinette set. Then she looked at the wallpaper and felt a rush of happy, homey familiarity. The place definitely worked for her—but the other students were in for a very rude surprise.

***

Nate’s head was pounding by the time he’d finished the after-dinner chores. He practically staggered to the sofa, then fell onto the cushions, letting his head loll on a pillow. Sleep. He needed sleep.

Blessed, blessed sleep.

“You can’t sleep,” said a voice behind him.

Nightmares already?

He turned to see Charlie standing in the doorway to the kitchen. There were times he might call the woman a nightmare, but this wasn’t one of them. Her hair was smoothed down, the spikes calmed to sleek layers, and her face was freshly scrubbed. Without the red lipstick and dark eyeliner, her face looked softer, more approachable.

More kissable.

He chased that thought away. It was totally inappropriate—but he couldn’t help moving his eyes down that body, lured by the pale skin of her bare legs. She was wearing only an oversized white T-shirt that barely covered those mysterious panties, and Nate was sure he could see faint round shadows where the fabric peaked over her breasts.

Damn right he couldn’t sleep. Not after seeing that. He licked his lips, then pulled his gaze back up to her face, flushing guiltily.

“You have a concussion,” she said. She seemed totally unaware of the fact that he’d just stripped that T-shirt off her in his mind, savoring the curves and valleys of the body underneath. Her skin would be smooth, he thought—smooth, warm and yielding.

Totally unlike her personality.

“You can nap for maybe an hour,” she continued, stern as a drill sergeant with a new recruit. “But you need to wake up every once in a while. Maybe you could set an alarm.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, looking away. He could feel himself shifting, stirring with arousal, and he squeezed his eyes shut, calling up Aunt Martha from the depths of his subconscious. “It’s nothing serious.”

She plopped down on the sofa beside him and peered into his eyes. He turned away. He knew what she was looking for, and he knew she’d find it. He’d looked in the mirror earlier, and his pupils were still dilated. But he was fine. In fact, judging from the way his body was responding to the sight of Charlie in her skimpy nightclothes, he was perfectly healthy.

She reached up and took his head between her hands, turning his face toward hers. Her eyes met his with an intensity that set his pulse to pounding, and he could swear his temperature spiked a good three degrees. Maybe she was only looking for concussion symptoms, but it felt like she was looking deep inside him, searching his mind—maybe even his soul. He swallowed hard, wondering if she could see his thoughts: The faint outline of Aunt Martha, fading behind an ever-changing series of images. Images of Charlie, naked as she stood there in the doorway. Naked on the sofa. In his bed. In his arms. On his lap.