One Fine Cowboy (13 page)

“A mustang?” Nate took a deep breath and tried to nod, but something in Charlie’s trusting gaze wouldn’t let him do it. “Not really,” he said. “He’s not wild, just difficult.”

Shoot.
He cursed himself silently. He’d planned to convince her Razz was a genuine wild pony, but she looked so serious, so sweetly enraptured, that he just couldn’t trick her like that. Besides, he was lousy at lying. He’d get found out sooner or later anyway.

“He’s just a troublemaker,” he said. “But you’ll use the same techniques to calm him that you used on Junior the other day. Only today we’ll go one step farther.” He handed her a woven rope hackamore. His fingers brushed hers and a thrill zipped up his arm and headed for the danger zone. Swallowing, he bent his focus to the task at hand. “Once he quiets down and lets you touch him, see if you can get this over his head. The knot goes under his chin, okay?”

“Okay.” Charlie took a deep breath and stepped inside the stall.

Nate almost laughed as Razz scampered away. The paint had a wicked sense of humor that had tried Nate’s patience from day one, but Charlie had learned her lesson well. She held the hackamore behind her back, moving slowly the way she had with Junior. The horse stretched his neck out and sniffed the air in front of her face with the delicacy of a wine connoisseur, lifting his lips up over his front teeth in his trademark smile.

“Oh, he’s a character,” Doris whispered.

Charlie and the horse stood nose to nose for half a second before the paint bunched his hindquarters beneath him, planted his hind feet, and spun to the other side of the stall.

“Get him to do that with a rider on him and you’ll have yourself a reining champ,” Doris said.

“He has his days,” Nate said. “Good ones and bad ones.”

“I’ll bet,” Doris said. “Looks like this is one of the bad ones—for humans. The horse is sure having a good time, though.”

Nate had to agree. Razz was thrilled to find a new playmate, and he led Charlie around and around the stall before allowing her to stroke his long nose and bring the hackamore out from behind her back. She let the horse sniff it before slipping it neatly over his head.

“I did it!” Her eyes sparkled. “How was that?”

“Great,” Nate said. “I think he likes you. He’s usually a pretty tough customer.” He tugged on the reins dangling from the bosal and Razz shied, dancing a little two-step at the barn door as if he didn’t want to go outside. It was another one of his usual games.

“Come on, buddy, let’s—hey,” Nate said, glancing over at the stall by the door. “Where’s Boy?”

The stall that had held the black gelding the night before was empty. Nate hadn’t put him out this morning; he’d been planning to use him to show what a well-trained cutting horse could do.

“He must have gotten out,” Charlie said.

Nate scowled. “Right. And then he closed the stall door behind him.”

“Uh-oh,” Charlie said. “He was the black one, right?”

Nate nodded, his face grim.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Doris asked.

Charlie nodded. “Yup. That black horse matches Phaedra’s outfit, doesn’t he? How much you want to bet the Ghoul of Goth took herself for a little ride?”

Before Charlie had time to answer, Nate flipped the reins over Razz’s head and grabbed a handful of mane. Vaulting smoothly onto the horse’s back, he spun the animal once, then twice, finally pointing him toward the open fields.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he brought the horse under control with a slight tug of the reins. “Clinic’s postponed,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Geez,” she said. “I thought you said he was difficult.”

“He knows I need him,” Nate said, touching his heels to Razz’s flanks and launching the horse like a rock from a slingshot.

Nate bent over the horse’s neck and urged him on. He couldn’t remember being this pissed off, ever. That little creep had basically stolen Boy—a horse that didn’t even belong to him. If anything happened to the black, Nate was in deep trouble. Even for a seasoned rider, there were dangers out there on the open plains. If Boy stepped into a prairie dog hole, he could break a leg.

This was all Sandi’s fault. She probably thought running a clinic was as easy as the ones you saw on TV, where a smiling trainer coached a cooperative group of experienced riders on the finer points of horsemanship. Instead, she’d managed to get him a gang of greenhorns who couldn’t even sit straight in the saddle.

Well, not really. Doris was obviously experienced with horses, and Charlie did have a gift, even if her riding skills were pretty much nonexistent.

She had a gift for something else too. He tensed as he remembered the night before, how she’d warmed and writhed, responding to his touch. He’d never forget that night, but he needed to change the way he thought about it. She obviously hadn’t given him her heart—just her body.

And apparently, it was a limited-time offer.

He needed to calm down. Get a grip before Razz picked up on his tension. Gently, he pulled to a stop and scanned the horizon, stroking the horse’s neck. As he calmed the horse, the horse calmed him. It was a give-and-take that had worked for him all his life.

His gaze swept right, then left, then right again, and paused. There. He shaded his eyes, focusing on a black dot in the distance that was climbing one of the ranch’s rolling hills.

“There’s your buddy, Razz,” he said. “Let’s go get him.”

He clicked his tongue and Razz danced into a sprightly jog, then lifted into a pounding lope, angling across the field to cut off the distant rider.

It took them a good twenty minutes to catch up to Boy and Phaedra. To her credit, the girl pulled up when she saw them coming; Nate had been worried she’d take off and lead him on a chase, and he wasn’t sure Razz could outrun the spirited Boy.

“I guess you want me to come back now,” Phaedra said, pouting.

Nate bit back six or eight swear words and replied as mildly as he could.

“Yeah, let’s go back,” he said. “And then I’ll call the sheriff and have your ass hauled off to jail for horse stealing.” He reached over and grabbed Boy’s reins just below the snaffle bit. At least the girl had used the right bridle.

“I can ride him,” Phaedra said. “I’ll follow you.”

Nate ignored her, flipping the reins over the horse’s head and clenching them in his fist. Wordlessly, he turned back toward the ranch, leading Boy at a slow walk with Phaedra sulking in the saddle.

The teenager sat the horse like some bizarre equestrian ghost. She’d left the stirrups pulled up and was riding with her knees up around the horse’ withers like a racehorse jockey. To make matters worse, she’d taken the time to put on her full Goth trappings, makeup and all. She looked like something out of a Tim Burton movie. Maybe the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse, if the Fifth Horseman was a misfit teenager.

Maybe they all were. That would explain the Apocalypse.

“I don’t know why you’re so pissed off,” she mumbled. “It’s a riding clinic, right? I just went for a ride.”

“On a horse that isn’t yours. Or mine. This is a customer’s horse. You mess him up, I’m the one who pays.”

They plodded on in silence, Nate staring straight ahead, his jaw painfully clenched. It was all he could do not to turn around and knock her off the horse.

“You’re a spoiled brat,” he muttered.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Phaedra said. “I’m spoiled. That’s why I spend every minute I’m not at school alone in my mom’s shitty apartment, watching my dad on TV while she’s off with her latest beau. That’s what she calls him. Her beau.” She snorted. “Beau-beau the clown, that’s what I call him. He wanted me gone, so he told her she ought to get my dad to pay for this camp. So now you’re stuck with me. And you hate me too.” She sniffed, and Boy caught her agitation, prancing sideways a moment before a glance from Nate settled him down. “Figures.”

“So your dad’s on TV? What is he, a newscaster or something?” Nate asked.

“Or something. Why do you care?”

Nate didn’t answer, just stared at the route ahead through the space between Razz’s ears. Beau-beau wasn’t the only one who wanted this kid gone.

“Where do you live?” he finally asked, thinking he’d find her mother and send the kid packing.

“L.A.,” Phaedra said. “We used to live out in the Valley, but then my mom decided she needed to live in the city. More opportunity, she said.” She snorted. “She says she’s an actress, but she’s never worked a day in her life. Her idea of an ‘opportunity’ is finding a new sugar daddy to sleep with.” She sniffed again and wiped her nose with the back of one black-nailed hand. “Guess my dad wasn’t good enough for her.”

“Maybe she didn’t really love your dad,” Nate said. “Sometimes relationships are complicated.” The comment surprised him. What was he, Dr. Phil all of a sudden?

The kid snorted. “Everybody loves my dad. Besides, when we lived in the Valley, I had a horse and everything. Well, a pony, anyway. Then Mom left and fucked it all up.”

“Watch your language,” Nate said.

“You don’t mind when Charlie swears,” she said.

“Yeah I do. I just don’t say anything because she’s not a kid.”

“Yeah, and ’cause you like her. But you hate me. Everybody does, because I’m such a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” Nate said. The kid’s self-hate was starting to worry him. “You just dress different. It’s like you try to look weird.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than being pretty,” she said. “This way, people leave me the hell alone.”

Nate glanced back at Ghoul Girl. She was staring down at the horse, petting it, fondling its mane. Her eyes were bright with tears, and in that moment, she looked almost human. Like somebody’s daughter. Somebody’s child.

But most kids wanted to be pretty. Most kids didn’t want to be left alone.

Unless…

“Does he bother you? That Beau, or whatever his name is, does he…?”

Phaedra shrugged. “I just don’t like the way he looks at me. He never did anything.”

Nate’s anger deflated like a punctured balloon. He didn’t like this kid, but that’s what she was—a kid. He thought of Sam, down in Denver. For all he knew, his own daughter could be traveling the same road as Phaedra—living in some apartment with Sandi, gradually growing into a bitter teen while Sandi brought home men she barely knew and chased all those dreams she claimed he’d killed.

He pictured his daughter grown tall, dressed in Phaedra’s ghoulish getup, giving him that cold, hard-eyed stare that had seen way too much.

It could happen, he realized. Without him there to protect Sam, anything could happen. He had to get her back.

And that meant dealing with Sandi.

He tamped down the thoughts of Charlie that had been smoldering in the back of his brain. He’d been tempted to protest this morning when she passed off their union as a non-starter. Hell, he’d felt like falling to his knees, right there in the barnyard, and begging her to give him another chance. Her kisses, her passion, the stunning surprise of it, the way it made him feel—she’d made him realize what it was like to be with a woman who actually wanted him.

But she didn’t want him—not for good. It was just a fling. What had she called it? “Crazy, hot, gotta-have-it sex.”

That’s all it was.

And that was all it could be. After all, they’d known each other less than a week. Nate had never been a believer in love at first sight, and yet he’d let this woman’s exotic looks and spunky manner go to his head like a teenager with his first crush. It was crazy. Irresponsible. He had a daughter to raise, and he needed to be careful who he brought into her life. After all, “flings” didn’t stick around. “Flings” went away, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind them. He couldn’t let that happen. Not to him, and especially not to Sam.

He needed to stay away from temptation—away from Charlie—and concentrate on Sam. He’d get hold of Sandi as soon as he got back. Talk her into bringing his daughter home. There had to be something his ex wanted—something she hadn’t already taken. He’d give her anything if she’d just let him keep Sam.

He’d even give up Charlie.

Charlie commandeered the rusting gas grill and played chef that night, flipping burgers and trying not to watch Nate too much. Doris was doing her best to stir up a little cookout camaraderie, but getting a conversation going with Phaedra was kind of like getting Butt to play fetch. Charlie had tried to give the dog some exercise that afternoon, throwing a tennis ball over and over, then plodding after it while the dog lay grinning and panting in the grass.

Doris lobbed a few conversational volleys onto the dinner table, trying to get the girl talking, but she wound up mostly talking to herself while Charlie and Nate avoided each others’ eyes and Phaedra stared at her plate. The girl had been eerily silent all through Nate’s demonstrations that afternoon.

“Wow,” Charlie said as she cleared the table. “Those were, without a doubt, the best veggie burgers I’ve ever had.” Usually the frozen ones were a gluey amalgam of unidentifiable soy products. These had been tasty, crisp on the outside and seasoned just right. “We need to get some more of those. Quick, before they run out.”

Nate pushed back his chair. “I doubt they’ll have many takers for them,” he said. “This is beef country.”

“They were good,” Phaedra said, her eyes on her lap. “Thank you.”

Charlie cocked her head and studied the teenager. The girl was utterly miserable, her black getup obviously in sync with her psyche. Charlie’s heart ached for the girl, but the most important thing right now was to keep everybody safe—humans and horses. They couldn’t risk Phaedra taking off again. So she’d lit into the girl, chastised her to within an inch of her life. It seemed to have worked—maybe a little too well. The girl was all manners and no personality, trotting out her pleases and thank-yous like a brainwashed debutante.

“Help me with the dishes,” Charlie said impulsively, grabbing Phaedra’s hand and pulling her up from the picnic bench. Phaedra looked stunned, fixing her with those cool gray eyes as if considering a life-or-death decision, then nodded, biting her lower lip.

They cleared the table in silence, but once they were alone in the kitchen, Phaedra turned to her with urgency in her eyes.

“Nate won’t tell my dad, will he?”

“Tell him what?”

“About me taking the horse, or—or anything.”

Charlie cranked the faucet on hot and glanced over at her helper. The gray eyes were no longer expressionless. They were panicked. “I won’t tell,” Charlie said. “But Nate probably will. He was ready to send you home.”

Phaedra gathered the silverware in her fist and let it clatter into the sink. “Don’t send me home.” Her voice was shaky and piped up an octave on the next words. “Please. I don’t want my dad to know I’m not—I’m not
good.
”

“Okay,” Charlie said soothingly. “And you’re not bad, hon. You just made a bad decision.” She’d found Phaedra’s weakness. As long as she feared they’d talk to her father, she’d behave. “We won’t call your dad.”

We.
She’d done it again. There was no “we.” There was just her, all on her own, driving straight toward the future she wanted.

No detours. No passengers.

She rinsed a plate, then handed it to Phaedra, who slipped it into the dishwasher.

“But he’ll be here tomorrow,” Phaedra said. “If he’s on time. Mom says he’s late a lot, if he even shows up at all.” She ducked her head. “I hope he doesn’t. Nate’ll probably tell him, and then he’ll hate me too.”

“Your dad’s coming here?”

The girl nodded. “He thought we could, like, bond over this horse training thing.”

“Sounds good to me,” Charlie said. “I mean, you like horses, right? It should be fun.”

Phaedra nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m just nervous. I don’t know my dad very well.”

Charlie scrubbed the next plate a little harder than necessary, avoiding her helper’s eyes. “Well, at least you know him,” she said. “I never knew mine.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not really.”

“But you seem so, you know, sure of yourself. I thought that would’ve come from your dad.”

Charlie almost laughed. Whatever had happened to her parents’ relationship, it hadn’t been her dad who was the strong one. Charlie wondered sometimes if he’d really left on his own, or if her spunky, smart-mouthed mother had run him off.

“So what’s your dad like?” she asked.

Phaedra shrugged. “He’s a cowboy.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Another one,” she said.

“Yeah. Cowboys are so not cool,” Phaedra said. “I wish he was a rock star, or a Mafia don or something. That would be so much better.”

“Yeah?” Charlie almost laughed at the thought of Phaedra as a Goth Mafia princess. The rock star thing would fit, though. Except she’d probably end up like that Osbourne chick, a poor little rich girl flailing around for her own identity.

“Well, at least he can probably ride,” Charlie said. “That’ll make Nate happy.”

“I don’t know.” Phaedra shoved a knife and fork into the dishwasher’s flatware basket. “Mostly my dad just pretends to be a cowboy. I don’t think he’s really that good.”

Charlie sighed. Wannabe cowboys were probably even worse than real ones. “How often do you see him?”

Phaedra shrugged. “It’s been a while,” she said. Her eyes lit on the countertop, on the window—everywhere but Charlie’s inquiring eyes.

“How long?” Charlie asked.

“I think I was five,” Phaedra mumbled. “I don’t really remember.”

Charlie almost dropped the dish she was washing. “You haven’t seen your father for ten years?”

Phaedra shrugged. “My mom and I do okay,” she said. “We don’t need him.” She delivered the line with a singsong quality that told Charlie she’d said it many times before. And no wonder, Charlie thought. She’d had ten years to practice it.

Ten years to build up a defensive façade against the fact that her father didn’t give a crap about her. No wonder Charlie felt such a kinship with the girl. They were wearing matching suits of emotional armor.

“I’m sure you do fine,” Charlie said fiercely. “No woman needs a man like that. But you deserve better.” She put her damp hands on Phaedra’s shoulders and turned the girl to face her, looking in her eyes. “You deserve much, much better, okay? You’re smart, and you’re your own person, and a real father would be proud to have you.”

“You think?”

Charlie went back to the dishes. “I
know
,” she said. She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. As if this wasn’t a topic that had haunted her own childhood. “It’s just how men are. They don’t love like we do.” She handed Phaedra another plate. “That’s why you have to be able to rely on yourself.”

They finished the rest of the task in silence, but something between the two of them had shifted. When Phaedra slid the last spoon into the dishwasher, she turned to Charlie and actually smiled. It was a wan smile, sort of a sad clown thing, but it was better than her usual scowl. Charlie smiled back. For some weird reason, she kind of liked this kid.

“Do you think I should apologize to Nate?” Phaedra asked.

“Yes,” said a voice behind them. It was Nate, tramping into the room, Butt trailing close behind.

“Okay.” Phaedra took a deep breath, but she never got any further. A car horn blared outside, sounding a sharp nasal root-a-toot-toot, and Charlie whirled toward the window at the familiar sound.

It was her Celica. Her adorable little red Celica, miraculously healed of its wounds. It stood out against the gray and brown dullness of the ranch like a ruby in the dust, its wide, unblinking headlights fixed on the horizon like it couldn’t believe where it had ended up.

“My car,” Charlie whispered. It should have looked good to her. She was free to go now—free to leave Latigo Ranch and all its problematic denizens behind. Free to run away before her feelings for Nate got the best of her.

But for some reason, the sight of her car gave her a heavy feeling inside, as if she’d swallowed a rock.

She glanced over at Nate to see how he was taking it. He looked like he’d swallowed the same stone.

“Ray,” he muttered. “He must have gotten it fixed somehow.” He surveyed the clean kitchen counters, the floor, the ceiling—everything but Charlie’s face.

Charlie stepped to the front door in time to see a child leap from the car almost before it came to a full stop and rocket toward the house, flailing heels kicking up dust. She turned to Nate. “He’s got someone with him,” she said over her shoulder. “His daughter, maybe.”

The color drained from Nate’s face. “His… oh,” he said. He looked totally shocked. Scared, even. “His
daughter
?”

The door swung open and a miniature redheaded tornado spun into the room like a swirl of autumn leaves, pausing a moment at the door, then rushing over to Nate and enveloping him in a storm of affection.

“I’m back,” it squealed. “I came back!”

Nate let out a noise, something between a grunt and a sigh, and the color flooded back into his face as he dropped to his knees and embraced the child.

The hurricane subsided a little, slowing enough to reveal a pale, freckled child with Nate’s gray eyes, a tousled head of fervently auburn hair, and a grin the size of Latigo itself. Even if Charlie hadn’t seen the key fob, she’d know this was Nate’s daughter. The eyes were a dead match.

“I missed you,” she squealed. “What happened to your head? How’s Peach? Grandpa said she hurt her leg. How’s Butt? Who’s that lady? Why is that girl dressed funny? Are you glad I’m back? You have flowers on the table! Thanks, Daddy! Did you pick ’em yourself? Did you know I was coming?”

Nate wrapped the child in a bear hug, burying his face in her hair. He didn’t answer her questions. He didn’t speak at all. He just closed his eyes and clasped the child close, swaying gently from side to side as he held her. Charlie thought she saw his lips moving, as if he was praying.

Charlie watched through a blur of rising tears. Glancing over at Phaedra, she realized the girl was having the same reaction. Not all men were the same. There were fathers who loved their children. There were men who would never walk away—not willingly. The proof was right there in front of them.

Oblivious to Nate’s emotion, the tornado pulled away from him and whirled toward the door.

“Can I go see Peach?” she asked. “I missed Peach too.”

“Sure,” Nate said. He looked a little bewildered—shell-shocked, almost, Charlie thought.

The little cyclone spun outside, almost trampling an older man who was just stepping up onto the porch. Sweeping off a battered cowboy hat, he turned and gently slapped at her receding form, grinning at Nate.

“Surprise,” he said, running a hand through his grizzled hair and setting the hat, crown down, on the table.

Nate stared out the door, still looking dazed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Surprise. What the hell is going on?”