Love Me Some Cowboy

by Lisa Mondello

  "It's a dream," her mother insisted. "A child's fancy."

  "I'm not a child anymore," Cami said gently. "And being a cowboy's no longer a dream, but an ambition. It’s time to let go of the old memories and make some new ones."

  "Old memories die hard," Charlotte retorted. Her chin wobbled and a sheen of tears misted her eyes. "It's not safe," she whispered. "I lost your father to ranching. I couldn't bear to lose my baby, too."

  Regret swept through Cami. But it didn't sway her. She refused to allow it to sway her. If she didn't hold her ground now, she'd never be able to in the future. "I know you're afraid. But I won't let your fears stop me. I have to make my own decisions now."

  Her mother laughed through her tears. "I have no problem with you making your own decisions. So long as your decision is to return to Virginia." At Cami's pointed silence, Charlotte took a step closer. "Please," she implored, offering her hands. "Come home."

  Cami closed her eyes, wanting with every ounce of her being to clasp her mother's hands and submit. She could practically smell Charlotte's terror, and that awareness caused an upwelling of love and compassion, almost tipping the scales in her mother’s direction. Almost. Until a picture flowered to life in her mind. Once again she could see her father, raven black hair tumbling across his forehead, hazel eyes aglow with humor and enthusiasm, reaching up and saying, "Come here, Camellia-bush. What a good little cowboy you're gonna make. Daddy's little cowboy."

  Slowly she opened her eyes. She couldn't change her personality or dreams, no matter how much they threatened her mother’s peace of mind. Sure, she'd delayed the inevitable as long as possible. Empathy for Charlotte's fears and memories kept her close to home far longer than she'd have preferred. But no more. She had to follow her own star. She was a cowboy, through and through. Her decision made, she took a deliberate step back.

  "I'm staying." They were the hardest two words she'd ever uttered and she knew how much her decision hurt her momma. But she couldn't help it.

  Charlotte's lips trembled and her hands slowly dropped to her sides. She pulled herself up straight and nodded. "Fine. It's your choice and I respect that. But I'm not leaving until you do."

  Cami started in surprise. "Come again?"

  "You heard me. I'm not leaving until you do. When you go, I go. Until then, I'm here to stay."

  Cami's mouth fell open. "But you can't stay. Only guests and employees allowed. No mothers!"

  "Then I'll be a guest," came the obstinate reply. "This is a dude ranch, isn't it?" She looked around for confirmation. "So, make me a dude." With that, she crossed to the car and popped open the trunk.

  "Now, Momma..."

  "I'll unload and you can show me where to take my luggage. We'll have a wonderful time together. You can play cowboy and I can keep you safe."

  "Good luck," Holt muttered.

  Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at Cami. "All you have to do is stay away from cows, horses, and sharp instruments. That's not asking too much, is it?"

  "Yes!"

  "And ropes," added Holt. "You forgot to mention staying away from ropes."

  Charlotte blinked. "Really? You have dangerous ropes around here?"

  "Only in the hands of certain people." He folded his arms across his chest and gave a significant nod in Cami's direction.

  Cool determination settled in Charlotte's blue eyes. "Fine. And no ropes. Aside from that, the sky's the limit."

  "Unless you think up any other dangerous activities?"

  "Exactly. We'll still have lots of fun. You'll see."

  "Oh, no, we won't see!"

  "Sure you will," Holt interjected on an encouraging note. "And once you two are done having fun, you can both go home to Virginia."

  "Exactly!" Charlotte concurred.

  "Now wait just one gol'durn minute here." Cami stepped between her mother and the trunk. "Momma, this isn't right. You can't do this. I'm supposed to be working here and you're disrupting that work."

  "Now, Camellia—"

  "Enough." Her tone brooked no argument. "We had an agreement. You'd allow me to work a ranch for the summer and I'd be home by fall. You gave me your word you wouldn't interfere. Are you going to break your word?"

  Charlotte bowed her head, her lips pressed tightly together. "Don't send me away," she whispered in an agonized undertone. "Please, don't."

  For an endless moment, mother and daughter faced each other, at an impasse. Then Holt interceded.

  "You're in luck, Mrs. Greenbush," he said. "Up until yesterday we were booked solid. But it just so happens we have a two week cancellation. You're welcome to take over the reservation."

  "Two weeks?" Charlotte grabbed his offer like a lifeline.

  He nodded. "We can discuss the possibility of prolonging your stay at the end of that time. Tex?" He shot her a warning look.

  "Sounds perfect," she reluctantly agreed, seeing the merits of his suggestion.

  She didn't like it. But since her mother possessed an ornery stubbornness, one of her less admirable traits, this offered a reasonable compromise until Charlotte calmed down a tad. Unfortunately, that might take a bit longer than two weeks. More like two years.

  Stark relief marked her mother's delicate features. "Thank you so much, Mr. Winston. And please, call me Charlotte."

  He held out his hand. "Make it Holt." He glanced at Cami. "I'll put your mother in the blue room at the ranch house. There's a spare bed. You're welcome to stay with her if you'd like."

  Stay with her mother? Like a guest? Cami's brows pulled together. Oh, he was smooth. "Come and join your mother," he’d offer expansively. "Enjoy your two weeks together. Relax. Have fun." And at the end of Charlotte's visit he'd have them both on their way out the door and off his ranch. She slammed her hat down on her head in perfect imitation of her employer.

  "I'm no visiting dude," she informed him. "I sleep with the hands, where I belong."

  His expression cooled. "Then snap to it. Help our guest with her luggage."

  She nodded grimly. "Yessir, boss. Anything you say."

  * * *

  "OKAY, FOLKS. LISTEN up." Holt reined Loco to a stop in front of the guests, all mounted on various trail horses. "The next three days away from the ranch are going to be long, action filled, and I hope entertaining. Today we ride to the south pasture where my neighbor and I keep our longhorns. More than two dozen have been hazed down from higher pastureland and need to be rounded up for the drive into Lullabye."

  Cami, holding a restless Petunia in check, kept to the far side of Gabby and Frank Smith. She wanted to be close enough so her mother could see her and be reassured, and yet still remain grouped with the other wranglers.

  "Are longhorns dangerous?" an older man questioned.

  Holt shook his head. "These animals are used for show, so they're familiar with people and pretty docile."

  "How do you define docile?" another guest asked nervously.

  Holt sat back in the saddle. "To be honest, I give any animal with six plus foot of horn plenty of respect and even more maneuvering room. But it takes a bit to rile a longhorn. They're some of the smartest, gentlest cows around."

  "Number one rule," Gabby hollered. "Don't rile the longhorns."

  Holt waited for the laughter to fade before continuing. "It's a good three or four hour trip to the pasture with lots of fine scenery between. The one thing we won’t have is cellphone coverage. You may have already noticed that you can only make calls close to the ranch house. So, if you brought a phone with you, I suggest you stow it.”

  “Second rule,” Gabby shouted. “You can’t herd a longhorn by cellphone.”

  More laughter followed and Holt waited it out. “We'll do some preliminary roundup work today. Afterward, we'll have a hot meal over the campfire. Cami, explain to the good folks here how that works.”

  “Yessir, boss.” She raised her voice in perfect imitation of Gabby’s. “Campfire cookin’ is a snap. You hold the cold thing over the hot thing and you pull it
off before it turns into a black thing.”

  “And what do I do when someone is foolish enough to turn the black thing into a burning thing?”

  “You throw a bucket of water on the burning thing. ’Course that sometimes means the person who causes the burning thing gets a face full of cold water.”

  “And how do you know this, wrangler?”

  She grinned. “Aw, Holt. You know how.”

  “I do. But these good folks don’t.”

  Her grin broadened. “I know cuz I’m the one who usually gets the face full of water.”

  More laughter followed and this time, Holt joined in. “Let me give you fair warning. You'll work hard today, but you’ll also sleep well tonight."

  Since the cattle were owned jointly by Holt and Frank, both ranchers had wranglers and guests working the herd in a collective effort. Unfortunately, those who knew what they were doing were significantly outnumbered by those who didn't, which made the job much more difficult.

  Holt leaned across his saddle horn, his deep, authoritative voice carrying with ease. "Tomorrow, we round up the last of the stray longhorns and get them situated in the holding pen. Should be another full, hard day's work. There's a cabin nearby, so you'll have the choice of using the bunks there or sleeping on a bedroll under the stars. Friday, we drive the cattle into Lullabye to kick off Western Roundup Days. Any questions?"

  A woman raised a tentative hand. "What if it rains?"

  A smile drifted across Holt's face. "Why, ma'am, then you'll get wet. Any more questions?" There weren't. "Okay. Let's move out."

  By design, each wrangler blended among the guests, chatting casually and answering the unending stream of questions. Holt trotted over to Cami's side.

  "How's your mother settling in?" he asked.

  Cami tugged the brim of her hat low over her eyes, shading her face from the bright morning sunshine. "Okay, I guess. She's still a bit nervous that I'm going to kill myself."

  "With good reason, I'd say."

  She ignored him. "Aside from that, she seems to be doing just fine."

  "I arranged for Frank to ride with her. Thought it would help take her mind off her only chick."

  She peered over her shoulder. Sure enough, Frank Smith rode at her mother's side, engaging her in an animated conversation. They looked good together. At forty-three, her mother was a beautiful woman. Yet she'd never remarried, never even had a serious relationship in the twenty-one years since her husband's death. For the first time, that struck Cami as odd.

  She glanced at them speculatively. Frank couldn't be much older than Charlotte, at a guess only a few years. He rode tall in the saddle, a striking man with salt-and-pepper hair and calm gray eyes. Of course, she didn’t consider him anywhere near as striking as Holt. But for a temporary suitor, he'd do.

  "Thanks," she said to Holt. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

  A lazy grin tugged at his mouth. "Frank didn't take much convincing. He seemed happy to help."

  Breathtaking scenery enhanced the enjoyment of the ride. Cami, content to let the leaders set the pace, chatted with guests and enjoyed the view. Several hours later, Holt drew up short and waved them in. The guests and wranglers obediently gathered close.

  "We're almost to camp," he announced. "As we ride, keep your eyes open for strays. If you see anything, alert one of the wranglers and he'll show you how we round them up. Okay. Fan out and keep your eyes peeled."

  Cami winged off to one side of the group, picking her way through brush and rock. She heard the occasional shouts whenever various members of the group found a stray and herded it in. Gradually, she parted company with the others, intent on finding her own cow. A sudden suspicious movement drew her attention to a mountain mahogany bush. It twitched, rustling in a manner no wind ever created.

  She stiffened, excitement blossoming. The distinct possibility existed that a cow made that noise. And if so, this was it. Time to round up them doggies. She brought Petunia's head around and circled the bush. On the far side she found what she sought—a calf.

  The calf turned to look at her. A more wicked, mischievous expression, she'd never seen. If she didn't miss her guess, this tyke threatened to be hell on hooves. Fine. She'd find a way to handle hell on hooves.

  Maybe.

  First, she tried to usher the contrary critter toward open pasture. Breaking into a trot, the calf circled the bush and came up behind. She chased him in the opposite direction with similar results. Several more attempts to flush junior from his hiding place ended the same way, the calf the smug winner and Cami the frustrated loser.

  Perhaps she should rope it. Yep, she'd show this young maverick who was boss. She unsnapped her rope from the saddle and flipped the loop into the air. Aiming carefully, she tossed it at the wayward animal. At the last possible moment, he ambled forward. The rope snagged in the bush and Cami swore beneath her breath. With a laughing bleat, the calf loped off.

  It just figured. She tugged at the rope, but to no avail. She sighed. And that figured, too.

  Clambering off Petunia, Cami fought to free her rope. The bush fought back. With an infuriated cry, she pulled, throwing every ounce of her weight behind the attempt. The rope abruptly jerked loose and she tumbled tin cup over teakettle, before bouncing to a stop on her rump. She winced, rubbing the offending part of her anatomy.

  "Dang. That hurts."

  As though in response, the bush in front of her rustled. She frowned. What in the world? Before she had time to gather her wits sufficiently to move, a huge cow head poked through the shrubbery. Oh, lordy! She'd better pray her young maverick had done some mighty fast growing. Because if he hadn't, she’d just landed in major big trouble.

  "Junior?" she whispered in a quavering voice. "Is that you?"

  In response, a wet, quivering nose drew to within inches of Cami's smaller, drier one. The wet nose inhaled sharply, and for an instant she feared he’d suck her clothes clean off her body.

  She let out a squeaky cry of alarm, dug her heels into the dirt and shoved wildly, scooting backward as fast as she could scoot. With an earthshaking bellow, the steer plowed right over the bush after her.

  The next thing she knew, the biggest, ugliest, droolingest longhorn she'd ever had the misfortune to meet stood straddled above her, his muzzle hanging an inch from her face. One enormous horn, kinked into more knots than a two-year old's shoelace, twisted skyward. The other horn, equally contorted, stabbed the ground a yard to her left.

  He inhaled again.

  She shrieked.

  Oh, lordy, lordy, lordy. Don't rile the longhorns, Gabby had said. He'd neglected to mention precisely how one went about avoiding that truly terrible turn of events. She tried to swallow. A powerful thundering reverberated in her ears, growing louder and louder until her whole body shook with it. She pressed a hand to her chest, certain the sound meant her heart hovered on the verge of exploding. Any minute now, she'd faint and die. Horribly.

  The thundering subsided, replaced by the crunch of earth beneath boot heel. She risked a quick sidelong glance. "Holt," she gasped in relief. "Holt, save me!"

  "Tex?" He stooped. "That you?"

  "It's me, all right."

  "Mind telling me what you're doing down there?" he asked in mild surprise.

  She cleared her throat. "It's sort of a long story. Maybe I could tell you a bit later?"

  "Uh-huh. It can wait. You are aware that layin' flat on your back beneath more than two thousand pounds of longhorn is not a predicament I'd go out of my way to recommend."

  She shot a nervous glance upward. "You understand I'm not in any position to argue with you."

  His tone turned dry. "That's true enough."

  "Holt?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I don't mean to sound demanding or anything, but do you think you could help me?"

  "I'll do my best, but it might prove difficult. Perhaps if I introduced you two."

  "Introduced—"

  "Tex meet Buttercup. But
tercup, this is Tex."

  Buttercup opened his mouth and stuck out the biggest, wettest tongue she'd ever seen. "No," she moaned. "No licking. I don't taste good. Oh, criminy, don’t do that."

  He did.

  Gross. Longhorn cooties. "That's disgusting."

  Holt grinned. "I think he's taken a shine to you."

  She peeked up at the longhorn. To her dismay, she could see a very strange moonstruck expression in Buttercup's big brown eyes. A low, moaning sound rumbled deep in the steer's chest. He threw back his head and bellowed. The ground beneath her shook.

  "Holt!"

  "All right, calm down." Holt grabbed her beneath the arms and slid her out from under Buttercup.

  Gaining her feet, Cami rapidly retreated. Buttercup trotted after her. "Holt, do something." Holt laughed. "I mean, something more than laugh. This isn't funny."

  "Sure it is. It's springtime and Buttercup's in love. What could be more romantic?" She opened her mouth to retort and he waved her silent. "Maybe he needs to think you're already spoken for."

  "Fine." She planted her hands on her hips and faced the steer. "I hate to break this to you, buster, but I'm already spoken for." Buttercup didn't seem the least impressed. With a determined bellow, he stuck out a tongue that threatened another round of slurpy licks and kept coming. Desperate, Cami appealed to Holt. "Don't just stand there!"

  Obligingly, he stepped between Cami and the longhorn. "Perhaps a more visual demonstration is in order."

  "Say what?"

  "A visual demonstration to prove you're spoken for." He swung her into his arms, staring down at her with wicked intent. A wavy lock of sun kissed hair tumbled across his forehead. "Let's see if he understands this," he said. And covered her mouth with his.

  Buttercup and the pasture, the horses, and even the Rockies vanished as though they'd never been. All that remained was this man. And he held her—oh, how he held her—in an embrace so close and tight that he controlled the give and take of each breath. His arms formed unbreakable bands about her waist and back, bands she wished she could forge permanently in place. His widespread legs, solid and rooted, trapped her between his thighs. Unable to help herself, she yielded all will to the mouth that imprisoned hers.