Cowgirl Dreamer (Dalton Boys Book 10)

by Em Petrova

  She picked up her fallen rope and hooked it back on her belt with much ceremony. Then standing tall, she strolled out of the ring and closed the gate behind her.

  Chapter Three

  Gracie’d had plenty of moments where her brothers and cousins had embarrassed her. She’d been humiliated before as well, during a riding competition, when she’d failed to make the first jump and knocked five bars in a row before ending up tangled in the sixth and she and her horse had to be rescued.

  She was not going to let her anger burn on her face. Somehow, she would keep the hot flush from scorching over her cheeks, no matter how much it scalded her veins.

  Crap, that was not how things were supposed to turn out. After watching Watkins take his applause and thumps on the back for working with the gelding, she was supposed to strut in there and show everyone her skill.

  Then things had gone south. It was her own fault for forgetting that ranching didn’t follow any rules. Just when she thought she had the upper hand, she was taught a hard lesson in being humble.

  Still, she was livid, and now, dammit, it was burning on her face in two hot patches plus she was drenched. Her boots hadn’t gotten the drenching, though, sticking out of the trough and probably making her look stupider than she guessed.

  And the worst of the group laughing at her had been Watkins. The man hadn’t done more than fold his arms and wear a crooked smirk on his face, but the look in his eyes told her that inside, he was braying like a donkey.

  She covered the ground to the bunkhouse in seconds. On the surface, she must remain cool and collected, but it was easier to do that wearing dry clothes.

  She didn’t even have a spare hat with her—the brown cattleman was her favorite. It would take some time to dry out, but an afternoon in the sun should do the trick. That just left her head bare to the pounding heat of the day, but she’d survive.

  After finding a dry set of clothes, she hung the sopping jeans and shirt over a hay bale out back of the bunkhouse and placed her hat next to the garments. As she strode back to where the guys were still breaking the horses, she knotted a navy blue hanky around her neck to keep the sweat out of her collar.

  She wasn’t going to let them all see she had been anything but composed, especially Watkins.

  When she approached the fence, he gave her a passing glance before turning his attention back to Minich in the ring. She leaned against the fence next to an older guy named Tank. She hadn’t figured out if it was because he was built like a tank or some nickname he’d gotten.

  Perhaps from falling into a water tank the way she just had.

  She cringed to think of what they might call her now, but no matter. She wasn’t here to make friends, just work and fight for one of those two spots. Come fall, she’d be a full-time cowpoke on the Blackburn Ranch.

  One of the three other guys here would be granted a full-time position too, and then they’d have to deal with each other with some semblance of civility.

  What if that man was Watkins?

  From the corner of her eye, she examined him. Those jeans sure did fit him in all the right ways, slung low on his hips and hugging his backside.

  Minich was struggling in the ring. The horse bucked so he lost hold of the rope he held. When he made a lunge for the end, he dang near ended up in the water trough too.

  “Minich’s about to pull a Dalton right there,” someone called out.

  She ducked her head and fixed her stare on the man and the horse in the ring.

  From her side, Vin nudged her with his elbow. “Hey. Don’t let it get to ya. We’ve all had ourselves in a tricky situation that ended up with people laughin’ at us. Plus, it’s my fault for not stopping to have it pulled out.”

  “I grew up with three brothers and six cousins, so I can handle it,” she responded with a quick smile for the foreman. Other than him being her boss, he seemed like a decent type, who knew when to joke around and when to take things seriously. Not unlike the rest of her family.

  “That’s enough, Minich,” Vin called out. He twitched his head. “Get him outta there. We got more fence callin’ our names.”

  As she pushed away from the fence, she caught Watkin’s gaze on her. A weird rush of heat hit her stomach, which could only be her anger surfacing once more.

  She had to get along with the guy, but that didn’t mean she had to like him.

  If he were one of her brothers, she’d plot her revenge. There must be a way to make him look silly or incompetent too.

  As he brushed past her, he said, “You’re gonna wish you had your hat to keep the sun off your neck.”

  Why did the low rumble of his words slide into her mind and spread like a web that her next thoughts caught on?

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I woulda saved your hat, but you told me not to waste my time helpin’ ya.”

  She issued a groan and hurried away from him. What an annoying man. She hoped he wasn’t the last one standing after the summer. She’d prefer to work with Timms or Minich, even if the guy wasn’t as competent.

  One thing was certain—she’d be here on the ranch when the trial run was over, and that meant focusing on herself and not worrying about know-it-all, wannabe cowboys with a false sense of chivalry.

  * * * * *

  Noble’s stare fell on Gracie as she walked off. Was it his imagination or did those jeans fit her curves like she’d been poured into them? Maybe it was the fact that now he’d seen her soaking wet, he knew what every curve on her looked like.

  It would only be that much better nekkid…

  He snapped his mind from the thoughts. Last thing he needed was a distraction. Ranch life was perilous enough without taking his mind off what he was doing. Ranch workers got killed all the time, in freak accidents with heavy equipment or even livestock. Taking his mind off his chore for a split second could result in catastrophe.

  Why, look at Gracie, unaware of where she stood in relation to the water trough and getting knocked in. If that had been the ledge of a ravine, a misstep could mean death.

  His insides clamped. He didn’t like to think about someone he knew getting injured or killed. At least she’d only taken a swim.

  And what a pretty swim it had been too. He let his grin come out and play. Those Levis and western shirt clinging to her wet curves had been sexier than any swimwear he’d seen on a girl.

  He let his gaze lock on her long legs, wondering how they looked in a dress.

  Or wearing nothing.

  The rest of the day went as expected, with them resetting fence posts the weather had beaten into disrepair.

  He slanted a look at Gracie every so often, just to see how she was matching up. Seemed like a strong contender for the full-time position, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

  When they knocked off for lunch, they’d already put in a full eight hours of work for the day, but it was far from over. After more sandwiches—he hoped they hired that cook any day now—they were back in the field stringing barbed wire between the new fence posts. They’d barely gotten rolling when Vin called for dinner.

  They piled into the trucks again, and Gracie sat against the side, not speaking to anyone. Nobody did, since they were all bushed. As she was jostled against the bed of the truck, Noble found himself staring at her again.

  Her blue eyes were fixed on the horizon as they bumped over fields to reach the main ranch. The way she narrowed them against the sun had Noble’s gut clenching again.

  Why he’d find such a trait sexy he had no idea. The wet clothes made sense to him, but a fierce expression as she squinted against the glare? He didn’t understand it.

  A guy to her right said something to her, and she nodded. Noble wished he could hear what was said, but the truck engine drowned the words.

  What was her story anyway? She came from Dalton stock, and the family was known throughout Texas. Paradise Valley was put on the map because of them. Before that, it’d been a crossroads, a blip in the road.


  So if she came from a huge ranching family like that, why was she on the Blackburn? His mind worked over scenarios, including her getting kicked out of the family or simply going her own way.

  She couldn’t be more than a few years younger than him, either. Why wasn’t she off getting a degree at some university and riding with the flag at some rodeo opening ceremony? Why did she want to work her ass off for someone else’s outfit?

  All these questions had no answers, so he tried to push them from his mind as they all washed up and trailed into the bunkhouse for dinner. Someone who worked in the house brought platters of pork ribs and roasted potatoes, along with enough corn on the cob to feed an army rather than a group of hungry cowpokes. For dessert, the blueberry cobbler went down nice, along with another cup of coffee to energize him enough to get through evening chores.

  Though he was feeling mighty sleepy with all that good food filling his stomach. When they all moved outside once again, he was surprised to see some of the guys stretch out in the grass rather than mount horses. He slowed to watch a moment before realizing they meant to take naps.

  Even Vin lay back and positioned his hat over his face to keep the sun and flies off it. “After supper’s the best time for a little siesta, greenhorns. If you’re not gonna catch some winks, cop a squat at least while we old-timers do,” Vin said.

  From the corner of his eye, Noble saw Gracie making her way to the barn rather than take her ease as the others were. For a moment, he wondered if he should follow her, see what she was up to. He couldn’t have her getting a leg up, after all.

  Watching her hips sway back and forth with every step sure was giving him thoughts of lying down—only not alone.

  No matter how irritating she was, she was damn hot, and if he met her anywhere besides this ranch, he wouldn’t have walked away without her phone number.

  Then he would have called her five minutes later and asked her out for a drink and dancin’. Or maybe to the rodeo in the next town, buying her fresh-cut potato French fries and lemonade from the vendors and wrapping an arm around her when the sun went down.

  He had to keep his focus on the work and off beautiful brunettes… with blue eyes like laser beams when she was angry.

  Gracie Dalton didn’t scare him, though.

  His dad would be downright annoyed with him if he blew his chances here on the ranch.

  He decided not to follow her to the barn and instead, stretched out on the lawn to stare at the clouds rolling across the sky.

  * * * * *

  “Get up, boys—and girl. It’s castration day.” Langtry’s announcement had all the guys groaning and Gracie leaping out of her bunk, raring to go.

  She’d done her share of this type of work. Wrangling ornery young bulls was rough, hard work, but what better way to show off her skill than this?

  She made it into the bathroom first, washing up and brushing her teeth so she could down a full cup of coffee before the others got their boots on.

  The woman from the house was back bearing a basket of steamy hot bacon sandwiches on buttery biscuits, and Gracie wasn’t shy about taking two. With the amount of energy she was using, she needed more calories to stay strong and keep on top of her game.

  While the other guys shuffled around getting themselves into order for the day, she munched her biscuits and sipped her coffee. A couple of the men discussed some road construction near the ranch they hoped wouldn’t disrupt their activities, and Gracie listened.

  “You ever castrated bulls before?” Timms asked her as he poured himself a cup of joe.

  She arched a brow. “A time or two.” Lifting her mug to her lips, she eyed him over the rim.

  He sent her a grin. “At least there won’t be a water trough around to fall into, right?”

  She lowered the mug. “To think I thought of you as the less stupid of the greenhorns.” She gave a sad shake of her head.

  Timms gave her a mistrustful look and moved off to grab a sandwich, which he took outside rather than stick around.

  After that, the day got rolling with them saddling up and checking the herd spread across several pastures. They moved the newer cattle again and were told more were being delivered this afternoon, and they had to get a move on with castrating the bulls so they’d be prepared.

  She didn’t so much as throw a glance toward Watkins, and he steered clear of her as well, riding the opposite side of the herd.

  When they got the chute set up, they drove the young bulls one by one between the metal bars and pinned their heads so they couldn’t get loose. They sure could kick, though, which made the person working on the back end of them earn their supper.

  “Vin, you’re up,” Langtry called out.

  The older guy shook his head. “Give them greenhorns a try first. I’ve been doin’ this forty years. I don’t need the practice, but they do.”

  Langtry gave a nod and jerked his head toward Gracie.

  She didn’t waste time moving into position with the tool to clamp on the bull’s balls and end their friskier times. Standing out of the direct path in what her brothers had taught her was the safety zone, she glanced up. “Ready.”

  Was it her imagination or was everyone holding their breath? She couldn’t imagine why.

  Someone reached over the bars and smacked the bull on the rump. It ran straight into the chute and was trapped by a second man. She grabbed the necessary parts, clamped the tool down hard and stepped back as far as she could to keep out of range of the hooves.

  “Tag it and stab it,” Langtry directed.

  Timms got the tag in the bull’s ear, and Watkins gave it a wellness injection.

  They went on down the line for three more bulls before Langtry called a halt to it. “Dalton girl knows what she’s doing—get her outta there. Watkins, you’re in the chute.”

  She watched the man come toward her. His hazel eyes seemed to glimmer with something as they fell over her. She handed him the tool, and he wrapped his fingers around hers a moment before plucking the item from her grasp.

  “Good job, Dalton. You’re not wet this time.”

  Fury rose up, and she couldn’t even think of a smart comeback, so she just moved out of the way. Silently seething, she watched Watkins handle the next bull with no trouble at all. The second tried to give him the slip, but the man was forceful enough to make it work.

  As soon as the third beast approached the chute, she knew it wouldn’t be so accommodating.

  “We got an angry one!” someone called out.

  When Minich tried to drive it between the bars, it turned at the last minute and got itself wedged, leaving Watkins in the worst possible place.

  Gracie swallowed back a cry, her heart in her throat. As much as she disliked the cowpoke, she didn’t want to see anybody kicked or crushed against the metal bars.

  “Get back!” Langtry was off his mount, where he’d been perched to get the best view, and running for the chute.

  The bull got itself free and slammed one of the walls, making the entire metal structure shake. Everyone backed off, but Watkins had only one way out—and it was up and over.

  Rushing forward, Gracie shimmied up the outer side to get high enough to find him a way out, when the bull slammed his back end into Watkins. The man let out that notorious grunt of his but louder and rougher this time. The guys hollered, but Gracie had the answer.

  “Back up and slip the back bar!”

  Watkins threw a look over his shoulder at the long metal pipe they used to keep the bull contained once he was in the chute.

  It was a dangerous maneuver but better than getting crushed over and over.

  “Do it!” she commanded.

  Watkins crouched and rolled. A loud ripping noise followed, and she didn’t realize where it’d come from until he scrambled to his feet.

  His belt loop had somehow gotten caught on a piece of metal, and he’d ripped the back of his pants clear off. A ragged flap hung beneath his hard ass clad in navy bo
xer briefs.

  A hoot of laughter sounded. Watkins twisted and grabbed the flap of his jeans.

  “You just made yourself a pair of assless chaps, Watkins.” She grinned at him. “At least I only had a wet hat and didn’t ruin my jeans.” She patted the top of her hat and walked away.

  “Get him outta there.” Langtry chuckled. “Vin, looks like the greenhorns lose for the day. Finish it up for us.”

  Vin heaved a sigh and shouldered his way past the group.

  “Watkins, you can head back and get a change of pants,” Langtry said.

  “Nah, I’m good.” He leaned against the fence to watch. He gripped the metal bars high up, showing off the breadth of his shoulders, and it was impossible not to note how the muscled planes of his back ran down to the belt still holding up the rest of his jeans, and down to his exposed carved ass in boxers.

  Gracie jerked her gaze from him and focused on the rest of the operation.

  But Watkins had come close to true injury. She’d seen her cousin Hank suffer a broken leg from a ranching accident, and she wouldn’t wish that on any man.

  She stood several feet away from Watkins. “You know what you did wrong?” she asked.

  Slowly, he turned his head and pierced her in his stare. “I’m sure you’re eager to tell me. But why don’t you save your breath? I wouldn’t want to waste it.”

  She clenched her jaw, feeling her molars grind. Fine. The man wants to get himself killed next time, he can go right ahead.

  She kept her thoughts to herself and concentrated on observing Vin rip through the bulls like the pro he was. She might know her stuff, but only experience would get a person out of the situation Watkins had gotten himself in. If that ever happened to her, she’d know that the bull couldn’t move backward and it was the only escape.

  The man was too cocky for her liking. Her family would hate him too, except her sisters, who would fawn over his good looks. But Gracie liked more substance in a man. With Dalton men as her standard, she wouldn’t waste her time on a guy like Noble Watkins.