Rocky Mountain Cowboy (21 page)

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The men
on the ranch had been gathering cows for several weeks, but they still hadn’t come across a single calf that Hawk knew from examining their mothers should have been born during the summer. He and Tom had always kept good track of their cow/calf operation, and this year hadn’t differed from any other with the exception that their breeding cycle had been altered so that half the herd could produce a fall crop of calves, while the other half produced the normal spring calf crop. The change had been intended to make them more money. They’d been hoping to avoid some of the glut on the market in the fall when most ranchers sold their usual crop of fattened calves. If he and Tom’s plan had succeeded, they would have had a double crop of calves this year, with one sale in the fall and one in the winter. Apparently, that was another dream down the tubes, at least for this year.

Nevertheless, h
e was certain he had close to four dozen unaccounted for births. That was a significant number to go missing. Even in these high mountain pastures, predators couldn’t have killed that many summer born calves. After weeks of careful searching, there had been no signs of bear, mountain lion, wolf, or coyote kills, with the exception of two yearlings. Not one calf had been found downed, or at the bottom of a ravine, or victim of some other mishap. All the cows that should have delivered were accounted for, except for three.

B
y his calculation, he had forty-six head of cattle missing, with only three carrying the BarF/BarL brand. They may not have the crew he would have liked to have or been able to hire a full-time pool rider, but he’d never left their herd unattended. At least one person had been up at the line cabin at all times. Hank and Eli he trusted implicitly. Scott had had his herd grazing with theirs all summer, and he’d put in his time at the line cabin as well. There was only one man he was beginning to think he should never have left up here alone.

Hawk was understandably disappointed, but they couldn’t spare any
more time to search. The Almanac was reporting an early winter, and Scott’s wedding was fast approaching. They had to begin the branding, then get the herd back to the pastures around the house. Scott Richards had nearly a hundred head of cattle of his own up here, so he had some to brand as well. By mid-morning, everyone had been assigned a task, the fire pits had been set up, the herd divided, and the equipment brought out and made ready.

Jenny had no idea how they determined which ones were
Scott’s and which ones were theirs, but the rest of the men knew, and she guessed that was all that mattered. It wasn’t her job to sort anyway. She’d been given the job of inoculation.

Under a crystal blue sky that had rained itself out yesterday, the men cleared an area in the center of the pasture near the line cabin.

In the spring, closer to the house, more modern methods were used, but out here, without the pens and chutes, they had to do it the old-fashioned way. In the center of their unfenced circle, Eli had built two traditional hot coal-branding fires. Four branding irons sat in the coals, two with Scott Richards’ brand, the Box R, and two with the Fletcher Larson brand, the Bar F/Bar L.

Cows shifted all around them, bawling and restless, uneasy with all the human activity. On horseback, Hawk and Scott kept anxious mamas behind a temporary metal rail barrier, while they cut out their calves for the brand. Once a calf was selected, it was lassoed and drug over to
Steve, who tackled it to the ground and securely held it in place while Eli took a glowing red iron from the fire and stamped the correct brand on the calf’s rump. Jenny then stuck the long syringe in and inoculated it. When necessary, Hank cut the calf, castrating it.

The acrid smell of burnt cowhide mingled with the
scent of the breeze that rustled gently through the trees at the edge of the meadow. The cries of the cattle blended with the jangling of horse harnesses, the shouts of the cowboys, and the bark of the cattle dogs. The process was smooth and orderly, despite the hum of activity. There was a beautiful symmetry to it that was utterly captivating.

In between inoculations,
Jenny stood and watched with fascination as the tableau played itself out before her. It looked like a scene straight out of a Western painting that she’d once seen in an art gallery. Hawk and Scott were in their chaps and spurs, ropes and Stetsons, adroitly maneuvering their well-trained cow horses among the cattle. Their cow dogs were working alongside them, at the horses’ feet, and yet never got underfoot. Eli, Steve, and Hank were standing by the branding fire, waiting to tackle, brand, and snip the next calf.

Jenny
watched it all, thoroughly thrilled to be a part of it, even if her job wasn’t too exciting. She had helped during branding when she was a girl, but she’d forgotten how much she had enjoyed it, until now.

And she had been delighted when Hawk had presented her with an extra pair of chaps to wear this morning. She’d never worn a pair before, but they kept the blood and dirt off her jeans. They were simply a practical covering for jeans, but when Hawk had walked in front of her wearing his, she had felt her blood quicken. From behind, they detailed his tight butt so
nicely, she couldn’t keep her eyes from it. And from the front.... Well, she had to secretly admit, that view, too, fueled her imagination. Making his long legs look even longer, his chaps were so incredibly sexy on him that she found herself looking for every opportunity to stare at him from any angle.

It was hard to keep her mind on her task when it kept wandering back to yesterday’s erotic tumble in the muddy gully. Since then, she’d been thinking almost
non-stop about what kind of a lover he’d make.

One of the cow
dogs wandered over to her, and she went down on one knee to scratch it behind its ears.

Hawk found himself caught in her smile as she
looked up and stared across the yard at him while she petted one of Scott’s dogs. Her ponytail fell over the shoulder of her blue stripped shirt and her big brown eyes were barely visible beneath the brim of her USC baseball hat.

It wasn’t the first time
Tom’s daughter had captured his attention today. The chaps she was wearing were distracting as hell, and he stared every time she moved her cute little ass in them or bent over to inoculate another calf. He had to wonder why he’d given them to her to wear in the first place. Lord have mercy, when had ordinary work clothing driven him this crazy?

Even after the day’s hard labor, he
hadn’t slept worth a damn last night. His dreams had been filled with images of Jennifer Fletcher and what he truly wanted to be doing with her. He reminded himself over and over that she was Tom’s daughter, and that he needed to treat her with respect and a strict business-like attitude, but visions of her in his arms, in bed with him tormented him relentlessly.

When they all broke for lunch
, he found her waiting for him outside the temporary horse corral, where he had just left Red Phantom.

“USC Trojans, huh?” he noted as he closed the gate behind him
and met her.

“My alma mater,” she explained as she walked with him to the line cabin. “And no, I don’t know anything about their football or basketball
or baseball teams. I never even went to a game, much to Dad’s disappointment.”

“I’ll be glad to
teach you all about football when the season starts.”

She rolled her eyes. “You sound like Dad. He was always trying to get me interested in watching football with him. You played football in high school, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, Tom got me to join the team. It kept me out of trouble.”

“I’ll bet he went to every game.”

“He did.”

They joined the others on the porch. Since their clothes were splattered with mud and blood, they all ate outside. Everyone had their backs braced against the wall of the cabin or against one of the porch posts. With their legs stretched out in front of them, and a full plate of food on their laps, no one spoke much as they ate. Eli passed the coffee pot around, filling out-stretched cups.

Hawk slumped tiredly near the door of the cabin and invited Jenny to sit between his legs. It was too tempting. She accepted with a grateful sigh and leaned back against his chest. With one arm resting on his bent, upraised knee, it was an intimate position, but it was also a comfortable one. Jenny could tell Hawk was as aware of the warm intimacy of the position as she was. She held her cup out for Eli and glanced at the scattering of men around them. None of them, except Steve, was paying them much attention. Everyone was too tired to socialize.

Hawk shifted slightly, and nearly groaned aloud. With her butt against his groin, he hoped he could get up eventually, without everyone seeing the evidence of his aroused state. He knew he shouldn’t have invited her to torture him like this, but it was a sweet torture, one he was loath to
put an end to. Her Trojan baseball hat rubbed the underside of his jaw, and her curly ponytail tickled his throat, slipping inside his open collar, long silky strands sliding deep inside his shirt. He could feel them against his skin, and thought of how erotic it would be to feel all that glorious, unrestrained hair dragged over his naked body. Taking a deep drink of his coffee, he tried not to dwell on thoughts of her naked in his arms, kissing him the way she had kissed him in the rain the other day.

She shifted between his legs. He sucked in a quick breath.
Man, she was killing him! His thighs tightened to keep her still, but she shifted again, turning towards him to give him a quizzical glance.

“You okay?”

Her lovely upturned face was a picture of complete innocence. He looked into her big chocolate brown eyes, framed by their long curly black lashes, and knew he’d endure whatever torture she wanted to put him through, just to have the chance to keep her close like this.

“Stiff and sore, but I’ll live,” he responded in a low thick voice that successfully hid, he hoped, how aroused he was.

With the side of her shapely hip now pressing into his denim-restrained erection, she put a hand over the clenched fist he was resting on his knee. Her long fingers were cool and smooth and gentle in their caress. “We’ll be home in a couple more nights,” she reminded him with a soft smile, completely misinterpreting his tension. “Our own beds, a real shower, clean clothes.”

“You’ve had a real bed,” he reminded her. She’d been sleeping in the single bedroom, on the double bed, while he’d been upstairs in the crude loft, sleeping on the hard floor with the rest of the men. He wanted to be sleeping with her. He’d dreamed about it every damn night.

“I know,” she said remorsefully. “I feel awful about it, too. Why don’t you take the bed tonight? I’ll sleep on the couch in the living room. It’s long enough for me, even if it isn’t for you guys.”

He didn’t say anything, simply shook his head n
o. He didn’t want to kick her out of her bed. He wanted to join her in it, for heaven’s sakes. But he wasn’t going to, unfortunately. He wasn’t going to complicate her unmade decision about whether to form a partnership with him by having sex with her. Women usually invested more emotionally in lovemaking than men did, and while he wasn’t so sure he’d escape emotional entanglement himself if he went to bed with her, he didn’t want her business decision clouded. And he’d also wondered if he could simply have sex with Tom’s daughter, without worrying how Tom would have viewed his behavior. Could he take his friend’s daughter to bed and do the things he wanted to do to her without guilt? Tom had wanted him to look after his daughter and her interests. Having sex with her wasn’t exactly looking after her interests. And yet he couldn’t seem to keep her at arm’s length, either.

Chapter 13

The
line cabin wasn’t really large enough for the six people who inhabited it that week. It was a crude accommodation with no shower or indoor toilet. A curtain had been strung across the kitchen area so that, in the evening after dinner, big kettles of water could be heated for cleaning up and rinsing off. The men always let Jenny use the first pot of hot water. While they each waited their turns, they usually played poker, betting whatever change they had brought with them.

Jenny would join them when she was done, and she discovered
that she had a natural talent for the game. By Thursday, the men were playing penny poker. By nine, they were throwing in their hands for the evening, flat broke, without even a penny left in their pockets while Jenny had a pile on the table in front of her.

“Since you’re already beating the pants off us, we could play strip poker,” Steve joked. “Might give us more motivation.” His comment was crude and suggestive. It stopped Hank as he pushed away from the table. Scott looked uneasily at Hawk
across the table from him.

Seated next to Jenny, he scowled at the grinning wrangler. “You’re out of line,
Walker, and you’re finished for the night.”

The tension in the small cabin was tangible enough to slice.

Jenny laughed nervously. “I want to give you all your money back. We just played for fun anyway.” She began to divvy up her winnings, shoving each a handful. Hawk stopped her by laying his hand over hers.

“No one wants their money back, do you?” His narrowed eyes swept the men at the table. Everyone, even Steve, shook his head no.