One Fine Cowboy (2 page)

“A thong,” Charlie said, snatching it out of her hand. “It’s so you don’t get panty lines.” She tossed it into the suitcase, but her mom immediately snatched it out and flipped it back into the drawer.

“Don’t you have any
regular
underwear?”

“This
is
regular,” Charlie said, holding up a scanty bikini panty with lace panels in the side. “I like pretty things, Mom. It’s not a big deal.”

“How do you expect to be taken seriously in your career when you dress like that?”

“I’m not going around in my underwear, Mom,” Charlie said, rolling her eyes. “It just makes me feel good to be pretty underneath, you know? And I’ll be wearing jeans and stuff the whole time. I need a little pick-me-up.”

“Just don’t let anyone
else
pick you up.”

“They’re cowboys, Mom,” Charlie said. “I told you. I’m not going to fall for some dumb bronco buster.”

“I didn’t think I’d fall for a football jock either.” Her mom sat down on the side of the bed. “But it happened. And you know what it got me.”

What the football jock “got” Charlie’s mother was Charlie herself. Then he moved away a year later, never to be heard from again. Charlie barely even knew what her father looked like. If she passed him on the street, she’d probably walk on by—and he’d probably run away. He’d never paid a dime in child support.

“Just don’t get involved with anybody until you finish your education.”

“I know.”

“Because men are different. They can just walk away, even from their own child.” She slipped the panty package back into the suitcase. “Men don’t love like we do. Just remember that.”

“Maybe they’re not all like that,” Charlie said. “Maybe there are a few good ones out there.”

“Maybe,” her mom said. “But it’s not worth the risk. Not for you. Not now.”

She set her hands on Charlie’s shoulders and looked her daughter in the eye. Charlie looked up and offered a quick prayer for patience, then met her mother’s gaze.

“What’s The Plan?” her mother asked.

It was their own private catechism, and Charlie had the answers down pat.

“Get my degree.”

“And after that?”

Charlie sighed. “Get meaningful work. Work that fulfills me. Work that helps people.”

“Right.” Charlie’s mother patted her shoulders twice and beamed at her. “Just keep your eyes on the prize, and you’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Charlie said.

“And keep everyone else’s eyes off your underwear.”

“No problem.” Charlie grinned. “They’re cowboys. I’m not interested, and anyway, I’ve heard they only have eyes for sheep.”

Nate eyed the crippled Celica and shook his head. The right front tire was completely flat, angling the front end into a painful twist, and the left rear wheel was perched up on a rock, accentuating the car’s absurd position.

“How were you planning on getting up to the house?” he asked.

“I’m going to walk,” the woman said decisively. “It can’t be far.”

She was unconsciously mimicking the pose of the car, with one hand fisted on a cocked hip and her torso twisted to survey the wide expanse of prairie. She was a tiny little thing, with short black hair hacked into a ragged, choppy shag. She’d rimmed her green eyes in thick black eyeliner, and her lips were painted a deep shade of crimson. Any self-respecting Mary Kay lady would faint dead away at the sight of her, but Nate thought she looked exotic, like a strangely attractive alien from Planet Jersey.

“Ranch house is ten miles that way,” he said, pointing down the road. He looked down at her boots and stifled a smile, picturing her teetering across the rugged landscape in her fashion footwear. “It’s getting dark. Don’t you think you’d better ride?”

“I don’t ride,” she said. “I’ll call the ranch.” She tugged a cell phone out of the back pocket of her painted-on jeans. “They’ll send somebody.”

He watched, amused, as she flipped the phone open and stared in dismay at the “No Service” notice that lit up the screen.

“Shit,” she said.

“Those don’t work here,” Nate said. “And besides, who’s ‘they’? Don’t tell me Sandi made out like we had a staff or something.” He swung a leg over the horse’s back and eased himself to the ground.

“Okay. I won’t tell you.” She glanced over at the car, then flicked her eyes back to him. He followed her gaze and spotted a glossy brochure in the passenger seat. “Live the Western Dream at Latigo Ranch,” it said. Dang. It had Sandi written all over it. He wondered how many more of them were out there.

Sighing, he jerked his stirrups short and looped them over the saddle horn.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Taking Honey’s saddle off. Can I put it in your car?”

“Why? The car’s stuck.”

“Right. And that’s why.” He turned and met her eyes. “Honey’ll carry us bareback, no problem.”

“I told you, I don’t ride,” she said.

“It’s up to you,” he said. “Either you ride, or I leave you here and the coyotes pick your bones.” He shrugged. “Your choice.”

“But I can’t,” she said. “It’s morally wrong, forcing animals to serve us. Nobody has the right to…”

“Look.” He wedged one finger in front of the bit and lifted Honey’s upper lip into a horsey snarl. “See those teeth? And look at those feet.” As if to emphasize his point, Honey stamped one heavy hoof. “She weighs almost a thousand pounds. If she didn’t want to carry me, she wouldn’t.” He stroked her muzzle and she nosed his ribs, snuffling at his shirt. “Honey and I have a deal. I keep her warm and fed and spend a fortune on vet bills, and once in a while she takes me somewhere.”

The woman studied the horse, then turned to survey the featureless expanse of land surrounding them. “Okay,” she said uncertainly.

He heaved the heavy Western saddle into the Celica’s hatchback, then tossed a thick saddle blanket into the front passenger side. The blanket released a puff of white dust onto the black leather upholstery, and the brochure rose into the air and flipped out the car window. As Nate and Charlie watched, it fluttered across the landscape on a gust of wind, resting briefly against a clump of sagebrush, then continued on its random, breeze-blown journey across the plains.

“Oh, well.” Nate hadn’t really wanted to read what Sandi had written anyway. Swinging up onto the mare in one easy motion, he tightened the reins and backed up until Honey stood right next to the car. “Step up on the hood and I’ll help you up.”

Charlie looked down at her boots, then up at Nate. “I can’t. The boots will scratch my car.” He wondered why she cared. The car looked to be ninety percent Bondo and ten percent rust.

“Take ’em off,” he said. For some reason, the phrase summoned up a picture of Charlie Banks taking off a lot more than just her boots. He gave himself a mental slap. Women were nothing but trouble—this one more than most, he was willing to bet. As far as he could tell, she was just a bad attitude in a pretty package.

He’d better keep his wayward imagination under control.

The bad attitude rested her shapely ass on the car’s fender while she jimmied off the boots and tossed them into the hatch with the saddle. Rummaging around on the floor behind the driver’s seat, she found a pair of sparkly flip-flops and slid into them.

“Now, up on the hood,” he said. “Give me your hand.”

“I don’t know,” she said, hoisting herself onto the car. “I don’t even know you.”

His lips twitched again, and this time he let them curl into a smile. “You want an introduction?” He held out his right hand. “Hi, I’m Nate Shawcross.”

“Charlie Banks,” she said. “Nice to meet you.” She reached up for a handshake and yelped as he grabbed her right hand, tucked his other palm under her left armpit, and swept her up onto the horse’s hindquarters in one smooth, practiced motion.

Honey snorted and danced sideways as Charlie flailed her legs and struggled for balance. Nate reached back to steady her and felt some soft, yielding body part give way beneath his hand. Good thing she was behind him, he thought. He could feel his face heating in a blush.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Sure.” She sounded breathless, and he wondered if she was scared of horses.

Maybe she was scared of him.

He hoped so. He wasn’t scared of grizzly bears, rattlesnakes, or charging bulls, but he was definitely scared of women.

“Hang on around my waist,” he said.

She set one hesitant hand on each of his hips. Honey pawed a front hoof and snorted again.

“No, I mean really hang on.” Nate grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms around his waist. She clasped her hands tight, her knuckles whitening. Good thing he was wearing his granddad’s old rodeo buckle. If it weren’t for that two- by three-inch plate of chased silver, she’d have hit the danger zone.

Honey bunched her hindquarters and gave a little hop to the right, bouncing his passenger up into the air and back down hard on her tailbone.

“Ow!” she said.

“Shhhh.” Nate stayed firmly in place and patted the horse’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” Charlie said. “I mean, I’ve ridden before. When I was a kid.” She sighed. “Before I realized how wrong it was.”

Nate glanced back at her, then returned his attention to the horse. “I figured that.”

“You did?” She sounded pleased.

“Yeah. It’s Honey I’m worried about.”

He felt her stiffen against him. That probably wasn’t what he was supposed to say, but heck, if the woman had ridden before, it must have been a birthday party pony ride. She sat the horse like it was an electric chair on death row.

“Honey’s just new to all this, so try not to be nervous. She can feel it.”

“Okay.”

Nate murmured a few sweet nothings in Honey’s ear and felt her blow out her tension in a long, slow breath. At a click of his tongue, she stepped out briskly, nodding her head in time with each step.

The woman squeezed him tighter and tensed up despite Honey’s easy gait.

“Just relax,” Nate said. “Relax your thighs.”

He fondled the crest of Honey’s mane and tried not to think about Charlie’s thighs. She was squeezing the mare’s flanks so hard she was liable to urge the horse into a jog, and that would probably land both of them in the dirt. With any luck, he’d land on top of her. He shut his eyes tight, banishing the image of the two of them wrestling in the dust.

“Don’t worry, Honey,” he murmured. “We’ll take this real slow. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I know,” Charlie said. She hung on a little tighter, and he felt an involuntary flood of warmth wash over more than just his face this time.

He didn’t like this woman. He wished she’d go away. But some part of him was glad she didn’t mind being called Honey anymore.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong part of him, and it was harder to control than a hungry horse hell-bent for the barn.

Charlie shifted her hands away from Nate’s belt buckle, but that left them flat against his stomach, where she could feel his muscles tensing under her fingers. To make matters worse, every move of the horse made her breasts brush against his back. Between that and the rocking motion of the horse under her pelvis, she was in serious danger of enjoying the ride a little too much.

She tried to concentrate on the horse. She could feel repressed energy pulsing in the animal’s flexing muscles as if the animal was holding back, trying not to break into a run. Maybe horses didn’t mind being ridden. Maybe the partnership worked out for everyone, like Nate said.

“You rode before?” he asked. He sounded doubtful.

“A long time ago. I went through one of those horse-crazy phases as a kid. Got over it, though, and it’s been a while.”

“Well, you’re working way too hard at it. You need to relax. Just hang on to me and forget about staying on. I don’t plan on falling off.”

“Okay.” She relaxed, shifting her pelvis forward and letting her legs dangle, but that only brought her into closer contact with Nate. When she sat up straighter, her breasts pushed into his back, so she slouched again and gave in to the pleasure of the horse’s rhythmic gait.

“Good job,” he said. She felt a rush of pride, then realized he’d offered the praise in exactly the tone he’d used on Honey—except his voice lacked the silky, intimate tone he used with the horse.

“Just relax and do what feels right,” he said. “That way, we’ll all work together—you, me, and the horse.”

Unfortunately, what felt right was her hands laced across his stomach, his back warm against her breasts, and the gentle rocking motion of the horse. She pushed her libido aside and let her mind go blank—a skill she’d perfected in late-afternoon seminars on sparkling topics like “Cognitive, Affective, and Social Aspects of Behavior” and “Qualitative Research Methods.”

Once she stopped thinking about the cowboy and the horse, she could appreciate the scenery. Somehow, what had looked bleak and featureless from the front seat of her car looked completely different from the back of a horse. The late afternoon sun streaked the grass with golden highlights and cast deep blue shadows under every rock and tree. A bird started up from under the horse’s feet and flew away with a high, piping call, dipping and rising in eccentric flight. The ground stretched ahead of them, broken by rills and escarpments and speckled with brown and white cattle grazing serenely on the hillsides. In the distance, a single light sparkled near the horizon.

“Is that the ranch?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“It’s still a long way away, isn’t it?”

“A ways. You okay if we jog a little?”

With a jolt of surprise, she realized she was. She’d forgotten to worry about her riding skills, and they’d somehow improved dramatically.

“Sure,” she said.

Nate clicked his tongue and Honey broke into a smooth, easy trot. Charlie tightened her grip, then caught herself and relaxed. For a minute she was off rhythm, and her pelvis punched into Nate’s Wrangler butt at every downbeat. Centering herself, she took a deep breath, and suddenly they were moving in perfect harmony, the three of them merged into one graceful being.

“There,” Nate said. She couldn’t see his face, but she thought she heard a smile in his voice. “Now you’re getting it.”

“Go faster,” she said, breathless.

He pressed his heels into Honey’s ribs and the mare rose into a graceful lope, her long stride eating up the terrain, her hooves thumping out a rhythmic tattoo. Charlie laughed, delighted, as her hair swept back from her face.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Nate said.

“It’s wonderful.” Without thinking, Charlie clutched him a little tighter in a grateful squeeze.

Nate steered Honey up to the top of a rise and pulled her to a reluctant stop. The sun hung inches above the horizon, and the sky was tinted with luminous jewel tones of aquamarine and amber.

“That’s the ranch down there,” he said, pointing toward the west. Beneath the golden flare of the setting sun, Charlie could barely make out a cluster of buildings nestled in a shallow valley, surrounded by a network of fences delineating various paddocks and pastures that held an assortment of cattle and horses. A row of spindly cottonwoods bordered a shallow creek that mirrored the sky’s subtle colors.

“It doesn’t look much like the brochure.”

As a matter of fact, the place looked almost deserted, like a movie set from a B Western that had been abandoned to the elements. A few horses grazed in the surrounding pastures, but not a single human enlivened the landscape. Charlie was alone in the back of beyond with a total stranger.

She wasn’t afraid, though. Partly it was because of the way he’d treated the horse, but mostly it was because she was from Jersey. The only things she was afraid of were mobsters, five o’clock traffic, and the prices at the Menlo Park Mall. A lone cowpoke was nothing compared to the dangers Jersey had to offer.

“I’m going to have to take a look at that brochure,” he said. “See what Sandi promised you.”

“It blew away, remember? But never mind,” Charlie said. “I’m starting to think Sandi made a lot of promises she never intended to keep.”

“Yeah.” Nate clicked his tongue and steered Honey down the rock-strewn slope that led to the ranch. “I’m starting to think that too.”

As they descended the slope at a slow walk, Nate leaned back, adjusting his posture to the angle of the horse’s back. Charlie tried to parallel his stance, but with her arms around his waist, the position felt strangely intimate, as if he was lying in her arms. She was relieved when they reached the end of the slope and straightened up to head across the flat.

As they neared the weathered buildings, Charlie realized the place looked even worse from close up. The buildings in the brochure were unpainted and aged to a quaint chestnut color, like old-fashioned cabins. The actual ranch buildings were unpainted too, but the sun had leached all the life out of the warped gray siding. The only signs of life were a few chickens pecking in the barnyard and an impressively overweight dog lying a few feet away, its belly swelling like bloated roadkill. As they approached, the dog lifted its head and whuffed out a half-hearted greeting, then settled back to sleep.

Honey strolled up to the barn with no guidance from Nate and blew loudly through her nose, impatient for rest and food. The barn was by far the biggest building of the bunch, and by far the best kept. Its doors sported shiny new hardware, and it appeared to have been painted sometime in the past decade.

Reluctant as she’d been to mount the horse, Charlie was even more reluctant to dismount—especially since she couldn’t figure out a graceful way to do it. She swung her right leg out and back over Honey’s hind end, but the motion flung her forward against Nate and her left breast pressed into the hard muscle of his arm as she slid to the ground.

“Nice,” Nate said. She wondered if he was referring to her dismount or the breast-pressing incident. He seemed like a pretty straight-laced guy, so she decided he was just being polite.

He swung down from the horse’s back in one fluid motion, then flipped the reins over the horse’s head. “I’ve got to take care of Honey,” he said. Without another word or a backward glance, he turned and led the horse into the barn.

It was a good thing he couldn’t see Charlie’s face, because a pout wasn’t her best look. She was the damsel in distress here, but she might as well be a stick of wood for all he cared. It was all about the horse.

Charlie was starting to understand why Sandi, whoever she was, had bailed out. Still, it was nice to see a man who cared more about animals than women, even if the woman was her. And it was surprising to find a guy like that under a cowboy hat.

She glanced around at the surrounding buildings, trying to distinguish the house from the chicken coop. All the structures were in similar states of disrepair, but Charlie decided chickens probably wouldn’t have much use for a front porch or a chimney, and they wouldn’t have lights on at this hour either. She didn’t know a lot about farm animals, but she remembered roosters crowed at dawn and figured they’d want to hit the sack by sundown.

She thought the front door was locked at first, but it was just stuck, warped into place by the sun. A hard shove popped it open, revealing an old-fashioned kitchen that looked like it was stuck too—in time. The fifties, to be exact, judging from the red and white color scheme and the wallpaper, where bright red cherries burst from a black-and-white checked background.

Charlie felt something fill up her chest and give her heart a quick tug. She knew that wallpaper. One of the apartments she and her mother had shared was decorated with the same tacky stuff. Looking at it, she could almost smell her mother’s baking and hear the rush of traffic outside the window. For just a second, she felt ten years old again.

Shaking off the memories, she scanned the rest of the room. Sandi had apparently left some time ago, judging from the stack of dishes teetering in the kitchen sink. A wastebasket overflowing with empty Hungry Man boxes and bent aluminum trays showed how Nate had solved his culinary issues. He was evidently partial to Roast Turkey Dinner with Stuffing.

Thanksgiving every day.

That would be a psychological study for you, Charlie thought. Could you judge a man’s personality by his choice of TV dinners? The roast turkey might mean Nate longed for home and family.

More likely, it meant he got sick of Salisbury steak and was too lazy to cook. Or maybe he didn’t know how. There was a distinct odor of burnt toast about the kitchen, and a peek into the refrigerator revealed the decomposing corpses of several unrecognizable entrees.

That didn’t bother Charlie. As a grad student, she’d eaten her share of overcooked ramen noodles and cold Spaghettios. She just hoped Nate had some other selections in the freezer, because she didn’t eat meat.

And besides, Turkey Dinner didn’t come with dessert.