One Fine Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  “You saying she didn’t tell you about that either?” Ray shook his head. “Shoot. I wondered how she got you to do it. She had a hundred of ’em printed.”

  “Well, I guess they didn’t work too well.” Nate patted Peach’s rump and sat down on a nearby hay bale. “We only got three takers.”

  “Hmpf.” Ray stood up, brushing the straw from his pants. “Funny. She got four deposits.”

  “What?”

  “Deposits. She got four of ’em. You’ve probably got another student on the way. The thing doesn’t officially start ’til tomorrow, right?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Nate said. “I never even saw the damn brochure. You wouldn’t happen to have one, would you?”

  Ray pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his back pocket and handed it over. “Live the Western Adventure at Latigo Ranch,” it proclaimed. It was the same as the one he’d seen in Charlie’s car.

  Nate read the description of the various packages offered, then took a look at the rates Sandi had charged. Holy shit. For that kind of money, folks would be expecting miracles and gourmet meals.

  He chewed the inside of his cheek, a habit he always turned to when he was nervous.

  “What did she do with the money?” he asked.

  “How do you think she paid for beauty school?” Ray said.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  Ray splayed his hands. “I’m sorry, Nate. I keep saying that. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Sorry isn’t going to pay the bills, Ray,” Nate said. “These people are going to want refunds.” He nodded toward the far side of the barn, where Sam and Charlie were absorbed in earnest discussion. “That one already does. She’s been cooking for the whole gang since she got here. Hell, I ought to be paying her, not the other way around.”

  “They won’t need a refund if you give ’em what they came for,” Ray said.

  Nate folded his arms across his chest and glared at the old man. “I don’t have what they came for.”

  “Sure you do.” Ray eased to his feet, and Nate tensed in anticipation of a fatherly lecture. “Sandi just wants you to make something of yourself, Nate. For Sam’s sake. You know you have the skills these people are interested in. All you have to do is take a few hours a day to teach ’em, and they’ll go home happy.”

  “I don’t know.” Nate shrugged. “There’s no way Charlie’s going home happy.”

  “I don’t know. She looks pretty happy right now.” Ray gestured toward Peach’s stall. Sam was holding up various grooming implements and demonstrating them on Honey. She was apparently explaining the fine art of grooming to Charlie, who was grinning with her head cocked to one side.

  Damn. She was good with his horse, good with his kid—and a revelation in his bed. If only things were different.

  If only she could stay.

  He pictured her in the kitchen, helping Sam bake cookies. In the barn, helping him with the chores. In his bed, helping him… well, just helping him.

  Ray spoke and Nate almost dropped the horse’s leg. He’d been lost in thought and pretty much forgotten where he was.

  “Sandi’s just trying to give you a push in the right direction, son,” Ray said.

  Sandi was giving him a push, all right. She was pushing him away, just like she had for the past seven years. He’d just been too dumb to see it until last night. Charlie made him realize not all women were like Sandi.

  He chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking. “So is Sandi coming back?”

  “I guess that depends.”

  Nate splayed his hands. “On what? On which way the wind blows? On whether she has a bad hair day? I need to know, Ray.”

  “I’d say it probably depends on the clinic,” Ray said. “You do it, and it works out, and maybe Sandi’ll see you’re trying.”

  “Trying?” Nate slammed the flat of his hand against the barn wall. “Trying? What have I been doing all these years, Ray, but trying? This place was a wreck when I took over, you know that. I’ve made something out of almost nothing, and I’ve provided a good home for my daughter. And for her mother too.” He folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “Not that she appreciates it.”

  “It’s not the kind of home she wants.”

  “It’s a good home. Good for Sam. Maybe it was Sandi who needed to try.”

  “She has.” Ray knelt and adjusted his pant leg over the top of his boot. “She’s tried for seven years, Nate. I think she figures it’s time to try something new.”

  “Well, she’s welcome to it,” Nate said. “Tell her I said ‘good luck.’”

  “Give it a chance,” Ray pleaded. “Just do the clinic.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice,” Nate said. “But what am I supposed to use for horses?”

  “Mustangs,” Ray said. “It’s right there in the brochure, and there’s a sale in Green River on Saturday. You have to admit, Sandi thought this through.”

  “All except one important detail, Ray. I don’t have any money—not even enough for adoption fees. She took everything I had.”

  “Everything?” Ray looked surprised. It figured. Sandi hadn’t even been straight with her own dad.

  “Everything,” Nate said. “Checking, savings—she cleaned it all out. I can barely feed these people. I can barely feed your granddaughter. She took the money that would feed her own child.”

  Ray sat down hard on a bale of hay and ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh, Lord,” he muttered. “That girl.”

  He was a decent guy, and Nate knew he must be tired of making excuses for his only daughter. His wife Rhonda was a good woman too. How the two of them had raised a girl as impetuous and difficult as Sandi was a total mystery.

  “I’m sorry, son. I didn’t know,” Ray said. “Look, if you want, I’ll buy the horses. We’ll call it an investment.”

  “I guess,” Nate said—but he wasn’t sure at this point that he wanted Ray’s help. He’d about made up his mind that the situation was hopeless. Even if he got the money, he wasn’t sure letting greenhorns work with wild horses was a smart thing to do. Somebody could get hurt. He could end up getting sued.

  Besides, giving up was starting to sound like a sanctuary—like the only safe port in the storm Sandi had created.

  “Let me help, son,” Ray said. “There’s no shame in it.”

  Nate nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. First he’d had to ask Charlie to help out. Now he was taking money from Ray. He’d always taken pride in standing on his own two feet, but he couldn’t seem to make this thing work on his own.

  He looked over at Charlie just as she glanced his way and flashed him a conspiratorial smile. Maybe having help wasn’t so bad. Maybe the fact that Charlie was working with him was one of the things that made their connection so strong. He and Sandi had been two separate people, with different needs, different visions of the future—but he and Charlie were a team. Partners.

  “What do you say, son?” Ray asked.

  “Okay,” Nate said. “Thanks.” He took a deep breath. “I could use the help.”

  ***

  “Dad!” Sam flew down the aisle ahead of Charlie, startling Peach and almost upending Ray, who was putting the finishing touches on the bandage. “Charlie and her friends are having a pajama party in the bunkhouse tonight, and I get to go if you say I can. We’re going to paint our nails and talk about boys. Can I? Please?”

  Nate ruffled her hair. “You’re too little to talk about boys,” he said, flashing Charlie a dirty look.

  “I know. That’s what I said,” Sam said. “But Charlie said we can talk about how they’re stupid and have cooties.”

  “Well, in that case…” Nate began.

  “Yay! Charlie, I get to go!” Sam did an impromptu jig on the tips of her toes, then settled down and cocked her head, all seriousness. “Is there anything I can bring?”

  Charlie suppressed a smile. At least someone had taught the kid some manners. Had to be Sandi, since Nate had all the
social graces of a rodeo bull.

  “Maybe some snack food,” Charlie said. “You could check and see what’s in the pantry. Maybe you could find chips or something. And salsa. Salsa would be great if you have any.”

  Sam ran off to check the snack supply and Charlie grinned at Nate. He gave her an answering smile, and she took a quick step back, almost falling into the feed trough. She could read that smile as clearly as if he’d spoken. He wasn’t smiling about his adorable daughter. He was smiling about her. About the way they were working together, understanding each other.

  He was smiling because he was thinking he’d get her back into his bed.

  Well, that wasn’t going to happen again. She tossed her head and turned away, hoping he couldn’t see that his intimate smile had damn near sparked an orgasm all on its own.

  “Pajama party,” he said. “You going formal again?”

  “No,” she turned away, pretending to be absorbed in untangling Peach’s mane. She felt like today’s panties were burning their way through her clothes. They were blue, with big white stars on them. Wonder Woman panties.

  “Stop it,” she whispered. “Just—just stop it.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I keep thinking about it. That little tuxedo thing… sorry.”

  “What?” Ray rose somewhat creakily to his feet and cupped one ear. “Not as young as I used to be. Did you say something, Nate?”

  “Nope. He didn’t,” Charlie said. “Not a thing. What do I owe you for the car?”

  Ray shrugged. “Not much. We took that axle off a wreck old Dooley had layin’ around. That kind of car don’t last long around here.”

  “It doesn’t have to,” Charlie said. “It’ll get me back to Jersey, right?”

  Ray gave the car a sidelong gaze and stroked his chin. “Maybe,” he said. “If you can get as far as Purvis. I barely made it here. She looks good, but she’s creaking and rattling like an old jalopy on these dirt roads. Think you might’a shaken a few other things loose.”

  “Great,” Charlie said.

  “What year is that thing? A ’78?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “Well, she’s an old lady then. You stop at the shop before you go. I’ll give her a good once-over, tighten up what’s loose,” he said. “No point doing it now; it’ll just rattle free again on the road to town.”

  Charlie nodded. She alternated between wanting to light out from Latigo that very minute and wishing she could stay forever. Right now, Sam had her leaning toward the forever side. Sam, and that smile of Nate’s. Sam was adorable, and Nate—well, Nate was trouble. He had her so distracted she could barely observe, let alone report. If Sadie knew how she was mucking up this assignment, she’d have a fit.

  “You sure are a hit with my granddaughter,” Ray said. “She’s awful excited about that party.”

  “She’s a great kid,” Charlie said. She glanced over at Nate. “Someone’s doing a good job bringing her up.”

  “That’s Sandi,” Nate grunted. He looked down at his boots and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Wow. He’d gone from Casanova to caveman in less than sixty seconds. The mere mention of his ex shut him down like the push of a button.

  “Sandi taught her all that about horses?” she asked. “I just got a whole grooming clinic over there. You should hire her on as your assistant professor.”

  “No, that had to be Nate,” Ray said. “Sandi’s scared of horses.” He brushed his hands briskly. “Let me just get Sam’s things, Nate,” he said. “Then I’d appreciate a ride home.”

  Charlie watched him go, then turned to Nate. “Sandi was afraid of horses?”

  He shrugged and turned his attention back to the pony’s injured leg.

  No wonder the girl left, Charlie thought. Nate’s whole life centered on the horses, and Sam was headed down the same road. Sandi must have felt like an outsider in her own home.

  But then why had she gotten together with Nate in the first place?

  Charlie knew the answer to that one. She didn’t even like the guy half the time, but after tasting what he had to offer, she was tempted to indulge herself on a regular basis. If she was a randy teenager, instead of a sensible, mature woman with plans and goals, she’d just haul him into a box stall and rip his clothes off so they could go at it like they had the night before.

  She glanced his way. He was bent over, cradling Peach’s injured foot. His blue chambray shirt was stretched tight over his broad shoulders, and those Wranglers fit his lean backside just right. The randy teenager inside her squirmed, wanting out.

  Yeah, she could see how Sandi wound up here.

  The sooner she bounced her poor little car down that rough dirt road, the better.

  Chapter 23

  “You’re kind of nice, but you look really scary,” Sam told Phaedra. “Like my teacher.”

  Phaedra glanced up from Sam’s fingernails, which she was painting with Nate-approved pink polish. Sam had wanted to try out Phaedra’s Urban Vampire Black, but her father had threatened to cancel the pajama party if Phaedra tried to turn Sam into Junior Goth Girl. “Your teacher dresses Goth?” Phaedra asked.

  “Oh, no,” Sam shook her head. “But she wears these slanty-eyed glasses that make her look really mean, and her hair’s real curly and red, like a scary clown. You want to scream and run away when you first see her—but she’s nice. She helped me after school with my subtraction.”

  “So what’s nine minus four?” Phaedra paused, holding the brush inches above Sam’s fingers.

  “Five.”

  “Right.” The polishing resumed. “So do you want to grow up to be a beautician like your mom?” Phaedra asked.

  “No.” Sam shook her head. “I want to go to regular college. You know. In the daytime.”

  Charlie lifted her head from filing her own nails. “Your mom goes to night school?”

  Sam nodded solemnly. “Mostly Fridays and Saturdays. Sometimes she has to stay over.”

  Charlie’s filing stopped mid-rasp. “Who stays with you when Mommy’s at school?”

  Sam shrugged. “A sitter. Usually Mrs. Bennett from across the hall, but sometimes Cara. Cara’s cool. She’s seventeen.” She invoked the pinnacle of adolescence like a prayer.

  “Seventeen! What is that woman…”

  Doris interrupted, casting a sharp look at Charlie. “We’ll have to ask your mom about that. That sounds kind of—different.”

  All heads turned as a sound like a pride of roaring lions thundered out of the darkness beyond the windows. Lights flashed across the far wall and Doris bounded to the window.

  “Pickup,” she said. “A big ol’ diesel. More students, I bet.”

  A cowboy whoop pierced the darkness and the truck skidded to a stop outside the bunkhouse. Phaedra applied one last stroke of polish to Sam’s pinky nail and sighed.

  “I think that’s my dad,” she said. Charlie wouldn’t have thought the girl could get any paler, but she went white as a marble statue under her pancake makeup.

  “Then you were right,” Charlie said. “He sure sounds like a cowboy.”

  She sighed. Now she was in for it. She felt like she’d dodged a bullet, coming out here to the Wild West and avoiding all the wild Westerners. But judging from the din outside, her luck had just run out.

  Boot heels sounded on the bunkhouse steps, and the new arrival filled the bunkhouse door. With his craggy face and rangy build, he could have stepped right off a Marlboro billboard. Charlie took one look at the ice-blue eyes peering out from under his white felt hat and was struck dumb.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Doris said. “Chance Newton.”

  The newcomer grinned, perfect teeth gleaming in his tanned face. “Taylor Barnes,” he said. “I just pretended to be Chance Newton for a while there.”

  Charlie let out a strangled croak in lieu of a greeting. Taylor Barnes was a cowboy, all right—or at least Chance Newton was. That was the character the actor had played for a hit movie Roger Ebert defined as
“Little House on the Steroids.”

  Of course, the Chance Newton character was a family man too, with a passel of daughters he cared deeply about. Taylor Barnes, on the other hand, hadn’t seen his own daughter for ten years—and the moment he’d walked into the room, Phaedra had ducked into the bathroom in a panic.

  The guy was obviously a hell of a lot better at acting than parenting.

  “I’d sure appreciate it if you folks’d call me Taylor instead of Chance,” he said. “Gets old after a while, being fictional.” He glanced around the room, his eyes lighting on the bottles of polish on Sam’s nightstand. “Do I have to get my nails done too? Because I can tell you right now, that shade of pink doesn’t work for me. I’m more a fuchsia kind of guy.”

  “We might let you off the hook this time,” Doris said. “But we take our cowboy hygiene real serious around here.”

  Taylor chuckled and Charlie glanced toward Phaedra, who stepped out of the bathroom wiped clean of any trace of Goth makeup. Fresh-faced and clean, she looked like a different child.

  An ordinary child.

  Charlie grimaced as the newly scrubbed teenager sat down on the bed against the far wall and folded trembling hands in her lap. The kid was obviously desperate to please her father, but a man who’d abandon his daughter for ten years probably wouldn’t change his ways for a pretty face and good behavior. Phaedra might have had better luck with the Goth strategy. She could have scared him into staying.

  Taylor’s eyes settled on her and his handsome face lit up with his trademark grin. “You must be Phaedra.”

  “Good guess,” Charlie muttered. The last time the guy had seen his daughter, she’d been a kindergartner. There was no way he could recognize her now, any more than Charlie’s own father could have picked her out of a crowd.

  “Hi, honey.” He stepped forward, obviously expecting a hug, but the girl just settled onto the side of her bed and fixed him with those uncanny gray eyes, her face expressionless. Charlie gave the girl an encouraging smile. She wasn’t going to let the guy off easy. Good.