One Fine Cowboy (26 page)

Charlie slowed down once she’d made the turn out of Nate’s driveway. She didn’t want to shake the car apart before she’d even gotten to Purvis. So far, the rattletrap Celica seemed to be holding up, despite the racket the engine made.

Nursing the clutch and accelerator, she steered carefully between the potholes, avoiding the jagged rocks that thrust themselves out of the dirt every twenty feet or so and easing the car across the dips where runoff had carved crooked channels in the dirt.

She dropped the car down into second when she hit the hill. She remembered Nate saying this was the halfway marker—ten miles to town, ten miles back to the ranch.

The ranch. She missed it already. She missed the long view from the kitchen window, the sound of locusts clicking in the grass. She missed the silvery twilight, the ruddy sunsets, the long afternoon shadow stretching from the barn across the yard. She missed Doris, and Phaedra, and Junior.

She missed Nate.

She crested the hill and the view spread out below her like an open book. Stopping the car, she opened the door and propped one foot on the rocky ground so she could hike herself up to rest her elbows on the car’s pockmarked roof and admire the landscape.

The hills undulated endlessly toward the horizon like the rippling surface of a windblown lake, the sun flecking the grass with golden highlights. It was almost midday, so no shadows broke the glittering carpet of summer color. The red cliff reared like a painted wall over the waves of gold and rust and umber, rising to meet a sky so blue that the contrast with the bright rock was almost painful.

Charlie sucked in an admiring breath. Nothing in her previous life could ever compare to the primitive beauty of this arid, inhospitable land and the animals that wrestled out a living from its parched grass and scant water.

She stared off into the sage-flecked valley and knew she’d remember this view forever, whether she wanted to or not. She remembered how Nate had watched the sunset when he’d thought the ranch was lost, imprinting the scene on his mind so he could carry it with him, and she knew exactly how he’d felt.

If she left, she’d always remember Latigo, and she’d remember it with a sense of regret that would wound her every time the image came to mind. She’d curse herself, knowing she’d been too scared to take a chance and stay in the one place where she felt at home.

All of a sudden, the veggie burgers didn’t matter anymore. Neither did getting the car fixed, or her suitcase. What the hell did she need a suitcase for, anyway?

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Her eyes filled with something suspiciously like tears, and her heart felt like it was going to explode—but with happiness this time. She had to tell Nate she’d stay.

She had to tell him
now.

She climbed back into the car and motored down the hill, but she wasn’t watching the view anymore. She was looking for a place to turn around.

Spotting a gravel-strewn turnout, she slammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel to the right, figuring it offered space enough for the Celica to spin on its short wheelbase and head back to Latigo.

Back home.

The car jerked, balked, then lurched forward. Charlie cranked the wheel to the left, but she was too late; the damage was done. The steering wheel fought her hands, pulling her hard to the right and into the turnout, as if the car agreed with her decision and wanted to turn back toward home like a barn-sour horse.

She stopped the car and sighed. Flat tire. She knew it without even looking. At least she’d been going slow. If she’d broken another axle, she’d have had to throw herself down in the dirt and give up. They’d find her bones later, picked clean by coyotes.

But a flat tire she could deal with. She stepped out of the car, rounding the front bumper with a profound sense of déjà vu.

Yup. A pointy rock jutted up just behind the tire. She must have hit it just right. Or rather, just wrong.

Reaching across the passenger’s seat, she yanked the hatch release and hobbled to the back of the car. Fishing out the jack, she propped it under the car’s frame just behind the wheel and cranked the car up off the ground.

She pried off the hubcap and levered the lug nuts loose with the tire iron, then spun them in her fingers until they dropped to the ground. Setting them carefully inside the hubcap, she pulled the wheel off, grunting as its weight dropped into her hands, letting it thump down onto the ground before she realized her mistake.

Now that she’d taken the jack out, the back of the car was empty.

She’d had the axle repaired. She’d had Ray tighten up the bolts and belts. She’d filled up the tank, and she’d even thought about washing the car, but she’d decided to wait until she was done with dirt roads and dust. All in all, she’d been very sensible.

Except that she hadn’t bought a new tire. The old one, slashed beyond repair during her first trip to the ranch, hadn’t been worth keeping. She was driving on the spare.

Sighing, she lifted the tire she’d just removed back onto the wheel and spun the lug nuts tight. Maybe she could drive just a little ways on it—get up over the hill, at least, so she could hoof it back to the ranch. It wouldn’t be a very dramatic entrance, but she had a feeling that once she told Nate what she’d decided, it would be dramatic enough for him.

She drove twenty feet before she realized it was hopeless. The car listed so far to starboard that it was all she could do to keep it from plunging off the shoulder in an impromptu off-road excursion. She pulled over and rested her forehead on the steering wheel, closing her eyes.

Maybe the coyotes would pick her bones clean after all.

A thought struck her and she lifted her head. The hill. The hill was even higher than the one behind the barn. Maybe she could get a cell signal there too.

She trudged back the way she’d come, staggering up the hill in the hot midday sun, feeling sweat prickle on the back of her neck. When she reached the highest point, she took her phone out of her pocket and turned it on, whispering a soft prayer to the cell phone gods.

It worked. She only got two bars, and the battery was almost dead, but it worked. She could make one call. She paged through her contacts to the only number with a Wyoming area code.

Sighing, she highlighted Nate’s number and pressed “send.” She’d spent her whole life learning to be self-sufficient at her mother’s insistence, so she wouldn’t need a man. Learning to change her own tires, to do well in school so she could make her own living, to be prickly and independent and sure of herself. And now, despite all that preparation, here she was, calling a man to come rescue her.

She listened to the tinny, repetitive ring and pictured the phone ringing in the empty ranch kitchen, the light slanting through the window over the sink, the curtains shifting in the breeze. She could almost call up the homey smells of it—a little bit of musty old house, a touch of lemon dish soap, and that hint of fresh baked cookies.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang again.

“Hello?”

It was Phaedra. Charlie tapped her thigh nervously, hoping the phone’s battery would last long enough for her to talk to an adult.

“Phaedra, it’s me. Charlie.”

“Hey! I thought you left.”

“Just to go to town.”

“Oh, geez.” Phaedra laughed. “Nate thought you left for good.”

Charlie spun around and stared toward the ranch. “What?”

“He thought you were going back to Jersey.”

“Why would he think that?” She thought back to their last exchange. What had she said?

I have to go, Nate.

“He misunderstood,” she said. “It’s a long story, though, and my battery’s low. Is he around? I need him.”

“Nope. He went riding. But he really wants you to stay. He had me write a speech.”

“He
what
?”

“He had me write a speech so he’d know what to say. It’s really good. There’s some nice imagery and symbolism and stuff. I asked him what he was feeling, you know, and then I made it, um, better. Prettier. He’s kind of basic, you know?”

Charlie almost laughed. Basic was right. Nate was definitely not a fancy, flowery kind of guy. He was a cowboy, through and through—quiet, comfortable, more at home with animals than with people. Better at nonverbal communication than giving speeches.

“So you’ll come back? And hear the speech?”

“If somebody comes and gets me,” Charlie said.

“Score. I’ll tell him as soon as they get back.” There was a sharp click, and suddenly the line sounded vacant, empty.

“No. Wait. Tell him…” Charlie pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Putting it back to her mouth, she said, “Hello? Hello?”

Phaedra was gone.

Her battery warning beeped, and she snapped the phone shut. Sighing, she turned and headed down the hill toward the car.

***

Nate slid off Honey’s back and led the horse to the paddock on the shady side of the barn. Doris and Taylor followed suit, along with Sam. Taylor was bending to help Sam unsaddle Peach when Phaedra tore out of the house.

“Hey! Nate!”

Dang, she was probably going to read him that speech she’d written. It was good, sure, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t sound good coming from him. He just wasn’t the speechifying type. Charlie would probably laugh at it.

No. Charlie would never get to hear it. Charlie was gone. He pulled off Honey’s saddle and slung it onto the fence.

“Charlie called,” Phaedra said.

Nate felt a rush of energy go straight to his head, making him dizzy, almost faint. He turned and stared at Phaedra, dumbstruck, clutching Honey’s saddle blanket in both hands.

“Charlie?” he finally managed to say.

“Yeah. She said to tell you she needs you.”

The dizziness turned to elation, which made him even dizzier. He felt like he was either going to fall down or float up into the sky—he wasn’t sure which.

“She said what?”

“She said she needs you.” Phaedra was grinning like she’d won the lottery or something. “Her car broke down, and I think if you go out there and help her, she’ll come back.”

“I knew it,” Doris said. “That girl was meant for you.” She grinned and punched him in the arm. “Go get her, cowboy.”

Nate draped the blanket over the fence and stepped up on a rail, tossing a leg over the horse’s bare back. If the car was busted, Charlie would need a ride. She’d probably want to go to town, get Ray. But if she had to ride up behind him on Honey, they’d have to go back to the ranch. Maybe it would remind her of that first day. That first ride.

And if it didn’t work, at least he’d get to feel her close to him again, with her arms around his waist, her breasts pressed up against his back. He hadn’t fully appreciated that the first time.

He hadn’t realized what he had.

***

Charlie sat in the back of the Celica’s hatch, dangling her feet over the bumper. Leaning back, she lay down and closed her eyes, wondering how much longer she’d have to wait. She might as well take a nap.

A cloud wafted over the sun, and a cool breeze swept through the car’s open doors, soothing her hot skin. She let herself drift into a drowsy half-sleep, enjoying that semi-conscious, wishful dreaming state where her mind loosed itself from her conscious control and frolicked through unlikely scenarios. Most of the scenarios involved Nate. Nate, and Nate’s bedroom, with all those candles. Nate, and Nate’s bed. Nate, and all those beds in the bunkhouse, one after the other. Nate and her own sweet self, naked and willing.

Stop
, she told herself.
Just knock it off.
She could feel her body waking to new possibilities, softening, anticipating. At this rate, she’d end up dragging the guy into the back of the car and having her way with him the minute he arrived.

That sparked enough new fantasies and logistical speculations to fill the time until she heard the drum of hoofbeats cresting the top of the hill, galloping into a crescendo, then slowing to a broken, stumbling halt as Nate pulled the horse to a stop. He looked just like he had the first time she’d seen him—pure cowboy, rough and dangerous and sexy as hell.

Dangerous. Yeah, he was that. Dangerous to her peace of mind, dangerous to her precious Plan, and dangerous to her heart. But she could deal with danger.

It was danger that made life worth living.

“Hey,” he said. He looked down at his hands, fooling with the reins, that muscle in his jaw pulsing, his eyes hidden by the shadow of his hat. “Phaedra said you needed me.”

She stepped out of the car and smiled up at him. “Phaedra’s right,” she said. “I need you like I never needed anything in my life.”

He slid off the horse and dropped Honey’s reins. “What made you decide?”

She pulled him down beside her. From their seat in the back of the car, they could see all the way down the hill and across the valley.

“This,” she said, gesturing toward the land below them. “And this.” She leaned into him, closing her eyes, and kissed him with every ounce of eloquence she possessed, moving from tenderness to passion and back again. When she finally opened her eyes, he was staring at her and she felt like she could read his soul.

“I need you too,” he said. He kissed her again, pressing her backward until she lay beneath him in the back of the car. She was helpless, pinned under his weight, but she’d never felt more powerful.

He kissed her again, his hands moving down her body, slipping under her shirt, fumbling with her belt buckle.

“Um, Nate?” Charlie tensed. “There’s just one thing.”

His eyes scanned her face, as if he was worried she was going to change her mind.

She gestured toward the road. “We’re kind of, um, outside. Like, in the middle of the road. Don’t you think we should wait?”

His lips tilted up in a grin. “I can’t,” he said.

“Sure you can. You just…”

“I have to know what you’re wearing.”

He unclasped her belt and tugged at her jeans. Sighing and rolling her eyes in mock despair, she helped him, sliding her loosened jeans down one hip to reveal a leopard-printed slip of silk.

“Mmm,” he said. “Catwoman.”

“Later,” she said. She heaved him off her and sat up, smoothing out her hair.

“But you need me.” He grinned.

“I need a ride first,” she said.

“Well, you know the drill.”

She nodded and took off her boots while he backed the horse over to the car. She slid into place behind him and wrapped her hands around his waist.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” Nate leaned back against her, his broad back warm against her chest. “But you’re rescuing me too.” He sighed, his breath shaking as he struggled for words. “I’ve always loved the ranch. Loved it more than anything except Sam. It was home, you know? The one place in the world I belonged. I used to look off across the land and see possibilities—new pastures for fencing, new horses, a new barn. But there was always something missing.” He swallowed. “And then when I saw you pull away this afternoon, it changed. All I could see was how empty it was. It looked so—so bleak.” He took a deep breath. “I never felt so alone in my life.” There was a hitch in his voice she’d never heard before, except when he’d thought he might lose Sam. “It never would have been the same with you gone. I never would have been whole.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Don’t be. I learned something.” They moved along in silence, Honey’s ears flicking forward as she sensed the nearness of home. “You know how they used to call it ‘breaking’ horses? Well, I was broken.”

“Sandi broke you,” Charlie said. “You did everything she wanted, and she still whipped you just to keep you scared.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But when you go to gentle a horse, you push him away, right? You won’t let him close. And then he just wants more than anything to be with you, and next thing you know, he’s whole again, ready to join up even if he’s been hurt.”

Charlie nodded. That was what she’d done with Trouble. Had she done it with Nate too?

He kissed the back of her neck and a thrill ran down her spine. “If we could stop pushing each other away—if we could learn to trust like the horses do, I think we’d both be better off.”

Charlie smiled. “Wow. The kid’s really good.”

“What?”

“Phaedra. She told me she wrote you a speech. That was great.”

“That was me,” he said indignantly. “Hers was all poetic, about sunrises and stuff.”

“Oh.” Charlie felt her heart soften and glow. “That was you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh.”

So that was Nate. The real Nate, spilling his heart out unedited, unrestrained. Telling her, as best he could, that he loved her. And his best was pretty damn good.

She bit her lower lip as the horse moved on, then tilted her chin, looking up at the cloud-strewn sky. Making a silent resolution, she took a deep breath. It was time to unclench her fists and step out of the ring. Time to drop her guard and risk hitting the mat.

“You’re rescuing me too,” she said. “I didn’t know where I was going, but I thought wherever it was, I had to go there alone. I didn’t think I could let anyone into my life until it was all set up—until I had everything I wanted. But you
are
what I want.” Her throat ached, reluctant to let the words out, wanting to hold her secrets close, and she realized how Nate must feel. Sure, she talked a lot, but she never really brought her true feelings into the open. Nate did—and it was difficult and painful. Quiet as he was, he gave more of himself every day than she ever had.

“You, and Sam, and the ranch, and the horses—you’re what really matters,” she said. “I was going along just fine, doing what I thought I had to do, but I felt broken too. Because it was just me. Everything was all about me and where I wanted to go.” She cleared her throat as tears stung at the back of her eyes. “And now I don’t want to go there alone. I—I want you with me. You and Sam.”

She let the words go, and it was as though she’d unlocked a door in her padlocked heart and let her real self out. She’d never noticed the ache of loneliness, but now that it was gone, she realized she’d been hurting all along.

She’d been broken ever since the day her father left, since a day she couldn’t even remember, and now she was starting to heal.