Agnes, Holt's housekeeper, acted even worse. She'd returned three days ago from vacation and made it clear “hands” weren’t welcome in the ranch house, especially hands not worth their salt and citified to boot. Set on a course guaranteed to aggravate, she kept shaking her head and grumbling about "history repeating itself" and "there goes the ranch." That in particular stung.
But most frustrating of all, the first batch of guests was expected any time and, unlike all the other wranglers, she didn't know what to do when they arrived. Not that she hadn't been told.
"Keep out of the way," Agnes had sniffed. "I'll take care of the guests."
"Show 'em your yo-yo tricks," Gabby suggested. "Jes' don't bean nobody."
"Give me your rope," Holt ordered. "I can't have you dragging any of the guests through the mud."
"Aw, Holt," Cami replied in a mortified undertone. "Don't ask me to give up my rope. How am I going to meet your conditions of employment if I can't practice with it?"
He started to speak, then changed his mind. "Fine. Keep the rope. But stay away from anything that breathes. Got it?"
"Got it."
Now she stood, feet planted firmly in the dust, determined to practice until she collapsed. Not that it did much good. The closest she'd come to roping something happened when she'd dropped the blasted loop on top of herself. But she wouldn't give up. No, sir. Not her.
For the fiftieth time that day, she swung the lariat into the air and tossed it toward the corral. For the fiftieth time it spun out in front of her. To her utter amazement, this time it dropped neatly over the fence post. A quick tug and it pulled tight. Son of a gun! She stood for a moment, staring in disbelief. A slow, wide grin split her face and she whooped for joy, punching the air with her fists. She'd done it. She’d finally done it. She'd lassoed what she'd meant to lasso.
So what if it couldn't move, let alone moo. Once she got the hang of roping fence posts, she’d have no problem roping cattle. Holt would be impressed. Gabby would be amazed. Agnes would be speechless—finally. And Holt would sweep her up into those strong, powerful arms of his and twirl her around.
He'd say wonderful things like, "You're hired for the season. And by the way, this calls for another of those mind-splintering kisses." He'd duck down and capture her mouth with his. Romantic music would swell from speakers hidden in Gabby's mustache and she and Holt would ride off into the sunset searching for cows to rope. Life would be perfect again.
As if her success set off a predetermined signal, a car pulled into the drive. A man and woman climbed out and looked around. From the back seat tumbled a little girl no more than five. Agnes appeared on the porch and greeted the couple. The little girl gave the housekeeper the once over with a shrewd and discerning eye, abandoned her parents, and skipped over to Cami's side.
"Hi. My name's Tina. This is my first time on a ranch. We had to drive hours and hours to get here. I almost threw up three times. Mommy has a headache and Daddy said a bad word." She took a quick breath and clasped her hands behind her back. "What's your name?"
"Cami."
Tina stared, her shiny brown eyes filled with awe. "Are you a real cowboy?"
Cami stood a little straighter, tucked her thumbs into her belt and rocked back on her heels. "Sure am."
"Can you rope and ride and shoot and everything?"
"Well..." Cami strode over to the fence post to retrieve her rope. "To be honest, I can't shoot," she admitted.
The little girl appeared momentarily disappointed, but she made a quick recovery. "Will you show me how to rope?"
Another car pulled into the drive. Two boys and a girl crossed to Cami's side, their parents joining Agnes and the first couple on the porch.
"You gonna rope something?" one of the boys demanded.
She hesitated, recalling Holt's explicit instructions to keep her rope away from anything that breathed. She glanced from the eager faces gathered around her, to Agnes nattering on the porch with the adults. One little toss couldn't hurt, could it?
"Well, ah, I guess so," Cami said. She gathered up her rope and stood next to the children. Swinging the loop into the air, she peered down at them and grinned. "Now don't get in the way. And whatever you do, don't go off behind me."
She aimed for the corral fence and tossed. For the second time, the rope dropped dead center over the post. It took every ounce of self-control not to jump up and down for joy and execute a very uncowboylike happy dance. She'd done it. She'd actually done it. Twice! Over the hill beyond the corral she caught a glimpse of Holt and Gabby riding toward the ranch. Guilt stabbed her. Had they seen? She shook the rope loose and reeled it in, wrapping it around her arm as she did so. With any luck, they hadn't.
"Do it again! Do it again!" the children clamored.
"I don't know," Cami said, reluctant to borrow trouble. Obeying Holt warred with her desire to show him how much she'd improved. If he could see her actually lasso something, maybe he'd keep her on as his wrangler.
"Please!" they begged. "Once more?"
"One more time and that's it for now," she said, twirling the lariat.
She peeked Holt's way. She could tell by the sudden jerk of his head and the way he straightened in the saddle that she'd caught his eye. And he'd taken note of the children at her side. To her dismay, Loco's pace picked up significantly. Did he really consider her such a hazard? Well, she'd show him. She'd prove herself. Boy howdy, would she prove herself. She twirled the rope for all she was worth.
"Oh, look!" Tina exclaimed the exact instant Cami started into her throw. "A sheepdog."
It proved just enough of a distraction. Reacting without thought, Cami snapped her head to watch Git slink by. The rope, acquiring a mind of its own, snaked through the air. It landed clean again. Only this time it landed clean over Git. The sheepdog, literally at the end of his rope, howled in anguish and took off at a dead run.
Horror made her reactions a shade too slow. Before she had time to drop the rope, it twisted around her arm and yanked tight. This can't be happening, she had a split second to think, before Git's momentum jerked her off her feet and onto her belly. She yelped at the unexpected and painful meeting of rock against rib.
"Whoa, Git!" she shrieked. "Stop!" To her everlasting relief, he obeyed. He skidded to a halt and turned to face her. Cami gulped.
This was one pissed off animal.
She stripped the rope from her wrist before he could take it into his head to run again. "Now, Git," she began, slowly backing away and holding up her hands. "It was an accident. I swear." He was having none of it. With a furious bark, he stalked her. "I'm sorry," she tried to placate him. "Truly sorry."
He didn't look convinced. In fact, he appeared determined to explain the full extent of his pissdom. A rapid retreat seemed in order. With a quick "Excuse me, folks," she spun on her heel and ran. She darted around the hay wagon and into the barn, a barking Git at her heels. She raced past the stanchions, manure gutters, and troughs to the ladder at the far end. Dogs couldn't climb ladders, right? Lordy, she hoped not. She climbed. Fast. Git stood, paws planted on the bottom rung and howled.
Gaining the top of the ladder, she flopped onto the bales of hay, gasping for air. Whew! That was a close one. Not that she blamed the poor dog. Goodness, no. She'd be the first to admit she'd proved a bit of a trial for him. And until today, he'd been very patient. But all critters had their breaking point. She understood completely. She also understood Git had reached his.
She nibbled on a fingertip. Now to explain why she'd taken to hiding in the hayloft to Holt. Somehow she suspected that wouldn't be too easy. A low warning growl brought her head up and she shot to her feet. So much for dogs not climbing ladders. This one had managed just fine. She retreated.
"Now, Git. I'm sure we can work a deal. Let's be reasonable. How about a doggy biscuit?" He kept coming and she kept retreating. "Okay. How about two? Three? You're really serious about this, aren't you?"
He stopped and sat, scratching
furiously. Cami relaxed. "Good boy. Good Git." She offered her hand. "Wanna be friends again?"
He seemed to consider. It didn't take long. Giving in, his tail twitched into a wag and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. With an enthusiastic bark, he bounded toward her. Relieved, she took a final, unthinking step backward to brace herself against the arrival of sixty pounds of playful dog.
Bad move.
Empty air greeted her booted foot. She teetered on the edge of the open loft door, scrambling for purchase, her arms pinwheeling madly. Git bounced up and gave her a forgiving lick. Gravity didn’t require any extra help. With a shriek, she tumbled in a general down-and-out direction. This is it. I'm dead, came her final, wild thought. Her last sight was of Git standing at the loft door, staring at her, his head cocked to one side and a wide grin spread across his doggy mouth.
With a loud poof, she hit something reasonably cushy, something that broke her fall and closed around her, burying her in a bristly embrace. Cami opened her eyes, realizing she couldn't see a blessed thing. A strange thundering sounded in her ears, growing louder and louder. Then silence, an eerie, waiting sort of silence.
I've died. I've died and am floating through limbo. Scratchy limbo, but limbo. I see a light ahead of me. I'm drifting toward the light. It's growing brighter. And brighter. I can see now. I see...
Holt stared down at her from Loco's back, a clump of hay in his hands. She coughed on bits of dirt and debris.
"Is this heaven?" she asked in dazed wonder.
"Nope. Not unless your idea of heaven is my idea of hell. Leastwise, it will be hell once I get done scorching your tail feathers." He reached into the wagon, shoving hay off her.
"Maybe I should explain."
"Maybe you shouldn't. Stop wriggling, Tex. Let me make sure there's nothing broken." He checked her limbs with an impersonal touch and nodded in satisfaction. "You'll live," he informed her, though the blatant fury deepening his voice made her suspect he'd hoped otherwise. "You can thank your lucky stars you landed in the hay wagon and not three feet to the left or right. Of course, by the time I'm finished with you, you may wish you had missed the wagon altogether."
The next thing she knew, he'd snatched her up onto Loco and cradled her in his arms. They trotted across the yard and she sighed and collapsed against him. She should be worried. She should be nervous. Instead, she grinned like an idiot. "If this is hell, heaven must be incredible," she mumbled, snuggling deeper into his arms.
"Pull it together, Tex. End of the line."
He plucked her from the saddle and planted her on the ground. She swayed, struggling to anchor herself on legs turned to mush. A dozen frightened faces spun before her dust-blurred eyes.
"Hey, there. Nice meetin' you folks," she said in greeting. She managed a beaming smile, ruined by the fact that her knees buckled. "You'll forgive me if I don't stand, won't you?"
Holt leaped from his horse and wrapped a supporting arm about her waist before she hit the ground. "Hang on another minute," he murmured in her ear. In a crisp carrying voice, he announced, "Welcome to the A-OK Corral. We hope you enjoyed our little stunt show. It's our way of welcoming you to the wild and woolly west."
There was a moment of silence before relieved laughter broke out. "A show! Of course, a show," the guests commented to one another. They applauded enthusiastically. A moment later, the more astute of the ranch hands followed suit.
"Give them a wave and a smile," Holt instructed in a forceful undertone.
She obeyed, then tried to go one better. She bowed. It was a big mistake. The world tilted upside down, black dots obscuring her vision. Swearing beneath his breath, Holt scooped her into his arms and slung her over his shoulder.
"Happy to have you here," he said, pumping hands as he edged his way through the press of people. "Tex is going to get cleaned up and will be back real soon. In the meantime, Agnes can tell you where to take your bags." With that, he pushed through the last of the guests, climbed the porch steps, and disappeared into the ranch house.
"Dang!" she moaned. "My ribs hurt."
"The state of your ribs are the least of your worries," he growled. "You're lucky you weren't killed."
"Aw, Holt."
He continued down the hall and shoved open a door at the far end. It was a bedroom, she noted. A very stark, masculine, and upside down bedroom. He set her carefully on her feet. With swift, economical movements, he slipped off her hat. A single flick of his wrist sent it soaring through the air. It nailed one of the bed knobs. His own followed ringing the opposite bedpost, the two hats spinning in identical lazy circles.
"Of all the stupid, idiotic stunts. What the hell were you thinking?" He dropped to his knees in front of her and unbuckling her chaps.
She shoved at his hands. He shoved right back. "That would be hard to say," she admitted.
"I'll bet. Because you weren't thinking, were you, Tex?"
"Could we skip that question and move on to the next?"
His shoulder clipped her hip and she toppled onto the bed. "Not tonight, dear," she groaned. "I have a headache."
"That's not the only thing you're going to have. Honey."
He tugged off her boots and stripped her chaps from her legs, tossing them to one side. She made a passing attempt to straighten her clothes, but he stopped her.
"Give it up. Your modesty's already shot to hell. All this shirt's good for is the ragbag. And that's being generous. Besides, I've seen women's undergarments once or twice before."
"Not mine you haven't.” She reconsidered. “Well, except for my bra."
"I'll try and contain myself," came his dry response. He peeled back the dirt-streaked ripped cotton and released a long, gusty sigh. The fury faded from his face. "Good grief. You sure do take this cowboying business to heart."
"That bad?"
A small frown appeared between his eyebrows and the muscles in his jaw tightened. "I've seen worse.” He traced her rib cage, probing with gentle fingers.
It was more than she could bear. She shivered, wriggling beneath his callused touch. "Cut that out," she complained. "You're taking advantage."
His hands stilled and a quiet laugh broke from him. "You call this taking advantage? No, Tex. When I take advantage, count on it, you'll be able to tell the difference. Now hold still. I want to check for damage."
"Damage?" If she didn't miss her guess, damage meant cuts and scrapes. And cuts and scrapes often leaked. And that type of leaking usually came in the form of vile and gruesome red splotches. She closed her eyes, unwilling to look for fear of seeing something that might make her woozy. Or rather, more woozy. "What's the verdict?"
"A few scratches. And you've got a nasty bruise on your side."
She risked a quick peek. "I seem to recollect a small skirmish with a rock."
"A losing skirmish, by the look of it. Nothing some soap and water and a few days' rest won't cure."
"I don't have a few days to rest."
"You do now."
She stared at him in distress. "Holt, please."
His expression might have been carved from granite. "Don't start in on me, Tex. You'll come out on the losing end."
She eased onto one elbow, wrapping the remaining bits of shirt around her chest. "It was an accident."
He inclined his head, a shaft of afternoon sun highlighting the strands of gold in his brown hair. "It always is with you."
"I wanted to show you how well I could rope," she tried to explain.
"Oh, you did that all right."
"You don't understand." Enthusiasm crept into her voice. "I nailed it, Holt. You should have seen me. I roped the fence two whole times!"
His eyebrows rose. "You roped the fence. Twice."
She beamed. "Sure did. And I would have done it a third time if I didn’t get distracted." She bit down on her lower lip, suddenly remembering. "Poor Git. I hope he's not still mad."
Holt folded his arms across his chest. "Last I saw, he was chewing your rope into
scrap. That dog's going to be rope shy for the rest of his natural days. I should just shoot the poor mutt and put him out of his misery."
Wincing, she struggled to her feet. "You wouldn't," she said, appalled at the mere suggestion.
"He'd probably thank me for it." He thrust a hand through his hair and glared at her. "Turn off the waterworks, Tex. You know damn well I wouldn't shoot Git. Come to think of it, the one I should shoot is you."
She bowed her head, overcome with remorse. "Are you very angry?"
"Very," he said in an uncompromising voice. "You disobeyed a direct order. And I take a dim view of employees who can't even follow the simplest of instructions."
"Is there any way I can make amends?" She glanced at him, fascinated by the sudden gleam in his dark eyes.
"I could come up with an idea or two, if pushed." He took a step closer and dropped his hands on her shoulders. "What the hell am I going to do with you?" he muttered.
Nervously she shifted backward and lost her balance yet again. The bed provided a much more comfortable landing than the hay wagon. Holt followed her down, his hands braced on either side of her so he wouldn't bring further harm to her bruised and battered ribs.
For a long moment, he stared at her. She saw in his face the battle he fought, one between anger and desire. She knew the instant desire won, just as it had the day she’d dropped him in the mud.
"Your eyes are the color of a summer sky," he murmured. "And your smile's like a tiny ray of sunshine." He swept the curls from her face, tracing her high cheekbones with a surprisingly delicate touch. "It's been a long time since I last saw sunshine."
"Maybe you were looking in the wrong place," she suggested.
"Maybe I just wasn't looking." He slid his hands into her hair, his thumbs stroking either side of her jaw. Never taking his gaze from her, he eased down, bracing himself on his elbows so his weight was a soft brush of leather and cotton against her breasts.
Without a word, he kissed her, a slow, searching kiss. She groaned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Are you taking advantage of me now?" she whispered.
Love Me Some Cowboy Page 59
