He’d overreacted.
For weeks, Mrs. Southard had been not-so-subtly urging him to get away from the house. She claimed he stayed cooped up inside too long, and he knew she worried he might be growing as batty as his father.
Now he was running strangers off with his gun. Like father, like son.
“Help.”
The word was no more than a harsh croak carried to him on a burst of wind. Rifle leading the way, fearful of a ploy, Turner unlatched one gate. Two decades of warnings about the evil lurking in men’s hearts made him hesitate on the invisible line separating him from the outside world.
“Show yourself.” He raised the rifle to his shoulder and scanned the snow-covered landscape. The trees thickened at the property line, perfect for privacy, but obscured his view.
“Please, don’t shoot.” A figure moved among the trees. “I didn’t think anyone was coming.”
The intruder slipped around a fat gray tree trunk, hands raised. No gloves protecting those bright red digits. Under the dark gray sky it was difficult to make out the other person’s features.
His thumb brushed the rifle’s hammer. “Slowly. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Me either.” The voice was louder now, but still rough as though the stranger had been breathing nothing but icy air for days. A slim woman came out of the trees, wet skirt dragging through the snow.
Turner lowered the rifle. Long strands of black hair streamed down either side of her wind-reddened face. She shook violently, but never blinked as she eyed the gun.
He almost dropped the firearm as his surprise caught up with him. He’d trained a deadly weapon on a woman who looked as though the next gust of wind would blow her over.
Curiosity overrode his sense of caution. “What do you want?”
“I need to see Mr. Wildwood.” Her voice shook with fear, or cold, or perhaps both. Snowflakes settled on her hair and the shoulders of her thin coat. Muddy streaks stained the hem of her skirt. The scarf wrapped around her neck was full of holes and useless against winter’s chill.
His father’s warning scampered through his mind, but Turner couldn’t send this woman away. She’d freeze before she made the two miles back to Eureka Springs. He couldn’t have that on his conscience.
He knew what the townspeople thought of his family. Plenty of rumors reached his ears through the servants. Among them were words like crazy, hermits, thieves, and even a few that suggested the Wildwoods sacrificed virgins. This woman hadn’t come to find him on a dare the way young boys often did to prove their bravery. It barely took a moment to make his decision; he’d help her, if he could, but he’d keep his identity secret.
“You’d best come inside and warm up.” He nodded toward the manor. “Then we’ll find out if Mr. Wildwood wants visitors.”
Her eyes widened, but she stumbled forward. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Turner took her elbow, steering her away from the rough terrain of dormant grass and autumn leaves beneath the snow, and onto the smoother path leading to the house. Her arm seemed matchstick thin beneath his fingers.
“I thought you were going to shoot me.” She stared at the gun in his other hand.
“I would have if you’d posed a threat.”
She didn’t flinch from his hard stare. “My purpose for coming here is important.”
He frowned. “I imagine only a fool would venture out in this. Is that what you are, Miss?”
“Celia Landry.” She didn’t hesitate over her name. “I’m not a fool. Just in need.”
Her name was unfamiliar to him, but it wasn’t surprising. He didn’t attend church or any of the local functions. His gates kept fortune-seeking women from his life. Celia’s need could be anything, from want for work—given the condition of her clothes—to begging for food.
Mrs. Southard opened the door, her lined face crinkled with worry. “Mast—”
“Prepare tea,” he interrupted. “I’m taking our guest to the north parlor. She’s frozen to the marrow.” The interruption was necessary. He didn’t want her calling him master in front of Celia. Not until he was certain she was on the up-and-up.
“Of course. Poor dear.” Mrs. Southard closed the door behind them. “I’ll send Benson to stoke the fire while you hang the young lady’s coat.” She took the rifle and left the foyer.
Turner appreciated his staff’s discretion. Southard had been calling him by a title since his birth. It must have been difficult for her to get his name alone out of her mouth.
He turned to his guest. Her coat and dripped on the stone floor. She hunched her shoulders inside the material. Her shadowed, wary gaze roamed over the entryway. Hair, dark as midnight, tangled like the ivy growing up the side of the manor.
The strangest feeling washed over Turner as he removed his coat. Gone was the urge to protect his property, replaced by the desire to learn more about Celia, and her all-important mission that nearly resulted in a shooting.
https://www.amazon.com/Wildwood-Spring-Allison-Merritt-ebook/dp/B00W7PGZI2
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A love of reading inspired Allison Merritt to pursue her dream of becoming an author who writes historical, paranormal, contemporary, and fantasy romances, often combining the sub-genres. She lives in a small town in the Ozark Mountains with her husband and dogs. It's not unusual to find her lurking in graveyards, wandering historical sites, or listening to ghost stories.
Allison graduated from College of the Ozarks in Point Lookout, Missouri with a B.A. in mass communications that's gathering dust after it was determined that she's better at writing fluff than hard news.
Social media links:
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Changing a Cowboy’s Tune
Rodeo Road – Book #1
Stephanie Berget
Other Titles by Stephanie Berget
Change of Heart Cowboys
Radio Rose
Salt Creek Cowboys
Sugarwater Ranch
Sugar Coated Cowboys
Gimme Some Sugar
Sweet Cowboy Kisses
Cowboy’s Sweetheart
Changing a Cowboy’s Tune
Copyright © 2017 Stephanie Berget
All rights reserved.
CHANGING A COWBOY’S TUNE
When her fiancé demands Mavis abandon her lifelong goal of barrel racing at the National Finals Rodeo, she chooses to follow her dream and loses the man she adores.
Dex wants nothing more than to marry the woman he loves and build a future on his family’s ranch, but when he pushes her to settle into life as a mother and rancher's wife, she bolts.
Years apart haven’t dampened their desire, but can they see past their own dreams for the future and invent a life they both love?
DEDICATION
All the thanks in the world to Kali Jo Parker for allowing me to use her great horse, Tuneful, as a very special character in this book. Good barrel horses need brains, athletic ability, speed, and the will to win. Beauty is a plus. Tuneful has all these qualities and more.
CHAPTER ONE
“Welcome to the final performance of this year’s Caldwell Night Rodeo. Please stand for our National Anthem.” The rodeo announcer’s voice was smooth as silk, and the crowd rose to their feet as one.
Mavis Panzeri stood by her trailer, her hand over her heart, until the last notes disappeared into the sunset. As the strains of the song echoed through the stadium, a wave of nerves danced up her spine.
Mavis and her great horse, Tuneful, had won money at the top barrel racing futurities in the country, and at the biggest jackpots, but this was their first rodeo. For Mavis, it was the first rodeo in
several years, and for Tuneful, the first ever. Having the rodeo near her hometown did nothing to calm her nerves.
“No need to be nervous. We’re professionals,” Mavis said, rubbing the spot beneath the mare’s forelock.
Tuneful’s attempt at a horse-to-human snuggle nearly knocked Mavis on her butt. More than likely, the gray mare was trying to scratch an itchy spot on her head instead of showing affection, but Mavis didn’t care. She couldn’t vouch for Tuneful, but for her, it had been love at first sight.
As the final bareback rider nodded for his horse, Mavis pulled in deep breaths and held each one to the count of ten in an attempt to control her speeding heart. Her nerves were as jumpy as a novice. She smoothed Tuneful’s blanket and settled her saddle in to place.
She’d been running barrels since she’d been big enough to hang on by herself, but for the first time, she had a horse good enough to set her sights on the biggest rodeo in the world, the National Finals. Sure, it would be several years of hauling and seasoning for Tuneful, but she finally had a chance to mark off the top item on her bucket list.
When she snugged the cinch, the mare laid her ears back as she’d done from the day Mavis had first ridden her. She pushed the gray’s nose away. “Your intimidation tactics would be more effective if you’d ever actually bitten me.”
During each of the last six years someone with a big checkbook had offered her more than she could turn down for that year’s futurity colt. Even though she’d made sure the horses went to great homes, and she loved watching the new owners succeed, her heart hurt each time she'd had to let one go. A fact of life when you're in the business of selling barrel horses is that you can’t keep them all.
Things were different this time. Not only was Tuneful the most talented animal she’d ever thrown a leg over, the tall gray mare was her all-time favorite. She wasn’t for sale at any price.
After warming up her horse, Mavis walked Tuneful through the shadows among the parked trailers. The bright lights of the arena glowed in the night, and the crowd roared its approval of whichever saddle bronc rider had just bested his bronc.
Only eight calf ropers and then the barrels. She needed to get control of her nerves. Deep breath in, slow breath out. Rinse. Repeat. Her heart still pounded like a Sheila E drum solo.
Poor Tuneful blew out a loud snort and danced sideways. Normally a quiet mare, the gray could feel Mavis’ nervous tension.
Get it together. Mavis hadn’t been this nervous at the biggest futurities in the country. She dismounted and led the mare along the arena fence.
Tuneful relaxed, dropping her head as her steps slowed.
When Mavis reached the bucking chutes, she turned toward the entry gate. There was only one more bronc rider then a few ropers before the first barrel racer would be called into the arena. She stepped out of the way as a man hopped over the fence and dropped to the ground in front of her.
“Your run’ll be faster if you get on the horse.” The deep vibes of a familiar voice sent shock waves through her body. Adrenaline shot spiky prickles down her arms.
Fate must have it in for her. She turned toward the parking lot, away from Dex. Maybe if she pretended she hadn’t heard, he’d disappear.
“Been a while, Maple. You’re lookin’ great.”
“Don’t call me that,” she called over her shoulder, hurrying toward her truck. Footsteps followed her. The only way she’d get away now was to run, and she wasn’t giving this cowboy the satisfaction. She pivoted on one foot and turned to see the most beautiful man God had ever created, at least in her eyes.
His smile touched her soul, right up until she remembered the words he’d shouted at her the last time they’d seen each other. “Leave me alone. I said everything I had to say to you six years ago.”
“You didn’t say anything. You left without a word.” For an instant, sadness filled his gaze. He pushed it away with a killer grin as he moved closer. “I’m glad to see you’re back.”
His unique scent filled the evening air, and the feeling of being in his arms rushed back. On its heels was the memory of his demands. He was crowding her, but she’d be damned if she’d back away. “Why? I haven’t changed. You didn’t like the way I was before. You won’t like me any better now.”
The man had a talent for doing the right thing. Except when it came to her. Memories washed over her, and she yanked her thoughts back to the jerk standing beside her horse.
“Oh, I liked you well enough, and you once told me I was perfect.” His grin was almost enough to make her drop her defenses. It had been in the past, but not this time.
His soft chuckle touched her mind like a feather in the wind.
Mavis broke eye contact and turned toward the gate. There were only four calf ropers left to compete. She put her foot into the stirrup and swung up on Tuneful. “I’d love to stay and reminisce about the good old days, but my mind’s blank at the moment.”
She nudged Tuneful’s sides with her heels and rode the mare toward the arena.
“I’m here for a while. We’ll get together.” Dex’s voice followed her through the night.
“Not if I can help it.” As she muttered the words, a brilliant red pickup with Northwest Auto & Truck emblazoned on the sides carried the three barrels into the arena.
Damn Dex Dunbar! She’d had six years free of the man. Six years of not waiting to see which of her dreams he’d try to crush. Six years of peace, and now within a day of when she’d arrived home, he’d found her again.
“Pretty ladies and fast horses are up next. Who’s ready for the barrel racing?” The announcer’s polished voice was clear in the night air, as the crowd cheered their approval. “Our next contestant was born and raised only a few miles from here in Homedale, Idaho. Why I remember watching her daddy ride the hair off saddle broncs years ago. Give a big Caldwell Night Rodeo welcome to Mavis Panzeri.”
Tuneful’s ears flicked back and forth, and soft snorts told Mavis the mare was uneasy. She stroked her hand along the soft, dappled hair and crooned. “Let’s go show them what a winner looks like.”
She walked the mare into the alleyway and picked up speed as they moved toward the gate. Nothing to do now but hope Tuneful remembered her training. The crowd roared when they burst into the arena and got louder all the way through her run.
Tuneful ran hard—too hard—to the first barrel, her speed carrying them past the barrel almost to the fence. The horse found her rhythm by the time they got to the second and smoked it. Mavis couldn’t fault the mare for bumping the third with her hip and tipping it over as they ran for the finish.
Can’t get mad when they try too hard. As they raced out the alleyway, Mavis eased Tuneful to a stop.
“The barrels seem to be winning tonight,” the announcer said. “Too bad because Mavis Panzeri and her great horse, Tuneful, made the fastest run of the rodeo so far.”
Mavis walked her mare around the warm up area until they both caught their breath. She was proud of this young horse. Even with mistakes, some of which were hers, the animal had tried her hardest. Tuneful always did.
Dismounting, she loosened her cinch, remembering too late Dex was here. Hopefully, he’d found someone else to bother.
After stowing her saddle and bridle in the tack compartment, she grabbed a bucket and Tuneful’s lead rope and made her way across the parking lot to the water spigot. As the bucket filled, the mare greedily sucked in the cold water.
The night was warm, the run was a success as far as Mavis was concerned, and she was ready to load up and head out. Only fifteen miles from the rodeo grounds, the home she’d grown up in called to her.
When Tuneful had drunk her fill and dropped her head to the few blades of grass pushing up through the blacktop surrounding the spigot, Mavis poured out the remaining water. She turned toward the trailer, rope in one hand and bucket in the other and squeaked in surprise as she almost ran into Dex.
“If you hadn’t hit the last barrel, you’d have won all the
money.”
~-~
Dex’s fingers itched to run through Mavis’ curly red hair, and he had to make a conscious effort to keep his hands in the pockets of his jeans. When he leaned forward, the sweet scent of the orange vanilla conditioner she used to try to tame her out of control curls wrapped around him, bringing back memories of tangled sheets, warm skin and Mavis’ body draped over his. Damn!
“Seems your definition of winning and mine aren’t the same. This mare is a winner, downed barrel or not!”
Her sharp words jerked him into the present. As she tried to sidestep him, he moved into her way.
“What do you want?” Exasperation dripped from her words, and her petulant attitude made him laugh.
“I’ll give you two guesses.” At his words, her shoulders slumped and a rush of guilt hammered down on his head. He didn’t seem to be able to say anything to Mavis without coming off as an ass. When she’d left without a word, he’d had to work hard to get over his broken heart. Up until tonight, he’d believed he’d succeeded. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right.”
They’d dated each other from their sophomore year in high school until she’d left. They’d only been nineteen, rodeoing all over the Northwest. At the time it had been fun, but he’d assumed they both wanted the same thing, to live on his family’s ranch, raise their kids, make a home. He’d thought they were happy.
He’d been wrong.
He’d known Mavis wanted to rodeo, but they’d spent several years traveling together. No reason they couldn’t continue to enter on the weekends. When she’d insisted on going to the Idaho Cowboys Association Finals instead of coming to his brother’s engagement party, he’d said things he shouldn’t have. But all couples argued. Right?
Cowboy Six Pack Page 18
