by Danni Roan
Barb could understand the practicality of the situation, but she hated to think of the horses being destroyed. She couldn’t help but think of the pony that had almost suffered the same fate until she’d brought him back to her uncle’s ranch. Her uncle hadn’t been very happy about the situation, but he’d let the lost little girl have the mangy beast.
“I had a little stud pony when I was a kid,” Barb mused. “What if I could gentle them?”
“A stallion ain’t any kind of horse for a lady,”Chance bulked, “especially not a wild critter like them He nodded out toward the field where a blue roan with a black face was tearing up the grass as he snorted at a bay pinto on the other side of the canyon.
Barb turned sad eyes on the lean cowboy and he felt his conviction waver. “Don’t you have other pens?” she pleaded.
“Sure we’ve got other pens,” Chance said. “Tomorrow we’ll start cutting the herds and separating the younger stock.”
“Then why can’t we put the stallions in separate pens?”
Chance ran a hand over his gritty face. This woman was doing strange things to his head. He was actually considering the idea. “They won’t go without a fight?”
Barb smiled and the light in her eyes filled his chest with warmth. “I have an idea,” she said. “I’m not sure if it will work but will you trust me?”
Chance looked down into the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen and nodded. He must be three kinds of a fool to listen, but something about Miss Barbara Cooper tied him in knots.
“I need this plant,” Barb said pulling her phone from her pocket and scrolling through the pictures. “Do you know it?”
“Sure, it grows along the Auroras on the back of this mesa.” Chance said wondering what she was up to.
Barbara grabbed his arm pulling him back toward the camp. “Come on,” she said. “We need a horse.”
A few minutes later Chance found himself on a fresh horse pulling Miss Cooper up behind him while Dave and Russ looked on.
“We’ll be right back,” Barb called wrapping her arms around the cowboy and snuggling close. She had a plan and all it required was a bunch of dried plants.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Chance asked as he let his horse make its way into the deep ditch where spring rains turned the depression into a raging torrent each spring as it drained the high plains of water.
“There,” Barbara said. It was already getting dark and she knew she didn’t have much time as the lone yip of a coyote summoned sunset.
Chance stopped his horse and held her arm as she slid to the ground and hurried to the dried stalks of the flowers she’d been looking for. “I sure hope this works,” she said reaching up to him. “Give me your knife.”
“I don’t have a knife,” the cowboy said surprised when she laughed.
“Of course you have a knife you’re a cowboy,” Barb said, after all it was her dream her cowboy had to have a knife.
“I’ve got a razor in my saddle bags,” Chase said, “and a hunting knife back at camp.”
“Give me the razor,” Barb said still holding her hand out.
Chance turned in his saddle digging out the folded straight razor. “Don’t nick the blade,” he grumbled.
In a few minutes Barbara had lopped off the heads of as many flowers as she could find stuffing them into the front of her jacket or her pockets or even handing them off for Chance to fill his saddle bags.
“I think that should do it as long as I can get them to drink it,” she said reaching up for Chance to let her climb aboard.
“What exactly are you going to do?” Chance said feeling her heat against his back send shivers along his spine.
“I’m going to put those stallions to sleep,” Barb said with a laugh. “Or at least make them dopey.”
Chance shook his head. “You’ll never get close enough to them to do it.”
“It can’t hurt to try,” Barb insisted liking the way it felt to be pressed up against the cowboy’s back. “If I fail, you can still shoot them.”
“It is kind of a shame to shoot them,” Chance finally admitted. “It’s somethin’ to see those wild horses driving their herds. Lots of people think a mustang is nothing but a varmint to be removed from the prairie, but my pa always said they were what made him.”
“How so?” Barb asked feeling the rhythm of the horse beneath her as she breathed in the smell of the cowboy, and the dessert grasslands at night.
“My pa had a small spread. Nothing big, just a few head of cattle, but he started with nothing. He made a bit of a name for himself capturing mustangs, rough breaking them and restocking cattle drives in need of mounts. Pretty soon he had built up a little ranch with cows and horses alike. He used to say the Good Lord put these animals out here so a man could show his worth. If you were willing to go out and get yourself a string of horses you could do anything.”
Barbara could hear the sorrow in Chance’s voice as a melancholy settled upon them with the darkness of night.
“What happened to him,” she asked instinctively.
“A bigger outfit moved in. They ran everyone else out, but Pa wouldn’t leave. One night he didn’t come home. I found him over by our best watering hole; he’d been trampled by a herd of shod horses.”
Barb leaned her cheek against the cowboy’s back squeezing him tight and trying to let him know she understood.
“I left home when my mother sold up and moved into town with some friends. I’ve been bustin’ broncs ever since.”
Chapter 5
Back at the camp, Chance joined his friends while Barb cleaned the dishes then set another pan over the fire cramming as many dried flower pods into it as possible and adding water.
Though she watched the pot carefully, her eyes were drawn across the fire to the cowboy who had lifted her out of the dust that afternoon.
There was something about him that drew her, something more than the fact that he was the perfect model for any western romance cover.
The man was hard as nails, but also somehow vulnerable. She recognized loneliness in him that even his partners couldn’t fill. He was pragmatic, practical, and obviously hard working, but there was a hint of the poet in his eyes when he gazed across the prairie or studied the horses he’d managed to collect.
She could hear the three men talking quietly on the other side of the fire smiling when the conversation came back to her.
Dave didn’t mind her being there as long as he wasn’t expected to ‘nurse-maid’ her. Russ was all for keeping her as long as she cooked, and Chance just gazed across the fire at her looking at her like she simply couldn’t be.
“What you makin’ there anyway?” Dave finally asked. “I don’t think you can make no tea from those buds.”
“I’m making a sleeping potion for the stallions,” Barb said struggling to keep her face straight.
“You some kind of a witch or something?” Dave groused looking at her over his coffee cup suspiciously.
“No,” Barb said. “It’s just something I learned about in school.”
“Well I don’t know what they’re teachin’ women these days,” the old man said, “but I ain’t never heard the like.”
“I say let her try,” Chance said speaking up for her. “Three more horses, is three more horses.”
“I don’t like it,” Dave said. “What if she gets hurt?”
“I think that’s my problem,” Barbara and Chance said at the same time.
Barb turned to Chance feeling their eyes connect with a crackle of electricity.
“You said it,” Dave chuckled. “Now you can sort out the sleepin’ arrangements as well,” he continued with a hearty laugh. “I ain’t sharin’ my bedroll.”
The older man pushed himself to his feet with a creak of knees and headed toward his saddle still chuckling as he peeled off his bed roll and shook it out.
Barb looked back to the fire surprised when she realized that Russ had also disappeared.
&
nbsp; “This is almost ready,” she said looking at Chance. “Don’t worry about me.”
Chance shook his head climbing to his feet and moving to her side. “I’ve got an extra blanket in the wagon,” he said. “You can use my bedroll and I’ll just sleep rough.”
His collar seemed to chafe at the thought of the slim young woman slipping into his bedroll, and he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna get washed up,” he said abruptly and disappeared into the night.
Barb finished her brew, carefully moving the pot away from the fire and pouring the deep amber liquid into a handy canteen. Tomorrow was going to be a challenge. She just hoped she could pull it off.
Chapter 6
Making his way to the pool Chance used his bandana to wash his face and neck. Trail dust could be might itchy, but it was more than that that was eating him, and he knew it. Returning to the camp Chance pulled his bedroll from his saddle and carried it over toward the supply wagon. Miss Cooper could sleep under the wagon, and he’d take a spot by the fire.
The night was already cooling and Chance didn’t relish the idea of sleeping on the ground with nothing but a blanket. Still he knew it was the right and descent thing to do.
He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had happened between him and the woman who must truly be from the future when their eyes had met earlier that night. It was as if something unseen had connected them.
There was some special draw to Miss Cooper that he recognized: a loneliness that resonated in her and called to him.
The cool water he’d used to wash his face and neck had been refreshing, but the long hours in the saddle that day was catching up quick, and he was ready to put himself and these troubling thoughts to rest.
“Miss Cooper,” he called as he shook out his bedroll and ground sheet slipping them under the wagon. “You’ll sleep here,” he said standing up and heading for his saddle for her to use as a pillow.
“Where are you sleeping?” Barb asked.
“I’ll sleep by the fire.”
“With what?”
Chance pulled a moth eaten wool blanket from the back of the wagon and hefted his saddle blanket.
“That’s ridiculous,” Barb chided. “You can’t sleep like that, what if a scorpion or snake climbs under your blanket?”
Chance shrugged. He’d slept rough before and had lived to tell the tale.
“No, this isn’t acceptable,” Barb insisted walking to the wagon and pulling the ground sheet out. “We’ll put this by the fire and share. She turned on her heel heading to the fire and spreading the ground sheet on a flat space without a backward glance.
“That wouldn’t be proper ma’am,” Chance insisted.
“Why? Are you planning on ravaging me in my sleep?” Barb teased, grinning wider when she saw him blush by the fire light.
Stepping closer she grasped his forearm. “Chance, I believe you’re an honorable man. I will not worry about my virtue as long as I’m with you,” she said her blue eyes full of humor but her words sincere. “There’s no reason for both of us to be uncomfortable.”
Chance rubbed his chin again but could see the sense in her words. The nights were getting steadily colder, and he wouldn’t want her to be uncomfortable, or fall ill.
“All right,” he finally agreed, “but if you feel uncomfortable you let me know.”
“I will,” Barbara said biting her lip. The whole chivalry thing was sweet. It seemed that her modern world had all but drummed it out of the men of her day. Even those who wanted to be polite were often blasted by women who thought they were being insulted instead of honored.
Tugging off her riding boots Barbara slipped into the folds of the bedroll feeling her head spin slightly as it came to rest on the swells of the saddle. When the world settled she patted the space beside her to let Chance know she was ready then turned her eyes to a sky full of pristine stars.
The quiet of the night punctuated by the yip of a coyote or the cry of a night bird washed over her as Barbara closed her eyes and focused on being present in her dream. For all she knew sleeping in the dream would mean she would wake in her own world.
“Chance?” she whispered continuing when he hummed his assent. “Thank you for saving me today. There was no way I was getting out of that mess on my own.”
“It was my pleasure ma’am,” Chance said. “I have to say you sure did give me a scare when you popped up out of the middle of the prairie today.”
Barb giggled sleepily. It had been a long day and sleep was creeping over her like a stalking animal that she gave herself to willingly.
Chance lay awake listening to the woman next to him as she drifted into slumber. Her soft even breathing was soothing and the warmth of her body, even through the heavy folds of his bedroll kept the chill of the night at bay.
This was how it was meant to be, he thought. A man should have someone by his side he could depend on: a partner to help stand against the trials of life. He’d long dreamed of meeting a woman that wasn’t afraid of the trials of life here on the grasslands, with only a horse or a few cantankerous cowboys as friends.
He still couldn’t quite believe that Miss Cooper was from the future, but the way she’d been handling her situation was a testament to her strength. There had been no hysterics, no demands to be taken home immediately, and most importantly no tears.
Could she really have travelled from the future? If so, why would she want to? Was it even planned? Had something terrible happened that sent her to his now? The thoughts swirled in his head like a maelstrom only to be replaced again and again by Miss Cooper’s quick smile.
The work of a day that had begun before dawn began taking its toll on Chance and his eyes grew heavy as a sliver of moon rose over the horizon.
Tomorrow would come early, and his last thought was to wonder what the new day would bring. Rolling over so that he could see the woman next to him in the light of the moon, he half wondered if she would disappear in the night. If she was truly from the future and had simple materialized on the prairie she might go the same way.
She seemed so full of ideas and notions about the three stallions in the boxed canyon. He couldn’t help but want to see if she could actually do what she said. He’d been eyeing that Appaloosa since they’d first scouted the Salt River plain and liked the idea of being able to keep the horse.
A night bird called into the darkness, its lonely song echoed back by another far off in the distance. The sound, both comforting and sad, filled him.
Maybe one day when he’d sold enough horses, he would have a little place of his own. Maybe someday, his heart could call to a plucky stranger like the one next to him, and he could have a real home. Chance would love nothing more than to have a place to call home. Someplace where he could raise horses and a few cows, and grow old. What would it be like to live in one place, sleeping in a bed each night or raising children and teaching them how to handle horses? A man could dream, but for now all that stretched before him was hard work and dusty days.
Chance closed his eyes as sleep took him, carrying him away into the restoring arms of rest. He was a simple man with a simple dream, and God willing, he’d have it one day.
Chapter 7
“If you two are done kanoodlin’ like,” Dave’s voice shook both Barbara and Chance out of deep slumber to discover they were tangled together in a jumble of arms and legs.
“I’m so sorry,” Chance said crab walking out of the knot. “Stop looking at me like that Dave,” he added with a hot glare. “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
Old Dave slapped his knee and chortled. “At least neither of ya was cold,” he giggled. “Now get up, sun’s already creepin’,” he finished turning to the fire.
Barb looked at Chance who was shaking out his boots and avoiding her gaze.
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Barb said, “stop acting like we did,” she chided. She couldn’t find it in herself to chastise either of them. They
had fallen asleep separately, but somehow had rolled together offering shared warmth on a chilly night. It was the most natural thing in the world to snuggle together against the cold.
“Besides, I slept very well,” she added shaking out her boots and tugging them on.
Chance stomped into his boots then turned to offer her his hand. As their finger connected a warm tingle ran up his arm and he finally smiled as the tension between them broke. It was silly to make such a fuss about their sleeping arrangements. They were both grown after all.
“I’ll get a couple of horses saddled,” Chance said. “Do you mind starting breakfast?”
Barb smiled. “Sure,” she said, “but I think Dave’s already started the coffee.”
“Just don’t let him cook the bacon,” Chance teased tying a clean bandana around his neck and headed for the rope corral. “He burns it every time.”
“Coffee?” Dave asked pouring the dark brew into a tin cup and handing it to Barb as she approached the fire.
“Thank you,” Barb said wrapping her fingers around the piping mug. “I see you already have the skillet on.”
“Gotta’ eat,” the old man said.
“I’ll get the bacon,” Barb offered hurrying to the open tail gate of the wagon and pulling out the salted slab of cured meat.
“Knife’s in the top drawer,” Dave called hunkering down at the fire while she rummaged for the implement.
In the distance she could hear Chance and Russ catching horses. Apparently Russ would grab a horse for Dave to keep things moving along while Dave and Barb got breakfast cooking.
Taking the knife Barbara sliced thin strips of bacon from the slab. “Mr. Hoke, would you mind putting the big pot on the fire for me,” she called rummaging into the drawers and crevices of the wagon. “I’ll mix up some biscuits for our breakfast.”
Barb looked over her shoulder to see the old man moving the big pot to an area in the hot coals, grumbling the whole time, but doing it anyway. She suspected he would grumble no matter what the situation was but that he’d eat every bite of anything she cooked for him.
