The Last Cowboy

by Lindsay McKenna

  Chuckling a little, the tension flowing out of her because she saw the warmth and care burning in Slade’s eyes for the first time, Jordana said, “Funny that you said that. My mother raised banties and sold their eggs. My dad always called me ‘Banty Rooster,’ because I would fly into a tantrum when I didn’t get my way as a four-and five-year-old.”

  Slade could see that. Her black hair was mussed. Without thinking, he reached over and pushed some of the errant strands away from her face. He saw her eyes grow large with shock over his gesture. Removing his hand, he saw her soft mouth part. Wanting to kiss her, but knowing it wasn’t right under the circumstances, Slade muttered, “I can believe it.”

  “Will you let me ride Thor, Slade? And if I get lucky and win any of the prize money, it goes to you. And then you can arrange repayment in the form of riding lessons for me and Stormy once she gets well.”

  “That’s fair,” he nodded. “Only Stormy isn’t going to be ready for a year.”

  “I realize that,” Jordana said. “I know you have other endurance prospects in your training stable. Maybe you can let me ride one of them instead until Stormy is ready?” She understood the importance to Slade of being fair about this. Slade could have the money. She wanted the advance training only he could give her. That was worth everything to Jordana.

  Mulling it over, Slade said, “Okay, you got a deal.” He thrust out his hand toward her. “Out here, we live by our word and a handshake.”

  Giving a whoop of unfettered joy, Jordana stood up and gripped his hand. “You got a deal, Slade!” And then, she released his hand and followed her heart. Swiftly leaning over, Jordana pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

  Startled by Jordana’s unexpected enthusiasm, his flesh tingled wildly where her soft lips had grazed his cheek. Before he could react, Jordana had slid her arms around him, hugged him hard and immediately released him. Slade’s mouth opened, but nothing would come out of it. Jordana stood there, her blue eyes glinting with joy, her hands clasped between her breasts.

  “Slade,” she promised breathlessly, “you won’t regret this! I promise you!” Her heart pounded to underscore his decision. And she had kissed him. And hugged him! What was Slade drawing out of her?

  Sitting back in the chair, Slade soaked in her happiness that trickled through him like hot lava awakening his heart and lower body. What was there not to like about this small, feisty woman? His cheek still tingled. Slade was in shock over her warmth and unexpected kiss. Was this Jordana, the doctor who hugged her sick patients? He thought so. She was just letting him see more of who she really was. Inwardly, Slade wished her kiss and hug had been more personal, more private…woman to his man. Harshly, he warned himself that was a crazy whim at best. No woman wanted a man with a ranch floundering on the edge of foreclosure. Further, Jordana was a physician. He was merely a horse wrangler and trainer. Their two worlds were so different, just like Isabel and himself had been. Isabel had been rich and well-off. She hadn’t known what it took for Slade to keep his ranch above water and then had pouted when he didn’t spend his time with her instead.

  “I won’t disappoint you, Slade,” she went on quickly. “If you’ll set out a training schedule, I’ll work my other jobs around it. I really want to be ready for this ride. I know you can help me get there.” Jordana wanted to hug him again but thought better of it. Oh, how she’d wanted to kiss that masculine, powerful mouth of his, but she didn’t dare. And the shocking look in his gray eyes told her he hadn’t expected her warmth and enthusiasm. But this was who she really was, and Jordana couldn’t apologize for her childlike reaction to getting to ride Thor. Would Slade hold it against her? Jordana didn’t know.

  “Sit down,” he ordered her.

  Jordana sat, barely able to stop from squirming with joy. She tried to put on a serious expression to match Slade’s somber look. Shocked by her own spontaneity, Jordana wondered if her two-year hiatus without a serious relationship had made her kiss and hug Slade. Unsure how he took her enthusiasm, Jordana knew she couldn’t be the playful puppy that she really was. “What now?” she asked in a solemn tone. Slade had to know she was not only serious about this but equally responsible. Those qualities were important to him—and to her.

  Running his fingers through his hair, he scowled and thought. “Thor’s used to thirty-mile runs twice a week.” He looked up and out the windows where he could see the beautiful, jagged Tetons in the distance. Turning, he held her gaze. “You’ve never ridden the fifty-mile contest here.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Then we need to get you on that trail so you memorize it in every way. There’s places to run Thor, there’s others where a fast trot will be all you can get because of the rockiness of the area. There’s places where it’s high meadow water and you can’t plunge him through that muck and mud or you’ll pull a tendon on him.”

  Nodding, Jordana hung on his every word. “Draw me a map?”

  “I wish to hell I could ride it with you,” Slade muttered, frowning. “Then I could show you the hazards and challenges, but I can’t.”

  Jordana forced herself to remain quiet. “You draw me a map,” she told him quietly. “And I’ll do the fifty miles at half pace. I have a small camera I carry around my neck. I can take photos. I can memorize these situations, Slade.”

  “You only have a month,” he said in a heavy tone. “Only a month. The people you’re up against know this trail like the back of their hand. They know how to gauge their mount, themselves and throwing themselves against this harsh land. You don’t. You’re on a new horse and had never traversed this trail.”

  “Horses memorize,” Jordana pointed out. “I’m sure Thor knows these places.”

  “He does, but you have to trust him if he slows down or speeds up. That’s where you two are not in sync.”

  Nodding, Jordana said, “But if I can take the trail once a week as a tune up with Thor? Could we make up the difference, Slade?”

  Hearing the low-key excitement in her husky voice, he said, “I don’t know. That’s the unknown.” Sitting back, his brows slashed downward. “And then there’s Curt Downing….”

  “Oh,” Jordana murmured, “I forgot about him.”

  “Yeah, he’s going to be a real burr under your saddle. And once he finds out you’re riding Thor, his gloves will come off. He’ll do everything in his power to unseat you from Thor, Jordana. He’s a son of a bitch with a crop. Thor hates crops, and if Downing gets near enough to use it on my stud, I don’t know what he’ll do in reaction to it.” Slade shook his head. “Worse, I worry for you.”

  Reaching out, her fingers wrapping around his lower arm resting on the pine table, Jordana whispered, “Slade, don’t worry about me. I’ll have a helmet on and I’ll be wearing a Kevlar vest. I know how to fall off a horse. I’ll be all right, so don’t worry about me. My focus is on Thor and keeping him sound and out of trouble. That’s where my focus should be.” Hesitantly, Jordana lifted her hand away. She saw a glint of hunger in Slade’s expression as she’d spontaneously touched him once more. Her womanly core stirred hotly to life. She recognized that look: a man starving for his woman. He wanted to kiss her. Or? Make wildly passionate love to her? Here and now? Shocked by what she saw, Jordana avoided his fiery look. Her world rocked, suddenly unstable and dangerous. Slade wanted her. In every way.

  Jordana tried to quell her need for him. Yes, Slade was ruggedly handsome. And he stirred the fires of her sensual womanhood, too. No question about it. Gulping, Jordana tried to push her own desires for Slade away. Now was not the time to get into a tangled relationship with him. She knew he was still hurting over what Isabel had done to him. And he had his problems with Griff, too. She couldn’t see her way clear to embrace Slade on that level as badly as she wanted to. Yet, as Jordana lifted her eyes and met his stormy gray gaze, all the reasons melted hotly and disappeared. What was she going to do?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CURT DOWNING COULDN’T BELIEVE his ears. He
was having hundred-pound gunnysacks of sweet feed carried out to his Chevy pickup when he overheard the two workers talking to each other. Standing on the wooden dock of the loading area, the truck parked up against it, Curt gestured to red-haired Sandy Jenkins, a twenty-year-old who worked at the store.

  “Hey,” he called, “what did you just say?”

  Sandy threw the last gunnysack of feed into Downing’s truck and straightened.

  “I heard from my boss this morning that Dr. Jordana Lawton is riding Thor in the endurance race.” He wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve.

  Stunned, Curt growled, “That’s crap, Sandy. No one rides Thor except McPherson.”

  Grinning, Sandy sauntered over, his body lean like a whippet. “Where have you been, Mr. Downing? Three days ago Slade got gored by his bull, Diablo. It knocked him out of the competition. My boss said he talked to Dr. Lawton about the rider change this morning.”

  “I’ve been out of town,” Downing snarled. Mind spinning, he couldn’t believe his good luck. “So, McPherson can’t ride?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s what the doctor said. He tore a major artery in his thigh and had to have emergency surgery. Dr. Lawton said he was grounded from riding for six to eight weeks.”

  A slow grin of delight crawled across Curt’s face. “Well, now, isn’t that too bad?”

  Shrugging, Sandy said, “I thought you might like that news.”

  “And Dr. Lawton is going to ride Thor instead?” Curt demanded.

  “Yes, sir,” he murmured, running his sweaty hands down the sides of his Levis.

  Snorting, Downing muttered, “She’s never ridden in a level-one endurance ride. She’ll finish dead last.” And his mind churned around Slade losing his ranch to foreclosure. He was that much closer, then, to buying it from the bank.

  “I dunno,” Sandy said, watching as he leaped off the lip to the ground. “She’s got pretty good endurance-riding credentials.”

  Laughing, Curt moved to the front of his truck and opened the door. “Thanks, Sandy. See you around.” He slid into his truck and decided to go visit his good friend, Frank Halbert, the head of Wyoming Bank. Glee filled Curt as he drove slowly out of the feedlot area. The sky was cloudy with a mix of white and gray clouds. It might rain, which was a good thing for this hot summer.

  “I WANT YOU TO PUT the screws to McPherson,” Curt told Frank Halbert in a low tone. They sat in his large office on the third floor of the bank. During the recession, Wyoming Bank had been not only bailed out, but had received a flush of money from the government. Right now, Halbert, in his fifties, balding and wearing silver-rimmed bifocals, was richer than hell. And Curt knew the wheedling, manipulative bastard could sink McPherson once and for all.

  “Well, Curt, he’s up to date on his mortgage payments.”

  Downing gave the fat banker a cutting smile. He didn’t like Halbert. The banker was easily led by his money. Curt had used him many times in the past. He was slowly buying up ranches going into foreclosure. He also had his eye on the Bar H south of town, as well. It, too, was in dire straits. He needed the hundred acres of the Bar H as a place to establish a larger breeding facility. By getting McPherson’s fifty acres next to him, he was able to enlarge his training program. The fact that he bought half a million dollars into Halbert’s bank meant if he wanted something done, the banker would do it, no questions asked. “So? Change the rate on him.”

  Studying the computer screen that had Slade McPherson’s data on it, Frank murmured, “He does have a floating loan percentage.”

  “Then,” Curt said, “make it go up.”

  Nodding, Frank said, “I can, but I have to justify it.” He wiped his brow with his linen handkerchief.

  Halbert reminded him of a pig. He had close-set brown eyes and a pug nose. His round face only emphasized his chubbiness in Curt’s eyes. His patience thinned as Halbert kept clicking the keyboard looking at various elements of McPherson’s long-term loan on the Tetons Ranch. Hands moving slowly into fists on the arms of the overstuffed brown leather wingback chair, Curt barely held his impatience in check.

  “Well,” Frank murmured, looking up from his computer, “it’s done! I’ve raised it a quarter of a percent. We’ll send out a letter today to him notifying him of his new mortgage payment.”

  Rising, Curt said, “Excellent. Thank you, Frank,” and he turned on his heel and strode across the wooden floor to the door. A frisson of joy flowed through Curt as he walked to the elevator and pressed the down button. Mentally, he was rubbing his hands. If McPherson had the added pressure of a new, higher mortgage payment due October first, it would put him in a helluva bind. Unable to ride Thor and putting a greenhorn on the stud instead would be enough stress. The elevator door whooshed open and he stepped inside and pressed the button. The doors closed.

  By the time he’d left the bank and headed for the parking lot behind the three-story building, Curt was walking on air. There were plenty of ranchers in the area who were hanging on by a thread because of the deep recession. Curt knew that McPherson was counting on winning that ten grand, but now, he wouldn’t. There was no way Dr. Lawton could win on Thor. She simply didn’t have the experience necessary.

  Approaching his truck, he gave a short, sharp laugh. Curt now saw that not only was he going to win, he’d do it easily with McPherson removed from the competition. There was no one at the top of the endurance riders who could beat his Arabian stallion, Shah. Thor had been his only worry, and now, he could breathe and relax. Sliding into the truck, Curt pulled the door shut. He snickered to himself as he drove out of the parking lot. Raindrops began splattering across the windshield. The sky had turned dark above the cow town. He turned on the wipers. Right now, he’d give anything to see McPherson’s face when he received that letter from the bank and the higher monthly mortgage bill.

  “WHAT THE HELL,” Slade muttered as he stared at the bank letter. He was sitting at the kitchen table. Shorty had just brought in the mail from the box sitting on a post near the highway.

  Jordana was at the sink washing dishes. She had just come in from a thirty-mile ride on Thor. It was the second of the week. Slade’s leg was still bothering him, and she knew he liked to keep a clean, neat house. Her hands in suds, she turned and saw the dark look on his face. “What is it?” she asked. Feeling energized and hopeful because of the second ride on the stallion, Jordana felt them beginning to get used to each other.

  “My floating mortgage rate just went up a quarter of a point,” he muttered unhappily.

  “Does that mean you owe more monthly?”

  “Exactly. Five hundred dollars more.” Where was he going to get it? Slade charged a high price for each endurance student. They helped cover his mortgage. But now…

  Jordana wiped her hands on a towel and walked over to the table. Little by little, Slade was letting her into his world. And it was a stress-filled one from what she could see. She saw his broad shoulders slump and defeat come to his face. “Five hundred a month is a lot,” she murmured.

  Griff came through the door into the kitchen. “Slade, we got that hay moved to the main barn,” he said, walking to the coffeemaker and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  Irritated by his brother’s lighthearted mood, Slade snarled, “Fine.”

  Turning, Griff frowned. He looked at Jordana silently, asking why his twin was in such a funk. She barely shook her head and moved her gaze toward the front door. Okay, he got the message. Nevermind that his hands had blisters on the palms even with the protective leather gloves. Or that they burned like fire. Griff had tried putting Band-Aids on them before the work started, but it did no good. Shorty had laughed when he’d bitched about his hands having blisters. The wrangler had no pity for him. Griff thought telling Slade what he’d accomplished might make him feel better. But Slade was obviously in no mood to hear it. Feeling proud of himself that he’d actually done some physical labor and done it well, Griff turned and left.

  The door shut. Slade lifte
d his head and glared toward the foyer. “I wish to hell he’d leave,” he told her.

  Jordana saw and felt the tension in Slade’s face. Every time Griff came in, she saw his armor come up and his face go expressionless. That didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling anything because by now, she knew he felt plenty. The twin was a burr under his saddle. Griff was not motivated like Slade. If Slade didn’t kick his butt and give him orders to do something specific, Griff was on the computer looking for Wall Street jobs for hours on end. Griff was not earning his keep, and she knew Slade was in a constant angry stew over the situation.

  Moving closer, she placed her hand on Slade’s slumped shoulder. “If we win the ten thousand dollars, will that get you over that extra monthly hurdle?”

  Slade sat back, relishing her soft touch. There was such calmness and clarity about Jordana. More and more, he found himself wanting her around. He counted the days until she’d be out for half a day at his ranch. They were his only time-outs from the present financial situation threatening to overwhelm him and his ranch. “Yes, it would give me the breathing room I need.” He felt like crying. His whole world was crumbling before him. Slade knew in his heart that Jordana would never win the race. He was going to lose the ranch. Oh, God…

  “Slade,” she whispered, coming around and sitting down at his elbow, “don’t give up!” Jordana gripped his hand that was curled into a fist. “Listen to me, will you? I know I can win this for you!” She clung to his dark, hopeless gaze. His mouth was thinned, the corners drawn in because he was in pain. Fingers tightening on his fist, she said urgently, “Slade? You have to have faith.”

  He cut a glance toward Jordana. Her hand soothed some of his pain, but not all of it. She was the pinnacle of faith and hope. “Listen, I’ve been in such bad straits with this ranch for so many years that this feels like the last bombshell that is going to destroy it.” There, he’d said it. Slade didn’t ever confide his real fears to anyone, but Jordana’s hand on his triggered his admittance.