One Fine Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  Right. Because up until now, Nate’s behavior had been so professional. Hell, he’d already screwed things up so badly, he might as well go for broke. He should be out there in the arena, helping Taylor and Doris tame their horses. Instead, they were in here helping him tame his screwed-up life.

  “So what do you want to do?” Taylor repeated.

  “What I want to do is marry her,” Nate said. “But where do I see it long term? Over. I mean, she’s gone.”

  Taylor sighed. “You dumbass,” he said. “She’s only gone if you let her go. Did you tell her you want to marry her?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far yet,” Nate said. “But she knows. She knows I want to—to be with her forever, and all that.”

  “Does she?”

  “Well, yeah. I think so.”

  “You think so?” Taylor looked at Nate like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Did you tell her?”

  Nate shifted in his chair. “Well, not really. But I—I kind of showed her.”

  Taylor rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, I’ll bet you did. Women like to be told, though, okay? How ’bout you give that a try? The girl can’t read your mind, you know.” He laughed. “Not even when you’re naked.”

  Nate shook his head. “You don’t get it. She’s gone, suitcase and all. I’ll never see her again. I don’t even know where she lives. Sandi has all the registration forms, and cashed all the checks. And she’s not liable to give me Charlie’s number.” He splayed his hands helplessly. “She’s gone.”

  “You know where she goes to school, right?” Taylor asked. “There’s this thing called the Internet, you know. Great for finding people.”

  Nate nodded. Taylor was right. He could track Charlie down, try again. But what could he say that he hadn’t already told her?

  “I don’t know how to do this, Taylor. I don’t know what to say,” Nate said. “And Charlie needs—more than some women. Not that she needs anything. She’s fine on her own—so complete, you know? But still, she’s delicate.” He looked down at his hands. “She’s been hurt. Her dad…” He stopped. Charlie wouldn’t want her secrets spilled, not even to Taylor.

  “Sounds like you’ve got it figured out. What you need is a script.”

  Taylor grabbed a notebook off the end table in the living room, along with a ballpoint pen, and sat down across from Nate. Flipping open the notebook, he clicked the pen and gave Nate a questioning look.

  “Okay. What do you want to say?”

  Nate ducked his head and mumbled.

  “What? Speak up, son.”

  “That I love her. That I want to marry her,” Nate said. He still couldn’t meet Taylor’s eyes. This was embarrassing, that’s what it was.

  “Okay. That’s a good start, but we need more. How much do you love her?”

  “A lot. A—a whole lot.”

  Taylor rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to cut it,” he said. “You need to be more original. Speak from the heart.”

  Nate shifted in the chair, wishing he hadn’t let this business start. “My heart doesn’t have much to say, that’s all.” He shrugged. “It says I love her. A lot.”

  Phaedra emerged from the bathroom, along with a cloud of steam. She was dressed in a black silk bathrobe with a red-eyed bat embroidered on the lapel. A towel was wrapped around her hair like a turban.

  “Hey,” she said. “Sorry, the shower’s nicer in here. Dad said you wouldn’t mind.”

  Nate shrugged.

  “And it’s lucky I’m here, because I’m good at this stuff. My teachers all say I should be a writer. So.” She pulled out a chair and sat down, folding her hands on the table and leaning earnestly toward Nate. “Tell me what else you love.”

  “What?” Nate couldn’t believe this misfit teenager thought she could help him.

  “What else do you love?”

  “Sam,” he said. He didn’t even have to think about that one.

  “Okay, but you can’t compare your love for Charlie to how you feel about your daughter,” Phaedra said. “That would be ooky. What else do you love?”

  Nate thought a moment. “The ranch.”

  “Okay.” Phaedra pulled the notebook away from her father and wrote down, “The ranch.” She drew a bulbous heart above it, then looked back up at Nate. “What about it?” She slashed a line through the heart and tipped it with an arrowhead, then sketched feathers onto the other end.

  He shrugged.

  “You are hopeless,” Phaedra said. “What’s the best thing about it?”

  “Sunrise,” Nate said. He didn’t have to even think about that one.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked off across the kitchen, avoiding her gaze, and it was almost like he could see the peachy sky at sunrise reflected on the wall. “It’s like, first one bird sings, and then all the others join in, and the song gets bigger and bigger, and louder and louder. And it’s like they’re all celebrating that the sun came up again, like it’s some kind of miracle, and it’s a new day, and everything’s—I don’t know—fresh.” He blushed. That sounded dumb, coming from a cowboy. More like some sissy poet guy or something.

  “Okay. That’s good.” Phaedra tapped the pen, staring down at the notebook, then started writing. “How ’bout this?” She spoke slowly as she wrote. “When I see you, it’s like the sunrise—like when the birds start singing, and everything’s new, and no matter what happened the day before, you know you’re going to get a fresh start. You’re my fresh start, my rising sun, and I want to wake up to you every day.”

  “That’s kind of corny,” Nate said.

  “No shit,” Phaedra said. “It’s a love letter, not a literary masterpiece. And besides, it has to sound like you—and frankly, you’re kind of a corny guy.”

  Taylor laughed.

  “Well, he is—always mooning around after Charlie like a lost puppy or something. It’s pathetic.”

  “Thanks,” Nate said.

  Phaedra looked down at the notebook. “This is a good start,” she said. “I’m going to go back to the bunkhouse and work on it a while. Maybe Doris has some ideas.”

  Nate rolled his eyes.

  “Hey, she’s got a lot of life experience,” Phaedra says. “And we should use all our resources.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Taylor said, pushing his chair back. “How ’bout we go for a ride?”

  Phaedra clutched the notebook to her chest, shaking her head. “I want to work on this.”

  “Okay.” He turned to Nate. “You and me, bud. Let’s saddle up and take off for a while.”

  “But the clinic…” Nate began.

  “Forget the clinic. You need a break,” Taylor said. “Besides, we’re partners now. And a ride’ll do you good.”

  Nate nodded, picking up his hat and tipping it onto his head. A ride would do him good.

  It was the one thing he was still sure of. He could definitely ride a horse.

  Chapter 45

  Charlie slowed down once she’d made the turn out of Nate’s driveway. She didn’t want to shake the car apart before she’d even gotten to Purvis. So far, the rattletrap Celica seemed to be holding up, despite the racket the engine made.

  Nursing the clutch and accelerator, she steered carefully between the potholes, avoiding the jagged rocks that thrust themselves out of the dirt every twenty feet or so and easing the car across the dips where runoff had carved crooked channels in the dirt.

  She dropped the car down into second when she hit the hill. She remembered Nate saying this was the halfway marker—ten miles to town, ten miles back to the ranch.

  The ranch. She missed it already. She missed the long view from the kitchen window, the sound of locusts clicking in the grass. She missed the silvery twilight, the ruddy sunsets, the long afternoon shadow stretching from the barn across the yard. She missed Doris, and Phaedra, and Junior.

  She missed Nate.

  She crested the hill and the view spread out below her like
an open book. Stopping the car, she opened the door and propped one foot on the rocky ground so she could hike herself up to rest her elbows on the car’s pockmarked roof and admire the landscape.

  The hills undulated endlessly toward the horizon like the rippling surface of a windblown lake, the sun flecking the grass with golden highlights. It was almost midday, so no shadows broke the glittering carpet of summer color. The red cliff reared like a painted wall over the waves of gold and rust and umber, rising to meet a sky so blue that the contrast with the bright rock was almost painful.

  Charlie sucked in an admiring breath. Nothing in her previous life could ever compare to the primitive beauty of this arid, inhospitable land and the animals that wrestled out a living from its parched grass and scant water.

  She stared off into the sage-flecked valley and knew she’d remember this view forever, whether she wanted to or not. She remembered how Nate had watched the sunset when he’d thought the ranch was lost, imprinting the scene on his mind so he could carry it with him, and she knew exactly how he’d felt.

  If she left, she’d always remember Latigo, and she’d remember it with a sense of regret that would wound her every time the image came to mind. She’d curse herself, knowing she’d been too scared to take a chance and stay in the one place where she felt at home.

  All of a sudden, the veggie burgers didn’t matter anymore. Neither did getting the car fixed, or her suitcase. What the hell did she need a suitcase for, anyway?

  She wasn’t going anywhere.

  Her eyes filled with something suspiciously like tears, and her heart felt like it was going to explode—but with happiness this time. She had to tell Nate she’d stay.

  She had to tell him now.

  She climbed back into the car and motored down the hill, but she wasn’t watching the view anymore. She was looking for a place to turn around.

  Spotting a gravel-strewn turnout, she slammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel to the right, figuring it offered space enough for the Celica to spin on its short wheelbase and head back to Latigo.

  Back home.

  The car jerked, balked, then lurched forward. Charlie cranked the wheel to the left, but she was too late; the damage was done. The steering wheel fought her hands, pulling her hard to the right and into the turnout, as if the car agreed with her decision and wanted to turn back toward home like a barn-sour horse.

  She stopped the car and sighed. Flat tire. She knew it without even looking. At least she’d been going slow. If she’d broken another axle, she’d have had to throw herself down in the dirt and give up. They’d find her bones later, picked clean by coyotes.

  But a flat tire she could deal with. She stepped out of the car, rounding the front bumper with a profound sense of déjà vu.

  Yup. A pointy rock jutted up just behind the tire. She must have hit it just right. Or rather, just wrong.

  Reaching across the passenger’s seat, she yanked the hatch release and hobbled to the back of the car. Fishing out the jack, she propped it under the car’s frame just behind the wheel and cranked the car up off the ground.

  She pried off the hubcap and levered the lug nuts loose with the tire iron, then spun them in her fingers until they dropped to the ground. Setting them carefully inside the hubcap, she pulled the wheel off, grunting as its weight dropped into her hands, letting it thump down onto the ground before she realized her mistake.

  Now that she’d taken the jack out, the back of the car was empty.

  She’d had the axle repaired. She’d had Ray tighten up the bolts and belts. She’d filled up the tank, and she’d even thought about washing the car, but she’d decided to wait until she was done with dirt roads and dust. All in all, she’d been very sensible.

  Except that she hadn’t bought a new tire. The old one, slashed beyond repair during her first trip to the ranch, hadn’t been worth keeping. She was driving on the spare.

  Sighing, she lifted the tire she’d just removed back onto the wheel and spun the lug nuts tight. Maybe she could drive just a little ways on it—get up over the hill, at least, so she could hoof it back to the ranch. It wouldn’t be a very dramatic entrance, but she had a feeling that once she told Nate what she’d decided, it would be dramatic enough for him.

  She drove twenty feet before she realized it was hopeless. The car listed so far to starboard that it was all she could do to keep it from plunging off the shoulder in an impromptu off-road excursion. She pulled over and rested her forehead on the steering wheel, closing her eyes.

  Maybe the coyotes would pick her bones clean after all.

  A thought struck her and she lifted her head. The hill. The hill was even higher than the one behind the barn. Maybe she could get a cell signal there too.

  She trudged back the way she’d come, staggering up the hill in the hot midday sun, feeling sweat prickle on the back of her neck. When she reached the highest point, she took her phone out of her pocket and turned it on, whispering a soft prayer to the cell phone gods.

  It worked. She only got two bars, and the battery was almost dead, but it worked. She could make one call. She paged through her contacts to the only number with a Wyoming area code.

  Sighing, she highlighted Nate’s number and pressed “send.” She’d spent her whole life learning to be self-sufficient at her mother’s insistence, so she wouldn’t need a man. Learning to change her own tires, to do well in school so she could make her own living, to be prickly and independent and sure of herself. And now, despite all that preparation, here she was, calling a man to come rescue her.

  She listened to the tinny, repetitive ring and pictured the phone ringing in the empty ranch kitchen, the light slanting through the window over the sink, the curtains shifting in the breeze. She could almost call up the homey smells of it—a little bit of musty old house, a touch of lemon dish soap, and that hint of fresh baked cookies.

  The phone rang, and rang, and rang again.

  Chapter 46

  “Hello?”

  It was Phaedra. Charlie tapped her thigh nervously, hoping the phone’s battery would last long enough for her to talk to an adult.

  “Phaedra, it’s me. Charlie.”

  “Hey! I thought you left.”

  “Just to go to town.”

  “Oh, geez.” Phaedra laughed. “Nate thought you left for good.”

  Charlie spun around and stared toward the ranch. “What?”

  “He thought you were going back to Jersey.”

  “Why would he think that?” She thought back to their last exchange. What had she said?

  I have to go, Nate.

  “He misunderstood,” she said. “It’s a long story, though, and my battery’s low. Is he around? I need him.”

  “Nope. He went riding. But he really wants you to stay. He had me write a speech.”

  “He what?”

  “He had me write a speech so he’d know what to say. It’s really good. There’s some nice imagery and symbolism and stuff. I asked him what he was feeling, you know, and then I made it, um, better. Prettier. He’s kind of basic, you know?”

  Charlie almost laughed. Basic was right. Nate was definitely not a fancy, flowery kind of guy. He was a cowboy, through and through—quiet, comfortable, more at home with animals than with people. Better at nonverbal communication than giving speeches.

  “So you’ll come back? And hear the speech?”

  “If somebody comes and gets me,” Charlie said.

  “Score. I’ll tell him as soon as they get back.” There was a sharp click, and suddenly the line sounded vacant, empty.

  “No. Wait. Tell him…” Charlie pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Putting it back to her mouth, she said, “Hello? Hello?”

  Phaedra was gone.

  Her battery warning beeped, and she snapped the phone shut. Sighing, she turned and headed down the hill toward the car.

  ***

  Nate slid off Honey’s back and led the horse to the paddock on the shady si
de of the barn. Doris and Taylor followed suit, along with Sam. Taylor was bending to help Sam unsaddle Peach when Phaedra tore out of the house.

  “Hey! Nate!”

  Dang, she was probably going to read him that speech she’d written. It was good, sure, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t sound good coming from him. He just wasn’t the speechifying type. Charlie would probably laugh at it.

  No. Charlie would never get to hear it. Charlie was gone. He pulled off Honey’s saddle and slung it onto the fence.

  “Charlie called,” Phaedra said.

  Nate felt a rush of energy go straight to his head, making him dizzy, almost faint. He turned and stared at Phaedra, dumbstruck, clutching Honey’s saddle blanket in both hands.

  “Charlie?” he finally managed to say.

  “Yeah. She said to tell you she needs you.”

  The dizziness turned to elation, which made him even dizzier. He felt like he was either going to fall down or float up into the sky—he wasn’t sure which.

  “She said what?”

  “She said she needs you.” Phaedra was grinning like she’d won the lottery or something. “Her car broke down, and I think if you go out there and help her, she’ll come back.”

  “I knew it,” Doris said. “That girl was meant for you.” She grinned and punched him in the arm. “Go get her, cowboy.”

  Nate draped the blanket over the fence and stepped up on a rail, tossing a leg over the horse’s bare back. If the car was busted, Charlie would need a ride. She’d probably want to go to town, get Ray. But if she had to ride up behind him on Honey, they’d have to go back to the ranch. Maybe it would remind her of that first day. That first ride.

  And if it didn’t work, at least he’d get to feel her close to him again, with her arms around his waist, her breasts pressed up against his back. He hadn’t fully appreciated that the first time.

  He hadn’t realized what he had.

  ***

  Charlie sat in the back of the Celica’s hatch, dangling her feet over the bumper. Leaning back, she lay down and closed her eyes, wondering how much longer she’d have to wait. She might as well take a nap.