The Littlest Cowboy (31 page)

“So tell me,” she said as she explored the poor, long-suffering animal, “Why did you really come here in the first place? I know, you said you had an old score to settle with that maniac who almost killed
my
brother. But you never said what.”

Speaking softly, as if still soothing the pain-racked cow, Lash said, “That maniac...killed my brother.”

Jessi was so startled that she paused in her examination of the animal and looked at him. He only nodded, his hand scratching the cow behind the ear. “Jimmy was with the DEA, investigating Vincent de Lorean’s drug trade. De Lorean found out and had him killed.”

“And you quit your job at the Chicago Fire Department to come to Texas and make him pay?” She shook her head. “And my brothers call me impulsive and reckless!”

“It wasn’t reckless. Hell, it worked. We got him, didn’t we?”

Jessi nodded and resumed probing, not wanting to dwell on recent events that had nearly cost her oldest brother his life. “So what now?” she asked, trying not to sound overly interested in his answer, although she was.

He only frowned at her.

“You got de Lorean,” she clarified. “You stayed on here to help out while Garrett took his honeymoon. But he and Chelsea will be back tomorrow. So what are you going to do next?”

He shrugged. “No idea.”

Jessi dipped her head quickly to hide her sudden smile from him. The birth canal was clear, so she gripped the calf’s legs again, preparing to pull when the cow pushed. Soft baby-brown eyes blinked open and stared at her, unfocused and shining.

“You could stay here,” she said. Then she peered around the cow to see his reaction. “We were short-handed even before Garrett left.”

“Your brother Ben is home now,” Lash said. “You have plenty of hands.”

“Adam isn’t. He insisted he had to get back to that city-slickin’ job of his in New York. Though we all know it’s really just that he’s scared to death of running into Kirstin Armstrong and finally having to ask her why she left him at the altar and married old...” The cow pushed, and Jessi pulled. The calf s shoulders passed through. “That’s it, girl. Once more. Just once more.”

“Come on, girl,” Lash said to the cow. “You’re doing great.”

“Anyway,” Jessi continued, as she awaited what she hoped would be the final push. “We could use you here. I know
I
could.” He glanced at her sharply, eyes narrowed. “You’re a natural with the animals,” she said quickly. “Why, we could even put you in the extra bedroom up at—“

“Not on your life,” Lash said. And again, Jessi popped up to meet his eyes.

“You think there’s something
wrong
with my house, Lash Monroe?”

“Just a bit crowded, is all,” he told her. “Been there. Done that. Didn’t like it.”

She scowled at him, but he went on.

“No, ma’am, Lash Monroe doesn’t like crowds. And he doesn’t like ties, either. Family or otherwise. I may stick around for a while, but then again, I might just pull up stakes and flit off as soon as your brother comes back. I pride myself, you see, on being just as free as a bird. That’s all I want out of life, and so far, it’s exactly what I got. I aim to keep it that way.”

The cow pushed. Jessi pulled. The calf slid into the world with a
whoosh,
and Jessi hefted the hundred-pound baby bull in her arms, not letting him hit the floor. She eased him gently into the fresh hay she had waiting. “Untie her, Lash, so she can meet her new-born.”

Lash loosened the halter ropes, and the cow turned around fast, bending her long neck and licking at her infant calf with so much vigor the newborn  was knocked over sideways with every swipe of his mother’s tongue.

Jessi turned and peeled off the gloves, then headed into the room at the far end of the barn to deposit them in the wastebasket, and scrub her hands thoroughly at the sink there. She hadn’t liked Lash’s response to her question. Then again, there wasn’t much he said or did that she did like. He insisted on seeing her as a kid, just the way her brothers did. It was damned infuriating. Especially when it was coming from him—the one man she’d ever met who made her want to come across as one hundred percent pure Texas woman. Not that she’d shown it. Not yet, anyway. She had to figure out how to proceed first.

“So you’re ready to move on, eh?” she asked, pretending it was only small talk. “Well, I can’t say as I blame you. The work here is tough.”

“I didn’t say I minded hard work.”

“Right,” she said as she cranked off the faucets and reached for a paper towel. “Must be the dirt. You’re from the city, after all. Can’t blame you for going wishy-washy when it comes to the good fresh smell of cattle, can we?”

“Dirt doesn’t bother me in the least,” he said. “I was a firefighter, for crying—“

“Yes, but how long ago was that? I mean, you couldn’t go back to it now, could you? Feeling as
ancient
as you do, and all.”

“Now hold on a—”

“And it stands to reason that if you’re getting too old and decrepit to fight fires, then ranching can’t be much more to your liking.” She sighed as he narrowed his eyes on her. “Probably you’ll look for a nice easy job you can do from behind a desk, your butt cushioned by a soft chair as it slowly turns to flab.” She deliberately craned her neck and focused on the part of his anatomy in question, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. “Cryin’ shame, too.” She tossed her head and moved past him into the barn. The cow had licked the calf until his curly red-and-white coat stuck up in all directions. The little one had even managed to get to his feet.

“Did I do something to make you mad, Jessi?” Lash asked, coming up behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “’Course not.” Then she lifted the calf in her arms and carried it around its mother. “Talk to her again, Lash. Let’s see if this little fella is hungry.” It was always a trial showing a new-born calf where to find nourishment for the first time, but even more of a trial getting a first-calf heifer to let her newborn suck.

Of course, Jessi suspected Lash had no clue about any of that. She listened to him crooning at the cow as she guided the little one’s head to its mother’s udder.

At the first taste, the calf began sucking madly, then suddenly jammed his head upward, in an action known as “bunting” that seemed to be an instinctive one among calves. Unfortunately, his mother did not appreciate her swollen, sore udder being so rudely treated. The cow jumped and kicked. Her hoof caught Jessi along her right temple and felt something like a sledgehammer. Jessi sailed backward from the force of the blow, and hit the floor with an impact that knocked the wind out of her, but good.

“Jessi!” Lash lunged forward, falling on his knees beside her, and though his face swam before her eyes, she could see the alarm in his expression. She supposed it was directly related to the warm trickle she felt on the side of her head.

He tugged the bandanna from around his Stetson and pressed it to the wound, sliding his other arm beneath her shoulders and lifting her from the floor, searching her face. “Damn, you split your head. Are you okay? Can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?”

She blinked her vision clear, and stared up into his eyes. Oh, man, she did like this. It was almost worth getting kicked. Lash holding her this way, bending over her—she could easily imagine that he was about to kiss her senseless, instead of just looking after a nasty wound. And she liked the fantasy so much that she moistened her lips, and lifted one hand to fan her fingers into the hair just above his nape. It felt every bit as good as she’d imagined it would. She liked the feel of it on her fingers.

“Jessi?” he asked, and he blinked in confusion. She smiled very slightly, and his eyes showed utter shock. They widened, then narrowed again. His brows drew together, and his gaze shifted downward to her lips. And then he couldn’t seem to look anywhere else.

“Just what in the
hell
is all this?”

Lash dropped her so suddenly she nearly cracked her head again. Jessi suppressed a growl of utter frustration, and glanced over to see the calf now feeding happily on his own, the cow twitching and dancing a bit, but no longer fighting so hard. And beyond that, in the once again open doorway of the barn, she saw three big shapes silhouetted by moonlight and angry as all get-out.

“Just what in the
hell
does it look like?” she snapped. “I got kicked. But I’m fine.” She got to her feet, ignoring the throbbing pain and the still slightly floaty sensation buzzing around in her head. She didn’t forget to send a disgusted glare at Lash as she brushed the hay from her jeans, and then from her hair.

Wes didn’t look as if he believed her. His dark Comanche eyes narrowed on her, then on Lash. Elliot just leaned against the barn door, grinning. Ben stood there without a hint of how he felt showing in his blue eyes. His shaggy blond mane moved with the breeze. Gosh, he was so quiet these days. She never knew what he was thinking.

To ease their minds, she lifted Lash’s neckerchief away from her head, felt the bleeding start up again, saw her three brothers instantly pale and surge forward. They were so predictable, and all shouting at once.

“Jeez, Lash, how could you let this happen?”

“Damn cow is headed for auction first chance I have!”

“What the hell you doin’ under a damned first-calf heifer anyway, Jess? You should have asked one of us for help.”

Ben scooped her off her feet and started toward the house. Elliot rushed on ahead to call Doc. Wes headed into the barn to install the mother and newborn in the holding pen in the back for the night.

“Put me down,” Jessi ordered. “Dammit, Benjamin, I mean it!” But Ben just shook his head and smiled gently at her, carrying her the rest of the way inside.

“Relax and enjoy it, honey. You’re bleeding, and that’s no little cut. So tell me, what was our hired hand doing out there, just now?”

Jessi rolled her eyes. “Trying to stop the blood from oozing outta my skull, you big nosy lug. What did it look like?”

Ben shrugged. “Looked like he was fixin’ to kiss you, baby sister. And I can tell you, the day he does will be the day he’s hitting the road.
Comprende?”

“Don’t sweat it, Ben. He’s already planning to hit the road. Any day now, as a matter of fact. You got nothing to worry about.” She stared into his blue eyes—dark blue, like the Gulf at midnight, instead of pale silvery blue like Lash’s—then she poked him in the chest. “But I’ll tell you one thing, big guy. I’m gonna kiss who I want, when I want, and how I want, and if you try to butt in, it’s gonna be your rear end hitting the road. And I’ll be behind you, kicking it from here to El Paso.”

He smiled at her, or came as close to smiling as he ever did since his wife died, then reached down to ruffle her hair.

Jessi let her head fall backward and rolled her eyes. She was going to go stark raving
mad
if she didn’t find a way to change the attitudes of the males on the Texas Brand. One male in particular.

She glanced back toward the barn, saw Lash standing in the doorway, staring after her and looking a little confused. Damn. What would it take to make him—to make all of them—see her as a grown woman with a mind of her own?

What?

New York Times bestselling author Maggie Shayne has published more than 50 novels and 23 novellas. She has written for 7 publishers and 2 soap operas, has racked up 15 Rita Award nominations and actually, finally, won the damn thing in 2005.

Maggie lives in a beautiful, century old, happily haunted farmhouse named “Serenity” in the wildest wilds of Cortland County, NY, with her soul-mate, Lance.  They share a pair of English Mastiffs, Dozer & Daisy, and a little English Bulldog, Niblet, and the wise guardian and guru of them all, the feline Glory, who keeps the dogs firmly in their places.  Maggie’s a Wiccan high priestess (legal clergy even) and an avid follower of the Law of Attraction