She beamed. There was no other word for it. Even the smattering of freckles across her pert upturned nose glowed. "I knew it. A cowboy, a real cowboy is always true to his horse, true to his woman, and true to his word."
Gabby slapped a gloved hand to his chest. "God bless America!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, shut up, you old buzzard," Holt muttered and dismounted.
He stepped in Cami's direction, grabbed one of the wide brass horns of her longhorn belt buckle and hauled her in close. He lowered his head until their hat brims collided.
She stared up at him, her expression all sweet and innocent. Not that it fooled him. Hell, no. The light flowery scent of her warred with the more familiar odor of sweat and horses. Lord, she was a pretty little thing. But pretty little things were about as welcome on his ranch as curds in the buttermilk. Especially after Gwen.
He didn’t dare allow another pretty little thing on his spread. Not when his last experience almost cost him the ranch his family had owned for 109 years. Not even when this one had eyes bluer than blue, dimples he could get lost in, and—dear God—those freckles. His mouth tightened and he spoke quietly in her ear, determined to ignore the way her silky black curls blew against his face and tickled his jaw.
"Listen up real close, Tex. You help those fine folks settin' on my porch off of it and on their way. And then you and I are going to exchange a word or two about that resumé you sent and that contract we signed. Got it?"
She nodded energetically, her brim clipping his and knocking both their hats askew. "Got it," she said. "I'll take care of it right away, boss." She swung around. The wickedly curved horn on her buckle caught him in the gut and snagged his shirt.
"Son of a—"
The sound of rending cotton and popping snaps brought her up short. "Oh, dear," she said with a gasp and turned back.
"Whoa, Nellie!" Holt dodged a swipe from the opposite horn, moving away before she could do any real damage.
"Put a rope on that maverick she's wearing," Gabby suggested, "before it turns you from a bull to a steer."
Holt examined his gaping torn shirt and the long, angry scratch scoring his stomach. Anger stirred and he nailed her with a look. “This is not a good start to our relationship," he announced.
She gulped, her gaze fixed on his injury. "Is that...blood?"
He took one look at her suddenly white face and slapped a hand to the scratch. "No, it's not," he lied without compunction. "It's ooze."
"But, it's red." She swayed. Gently. From side to side.
"Right. It's red ooze." As much to distract her as for his own peace of mind, he held out his free hand. "The buckle, Tex. Give it over.” He gave the order in his most implacable tone of voice.
A hint of color returned to her cheeks, his diversion tactics apparently working. "But my pants…"
"Those britches of yours have enough starch in them to stand on their own. They'll stay up just fine, belt or no belt. Now give it to me before you put someone in the hospital."
With a great show of reluctance, she unhooked the belt and slid it through the loops. "I'm real fond of this buckle," she said wistfully. "I've dreamed of owning a buckle like this for a long, long time. Don't you like it?"
Now she'd done it. Gone and made him feel like a heel. A heel making a fuss over a little bitty nothing of a scratch. Shoot. "It's a fine buckle," he found himself saying.
He avoided looking at Gabby and Frank. He knew if he did the two would get to laughing and he'd be forced to discourage them, undoubtedly with his fists. Matters would slide downhill from there, and more ooze would be spilled. Plain and simple, keeping his attention focused on Tex seemed the wisest course of action for all concerned.
"Really?" she said. "You really think it's a fine buckle?"
"A buckle like that demands respect. A lot of respect." He glanced downward at his torn shirt again. "And a lot of distance."
She peered at him hopefully. "Then I can keep it on?"
He wasn't that stupid. "No."
She sighed, handing over the belt. "Okay. You're the boss."
"You got that straight." He held the thing gingerly by one horn and jerked his thumb toward the family of redheads. She took the hint.
She jangled onto the porch and faced the Radburns with an encouraging smile. "Okay, boys, everybody grab a suitcase or bag and haul it to the car." Rhonda clung to the arms of the rocker and moaned.
"Can't we stay here?" Rufus demanded. "I wanna be with you."
Cami ruffled his hair. "I wish you could, buster. But it seems you belong next door. Now get going. Rollie, you let that mouse out of your pocket before you get in the car. Rob? Think it'll be too much trouble to reassemble the roof rack?"
"Not at all. I'll get right on it, Cami." He hustled toward the car.
"Rhonda, you come with me, honey. Now, now. Whimpering won't solve anything. Give me the baby. Heavens, looks like there's been a flood south of the border. We'll have him changed in no time."
Holt watched in amazement as, without missing a step, she plucked the diaper bag from the pile of luggage, settled the wriggling baby on top of a canvas tote and commenced to buff, puff, and dust. In no time, she'd restored a cooing infant to his mother's arms and convinced the contrary woman to return to her car. Once they were settled, Cami poked her head in the window.
"Here you go, boys. Take my yo-yo and do some practicing. I've got plenty more where that one came from. I expect next time I see you, you'll put me to shame with the stunts you can do. No, no, Rusty. Bopping your poor momma is not a good trick." She pulled back and waved. "Don't be strangers, now. We're just one big, happy family around here. So, you come and visit real soon. Hear?"
"Well, now," Gabby muttered. "If that don't beat all."
Frank nodded in agreement. "Wish I could stick around and see if she's as smooth a wrangler as she is a talker. But I better start for home. Once my housekeeper gets a load of those Radburns, she's gonna up and quit on me. No question about it."
Holt gave them a look of disgust. "Nobody who dresses like that has been within spittin' distance of a ranch, and you both know it." He folded his arms across his chest. "She's no wrangler. I'd bet my bottom dollar on it."
His gaze wandered in her direction. No, he realized grimly, she wasn't a wrangler, but she was trouble. He didn't doubt for a minute Tex could sweet talk a chicken out of the jaws of a starving coyote. He didn't intend to let her sweet talk him. No, sir. Not him.
And yet... Doggone it. With all that black hair hanging halfway to her waist in tight, shiny curls, even the back of her appealed. Not to mention her nipped-in waist, a pert little rump and long, lean legs that could clamp around his saddlebags any day of the week. She was too pretty by half. Which meant the only way to protect himself was to get her off his ranch. Pronto. Before she opened her mouth and changed his mind for him.
She turned and practically sashayed across the dusty yard to his side. He forced himself to be fair. With those ridiculous chaps and jeans, sashaying was probably the only way she could move. He spoke before she had the chance. No point in giving her an unfair advantage. "I'm calling your bluff, Tex. Time to put up or pack up."
She didn't seem the least concerned. "I'm ready when you are," she said.
He gave an abrupt nod. "I'll go find your resumé and we'll get this nonsense over and done with." He strode toward the ranch house and snagged his foreman by the arm. "Get Petunia," he ordered in a quiet aside.
Gabby started. "Petunia? You sure?"
Holt risked a quick look over his shoulder. Tex stood in the middle of the drive as soft and fresh as newly churned butter. He almost changed his mind. Almost. Then her dimples winked at him. "Just do it!" he barked, slamming his hat down on his head.
He stomped up the porch steps, his inappropriate parts once again in an uproar. Hell's bells and little fishes! That woman was yanking his chain something fierce. And worst of all?
She didn't even know it.
Chapter 2
She stretched out her arms and laughed aloud. Lordy, she loved being a cowboy!
Several minutes later Holt Winston returned to the porch, a roll of papers crumpled in his hand. She simply stood and stared, overcome with admiration. Admiration, and something more. Something she had no business feeling toward her employer. He appealed in a way no other man ever had. There was a strength about him that drew her. A permanency that reflected the landscape surrounding them. And it didn’t hurt that he was sexier than hell.
Holt shoved his Stetson to the back of his head, revealing dark brown hair shot with streaks of sun-ripened gold. Without the shadow cast by his brim, she could also see his face more clearly, and she liked what she saw.
His features contained none of the smooth, boyish charm of so many of her male friends. The weathered crags and valleys of Holt's face revealed a man who'd lived hard and on his own terms, who'd known his fair share of sun, dust, and wind. A starburst of tiny lines emphasized his unwavering gaze, and deep creases bracketed a firm mouth and square chin. From the high jutting cheekbones and uncompromising blackness of his eyes, not to mention the hint of copper tinting his skin tones, she suspected Mexican or Indian blood had found its way into his ancestry.
He'd changed his torn shirt, she noticed with some relief, the heavy denim free of distressing blood specks. His fleece-lined vest blew open in the breeze, revealing a pair of work gloves tucked into a wide black belt. His leather chaps rode low on his hips, clinging to long, lean legs and emphasizing the fluid grace of his movements.
Here before her stood an honest-to-goodness cowboy. He was tall, spare, and muscular. And absolutely perfect. She gave herself an entire minute to drink him in, aware that a big part of the attraction related to his occupation. She’d always had a soft spot for a cowboy. This one fell into the category of super-sized cowboy. How she envied the life he'd led, the life she'd always dreamed of leading.
"Don't just stand there. Haul your citified tail over to the corral and let's see what you can do," the honest-to-goodness cowboy groused. "Or, like as not, can’t do," he added beneath his breath.
"Yessir, boss," she said, trotting after him. This was it. Her big chance. Boy howdy, it didn't get any better than this!
Gabby exited the barn, weighted down by a saddle and blanket, and leading a large dun mare. He gave the horse a light swat on the rump and it trotted into the corral. With the ease of long practice, he swung the saddle onto the upper rail of the fence and climbed up next to it.
"All set," he called.
Holt nodded, slapping the resumé and references against his thigh. "Says here you're quite impressive with a rope," he addressed Cami. Snagging a length of thick braided manila off a post by the corral, he tossed it to her. "Try impressin' me."
The rope uncoiled, half the length slithering in the dirt. Not a problem, she decided, gathering up the excess. She'd impress him. Sure she would. Besides, how hard could it be?
Holding the bulk of the rope in her left hand, she swung the looped end into the air and twirled it. To her utter delight, not to mention amazement, it worked. A large spinning circle appeared above her head. She looked over at Holt and grinned.
"Where'd you like it, pardner?" she drawled.
"Lasso the post next to Gabby. The post," he emphasized, "not my foreman."
"You got it." She snapped her right arm back and then forward, toward the post. The rope obediently flew off behind her. It never reappeared. Instead, the rope went taut and she heard an anguished howl. She whipped around and stared in horror.
"Congratulations," Holt said. "You roped my sheepdog. Any time we need Git hogtied, I'll know who to call."
"Lord have mercy!" she exclaimed, running for the dog. Gently she eased the rope from around the animal. He gave her hand a pitiful little lick and flopped onto his back. "I'm sorry, Git," she said earnestly. "Truly, sorry."
Holt strolled over and peered down at the dog. "I do believe he surrenders. If you can convince the cows to do that, we've got it made." He eyed her sternly. "Now, would you care to tell me what you do with a rope that's so all-fired impressive?"
"Hang swings," she admitted.
"Come again?"
She cleared her throat. "I...I hung a couple swings for the neighborhood kids. Their parents were very grateful. When I asked for references, they were happy to oblige."
"You're kidding."
"Am not. I have a real knack for knots, too. And one other thing." She dug deep into her pocket and pulled out her spare yo-yo. "I can rope something fierce with this."
"The hell you can."
She looked him straight in the eye and said, "The hell I can, too."
"That's not even a rope," he scoffed. "It's a string."
She shrugged. "Rope, string. It's all the same. Only difference is the thickness."
He shoved his hat back on his head, clearly put out. "I'd call that a rather significant difference. Wouldn't you?"
"No. Just watch."
She jumped to her feet and stood a comfortable distance from the post he'd wanted her to lasso. Planting one heel firmly in the dust, she gave the yo-yo a few warm up spins. Ready, she jerked her wrist and sent the yo-yo flying toward the post. It whistled by Gabby, spun around the post and tied in a pretty knot.
Gabby nearly tipped off the railing. "Son of a bitch!"
Holt folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you plan on doing to my longhorns? I've got news for you."
Cami frowned. "It won't work?"
"Glad you agree."
"But don't you see? I'm a natural with ropes." She glanced at the yo-yo. "Okay, with strings. But I can graduate to ropes. I know I can. The only difference is—"
"Thickness. So you say. Fact is, I need a wrangler who's already good with ropes. Not with yo-yos," he added, stemming her attempts to argue. "With ropes."
"Strike one?" she asked.
He inclined his head. "Strike one. Let's see how you do with horses." He examined the papers in his hand. "Says here you're a natural with livestock and you first sat a horse when you were three."
"True. Every word."
"Uh-huh. Well, don't just stand there. Go get your horse saddled."
Cami scuffed her boots in the dirt. Would this be the right time to point out that her resumé didn't mention anything about saddling horses? Perhaps not. Somehow she doubted Holt would appreciate the distinction. Besides, how hard could it be?
"Er, what's his—" She peeked at the animal's hindquarters. "Her name?"
"Petunia."
"Good. A Petunia." Anything named after a flower couldn't be too bad. "I can handle a Petunia. Sure I can." With a decisive nod, she headed for to the corral fence.
The horse stood ten yards away, swishing flies with her tail. Reacting to the jangle of spurs, the animal swung her head around and gave Cami the once-over. Apparently unimpressed, Petunia turned away with a noisy snort.
"Hey, there," Cami called. "Nice day, isn't it?"
The horse ignored her. Was it her imagination, or had the animal suddenly grown? Not that it mattered. Huge or not, she'd have to find a way to stick a saddle on her back and climb aboard. Catching the reins, she led Petunia over to where Gabby sat with the saddle. He tossed her a pad and blanket.
Okay. A pad and blanket. They undoubtedly went under the saddle so the horse wouldn’t suffer from saddle sores. Made sense. She could do this. But which came first? Pad or blanket? She struggled to recall and drew a total blank. No problem. When all else failed, use logic and
reason. Then guess.
She stepped in front of the horse, stroking the soft tan muzzle. Petunia ducked her head and Cami took the opportunity to whisper into the huge horsey ear. "Time for you and me to reach a little understanding. I need to look good and I'd appreciate your help with that. I've already struck out on my first cowboy skill. I'd be real sorry, if not downright annoyed, if I struck out on this one, too. So what do you say we girls stick together and make a small—though profitable—bargain? Say a lump of sugar in exchange for fifteen minutes' good behavior?"
Petunia snorted, grabbed a mouthful of silver shirt fringe and chowed down. Cami scuffled with the horse and came away with a bit less fringe than when she'd started. "That's a yes, right?" she asked. Petunia grabbed for more fringe and Cami darted toward the horse's midsection. "Well, if that's a yes I'd hate to think how you'd tell me no. But I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I guess."
"That horse ain't gonna saddle itself, no matter how long you stand there and jaw with it," Gabby informed her.
She gave a decisive nod. "Gotcha. More saddle, less jaw."
Trusting to dumb luck, a quality that rarely let her down, she placed the pad first and the blanket second, across the horse's back. Great. She scratched her head. Not great. There seemed to be a whole heck of a lot more blanket than horse. This couldn't be right. The deep creases in the thick cotton caught her attention and inspiration struck. She folded the blanket and eyed the results. That looked much better. She returned for the saddle.
"Allow me," Gabby said. He straddled the rail, grabbed the saddle horn, and passed her the saddle.
"Too kind," she said. She grasped hold of it, staggered beneath the unexpected weight, and measured her sixty-seven inches in the dirt.
Gabby chuckled. "Heavy sucker, ain't it?"
"I hadn't noticed," she claimed, struggling to get the saddle off her chest.
Love Me Some Cowboy Page 54
