Cowboys, Cowboys, Cowboys

by D'Ann Lindun

  Just in case a lone cowboy in a white hat did come galloping over the hillside, she reached for her Canon on the seat next to her. She took another disgusted look at the unforgiving Mustang, swallowed a long swig of lukewarm water from the bottle she held between her knees. Then, with a tired sigh, stepped out of the car, carrying the camera and the half-empty water bottle.

  “When are you going to give up this heap for a shiny, new Lexus?” she muttered as she took her first step.

  A small herd of pronghorn antelope fled toward the purple-tinted hills in the distance as she approached. Lifting her camera, she stopped to snap a few shots. Her employer—The Cowboy magazine—might use one of them if they needed an extra picture in one of their upcoming issues.

  She hoped the cowboy she’d been sent to photograph was a good subject and she could get enough fantastic shots of him that they wouldn’t need the wildlife. Charles, the reporter who’d already been sent to interview him, texted to say the cowboy oozed sex appeal in an old-fashioned, silent hero way. Charles warned her not to lose her heart to the sexy rancher.

  Alannah snorted. As if.

  The last man she’d ever be interested in dating was a cowboy. She’d photographed rodeo riders, to working hands, to country music superstars, and not one of them had ever stolen her heart. A couple had tried, but none had ever tempted her enough to give up her freedom.

  A scholarship to a prestigious Eastern college, an internship at a fashion magazine and finally her job at The Cowboy kept her from the same fate as her parents. Footloose and fancy-free was just the way she liked her life, and the way she planned to keep it.

  Living like her parents, who had worked themselves to death holding onto a dilapidated dairy farm, had never appealed to her. Growing up, watching Perry and Gilda Murphy struggle to keep their life had convinced Alannah early on she never wanted more than her sterile flat in New York. No piece of land was worth her sanity or health.

  After an hour of steady walking, she felt as if she hadn’t moved at all. Nothing looked any different than it had at the disabled Mustang. Her feet, encased in bright-red cowboy boots, felt as if they were on fire. The straw cowboy hat she’d picked up in some boutique did little to shade her face from the blazing-hot sun. A Stetson, or even a ball cap, sounded really good right now.

  A lone oak tree offered a strip of shade. After making sure there were no lurking snakes or scorpions, she plunked down under the scrub brush. Although tempted to gulp, she sipped the tepid water.

  “Yuck.”

  Sitting here waiting for help wasn’t getting her anywhere. With a weary sigh, she pushed to her feet. “I hope this ranch is close. Otherwise, I’m a cooked armadillo.”

  ~*~

  Sterling Gentry didn’t get aggravated easily, but he was ready to pull his rifle from the scabbard near his right knee and shoot the ornery bull he’d been pushing all day long. Both Gentry and the big beast were exhausted. Not to mention the paint gelding he’d worked to a frazzle to keep the escapee moving.

  They still had another mile to go before the bull was back on the right side of the fence. The animal had found or made a break in the barbwire and crossed to the neighboring ranch. JohnMcDonaldJohn McDonald had been one of Gentry’s buddies since they wore short pants, but he might not appreciate a Santa Gertrudis bull breeding his Longhorn cows. One of Gentry’s hands had already repaired the section where the red animal escaped yesterday, so Gentry needed to herd the escapee the long way around, to the gate beside the road.

  Suddenly, the bull stopped dead in his tracks, stared at something in the distance and snorted.

  “What the hell?” Gentry couldn’t believe his eyes. Was that a woman standing in the middle of the road? Holding a camera? Before he could process her stupidity, the flighty bull whirled and galloped away with his tail in the air.

  Undecided whether to give chase or go yell at the dimwit woman who had just cost him a day’s work, he didn’t do either. Instead, he slapped his chaps with his Stetson. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

  Still snapping photos, the woman approached him. When she came within speaking distance, she waved. “Hello.”

  “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in the middle of the road? Don’t you know better than to stand in the way when somebody’s herding stock?”

  Her mouth opened and closed a couple times. “I didn’t think—”

  “Hell no, you didn’t think,” Gentry shouted. “Damn it anyway!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “The shot was just so good…”

  The shot? She’d ruined hours upon hours of exhausting work because she’d wanted a picture? Who the hell would do something so dumb?

  Only a damn greenhorn.

  For the first time, he noticed her get-up. A straw hat only a city girl would wear, floaty pink top with tiny straps that left her bare shoulders exposed to the unforgiving Arizona sun, cut-off jean shorts and red cowboy boots. Daisy Duke personified. He shook his head in disgust.

  Reality crashed over him.

  The New York photographer his mother had enticed out here, hoping an article in The Cowboy magazine would bring attention to the Santa Gertrudis cattle they raised.

  Damn.

  Way to get off on the right boot. He swallowed more angry words and looked around. “Why are you standing in the middle of the road?”

  She wet her chapped lips. “I was looking for the ranch…”

  “Where’s your car?”

  Hooking a thumb over her shoulder, she pointed. “About an hour that way. Mavis gave up the ghost.”

  “Who’s Mavis?” Had she left someone behind? Sick, or injured?

  “My vintage Mustang.” She sighed dramatically.

  “Not paying attention out here can get you killed,” he said bluntly.

  She blanched. “I know.”

  Not sure what was making him say these things other than frustration and weariness, he continued. “If you know, then why are you on foot burning up like an overdone steak left on a grill?”

  “I didn’t realize how far away the ranch would be from the car,” she said.

  He stepped off the gelding and draped the reins over his arm. Up close, the greenhorn had bright green eyes, a pert nose and full lips. And a killer body under those ridiculous clothes. But, badly burned. Without comment, he pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket and dialed the ranch. “Raul, bring me a truck and trailer. Send Sergio in a separate truck with a tow chain. We have a stranded visitor. Thanks.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said.

  “My men are on their way.” He shifted in his saddle. “But it’s going to be a while. They’re working.”

  She motioned toward his red-and-white paint. “Couldn’t we both ride him?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, he’s young and likely to buck us both off if I tried that stunt. Second, riding a horse double hurts their kidneys. You see that crap in books and movies, but in the real world, any horseman worth his salt doesn’t put a good horse through that kind of abuse.”

  “I see.” She sounded doubtful.

  “The guys will be along soon.”

  For the first time, she smiled. “Thank God.”

  “You need to sit.” Gentry took her arm and guided her to the side of the road where he gently pushed her down. He moved to his saddlebags and withdrew a bottle of water. Handing it to her, he said, “Drink this.”

  She gulped the tepid liquid. “Oh, that’s good. I could guzzle a dozen of those.”

  “Sorry, I’m out.” At her downturned mouth, he hastened to add, “But there’s a lot more at the ranch. Even a pool.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  He rarely used the pool. It was his mother’s thing, built for the rare times she visited, but Gentry suddenly had an urge to take a dip. He shook himself. Entertaining this woman wasn’t his job. Running the ranch was. Making sure his children had a legacy. If he ever h
ad kids. So far, none had been in the cards for him. Most women hated the remote ranch. The lack of a social life and shopping made them stir-crazy. Not to mention the wind and unrelenting heat.

  As much as this woman intrigued him, she had city written all over her right down to the expensive but highly impractical boots she wore on her feet. Once again, he wanted to throttle his mother for her harebrained plan of bringing The Cowboy magazine to the ranch. For the life of him, he couldn’t see how his picture in a spread could do the ranch much good.

  But his mom insisted one of her fancy Dallas friends had appeared in it, and afterwards, the sales of his reining horses went through the roof.

  Gentry sat beside the girl and rested his elbows on his knees. The paint horse nibbled some brown grass beside the road. Next to him, the woman’s tanned, bare legs went on forever. He swallowed. Damn. He removed his straw Stetson and swiped his forehead. “Hot today.”

  “Horrible,” she agreed.

  “I guess I should introduce myself.” Gentry held out his hand. “Sterling Gentry, but I go by Gentry.”

  She placed her smaller hand in his. “Alannah Murphy. Call me Alannah.”

  His pulse picked up speed at the feel of her soft skin. Long, black lashes framed her lime-green eyes. Dark brows arched over them, making him wonder if her pale hair was real or if it came from a salon. He’d like to touch it and find out if it was as silky at it looked. “Good to know you, Alannah.”

  “I’m sorry about the bull,” she said. “But it truly was a great shot.”

  He shrugged. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

  She clicked the top of the camera and held it under his nose. “I don’t usually show my subjects my shots before they’re printed, but look.”

  He glanced at the picture. The blood-red bull in the foreground with his head held high, nostrils flared. Couldn’t she see he’d been ready to bolt? Gentry following on the striking paint horse. It looked like any other workday. “Looks good, I guess.”

  “It’s great,” she insisted. “The magazine will probably use it. Maybe even for the cover.”

  Gentry held in a groan. He couldn’t think of anything worse. His friends, acquaintances and ranch hands would never let him live down his newfound celebrity status. “Great.”

  She caught his unenthusiastic tone. “The prospect of being on the cover doesn’t thrill you?”

  He decided to come clean. “No. This whole thing was my mother’s idea. It was put in motion by her, and before I even knew what hit me, I had a reporter at my door asking all kinds of nosey questions.”

  “Charles?”

  “Skinny guy? Glasses?” At her nod, he said, “Yeah, that’s him. Done and gone.”

  “He already finished your interview?” She sounded surprised.

  “Yeah. Left last night,” Gentry said. “Was he not supposed to?”

  Her lips turned down. “I hoped to see him before he left.”

  A pang pinched Gentry’s stomach. He shook it off to hunger, not jealousy. It had been hours since he’d scarfed down a bologna sandwich and chips. Besides, Charles had struck him as gay, not into girls, but who knew? “Sorry.”

  She shrugged a sunburned shoulder. “Not your fault.”

  A trail of dust on the horizon drew Gentry’s attention. “Here come the guys.” He stood and held out his hand.

  Alannah took it, his big hand swallowing hers, as he pulled her to her feet. “Great.”

  Raul arrived first, driving the pickup hooked to a horse trailer. He stopped and jumped out. “Hey, boss. Lost the bull, huh?”

  His good-natured ribbing wasn’t anything new, but for some reason, it rankled Gentry. “Keep laughing. I’m sending you after him tomorrow.”

  Raul’s bright smile faded like a sunset over the horizon. He indicated the red-and-white horse. “You want Scribbles in the trailer?”

  Gentry handed him the reins. “Yeah. Wait for Sergio to take Scribbles back to the ranch. I’ll drive Miss Murphy to her car.”

  “Yes, boss.” Raul’s curious gaze darted between Gentry and Alannah.

  “This is my guest, Miss Murphy,” Gentry said. “Alannah, Raul Gallegos.”

  Raul touched the brim of his straw Stetson. “Miss.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You as well.” He ducked his head shyly.

  As Raul led the paint gelding to the back of the trailer and loaded him, Sergio drove up in Gentry’s black Dodge. He parked and carried two bottles of water over. He handed them to Gentry. “I thought you might like these, boss.”

  “Thanks.” Gentry took them and handed one to Alannah, who grasped it like it was the finest wine.

  “Thank you.” She gave him a beaming smile.

  “You’re welcome, miss.” Sergio’s return smile shined bright against his dark skin.

  “Sergio, ride back to the ranch with Raul. I’m going to take Miss Murphy to get her car,” Gentry said more abruptly than necessary. And without introducing his ranch hand to the pretty photographer. He chalked up his lack of manners to too many hours in the hot sun, a valuable bull once again on the loose, but mostly because a woman with green eyes was getting under his sunbaked skin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alannah snapped several shots of Gentry as he tinkered under Mavis’s hood. He glanced her way and frowned. She ignored his grumpy face and took a few more pictures. Dang, he was a good-looking man with tanned skin and light-colored eyes. Half Mexican, maybe? Lips made for kissing and a slightly crooked nose that added interest to his nearly perfect face. Lower, wide shoulders and narrow hips gave her plenty to admire. Leather chaps created an interesting bulge at the crotch that had her fingers aching to unbuckle the leather leggings and explore him.

  He spoke. “I found the problem. A loose battery cable. Easy enough to fix. Try and start her now.”

  After sliding behind the wheel, she tried the key. Mavis’s old engine purred to life. Thank God.

  Gentry closed the hood with a bang. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” More than ready. The sun had really fried her shoulders and legs. A cool shower to rinse off road dust sounded wonderful.

  “Follow me. There are several sharp turns as we descend into the ranch, so be aware of them.” He strode toward his pickup in that long-legged stroll all working cowboys seemed to share.

  She gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

  As she followed the cranky rancher down the dusty road, Alannah supposed she couldn’t really blame him for being short with her. She’d been raised around cattle, albeit dairy cows, and she knew better than to stand between a bull and where he was headed. The shot had been outstanding, and she’d gotten carried away with her enthusiasm to capture it.

  She probably did come across as a bubble-headed blonde with no sense between having a dead car battery and scaring the bull. Maybe she could redeem herself tomorrow. If Gentry would allow her to ride along with him, she could show him she was more than a silly city girl with more than shopping for shoes on the brain.

  Just as Gentry warned, the road began a series of switchbacks that led into a narrow canyon with sheer, red walls rising on either side. A river meandered along the left side of the road, shadowed by mature oak trees. The road widened to the ranch buildings.

  A Spanish-style house sat shaded by a cove of pecan trees with the low-running river winding through a nearby pasture. A few dozing horses stood in a corral attached to a barn with a red tile roof.

  An oasis.

  She coasted to a stop next to Gentry’s big pickup, and he opened her car door.

  “Nice place,” she told him.

  “Come inside.” He held out his hand, and she took it. “One of the men will bring in your luggage.”

  Alannah allowed him to guide her toward the hacienda. Something smelled wonderfully sweet, and as they grew close, she noticed bougainvilleas and oleander bushes guarding the front walkway.

  Heavenly coolness covered Alannah as she entered the ranch house. A pleased sig
h slid out of her. “Lovely.”

  “This way.” He led her across a tiled hallway into a large living room. Leather furniture, Navajo rugs and a big-screen TV were her first impressions. Upon a closer look, she saw expensive western art hanging next to some pieces a talented amateur had painted.

  A short, stout Mexican woman appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “Senor Gentry?”

  “Lupita, would you bring Miss Murphy and me something cool to drink, por favor?”

  “Si, patrone.” She hurried away.

  Gentry indicated Alannah should sit, and she sank gratefully into one of the overstuffed leather sofas. Her hike in the Arizona heat had taken more out of her than she’d realized. The AC blowing across her fried skin felt like a breath from heaven.

  The housekeeper reappeared carrying a tray with iced tea and two glasses. She placed it on the coffee table. “Senorita Murphy’s room is ready. Raul brought in her bags.”

  “Thank you, Lupita. What time is dinner?”

  “Seis, patrone.”

  Gentry glanced at the antique grandfather clock tick-tocking in one corner of the room. “Does an hour give you time to rest up?”

  “Of course.” She smiled at Lupita. “Thank you.”

  “De nada.” The housekeeper dipped her head. “We will be having carne asada.”

  “I can’t wait,” Alannah told her sincerely. The tuna sandwich she’d eaten at a roadside café had melted away hours ago.

  The housekeeper beamed. “Wonderful.”

  “Thank you, Lupita,” Gentry said.

  She hustled away, leaving them alone. Alannah eyed the tea. “That looks good.”

  Gentry took her none-too-subtle hint and poured them both a glass. He handed one over. “It’s mint tea. Guaranteed to rehydrate you.”

  Alannah sipped. As promised, it tasted mildly of mint. “Delicious.”