One Fine Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  Charlie nodded. She and her mother had moved so often she’d never felt like she had a room of her own—just a series of cubicles that held her white-painted bed and matching dresser. Every one of them had neutral carpet and featureless walls, and not one of them had felt like home. But Nate protected his daughter’s room as if it was a sacred space. Charlie could feel her armor crumbling again.

  “That’s nice,” she said. “That you keep it for her, I mean. So when is she coming back?”

  “I don’t know.” He kept watching the horse, his face impassive. “Soon, I hope.”

  He didn’t sound hopeful. “Sorry.” She took a step back, but she could feel something tugging her closer, something drawing her to the man. Something that grew stronger and stronger as she learned more about him.

  Step away from the cowboy, she told herself.

  “I didn’t mean to get personal,” she said.

  Nate turned and braced his elbows on the top rail of the fence, crossing his ankles as he looked her up and down. The pose emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the solid mass of his muscled chest, the narrow hips encased in his worn Wranglers. She dragged her eyes up to his face.

  “Is that what you call it?” he asked. “Getting personal?”

  Even to Charlie, that seemed like a weak definition for what had happened the night before. She looked away, shutting out the memories and bringing back her mother’s lifelong litany of admonitions and advice.

  “I need to get my life together,” she said. “Finish school, get my degree—you know.”

  He nodded. But he didn’t know. He couldn’t. His life was so different from hers. He was right where he wanted to be, building the life he’d envisioned. She’d barely gotten started on her own dreams.

  She couldn’t stop now. Not for anything—or anybody.

  “It’s just that I want to do something meaningful with my life,” she said. “Something important, that helps people. I don’t want to just, you know, get married.”

  The corners of his mouth tilted up in a faint smile.

  “Not that we’d ever get married or anything,” she said. She could feel her face going red as Junior’s nylon halter. How many times had she blushed since she arrived here? She’d never blushed before she met Nate. Never.

  What did that mean?

  She didn’t want to know.

  “I didn’t mean I think you want to marry me or anything,” she said. “I mean, we just had sex, right? Really good sex, and everything, but not, like, marry-me sex. It was more like crazy, hot, gotta-have-it sex. A fling, you know? So I… I don’t…”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Charlie,” he said.

  “What?” She scanned his face, searching his eyes, knowing she should pull away but somehow helpless, fixed to the spot. He reached toward her and she flinched, but he only set his finger to her lips.

  “Shut up,” he said.

  And then he kissed her, hard and thoroughly, bringing back all the heat and desire that had pulled them into bed last night, carrying her to the brink of collapse, tearing her armor to shreds in the space of a minute. When he stopped, she opened her eyes wide and stared at him.

  “You can’t do that,” she said.

  “No?” His shoulders relaxed and his lips flexed into a smile.

  “No,” she said.

  “Okay.” He shrugged and turned away, and Charlie suddenly hated herself. Why did she always make things so complicated? Why couldn’t she just let loose and enjoy herself? Why was she so worried she’d break his heart when she finally got over him and left? He was a man, for heaven’s sake. Men were good at good-byes.

  “Well, good morning,” a voice behind her said.

  Charlie started guiltily at the sight of Doris and Phaedra approaching from the bunkhouse. She wondered how much they’d seen. Doris looked exactly like she always did, sparkling and chipper, but with a knowing smile that said she’d caught that kiss—and maybe even knew where Charlie had spent the night.

  Phaedra, on the other hand, looked like death warmed over twice and pounded flat. Her black hair was snaking around her face in Medusa tangles, and her eyes were ringed with remnants of yesterday’s makeup and mascara.

  But when she saw the horse, her eyes widened and she almost smiled.

  “Mornin’,” Nate said. “Thought I’d just work the kinks out of Junior, here, while you folks have your breakfast. Then we’ll do some demos with the other horses.”

  “I thought we were going to ride the horses,” Phaedra said.

  “We are—eventually,” Nate said. “But ground work always comes first, and we need to talk about conformation. It’ll be a while before you’re ready to ride.”

  Phaedra put her head down and muttered something about “bullshit.”

  Charlie offered a smile to offset the teen’s sulky pout. “Well, I’ve got every kind of cereal you could think of. Frosted Flakes, Rice Krispies, and oh, Phaedra—you’d probably like Count Chocula. He’s kind of a kindred soul, right?”

  “Not hungry,” Phaedra muttered.

  “Well, come on anyway,” Charlie coaxed. “Have some coffee, at least. Or orange juice.”

  Phaedra shook her head and set one foot on the bottom rail of the gate, determined to watch Nate put the stallion through his paces.

  “You’re not staying here,” Nate said. “You’ll be a distraction. I need Junior’s full attention, and you’re freaking him out.” As if to demonstrate, Junior arched his back and crow-hopped across the ring like a spastic wind-up toy.

  “Whatever.” Phaedra slouched off toward the bunkhouse. The kid would probably go back to bed, Charlie figured. Hopefully she’d wake up in a better mood on her second try.

  Two bowls of cereal later, Doris and Charlie headed for the round ring. Nate had finished with Junior, and was cleaning up the horse’s leavings with a pitchfork.

  “The romance of ranch life,” he said, tossing a pile of road apples to one side. He rested the pitchfork against the fence and led the two women to the barn.

  “Where’s the princess of doom and gloom?” he asked.

  Charlie shrugged. “I have no idea. I thought she’d gone back to bed, but she’s not in the bunkhouse.”

  “I’m not sure that one’s going to work out,” Nate said.

  “Maybe you should call her parents,” Doris said. “See if they can clue you in. The child seems troubled to me.”

  “I know,” Charlie said. “But we don’t know how to get in touch with her parents. We don’t even know her last name. The registration forms are, um, missing.” She looked the older woman up and down, feigning suspicion. “For all I know, you’re a wanted psycho killer.”

  “Nothing so interesting,” Doris said. “Just an old cowgirl past her prime.”

  “I’d say you’re right in your prime,” Charlie said. “Right dead center.”

  Doris grinned, nodding. Charlie hoped she’d be as satisfied with herself when she was that age.

  “Maybe you could talk to Phaedra,” Nate said to Charlie. “She seems to like you. You could find out some contact information, like you want to keep in touch with her after the clinic. Then we can call her parents and have them take Witchy McSpook back home.”

  “Maybe,” Charlie said. “Or maybe I can talk her into behaving herself. Give her a chance, Nate. I think she might shape up once we start working with the horses.”

  “Let’s hope.” Nate stopped in front of a generous box stall housing a handsome brown-and-white paint. The horse had a round brown circle over one eye in an otherwise white face, making him look like the dog in the old Little Rascals films. When they stopped, he tossed his head up and lifted his upper lip. Charlie could swear he was smiling.

  “This is Razz,” Nate said. “Short for Rascal, ’cause of that patch and his personality. I thought we’d start with him today.”

  Charlie reached out a tentative hand to pet the horse’s muzzle, but he shied away. She sucked in a won
dering breath. “Is he a mustang?”

  Chapter 20

  “A mustang?” Nate took a deep breath and tried to nod, but something in Charlie’s trusting gaze wouldn’t let him do it. “Not really,” he said. “He’s not wild, just difficult.”

  Shoot. He cursed himself silently. He’d planned to convince her Razz was a genuine wild pony, but she looked so serious, so sweetly enraptured, that he just couldn’t trick her like that. Besides, he was lousy at lying. He’d get found out sooner or later anyway.

  “He’s just a troublemaker,” he said. “But you’ll use the same techniques to calm him that you used on Junior the other day. Only today we’ll go one step farther.” He handed her a woven rope hackamore. His fingers brushed hers and a thrill zipped up his arm and headed for the danger zone. Swallowing, he bent his focus to the task at hand. “Once he quiets down and lets you touch him, see if you can get this over his head. The knot goes under his chin, okay?”

  “Okay.” Charlie took a deep breath and stepped inside the stall.

  Nate almost laughed as Razz scampered away. The paint had a wicked sense of humor that had tried Nate’s patience from day one, but Charlie had learned her lesson well. She held the hackamore behind her back, moving slowly the way she had with Junior. The horse stretched his neck out and sniffed the air in front of her face with the delicacy of a wine connoisseur, lifting his lips up over his front teeth in his trademark smile.

  “Oh, he’s a character,” Doris whispered.

  Charlie and the horse stood nose to nose for half a second before the paint bunched his hindquarters beneath him, planted his hind feet, and spun to the other side of the stall.

  “Get him to do that with a rider on him and you’ll have yourself a reining champ,” Doris said.

  “He has his days,” Nate said. “Good ones and bad ones.”

  “I’ll bet,” Doris said. “Looks like this is one of the bad ones—for humans. The horse is sure having a good time, though.”

  Nate had to agree. Razz was thrilled to find a new playmate, and he led Charlie around and around the stall before allowing her to stroke his long nose and bring the hackamore out from behind her back. She let the horse sniff it before slipping it neatly over his head.

  “I did it!” Her eyes sparkled. “How was that?”

  “Great,” Nate said. “I think he likes you. He’s usually a pretty tough customer.” He tugged on the reins dangling from the bosal and Razz shied, dancing a little two-step at the barn door as if he didn’t want to go outside. It was another one of his usual games.

  “Come on, buddy, let’s—hey,” Nate said, glancing over at the stall by the door. “Where’s Boy?”

  The stall that had held the black gelding the night before was empty. Nate hadn’t put him out this morning; he’d been planning to use him to show what a well-trained cutting horse could do.

  “He must have gotten out,” Charlie said.

  Nate scowled. “Right. And then he closed the stall door behind him.”

  “Uh-oh,” Charlie said. “He was the black one, right?”

  Nate nodded, his face grim.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Doris asked.

  Charlie nodded. “Yup. That black horse matches Phaedra’s outfit, doesn’t he? How much you want to bet the Ghoul of Goth took herself for a little ride?”

  Before Charlie had time to answer, Nate flipped the reins over Razz’s head and grabbed a handful of mane. Vaulting smoothly onto the horse’s back, he spun the animal once, then twice, finally pointing him toward the open fields.

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he brought the horse under control with a slight tug of the reins. “Clinic’s postponed,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Geez,” she said. “I thought you said he was difficult.”

  “He knows I need him,” Nate said, touching his heels to Razz’s flanks and launching the horse like a rock from a slingshot.

  Nate bent over the horse’s neck and urged him on. He couldn’t remember being this pissed off, ever. That little creep had basically stolen Boy—a horse that didn’t even belong to him. If anything happened to the black, Nate was in deep trouble. Even for a seasoned rider, there were dangers out there on the open plains. If Boy stepped into a prairie dog hole, he could break a leg.

  This was all Sandi’s fault. She probably thought running a clinic was as easy as the ones you saw on TV, where a smiling trainer coached a cooperative group of experienced riders on the finer points of horsemanship. Instead, she’d managed to get him a gang of greenhorns who couldn’t even sit straight in the saddle.

  Well, not really. Doris was obviously experienced with horses, and Charlie did have a gift, even if her riding skills were pretty much nonexistent.

  She had a gift for something else too. He tensed as he remembered the night before, how she’d warmed and writhed, responding to his touch. He’d never forget that night, but he needed to change the way he thought about it. She obviously hadn’t given him her heart—just her body.

  And apparently, it was a limited-time offer.

  He needed to calm down. Get a grip before Razz picked up on his tension. Gently, he pulled to a stop and scanned the horizon, stroking the horse’s neck. As he calmed the horse, the horse calmed him. It was a give-and-take that had worked for him all his life.

  His gaze swept right, then left, then right again, and paused. There. He shaded his eyes, focusing on a black dot in the distance that was climbing one of the ranch’s rolling hills.

  “There’s your buddy, Razz,” he said. “Let’s go get him.”

  He clicked his tongue and Razz danced into a sprightly jog, then lifted into a pounding lope, angling across the field to cut off the distant rider.

  It took them a good twenty minutes to catch up to Boy and Phaedra. To her credit, the girl pulled up when she saw them coming; Nate had been worried she’d take off and lead him on a chase, and he wasn’t sure Razz could outrun the spirited Boy.

  “I guess you want me to come back now,” Phaedra said, pouting.

  Nate bit back six or eight swear words and replied as mildly as he could.

  “Yeah, let’s go back,” he said. “And then I’ll call the sheriff and have your ass hauled off to jail for horse stealing.” He reached over and grabbed Boy’s reins just below the snaffle bit. At least the girl had used the right bridle.

  “I can ride him,” Phaedra said. “I’ll follow you.”

  Nate ignored her, flipping the reins over the horse’s head and clenching them in his fist. Wordlessly, he turned back toward the ranch, leading Boy at a slow walk with Phaedra sulking in the saddle.

  The teenager sat the horse like some bizarre equestrian ghost. She’d left the stirrups pulled up and was riding with her knees up around the horse’ withers like a racehorse jockey. To make matters worse, she’d taken the time to put on her full Goth trappings, makeup and all. She looked like something out of a Tim Burton movie. Maybe the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse, if the Fifth Horseman was a misfit teenager.

  Maybe they all were. That would explain the Apocalypse.

  “I don’t know why you’re so pissed off,” she mumbled. “It’s a riding clinic, right? I just went for a ride.”

  “On a horse that isn’t yours. Or mine. This is a customer’s horse. You mess him up, I’m the one who pays.”

  They plodded on in silence, Nate staring straight ahead, his jaw painfully clenched. It was all he could do not to turn around and knock her off the horse.

  “You’re a spoiled brat,” he muttered.

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Phaedra said. “I’m spoiled. That’s why I spend every minute I’m not at school alone in my mom’s shitty apartment, watching my dad on TV while she’s off with her latest beau. That’s what she calls him. Her beau.” She snorted. “Beau-beau the clown, that’s what I call him. He wanted me gone, so he told her she ought to get my dad to pay for this camp. So now you’re stuck with me. And you hate me too.” She sniffed, and Boy caught her agitation,
prancing sideways a moment before a glance from Nate settled him down. “Figures.”

  “So your dad’s on TV? What is he, a newscaster or something?” Nate asked.

  “Or something. Why do you care?”

  Nate didn’t answer, just stared at the route ahead through the space between Razz’s ears. Beau-beau wasn’t the only one who wanted this kid gone.

  “Where do you live?” he finally asked, thinking he’d find her mother and send the kid packing.

  “L.A.,” Phaedra said. “We used to live out in the Valley, but then my mom decided she needed to live in the city. More opportunity, she said.” She snorted. “She says she’s an actress, but she’s never worked a day in her life. Her idea of an ‘opportunity’ is finding a new sugar daddy to sleep with.” She sniffed again and wiped her nose with the back of one black-nailed hand. “Guess my dad wasn’t good enough for her.”

  “Maybe she didn’t really love your dad,” Nate said. “Sometimes relationships are complicated.” The comment surprised him. What was he, Dr. Phil all of a sudden?

  The kid snorted. “Everybody loves my dad. Besides, when we lived in the Valley, I had a horse and everything. Well, a pony, anyway. Then Mom left and fucked it all up.”

  “Watch your language,” Nate said.

  “You don’t mind when Charlie swears,” she said.

  “Yeah I do. I just don’t say anything because she’s not a kid.”

  “Yeah, and ’cause you like her. But you hate me. Everybody does, because I’m such a freak.”

  “You’re not a freak,” Nate said. The kid’s self-hate was starting to worry him. “You just dress different. It’s like you try to look weird.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s better than being pretty,” she said. “This way, people leave me the hell alone.”

  Nate glanced back at Ghoul Girl. She was staring down at the horse, petting it, fondling its mane. Her eyes were bright with tears, and in that moment, she looked almost human. Like somebody’s daughter. Somebody’s child.