by Marin Thomas
Dexter had hung around her and Dusty a lot—and then he’d quit talking to her. Josie hadn’t thought anything unusual about Dexter accompanying her and Dusty on outings. Most twins were close. She studied Dexter—his blue eyes appeared greener today. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you tag along with Dusty and me all the time?”
The quiet hitch in his breath was the only indication the question surprised him.
“Do you want the truth or something made up?” he asked.
“The truth.”
“I was afraid Dusty might make a move on you.”
What?
Dexter glanced at Matt, then lowered his voice. “Dusty wanted to have sex with you. He told me.”
Josie clasped her hands against her cheeks and moaned. “Did Dusty tell you everything that happened between us?” She’d been a virgin until Dusty and frankly the few times they’d fumbled around with sex hadn’t been anything to brag about.
Dexter grinned. “He said you weren’t very good at it.”
She gasped. “Well, neither was he.” Waving a hand in front of her face, she insisted, “I only did it with him because I was afraid of losing him to some other girl.” No wonder most people refused to revisit their adolescent years and reminisce over the foolish mistakes they’d made.
“I had a crush on you in high school, Josie. But you only had eyes for Dusty.” His gaze softened on her face. “I followed you and Dusty around because I wanted to be with you and I couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone with my brother.”
Oh, my. She’d asked for the truth and she’d gotten it. She sucked in a deep breath to calm her thumping heart. What-ifs stampeded through her mind—one-second bleeps of images from the past. Why hadn’t Dexter declared his interest in her back then?
Because family comes first with the Codys, and Dexter would never try to take what belonged to his brother.
But had she known Dexter’s feelings she might have gone out with him instead of Dusty.
No, you wouldn’t have. You liked being part of the limelight that followed Dusty wherever he went.
“I have a confession to make,” she said. “I liked you better than Dusty.”
His eyes widened. “Then why—”
She raised a hand. “It doesn’t make sense, I know, but Dusty was crazy and wild and what teenage girl didn’t want to be with him?” She picked at an imaginary spec of lint on her jeans. “When we were together all he talked about was rodeo and how good he was. We never had a serious conversation about the future and he never asked what plans I had after high school.” She smiled. “But you did, remember?”
“We were all crazy back then,” he said.
“Is that why you gave me the cold shoulder our senior year—because you didn’t want me to date Dusty?”
“Yeah. I hated that you two were sleeping together. I figured keeping my distance was the only way me and Dusty wouldn’t come to blows.”
Josie’s throat swelled with emotion. She’d always wondered what she’d done to drive Dexter away. Learning the reason hardly made her feel better.
“Hey, Mom. I got another one!”
Matt’s shout ended her conversation with Dexter. A half hour later with a total of five fish in the bucket, Josie announced it was time to head home.
“If it’s okay with your mom, Matt, I thought you might like to ride Sugar with me to your grandpa’s house.”
“Can I, Mom?”
“Are you sure?” She motioned to Dexter’s bum leg. “I’m fine.”
“You listen to Mr. D and do what he says.” She brushed the hair from her son’s eyes.
Matt shrugged off her touch. Okay she got the message—don’t treat me like a baby. “See you at the house.” She hopped into the truck and drove off. When she glanced in the rearview mirror the big buckaroo was setting the little buckaroo in the saddle.
A pain pierced Josie’s heart. They looked so right together. Why couldn’t Dexter have been Matt’s father?
“HANG ON, MATT.” DEXTER said as he eased into the saddle behind the boy.
“How come you always call me Matt?”
“Don’t your friends call you Matt?”
“Nope. They call me Mattie.”
“You want me to call you Mattie?”
“I guess you can call me Matt.” The boy’s skinny chest puffed up. “First rule—”
“Oh, man. Mom always gots rules, too.”
“Rules are good. They keep us out of trouble. Now, rule number one—never, ever scare a horse. Don’t run, scream or make any sudden movements around them.”
“How come?”
“If a horse becomes frightened they might step on your foot or kick you.” He reached past the boy and patted the mare’s neck. “You want to be gentle with a horse. If you respect Sugar and treat her well, she’ll return the favor.”
“Can I pet her?”
Dexter tightened his hold around Matt’s waist and the boy leaned forward to stroke the horse’s mane.
“When we get back to the barn I’ll show you how to groom Sugar.”
“What’s a groom?”
“Grooming is rule number two. Always keep your horse fed, watered and clean.” Dexter reached inside the saddlebag. “This—” he held up a child’s riding helmet “—is rule number three.”
“I gotta wear a helmet.”
“Yep.” Dexter adjusted the chin strap and made sure it was securely fastened. He’d purchased the helmet at Markton Feed and Grain when he’d gone into town yesterday. He’d felt guilty that he’d allowed his confused feelings for Josie, not his injury, to keep him from giving Matt a riding lesson.
“Hold the reins loosely and don’t tug on them. Sugar knows the way home.”
“Mr. D?”
“What?”
“Are horses as smart as people?”
Dexter relaxed, grateful Matt’s questions offered a reprieve from his obsession with Josie.
Chapter Seven
Tuesday morning Dexter drove his rig and horse trailer to the Lazy S and found Hank Charles waiting by the barn. Dexter got out of the truck and lifted a hand in greeting, then glanced at the house expecting Josie to appear.
“She went into town to run errands,” Hank said as he walked across the gravel drive. He nodded to the trailer. “You decide to bring the mustang out here after all?”
“The stallion’s calmed down enough that I don’t believe he’ll try to break free.” After the kick in the backside Dexter had worked long hours with the horse and the lunge line. Hank stood aside when Dexter opened the trailer doors.
“Beautiful piece of horseflesh. Who’d you say he belongs to?” Hank walked ahead and opened the corral gate.
“Bud Masterson. He owns a ranch in Montana. Rescued Zeus from a trip to the glue factory.”
“Zeus?”
“Had to call him something other than horse.” Dexter led the mustang into the corral, removed the rope and bridle, then patted the animal’s neck—an act the stallion had consented to only this morning before being coaxed into the trailer.
Dexter filled the water trough and added grain to the feed bins attached to the metal rails. “You picked a great spot for this corral.” He propped a boot on the lower rung next to Hank. Located on the east side of the barn, the enclosed area received morning sun and afternoon shade provided by the barn and a dense cluster of cottonwood trees.
“Years ago Walter Pennyton owned the Lazy S. Phyllis and I had just married when I hired on to work his cattle. She talked Pennyton into planting the seedlings.”
“The trees must be close to seventy feet tall,” Dexter said. The cottonwoods towered over the barn. Tree talk depleted, Dexter changed the subject. “Bob Simms phoned my father and said one of his hands shot the cougar that’s been stalking the area.”
“If Simms had stuck with cattle instead of trading them in for sheep we wouldn’t have cougar problems in the area.”
&n
bsp; That wasn’t really true, but Dexter refrained from commenting. He believed a man ought to be able to do what he pleased with his property. He’d grown up around cattle and horses and didn’t care for the fuzzy lambs, but Simms had been a good neighbor through the years and Dexter’s mother called Simms’s wife, Leonna, a good friend.
“How are the cows doing?” Dexter asked.
“Vet attached insecticide tags to their ears to keep the flies away from their eyes.”
Dexter knew that—the bill for the service sat on the dresser in his bedroom.
“Hardly seems a fair trade for boarding your mustang, especially when you’re supplying the feed for my herd.”
“As soon as Dr. Bill gives the all clear to your cattle, we’ll herd them back to the valley.”
Hank shook his head. “Still can’t figure out what angle you’re playing.”
“What you mean?”
“You’re either helping me because J.W.’s got something up his sleeve or you’re after my little girl.”
Startled by Hank’s accusation, Dexter was at a loss for words.
“I’m old and my heart’s ticking on borrowed time, but I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way your eyes follow Josie.”
Had he been that obvious? Face heating, Dexter said, “Josie and I were good friends in high school.”
“Back then she only had time for your brother.” Hank scoffed. “Dusty was the wild one. Far as I remember you were the quiet, polite twin.”
“I’ll agree with you that I wasn’t as flamboyant as my brother, but I’m positive my mother would refute your compliment on my good manners.”
“Haven’t seen Dusty around town in months. What’s that brother of yours been up to?”
Why did Dexter get the feeling Hank was fishing for information about his twin? Did the old man suspect Dusty of being Matt’s father? “He’s training horses on a movie set up in Canada.”
“Don’t surprise me none. That boy always did like the limelight.”
“Mind me asking what you’ve got against us Codys?”
Hank’s eyes narrowed to a slit. “That’s between me and J.W.”
“If I ask my father will he tell me to mind my own business, too?”
“Most likely he’ll lie to you.”
Dexter’s hackles rose. “You sound pretty sure of that.”
“You interested in the truth?”
“Yes, sir.” Dexter would love to learn what had caused the animosity between the two men.
“C’mon. I’ll show you why your father hates my guts.”
Dexter shortened his steps to match the older man’s slower pace. When they entered the house, Hank said, “Phyllis is out in the garden.” He opened a door in the kitchen and flipped on a light switch, then descended the steps into the cellar.
Musty, damp air filled Dexter’s nostrils. The concrete walls had been sealed, as had the floor, but no drywall had been hung or carpet installed. A washer and dryer sat in one corner along with an aluminum table for folding clothes. An ironing board stood propped against the wall and an iron sat alongside an old radio on the counter next to the utility sink. The rest of the space was crowded with old furniture covered in plastic and cardboard boxes stacked against two of the walls. Hank opened the door to the root cellar and tugged the string attached to a naked lightbulb in the ceiling.
The twelve-by-twelve room housed floor-to-ceiling shelves that had at one time held dozens of canning jars. Now the shelves were crammed with rodeo trophies.
“J.W. couldn’t keep his arse on a horse if he was tied down to one.” Hank’s mouth tilted in a smile.
Dexter’s thoughts flew back in time to the day he’d helped haul several boxes of books up to the attic in the old house. He’d come across his father’s trophies—second and third place mostly. When Dexter asked about the awards his father had changed the subject. “Dad never talks about his rodeo days.”
“Because he’s a sore loser.” Hank pointed to a trophy with Riverside High etched into the tarnished name-plate. “J.W. and I had a fearsome rivalry for years.” He shrugged. “Don’t know if I was dumb lucky or if pure determination to beat the rich kid kept me from being thrown.”
Dexter recognized a state trophy. “Runner-up National Finals Rodeo. That’s pretty impressive.”
“Your father was mad as a peeled rattler when he didn’t make the qualifying round that year.” Hank returned the trophy to the shelf. “I always believed J.W. was disappointed Phyllis couldn’t have any more babies after Josie.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I reckon he was counting on the next generation of Codys to put the Charles kids in their place. J.W.’s pushed you boys from a young age to be the best in rodeo.”
Pushed was a strong word. However, Dexter couldn’t remember a time when his father ever suggested Dexter try a different sport. As a matter of fact, the Cody wealth gave him and his siblings every advantage when it came to rodeo. They had the best horses, best equipment, best instructors, best everything.
“How come Josie never got involved in rodeo?” Dexter asked. The subject had somehow never come up between him and Josie in school.
“I wanted Josie to compete in barrel racing but my daughter never took to horses or ranch life the way I’d hoped.”
Josie hadn’t been a typical ranch kid. Sure, she’d worn jeans to school but with a frilly top or ruffled blouse—unlike the other girls who’d preferred Western blouses. And Josie had styled her hair—curls one day, straight the next, but rarely in the traditional country-girl ponytail.
When he thought back to high school and all the conversations he and Josie had shared about the future, she’d been determined not to hang around Markton any longer than she’d had to. She’d been positive the world held more for her than cowboys and horses. Was there a chance Josie might learn to appreciate Markton now that she’d lived on both sides of the mountain—so to speak?
“I can understand being upset over coming in second all the time but that was years ago.” Dexter studied Hank. “My father doesn’t cling to his past. I suspect there’s another reason fueling the grudge match between you two.”
“Better ask J.W. He’ll want you to hear his side of the story first.”
Dexter suspected whatever had transpired between Hank and J.W. had played a role in Josie’s decision to keep Matt a secret from her family and the Codys. The sound of a truck horn ended the question-answer session. Hank turned out the light. “Bet that’s Josie and Matt.”
Hank headed outside and Dexter followed, stumbling to a halt when he saw Josie in the front seat of Mark Hansen’s truck. Never mind that Matt sat between the pair—what was Josie doing with the bull rider?
Jealousy grabbed hold of Dexter and yanked hard. He had nothing against Hansen. The man was a decent bull rider. As a matter of fact the cowboy was giving Jesse a run for his money on the bull-riding circuit. It was anyone’s guess which man would go all the way to the NFR.
“Dexter,” Hansen hollered when he got out of the truck. He tipped his hat. “Mr. Charles.”
“Howdy, Mark,” Hank greeted, then asked, “Where’s my truck?”
“Ran out of gas a few miles up the road.” Josie smiled at Hansen—too sweetly in Dexter’s opinion. “Lucky for me Mark happened by and offered Matt and me a lift home.”
Yeah, real lucky.
Clutching an object in his hands, Matt raced across the drive and up the porch steps.
“Whatcha got there?” Dexter asked.
“Mr. Hansen gave this to me.” The boy held up a small pocketknife. “He said I can carve stuff from wood.”
What had Hansen been thinking, giving a boy Matt’s age something he could poke his eye out with?
“I told Mr. Hansen you were teaching me to ride a horse and he said you could show me how to use the knife, too.” Unlike his mother, Matt hadn’t fallen under the bull rider’s spell.
“Sure, I can teach you how to use the knife.”
; “If you’ve got a full gas can lying around I’ll run Josie back out to your truck and fill the tank,” Hansen said.
Over my dead body. Dexter descended the porch steps. “I’ll take care of it.” He always carried a full gas can in the back of his truck for emergencies.
“I’m gonna show Grandma my knife.” Matt disappeared into the house.
“It’s no trouble driving Josie down the highway,” Hansen insisted.
“I’m heading in that direction.” Ignoring Hank’s quiet chuckle, Dexter walked over to his rig and unhitched the horse trailer. “Coming, Josie?” He hopped in the truck and gunned the engine, then switched the air conditioner to high, hoping the blast of cold air would cool his temper. He hated acting like a jealous teenager. He had no claim on Josie, even though a part of him wished he had.
He slid on his sunglasses and peered out the windshield. Josie went up on tiptoe and hugged Hansen, then stood there and waved goodbye as the man drove off. Dexter gripped the steering wheel until the skin over his knuckles threatened to split. “What was that all about?” he asked when she joined him in the truck. He shifted into gear and followed Hansen’s dust cloud to the main road. “What was what about?”
“Since when did you and Hansen hook up?”
“We haven’t hooked up.”
Keep your mouth shut. “Do you always hug strangers?”
“We all went to the same school, Dex. We’re hardly strangers.”
He glanced across the seat, then wished he’d kept his eyes on the road. Josie’s windblown hair made her look as if she’d crawled out of bed after a long night of lovemaking. Her brown eyes glittered with anger, but he suspected they’d shine just as bright with passion. “Dexter Cody…”
“What?” He honked a thanks when Hansen reached the county road and turned in the opposite direction.
“You’re jealous,” Josie said.
“I’m not…jealous.” He changed the subject. “Matt shouldn’t be playing with a pocketknife.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. I bet you got your first knife at his age.”
