Wild Mustang Man (3 page)
Authors: Carol Grace
“When I send you to your grandparents’ house I expect you to stay there.”
“I know,” Max said, shoveling a mouthful of canned spaghetti into his mouth.
Josh closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that Molly didn’t know he was feeding his son out of cans. At least he’d heated them tonight.
“If you’d been where you were supposed to be, doing what you were supposed to be doing, you wouldn’t have run into the lady. And if you hadn’t run into her, she wouldn’t have come to our house and bothered me.”
“Then who would have bandaged my knee?” Max asked with perfect five-year-old logic.
“You wouldn’t— Never mind. I just want to know where you are.”
“I’m right here, Dad.”
“Yeah, I see you are.” He dished out a bowl of spaghetti for himself. “Do you want me to pick out a burro for you at the sale this week? Or a pony?”
“Don’t we got enough horses?” Max asked. “I rather have a motor bike.”
Josh looked at his son with disbelief. If he hadn’t personally been involved with the conception and the birth of this boy, he’d wonder if he could possibly be his. His father was right At Max’s age all he’d cared about was horses. Riding, training, grooming. He couldn’t get enough. He even liked mucking out the stables. And his son wanted a motor bike!
Josh took a deep breath to keep from losing his cool. He glanced and grimaced at the picture of a smiling Molly holding baby Max that was stuck to the refrigerator. If she were here, she’d know what to say to him. But she wasn’t. Josh was on his own.
All he could think of to say was the obvious. “You’re too young for a motor bike.”
His son frowned at him for a long moment, his mouth ringed with red tomato sauce, the black-and-blue bruise under his eye turning purple, still trying to figure out a way to get what he wanted. Finally Max finished his dinner and hopped off his chair. “What’d she say?” he asked.
“Who?” he asked, as if he didn’t know.
“You know who,” Max said.
“She said it wasn’t your fault,” Josh said.
Max grinned, showing spaces where his baby teeth were missing. “Didja like her?”
“No,” Josh said. “But I can see you did.”
Satisfied, Max darted out the back door to do wheelies on the front lawn on his newly repaired bike.
Josh stood at the window watching the little daredevil make ruts in the grass he’d so carefully seeded and watered. “I didn’t like her,” he repeated out loud. But he was no longer trying to convince his son, he was trying to convince himself.
For two days Bridget combed the countryside in her old car, while her bruises healed and the swelling over her eye went down. She was looking for the Wild Mustang Man, but her heart wasn’t in it, because she’d already found him. She knew it. Why didn’t he know it, too?
Because he was stubborn, determined and opinionated. But so was she. And she was determined to get Josh Gentry. Just in case, though she owed it to the client to see what else was out there. So far what was out there was a seventy-eight-year-old cowboy named Slim, who’d been riding wild mustangs in competition for years. He was a nice guy, but he didn’t have that...that...certain something that Josh had.
You couldn’t really call it charm or charisma. You could call it sex appeal, she admitted reluctantly. But what was wrong with that? It was a known fact that more women bought cologne for men than men bought for themselves. And what sold products better than a sexy man? Nothing.
On the third day she stood in front of the cafe after an unusual (for her) large breakfast of biscuits and country gravy, studying a map of northern Nevada, wondering how long she could hold out. More to the point, how long her money would hold out. When she’d worked for Marsten and Grant Ad Agency and was on an expense account, she had blithely signed credit card receipts at the best restaurants and hotels on business trips.
No matter how much they paid her, Bridget wouldn’t have gone back to the gigantic ad agency for anything. She’d only planned on working until she and Scott got married and started a family. Then she’d intended to give it all up. Happily. But everything changed when Scott broke up with her.
The company was just a small start-up ten years ago. Then, as they’d turned into a mega company, Scott, the vice president, got nervous and worried about the accounts. The result was the company stifled individual talent and lost their creative edge. The final straw for Bridget was when her erstwhile fiancé pulled an ad Bridget had written because it offended his boss. Didn’t even fight for her creative input.
Now that she had her own business, and every penny she spent had to be earned by herself, it was a different story. Until she landed a major account, she couldn’t really afford to keep her office open, pay the rent and pay Kate’s salary. Nor could she support herself on the road like this, though it was hard to imagine less expensive accommodations and cheaper meals than the ones she was getting in this small, dusty town.
She looked up and down the Main Street, as if she might find inspiration in the colorful Old West storefronts, like the mock balcony painted on the second floor of the saloon, and she sighed.
She had to find her Wild Mustang Man. But how? Where? Should she return to the Gentry Ranch for one more try, and risk possible injury and certain rejection, or should she head out of town to the wild horse sale she’d heard mentioned as she was sipping her morning coffee in the diner? It had to be the perfect place to find a wild mustang man. If only she could push Josh Gentry out of her mind and give somebody else a chance.
Bridget glanced up as a station wagon pulled up in front of the general store across the street and a small boy and a gray-haired woman got out. The boy turned to look at her. When he recognized her he shouted a greeting so raucous two men lumbering through town in their tractor turned to look at her.
“Hello, Max,” she called, crossing the street to see for herself how his wounds had healed. “How are you?”
“Okay,” he said, bracing one small hand against the car. “My dad said you went home.”
“Did he? No, I’m still here. That was just wishful thinking on his part.”
“What’s wishful thinking?”
“It’s, uh...”
“I kinda thought you were still here. Didja get your horse yet?”
“No, not really.”
“My grandma’s taking care of me today,” he said nodding in the direction of the pleasant-looking woman in tan slacks and a crisp white shirt. “‘Cuz my dad’s not home. That’s the lady I was telling you about,” he said to his grandmother. “The one who’s looking for a horse.”
“I’m Joan Gentry,” said the woman, losing no time in extending her hand in a friendly manner. “So you’re the poor woman Max ran over. I should have recognized you from his description.”
Max’s description, not Josh’s, Bridget thought.
“I’m so sorry about the accident. I hope you’re feeling better,” the older woman continued.
“Oh, heavens, yes,” Bridget said airily. “It was really nothing at all. And just as much my fault as anyone’s. I was standing there engrossed. That is, I was watching...not watching I mean, and not thinking.”
“I see,” Joan Gentry said with a smile. “Nevertheless I want to apologize on behalf of Max. I hope your injuries haven’t discouraged you from buying a wild mustang from my son.”
“Well, actually...” Bridget looked down at Max, then back up at his grandmother, noting that electric blue eyes ran in the family. How had this story about her wanting to buy a horse got started? She shifted from one brown loafer to another trying to decide whether to deny she was looking for a horse and confess she was looking for a man instead. A special man. Her son.
“We’re goin’ to the hardware store,” Max said, tugging impatiently at his grandmother’s hand. “Grandma’s buying me a slingshot. Wanna come?”
Bridget hesitated only a second. If Josh Gentry wasn’t home then there was no point going to his ranch. “No, I can’t. I’m going to a wild horse sale.”
“That’s where my dad is,” Max said.
“Really?” Bridget patted Max on the head affectionately. “That’s great.” It was great. She’d run into him “by accident,” and if she didn’t convince him to be her Wild Mustang Man today, then she’d find somebody else at that sale who would do. They wouldn’t be the same, but they’d do.
“Yeah, he can help you pick one out. And train it for you,” Max said.
“Good idea,” she said. If she had to buy a horse to get the man interested, she’d do it. How expensive could a wild horse be, anyway?
“Do you ride a bicycle, too?” he asked.
“I don’t really ride anything,” she confessed. “Not yet.”
“What about a slingshot?” he continued. “Know how to use one?”
“‘Fraid not.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn,” Max observed.
“Max!” his grandmother.
Bridget smiled and ruffled the boy’s taffy-colored hair. She wasn’t offended. She did have a lot to learn. And most of it had nothing to do with bikes or horses or slingshots. It had to do with love and life. She sighed.
“Well, it was good seeing you Max. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gentry.”
As she drove down Main Street, she met her image in her rearview mirror and told herself sternly that if she couldn’t convince Josh Gentry to be her Wild Mustang Man today, she didn’t belong in the advertising business. But what would she use to convince him? She’d already tried money and fame. What did he want?
Some twenty miles out of town was the Bureau of Land Management’s holding facility. After parking her car, Bridget made her way through the dusty parking lot where proud new owners were already loading their newly adopted animals into horse trailers. She heard snatches of conversation as she walked down the alley between rows of green-paneled corrals, covertly glancing from right to left at the men in broad-brimmed hats, looking...wondering if one of them would do, as their conversation swirled around her.
“Not that one. She looks like a rocking horse.”
“Ya paid too much.”
“Call that a horse?”
“I wanted the bay but she’s come up lame.”
“Ask Gentry. He knows horses.”
“Ain’t seen him.”
“He’s here.”
He’d better be there, Bridget thought. Because so far she hadn’t seen anyone who could hold a candle to him. Since she’d first seen him the other day, she hadn’t been able to shake the image of him as her Wild Mustang Man. Face it, she just plain hadn’t been able to shake his image, period. Was it just the contrast between him and the city men she was used to, who paled by comparison? Or was it just that he was the first honest-to-goodness rancher she’d ever seen and his rugged image was indelibly engraved on her subconscious?
As she rounded the corner of the stucco county building, Bridget was struck by the sound of braying burros and the sight of about 150 wild horses milling nervously in holding pens, upset by the presence of the humans who’d come to look them over and possibly buy them and take them home.
With her ever-present camera hanging around her neck, she stopped at the metal fence and took a few dozen pictures of the animals, once running wild and free in the Nevada desert, now trapped behind metal bars like prisoners. Leaning against the fence, she gazed at the animals and blinked back a tear. She was so caught up with the plight of these wild horses she didn’t hear him come up behind her.
“What are you doing here?” Josh Gentry asked.
Her mouth fell open in surprise, and she banged her chin against the top metal bar of the fence. She bit back a cry of surprise. He already considered her a first-class klutz. No need to add fuel to the fire. She turned to face him.
“Same thing I was doing at your ranch. Looking for the Wild Mustang Man.”
He surveyed her with an unmistakably disapproving gaze. “Don’t you ever give up?”
“Give up? I just got here.”
“So I noticed.”
He noticed. Now was the time to strike. “I was wondering...”
“You look a little better,” he said, tilting her chin forward with his thumb and forefinger to get a better look at her eye.
His touch sent shivers up her spine even in the hot Nevada sunshine His face was so close she could see glints of green in his blue eyes. “Thank you.” She was proud of how even her voice was, while her heart beat double time. “Have you...have you had a chance to think over my proposal?”
He was silent so long that hope began to surge in her heart. The whinnying of the horses and clouds of dust filled the air, but she scarcely noticed. He’d changed his mind. He must have. Why else would he stand there studying her with his eyebrows knotted together. “Swelling’s gone down, bruise fading, yes, a definite improvement.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but—”
“I didn’t say it to be nice,” he said.
“I know, but...” She was getting desperate. How long was he going to stand there and stare at her and talk about her looks? What did he see when he looked at her besides the bruises and the swelling? Just a city girl come to interfere with his way of life? What she saw was a virile, sexy horseman who she needed in the worst way to make a go of her fledgling company.
“About my proposal,” she continued.
“The answer is no. Absolutely not. You can go home now.”
