by Carol Grace
“Good idea,” she said. If she had to buy a horse to get the man interested, she’d do it. How expensive could a wild horse be, anyway?
“Do you ride a bicycle, too?” he asked.
“I don’t really ride anything,” she confessed. “Not yet.”
“What about a slingshot?” he continued. “Know how to use one?”
“‘Fraid not.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn,” Max observed.
“Max!” his grandmother.
Bridget smiled and ruffled the boy’s taffy-colored hair. She wasn’t offended. She did have a lot to learn. And most of it had nothing to do with bikes or horses or slingshots. It had to do with love and life. She sighed.
“Well, it was good seeing you Max. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gentry.”
As she drove down Main Street, she met her image in her rearview mirror and told herself sternly that if she couldn’t convince Josh Gentry to be her Wild Mustang Man today, she didn’t belong in the advertising business. But what would she use to convince him? She’d already tried money and fame. What did he want?
Some twenty miles out of town was the Bureau of Land Management’s holding facility. After parking her car, Bridget made her way through the dusty parking lot where proud new owners were already loading their newly adopted animals into horse trailers. She heard snatches of conversation as she walked down the alley between rows of green-paneled corrals, covertly glancing from right to left at the men in broad-brimmed hats, looking...wondering if one of them would do, as their conversation swirled around her.
“Not that one. She looks like a rocking horse.”
“Ya paid too much.”
“Call that a horse?”
“I wanted the bay but she’s come up lame.”
“Ask Gentry. He knows horses.”
“Ain’t seen him.”
“He’s here.”
He’d better be there, Bridget thought. Because so far she hadn’t seen anyone who could hold a candle to him. Since she’d first seen him the other day, she hadn’t been able to shake the image of him as her Wild Mustang Man. Face it, she just plain hadn’t been able to shake his image, period. Was it just the contrast between him and the city men she was used to, who paled by comparison? Or was it just that he was the first honest-to-goodness rancher she’d ever seen and his rugged image was indelibly engraved on her subconscious?
As she rounded the corner of the stucco county building, Bridget was struck by the sound of braying burros and the sight of about 150 wild horses milling nervously in holding pens, upset by the presence of the humans who’d come to look them over and possibly buy them and take them home.
With her ever-present camera hanging around her neck, she stopped at the metal fence and took a few dozen pictures of the animals, once running wild and free in the Nevada desert, now trapped behind metal bars like prisoners. Leaning against the fence, she gazed at the animals and blinked back a tear. She was so caught up with the plight of these wild horses she didn’t hear him come up behind her.
“What are you doing here?” Josh Gentry asked.
Her mouth fell open in surprise, and she banged her chin against the top metal bar of the fence. She bit back a cry of surprise. He already considered her a first-class klutz. No need to add fuel to the fire. She turned to face him.
“Same thing I was doing at your ranch. Looking for the Wild Mustang Man.”
He surveyed her with an unmistakably disapproving gaze. “Don’t you ever give up?”
“Give up? I just got here.”
“So I noticed.”
He noticed. Now was the time to strike. “I was wondering...”
“You look a little better,” he said, tilting her chin forward with his thumb and forefinger to get a better look at her eye.
His touch sent shivers up her spine even in the hot Nevada sunshine His face was so close she could see glints of green in his blue eyes. “Thank you.” She was proud of how even her voice was, while her heart beat double time. “Have you...have you had a chance to think over my proposal?”
He was silent so long that hope began to surge in her heart. The whinnying of the horses and clouds of dust filled the air, but she scarcely noticed. He’d changed his mind. He must have. Why else would he stand there studying her with his eyebrows knotted together. “Swelling’s gone down, bruise fading, yes, a definite improvement.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but—”
“I didn’t say it to be nice,” he said.
“I know, but...” She was getting desperate. How long was he going to stand there and stare at her and talk about her looks? What did he see when he looked at her besides the bruises and the swelling? Just a city girl come to interfere with his way of life? What she saw was a virile, sexy horseman who she needed in the worst way to make a go of her fledgling company.
“About my proposal,” she continued.
“The answer is no. Absolutely not. You can go home now.”
“I’m not going home until I find my Wild Mustang Man.” She gave a cursory glance around at the ranchers huddled in groups around the corral, who were pointing at this horse and that, loudly discussing their merits. But none of them looked like her Wild Mustang Man. None of them looked like Josh Gentry.
“Want me to introduce you to any of the guys?” he asked, noting her interest with a mocking smile.
She straightened her shoulders. “No, thanks. I can manage on my own.” With that she strode off purposefully toward a knot of wranglers, reminding herself that the future of her business rested on finding the right man for the product. At this point all she wanted to do was escape the scrutiny of Mr. Gentry and show him she didn’t need him. To do that she would have walked into a den of lions. Instead she walked into a den of cowboys.
“Um...excuse me, gentlemen?”
They suddenly stopped talking and stared at her.
“I was wondering—” Oh, Lord, she couldn’t, she just couldn’t talk about men’s cologne to this group. She could tell by the looks on their faces it was completely out of the question. They would laugh her right out of there. “I was wondering if you could advise me on a horse to buy.”
“Why, sure,” one man said, tipping his hat politely. “What did you have in mind?”
“In mind? Why, something gentle, I mean—”
Their raucous laughter drowned out her words.
“Honey, you come to the wrong place for a gentle horse. See, these here horses are wild. You gotta go to one hell of a lot of work to tame them, and even then they might not be what you’d call gentle.”
“I see,” Bridget said, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, thank you. I appreciate your advice. It was nice, um...talking to you.” With a polite smile she backed away and walked quickly to the other side of the corral, trying to lose herself in the crowd, hoping, praying that Josh had left and had not witnessed the fiasco she had just initiated.
Josh was supposed to be looking for a horse. That was why he was there, after all, but his attention was not on the horseflesh in the corral. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the woman in the slim new jeans and the form-fitting T-shirt who was making her way around the corral. He wasn’t the only one watching her. Other men watched—they not only watched, they stopped her, smiled at her and spoke to her.
He shouldn’t be surprised. She was the best-looking woman to arrive on the scene in Harmony, Nevada, for some time. Maybe ever. She stood out like a long-stemmed red rose in the midst of a hayfield.
Had she found her stupid Wild Mustang Man yet? He hoped so. He hoped she’d convinced some poor fool to do it so she’d leave him alone and he could get back to whatever it was he did in his real life.
She was talking to Tex Woodruff at that very moment. He’d taken his hat off and he was looking at her as if she was just the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen. That’s probably what he was saying to her, if he knew Tex. The man had a mustache a mile wide and a line a mile long. Not a bad rider though. He’d make a great Wild Mustang
Man. Which had probably occurred to her by now. Which was why she was still talking to him after five minutes. She was looking up at him as if he’d assured her he was the greatest rider in the West. He was good. Josh didn’t like the way he treated his horses, though. Didn’t much like the way he treated his women, either, if rumor was correct.
She was reaching into her pocket, pulling out one of her business cards, the same kind she’d given him. Giving the same pitch she’d given him. Tex was smiling, nodding, spending about ten minutes studying her card. Guy probably couldn’t read. Who cared? Who said the Wild Mustang Man had to read? As Josh understood it, it wasn’t a speaking part. But it was his part. She’d offered it to him first. And by God, no simple-minded wrangler was going to take it away from him.
Without thinking any further, Josh plowed through the crowd, towering over most of the other men he passed as he made his way to where Bridget was talking to Tex. With a brief nod to Tex, he took Bridget by the elbow and spun her around.
“Still looking for your Wild Mustang Man?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes, but—”
“Then I’ll do it. Let’s go.” With his hand firmly on her elbow they walked through the crowd, leaving a bewildered Tex standing there staring, as they marched past the milling horseflesh out into the parking lot to Josh’s truck and horse trailer where he finally stopped. Bridget turned to face him, out of breath, with her eyes shining.
“Did you say you’d do it? You’d be my Wild Mustang Man?”
“You’re sure it won’t take up my time?” he asked gruffly, already regretting his decision.
“Absolutely not. We’ll shoot around your schedule.”
“We?”
“The camera crew. They’ll just be here at the very end. You’re the boss, though. Whatever you say goes. What...what made you change your mind?”
He tried to think of an answer. The hot sun beating mercilessly on his head was no help. Sweat trickled down his forehead. He opened his truck and reached into his cooler for two bottles of ginger beer. He’d never admit to anyone, not even to himself, that he was jealous of some half-baked cowboy. He handed her a cold drink, opened his and took a long swallow.
“The part about Max’s college education,” he said at last “I wish now I’d gone on to college. But there was the ranch. And there was Molly.”
“Molly’s your wife?”
“Was my wife until she died two years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Bridget said softly.
“Have you ever been married?” he asked to change the subject
“No. I came close once. I was engaged last year, but I’m not anymore. I’m on my own. My own business, my own life. I like it that way,” she said in a determined tone, then tilted her chin and took a long drink of ginger beer.
Fascinated he watched a drop trickle from the corner of her mouth. Almost reached over to catch it. Stopped himself just in time. But couldn’t stop his heartbeat from accelerating.
“Well, anyway,” he said, slamming the door to his truck. “I came here to get a horse. I better get back in there before they’re picked over.” Or before he’d spilled his guts to an advertising lady from the city who exuded self-sufficiency and the essence of exotic flowers that teased his nostrils, making him think of silk sheets and satin skin. Hers. What was wrong with him? He was a cotton sheet and calluses kind of guy. And she was not his type.
“Wait a minute,” Bridget said, realizing she was being dismissed before she was ready to go. Yes, she got what she came for, but she wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. “If it’s not asking too much, I’d like to see how you choose a wild mustang. For research purposes, you know. I haven’t taken many pictures yet, either. So if it’s all right with you...” She could tell by his expression it wasn’t all right, but he resignedly tossed his empty bottle and hers into the truck, and they went back inside to where the wild horses were waiting to be chosen.
Leaning next to him at the fence, her shoulder brushed his. Even through his chambray shirt, she could feel the hard muscle there. The herd of horses behind the fence blurred, and all she could do was imagine how her Wild Mustang Man would look without the shirt, all sun-bronzed muscle and flat, washboard stomach.... Her pulse rate shot up, and her cheeks reddened. She slid a glance in his direction. He was looking at the horses, watching them snort and jerk their heads. Didn’t give her a glance.
So this strange attraction she felt was completely one-sided. It was just as well. If they were going to work together, she couldn’t afford to get involved with him. Combining work and romance didn’t work. Led to disastrous results. If the truth were known, she’d choose romance any day. But she had no choice any longer. Her ex-fiancé, Scott, had found her lacking as a desirable woman and as an account executive. Okay, so he didn’t want to marry her. But he was wrong in saying she was no good at advertising. She was.
She’d show him. She’d show everyone, because after landing the dream account, she’d just signed the dream man to be its symbol. She couldn’t lose—as long as she kept her wits about her. Deliberately she broke the contact and moved several inches to her left.
“I don’t understand how you can stand to do this,” she said, keeping her eyes on the horses. “These are wild creatures, right? Used to running free in the Nevada desert. Now they’re trapped behind bars. Like prisoners. They’ll never roam free again.”
“They’ll also never be attacked by mountain lions again or starve from lack of feed. They’ll get good care, get rid of their parasites and live longer in captivity.”
She let his words sink in and felt better about the plight of the horses. “I didn’t know that.”
“Most people outside this area don’t know it They feel sorry for the horses, just like you do. They think we resell them for dog food.”
“That’s awful. What the Wild Mustang Association needs is better publicity. So the world will know what you’re doing here,” she said. It would be a labor of love for someone. Someone who loved horses, who loved their spirit, who appreciated them for what they were, a throwback to simpler, frontier times. “What do these people want them for?” she asked with a glance at the prospective buyers.
“Pleasure, riding, packing. You can be sure if they’re willing to take on a horse who’s never even been haltered before, they’re going to look after them.”
“Then all that talk about selling them to glue factories...” she said.
“It happened. But that was before the Wild Horse Act”
“Of 1971.”
He shot her a surprised glance. “You’ve done your homework.”
She smiled. It wasn’t really a compliment, but it might be as close as he came. It gave her an unreasonably warm feeling around her heart. Which was spoiled by his next remark.
“How do you like the smell?”
She wrinkled her nose. It was the smell of 150 horses penned together—the sweat, the manure, the dirt, all combined.
“Is that what Wild Mustang cologne smells like?” he asked, nudging her with his elbow.
She straightened. “Of course not. It’s not quite as...as earthy. But it has all the elements. The pungency... the...you know,” she finished weakly. She couldn’t deny that the smell of the wild mustangs was something no man would want to deliberately apply to his body and no woman would want her man to smell like. But who among the millions of women at the men’s cologne counters would know that? “It’s the image that counts.”
“And not the reality?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. She wasn’t going to get into a discussion on the value of advertising. She had a feeling she could never convince him of the validity of her field. But he’d agreed to be a part of her ad campaign, for whatever reason, and that was enough of a victory for one day. She waited a few minutes, letting his question hang in the air, before she asked one of her own.
“How can you tell...how do you decide which horse to choose?”
“I look to see if they have a bri
ght eye.”
Bridget studied the fast-moving horses that milled in front of them and shook her head, unable to differentiate one from the other. “What’s a bright eye?” she asked.
“It’s when they’re curious,” he said, pointing to a black horse with a white star on its forehead. “Watch this one. This is one I’d buy. Look how curious he is about us. He’s looking us over, reserving judgment, but he’s not out and out scared like most of the others.”
“I don’t blame them,” she said. “I’d be scared, too.”
“You, scared?” he asked. “I can’t imagine that You put yourself in the path of a wild kid on a bike, you barge into his house and ask a stranger to be a Wild Mustang Man. What does scare you?” he asked.
She shrugged. Nobody had ever called her brave before. “I don’t know. Snakes, spiders. Failure.” This conversation was getting too close for comfort. She didn’t want to talk about failure. She didn’t want to talk about herself. She wanted to talk about horses. It was much safer. “Imagine being penned up after a lifetime of freedom,” she said. She felt his curious gaze on her, but she stared straight ahead at the black horse in the corral.
“Does freedom mean so much to you?” he asked.
“I guess it does. I guess that’s why I started my own ad agency. To have the freedom to do what I want.”
“Is this what you want to do?” he asked.
“Of course it is. I’m having the time of my life.”
“What about marriage, kids?”
Bridget swallowed hard. Just when she’d come across so convincing. He could have gone all day without asking that one. The questions were making her nervous, the last one especially. As nervous as those horses there, wondering what was going to become of them.
