Cowboy for Keeps (2 page)

Not that Dallas blamed Conner for avoiding any discussion of
her former fiancé. Richard had been retained and awarded a raise while Conner
was let go. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t harbor a grudge.

“I always love coming here,” she said as they drove past the
rodeo arena with its bucking chutes, bleachers and livestock holding pens. A
group of men were practicing on their cutting horses, separating calves from a
small herd and driving them one by one into a pen. Correction, several men and
two women, Dallas observed upon closer inspection.

She wouldn’t mind getting pictures of the women. Maybe she’d
ask Conner to stop briefly on their way out if the group was still
practicing.

“Not too much happening this time of day.” Conner aimed the
truck onto a long, straight dirt road, at the end of which were the pastures
where the mustangs were kept. “If you want some photos of calf roping or bull
riding, there should be a decent turnout tonight. Guys practicing for tomorrow’s
jackpot.”

“Will you be working the jackpot?”

“Yeah. I fill in for Clay during events and on weekends. When
Gavin doesn’t need me.”

Despite her curiosity, she didn’t pressure Conner for details.
Did he enjoy living the cowboy life 24/7 instead of now and then? Prefer it over
the manufacturing plant and the constant mental grind? What had happened to his
girlfriend, the tall, willowy swimsuit model?

“Sage mentioned you’re at the sanctuary almost as much as at
Powell Ranch.”

He cast her a sideways glance. “You talked to her about
me?”

“Only in passing. I was there last week. Taking pictures of the
baby.” Dallas pressed a hand to her stomach as they went over a pothole.

“How’s the documentary photography coming?”

She was surprised he remembered, and flattered. “I’m continuing
to pursue it. In between weddings and family reunions and conventions.”

Being a commercial photographer was her livelihood but not her
passion. She had hopes that the book on Prince and the mustang sanctuary would
launch her artistic career. That and the volunteer photography she did for
several local no-kill animal shelters.

“Don’t forget baby pictures,” Conner added.

“Right.” She smiled, glad the momentary awkwardness between the
two of them had passed. Not only for the sake of the book, which would require
them to spend considerable time together during the next few weeks, but also
because of her fondness for him.

He was fond of her, too, and attracted to her. Still. Dallas
could tell. When they’d first met—she’d been retained by Triad Energy for a
company brochure—there were instantaneous sparks. First, they’d gone on a group
lunch together. Then a happy-hour gathering after work. Their next happy hour
had included just the two of them. It had ended with a kiss that left her
thinking of nothing else for days.

By the end of her two-week project, she’d been completely
smitten and convinced he had all the potential to be the one.

During that same period of time, Richard had also made his
interest in her known. Dallas liked him, but kept him at arm’s length, her
attention focused entirely on Conner. After her stint at Triad was over,
however, he’d stopped calling her so much, then not at all. He cited work and
spending weekends at the office as the reason, and apologized. Dallas had
believed him. She’d heard the employees talking about a potential large contract
and that Conner would be in charge.

After two weeks without a single peep from him, she gave up
hope. Richard’s call and invitation to a movie wasn’t entirely unexpected, and
she’d accepted. The rest, as the saying went, was history.

She’d be lying if she didn’t admit Richard was a rebound
romance. And that she’d occasionally wondered what might have been if Conner
hadn’t become buried in work.

Well, they were both unattached now.

Dallas instantly dismissed the notion. She couldn’t think about
seeing anyone right now, and not for a while. She and Richard had only recently
split. And then there was the matter of—

“Is this close enough?” Conner asked, interrupting her train of
thought.

“Perfect.”

He’d pulled the truck alongside the larger of the three
connecting pastures, not far from a gate. About a hundred yards off, four
mustangs had raised their heads to stare at them. Not completely used to humans,
they were content to stay put and watch. That would change as soon as Conner
removed the bucket of grain he’d brought along.

Dallas hopped out of the truck, grabbing and then discarding
her sweater. It was early October, and, typical for southern Arizona, the
seasons were only now starting to change from summer to fall. The mildly nippy
early-morning air had warmed as the sun rose. By afternoon, they would be
running the air-conditioning in their vehicles.

Standing with the door open, Dallas rifled through her
equipment bag, grabbing her digital camera and two lenses, one a zoom on the
slim chance the horses proved able to resist the lure of a treat. Depending on
the shot, she occasionally used a 35mm camera. A good photographer always
allowed for choices.

She met up with Conner at the gate.

“Wait here,” he instructed. “These ponies are fresh off the
Navajo Reservation and pretty unpredictable. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Dallas started to tell him she wasn’t a novice where horses
were concerned and could handle herself, then reconsidered. Things were
different now, and she’d be wise to practice caution. So she did as instructed
and waited beside the gate, readying her camera.

Conner shook the bucket. That got the attention of the horses,
and they meandered toward him. Dallas raised her camera and studied the scene
through the viewfinder.

These mostly untamed horses were perfect for the book, in looks
and disposition. Despite their shaggy coats, long manes and tails, and compact
muscled bodies, they were extraordinary, and they knew it.

Not just any horse, they carried the blood of their Spanish
ancestors, brought over on ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean nearly five hundred
years ago. It showed in the proud, regal way they held their heads, the
intelligence reflecting in their eyes and the graceful movements of their
bodies.

Dallas was transfixed—by the horses and also by Conner.

He might possess two MBAs and be as smart as a rocket
scientist, but he belonged to this land every bit as much as these mustangs. How
many systems analysts handled a rope as if it was an extension of their arm? Had
an uncanny ability to predict a horse’s next move? Wore their jeans, Western
shirt and cowboy hat with the comfort and ease of a suit?

Conner did.

Except Dallas liked him infinitely better in jeans.

She snapped several pictures of him while he waited for the
mustangs to approach, certain he had no idea he was the focal point of all her
shots.

A mild breeze tousled the lock of unruly blond hair that swept
across his tanned forehead. His hazel eyes narrowed with interest as he studied
the approaching horses. A shade shy of six feet, he had the build of an athlete
despite spending the last six years in an office, and he carried himself with
confidence, completely ignorant of his effect on the opposite sex.

For every hundred or so pictures Dallas took, she might use one
for the book. To that end, she snapped away.

“I want to get a few shots of the baby.” Without waiting for
Conner to reply, she climbed the fence and straddled the top rail, careful to
maintain her balance.

The filly, no more than six months old, cooperated nicely,
turning her sweet face toward the camera. When Dallas went to climb down the
fence, the material of her slacks caught on a piece of wire. She momentarily
wobbled and let out a startled yelp.

“Don’t move!” In a flash, Conner was at her side, assisting her
down.

The horses fidgeted, not entirely happy with this new intruder
on their side of the fence.

When both of Dallas’s feet were firmly planted on the ground,
she looked up and went instantly still. Conner’s nearness, not to mention his
strong hands resting protectively on her waist, brought a rush of heat to her
cheeks.

“Th-thanks. I’m all right.”

“You sure?”

No, she wasn’t. Sure
or
all
right.

“I’m fine. Really,” she insisted, silently scolding herself.
She wasn’t some silly buckle bunny or schoolgirl, and her reaction to Conner was
entirely over the top.

He turned from her in that unhurried manner of his. “I was
thinking, maybe we could grab a cup of coffee at the Corner Diner when you’re
done here. Strictly work,” he clarified, when she didn’t respond. “To go over
what you need to do and how we’ll accomplish it.”

“Of course. Strictly work.” She shoved her disappointment
aside. Conner was right; they needed to maintain a professional relationship.
For many reasons. “Except, if you don’t mind, I’d like something a little more
substantial. I wasn’t feeling like eating earlier, and now I’m starving.”

Twenty minutes later, they made their way toward Conner’s
truck. The ride to Mustang Village, where the diner was located, didn’t take
long. The uniquely designed, equestrian-friendly community had been constructed
on land formerly owned by the Powell family.

Where cattle once roamed, commercial buildings, a retail
center, apartments, condos and houses sat. The slow flowing river remained, but
the lush vegetation growing on its banks had been replaced by a fence and
keep-out signs. Horses still carried their riders across the valley—on bridle
paths networking the area, not the open range.

Powell Ranch, four generations strong, looked down on Mustang
Village from its place on the mountainside, a witness to the wheels of
progress.

“You grew up in this area,” Dallas commented as they pulled
into the diner’s parking lot. “Does it seem strange to you, seeing all the
changes?”

“Sometimes.” He grinned affably. “When I was twelve, Gavin’s
dad started letting me go with them on cattle roundups. The corrals were over
there.” He pointed to the park a block down the street. “The loading station
just beyond them. We’d drive those cows from all over the valley right past this
very spot.”

“What a sight that must have been.” She imagined the pictures
she’d have taken. Hundreds of cows on the move. “I bet you loved it.”

“Are you kidding? It was dirty and sweaty and backbreaking
work.”

“You did love it!”

He grinned again. “The only thing more fun was the night we
captured Prince.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it.”

“For the book?”

She shook her head. “I’m only responsible for the photographs.
I just want to hear any stories you have from the days before Mustang Village
was built. For inspiration.”

They entered the half-empty restaurant and were promptly
seated.

“If I do, you’ll fall asleep,” Conner said, opening his
menu.

“I doubt that. The last thing you are is boring.”

He looked up at her.

When their gazes connected, a zing went through Dallas, half
warm and pleasant, half...

Wow!

So much for keeping their relationship professional.

Was he feeling it, too? Did he also sometimes think about what
might have been?

Attempting to distract herself, she perused the diner’s daily
specials and waited for her unpredictable stomach to protest. It didn’t. Whew.
She wasn’t going to embarrass herself in front of Conner.

After giving their orders to the waitress, he removed a pen
from his shirt pocket and began making notes on a paper napkin. “I was thinking
of Saturday for our trip into the mountains. Unless you have plans for the
weekend.”

“No plans.” She peered at the list he was making, tilting her
head and reading upside down. Water, snacks, twine, a tarp, a map, GPS, first
aid kit, rain ponchos.

“Is eight o’clock too early?” He continued to scribble as he
talked.

“No. I’m up at six most days.”

“Any preference on a mount?”

“Just something broke. Very broke. Like, if there’s a freak
earthquake while we’re out, the horse won’t so much as swish his tail.”

Conner’s brows drew together. “You’re an experienced rider,
aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I’d rather not take any chances.”

“If you’re worried about the trails being rugged, we can always
take the easier ones.”

“It’s not that.” She set her fork down, suddenly nervous.

“What then?”

She hadn’t planned on making any announcements until she
started showing.

“Well.” She mustered a smile while rubbing her damp palms on
her slacks. “I’m pregnant.”

Conner spilled several drops of coffee onto the table before
managing to steady his mug. “Pregnant! Wha...when?”

“When did I find out? A couple weeks ago. And to answer both
questions you’re too polite to ask, yes, Richard knows about the baby and no, we
didn’t discover I was pregnant until after we’d called off the engagement.”

Chapter Two

Twice in one morning Dallas had thrown Conner for a
loop. First, when she’d told him about her broken engagement. Then the really
big bombshell.

She was pregnant. With Richard’s baby.

A hundred thoughts raced through Conner’s head. First and
foremost, there went the possibility of him asking her on a date.

“Do you think it’s wise, riding a horse in your condition?”

“The thought occurred to me, too. What if we took ATVs?”

“Motorized vehicles aren’t allowed in the preserve.” Conner
shook his head. “We’ll cancel the trip. Gavin can find another
photographer.”

“I’m doing this. With or without you.”

He’d forgotten how stubborn she could be when she set her mind
to something.

“I know the book’s important to you,” he stated.

“Honestly, I don’t think you have any idea. Yes, it will
educate people on the plight of wild mustangs. And the profits will benefit the
sanctuary. But this book has the potential to launch my career. Take it to an
entirely new level.” She continued in a gentler tone. “It may also be my last
opportunity before the baby’s born.”

“What if you’d fallen off that fence earlier?” Conner asked.
“You might have been hurt. Or worse.”

“What if you walk in front of a moving car when we leave the
diner? There are no guarantees in life.”

“And no reason to take foolish chances—which riding a horse
when you’re pregnant is.”

“You said yourself we can take the easy trails.”

“Not happening.” He could be as stubborn as Dallas. “And don’t
think you can find someone else. I’ll put the word out. Most cowboys in these
parts are my friends.”

Dallas startled him by reaching across the table for his hand,
slipping her fingers easily, naturally, into his. “I appreciate your
concern.”

Conner stared at their joined hands, unable to tear his gaze
away. The rest of what she said dissolved into a jumble of unintelligible
words.

Her fingers, with their pink-tipped nails, were delicate and
soft as silk. He could imagine them stroking his cheek or caressing his arm.
Imagine lifting her hand to his mouth and brushing his lips across her warm,
smooth skin.

He suddenly straightened, reason prevailing.

She was pregnant. With Richard’s
baby.

He should not, under any circumstances, be having these kinds
of thoughts about her.

“Please, Conner.” Her index finger drew tiny circles on the
back of his knuckles. “There isn’t anyone else I want to work with on this
assignment.”

So much for reason prevailing.

Instead of telling her to stop, he prayed she would go on
indefinitely.

“Does, um, Gavin know about the baby?” he managed to ask in a
hoarse voice.

“No.” The tracing of circles abruptly stopped. “I haven’t told
him.”

“Because you’re afraid he wouldn’t give you the job?”

“I’m only ten weeks along.” She withdrew her hand and squared
her shoulders. “I can do this. My pregnancy will not interfere. And if you’re
considering telling Gavin—”

“I’m not telling him.” Conner picked up his coffee mug. It
didn’t feel anywhere near as nice as Dallas’s fingers. The haze surrounding his
brain, however, had dissipated. “You are.”

“What?”

“Seriously, Dallas. He has a right to know.”

“Are you making that a stipulation of working with me?”

“No. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” He’d also do
whatever was necessary to protect her.

“Except into the mountains.”

“Not until you tell Gavin and he agrees.”

“You’ll let me ride a horse?”

“Hell, no!” His loud response had several heads swiveling in
their direction.

“You just said—”

“We’ll take the wagon. Less jarring than on horseback.”

Her eyes lit up. “I’ve never ridden in a wagon before.”

“We can’t go everywhere we could on horseback.”

“What about the canyon where you captured Prince?”

“I’ll check the maps, verify the trails. We might have to take
a longer route, but we’ll get there.”

She sat back, a satisfied and most appealing grin on her face.
“Thank you, Conner.”

“Promise you’ll let me know if the going gets too rough.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“Taskmaster.” Her brown eyes sparked with delight.

“You have no idea.”

“Right.”

Clearly, she saw straight though him. The last thing Conner
would do was push her, physically or emotionally.

“We’ll find Gavin when we get back to Powell Ranch.”

Dallas made a face. “I have to tell him today?”

“It will take me a while to ready the wagon and the team of
horses. I’m not starting until he gives me the okay. The ranch is liable, after
all.”

“You going to make me get a note from my doctor, too?”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

Dallas grumbled, then dived into her remaining salad, polishing
it off in a few bites, along with the rest of her meal.

Conner watched, forgetting about his coffee. Did all pregnant
women inhale their food? He hadn’t paid much attention to Sage and Caitlin’s
eating habits during their pregnancies.

“I’m not keeping you from your work?” Dallas asked when the
last bit of sandwich had disappeared.

“You heard Gavin. You are my work for the next few weeks.”

“Good.” Rising from the table, she smiled seductively.

Conner waited a moment before snatching the tab and following
her to the front of the restaurant, his legs alarmingly unsteady.

Had she just flirted with him?

No, he must be mistaken. Dallas was always that way, friendly
and outgoing, with a thousand-watt personality. It was the reason men found her
so attractive, Conner included.

Only his interest in her went well beyond casual.

He reminded himself yet again of her current condition and the
man responsible for it. Acting on his attraction would surely result in trouble.
And until Conner’s life was back on track, trouble was the last thing he
needed.

* * *

T
HE
FRONT
DOOR
OPENED
even before Dallas came to a
complete stop in the driveway. Her mother stepped onto the porch and raised a
slender arm in greeting, the folds of her vibrantly colored peasant skirt
hugging her legs. Gold bangles on her wrists and neck glinted, catching the last
rays of a disappearing sun.

The bohemian style of dress was much like the woman herself,
free-spirited and uninhibited.

Dallas grabbed the casserole dish off the passenger seat,
fussing with the loose foil covering it. Purse in tow and dinner contribution
secure, she climbed out of her Prius Hybrid and headed toward the house.

“You’re early.” Marina Camponella stood waiting with open
arms.

Dallas leaned in and let her mother hug her, the most she could
manage with the load she carried. “Mom, you look great.”

“Thank you, dear.” Marina accepted the compliment as she did
most things in life: graciously and humbly. “How are you feeling? Any morning
sickness?”

“It comes and goes, generally without me having to run to the
nearest bathroom. For which I’m grateful.”

“Be happy. Morning sickness is the sign of a healthy baby.” She
gave Dallas’s stomach a quick pat and relieved her of the casserole dish.

They went through the tastefully appointed living room on their
way to the kitchen. Many of the exquisite pieces on display had been crafted by
her mother. A talented sculptress, she’d abandoned a promising artistic career
to marry Dallas’s stepfather, Hank, and raise her two children.

She still sculpted for personal enjoyment, completing only two
or three pieces a year. Teaching at the Horizon School of Art in Tempe took up
most of her time.

Glimpsing her newest piece reminded Dallas that her mother
wasn’t enjoying the fulfilling life she might have if Hank had encouraged rather
than discouraged her dreams.

Speaking of which...

“Where’s Hank?” Dallas asked, draping her jacket over a kitchen
chair and stowing her purse on the counter.

“In the den. Watching the presidential address on TV.”

“Ah.” Dallas rolled her eyes. “I should have guessed.”

“You know Hank and his politics.” Her mother opened the oven,
and the aroma of baking chicken immediately filled the air.

Curry chicken, Dallas could tell. So could her stomach, which
roiled at the prospect of any spicy food.

“I do know Hank,” she mused aloud.

How could she not? She’d spent twelve years living under the
same roof with him. Arguing with him, disobeying him, rebelling against him and
finally just tolerating him until the day she could move out. It wasn’t that she
hated Hank. Not at all. They were simply polar opposites.

Dallas took after her unconventional mother, something her
conservative financial-advisor stepfather didn’t understand. If he had, he
wouldn’t have established such strict rules for two teenagers simply eager to
get their feet wet in a big, wide world.

Real-life blended families, Dallas had concluded, weren’t like
the ones portrayed on TV. They didn’t always, well, blend. Dallas’s younger
brother held a similar opinion and had left home the year after she did.

“Heard from Liam recently?” she asked.

“He’s in Colorado. Mapping a remote part of the national
forest.”

“Sounds exciting.”

Liam had also inherited their mother’s free-spiritedness.
Dallas wasn’t sure he’d ever trade his job as a surveyor for a permanent
address.

Like her brother, Dallas valued her independence, but she also
longed for stability. A husband and children. She believed all things were
possible with the right person.

For the last two years, she had assumed that person was
Richard. Except then they’d called it quits.

Dallas’s mother handed her a stack of plates from the cupboard.
“You mind setting the table?”

“Of course not.”

She didn’t wait for the next item, fetching glasses and
flatware while her mom sliced a loaf of freshly baked bread.

“Hank,” Marina called, then sighed with exasperation. “He can’t
hear me over the TV.”

“I’ll get him.” Dallas made her way to the den, following the
sound of what had to be a news commentator recapping the address. “Hi, Hank,”
she said, stepping into the decidedly masculine room, the only one not decorated
by her mother. “Mom sent me to tell you dinner’s ready.”

“Hey.” He pushed himself up from the recliner, turned off the
TV with the remote control. “I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.”

“Mom met me outside.”

“She loves it when you come to dinner.”

Dallas detected a hint of reproach in his voice. As if she
didn’t already know her visits were too infrequent.

“Work’s piled up lately.”

“You need your rest.” Hank placed a large hand on her shoulder,
the gesture more stilted than affectionate.

It was, Dallas had long ago accepted, the best he could
manage.

“Have you heard from Richard lately?” Hank asked as they
entered the kitchen.

He was fit and tall, and the gray at his temples gave him a
distinguished appearance. Dallas could see how her mother had become enamored
with him.

“He called Tuesday.”

“Today’s Friday.”

“And?”

“I just thought he might check on you more often.”

Dallas automatically tensed. “Why would he?”

Her mother sent Hank a let-it-go warning.

He didn’t heed it. “You’re pregnant.”

Dallas poured iced herbal tea from a pitcher. “I’m only in my
first trimester. It’s not like there’s much change day to day.”

“I’d think, as the father, he’d be more concerned.”

“Richard’s plenty concerned,”

Dallas sat across from her mother, who gave her a
he’ll-run-out-of-steam-soon head bobble in reply. Marina could conduct entire
conversations without speaking a single word.

“He is.” Hank harrumphed in agreement. “Concerned enough to
make an honest woman of you and give his child his name.”

“We’re not getting married.”

The moment Richard had learned about Dallas’s pregnancy, he’d
proposed. Or reproposed, in this case. She’d declined. Her parents had married
solely because Marina was pregnant with Dallas—not for love.

“You could do worse than Richard.”

Dallas bit down, swallowed her retort. She’d come here for
dinner, not to argue with her stepfather.

“Hank cares about you, honey,” Dallas’s mother said in an
attempt to smooth things over. “After all, your pregnancy is nothing short of a
minor miracle.”

“I was supposed to have trouble conceiving, Mom, not
carrying.”

“And yet you did conceive. Without any trouble.” Her face
radiated joy. “When you first told us you had PID, I was so sure you were in for
a tough road. And then so grateful Richard was willing to brave it with
you.”

“He was willing because it meant postponing starting a family.
His job came first with him.”

“He wanted to wait until he was financially secure.” Hank
helped himself to a serving of chicken. “I think that shows responsibility.”

“And you had your budding photography business to consider,”
her mother added.

A bout with appendicitis in college had left Dallas with pelvic
inflammatory disease. Because of scarring on her fallopian tubes, she was told
she’d likely require the assistance of a fertility doctor in order to conceive.
Finding out she was pregnant couldn’t have come as a bigger shock, to her, her
family and Richard.

Terminating her pregnancy or giving her child up for adoption
weren’t options. Dallas was having the family she wanted, simply a little ahead
of schedule. And without a husband. Or a house. Or having become a successful
documentary photographer.

A knot formed in her middle.

“You should give him another chance,” Hank said.