“I packed a brush, a bar of soap, and a couple of headbands, but I didn’t think I’d really be doing this,” Haley said.
“What else have you got?”
“Two pair of jeans, shirts, and underwear. I barely got it all in the saddlebags.”
“You’ll be all right.”
“For thirty days?” Haley asked.
“Did you pack toilet paper?”
Haley groaned. “Daddy said I couldn’t have a laptop or a phone because the batteries wouldn’t last and there was certainly no electricity. I thought that was a death sentence. I didn’t even think about toilet paper and using the bathroom in the woods.”
“Just hope that you can find woods or bushes or even mesquite trees. Some of the land where you are going is flatter than a pancake. You’ll be lucky to find a tumbleweed to squat behind,” Liz said.
The door was in sight, but Liz detoured to a tack room with a small bathroom and handed her a roll. “Shove it down in your duffel bag and don’t share.”
“I can’t believe you are helping me,” Haley said.
“The paper won’t last thirty days, but by the time it’s gone you’ll have your bluff in on them, and Dexter, or Coosie, as he insists everyone calls him on the trail, will be more than glad to pick up some for you when he buys supplies. I’m just evening up the playing field. I can’t wait to see the reality show that comes out of this. Did you know they filmed part of that noodlin’ show not far from here?”
Haley frowned. “Noodlin’? Oh, you mean hand fishing?”
“Yeah, that’s it, but the folks in this area call it noodlin’. Looks like it’s time to mount up. Don’t worry about your shoes and suit. I’ll take care of them and they’ll be ready when you come back.”
“Who are all those cowboys? Tell me their names. I’ve done my research, so I know that Coosie is the nickname for the cowboy who drives the chuck wagon and who does the cooking,” Haley whispered as they walked toward the horses.
“The one on the ground is Raylen, my husband. He’s not going with them. Dexter, I mean Coosie, is driving the wagon. Buddy is the middle-aged man who stutters. And then Sawyer, Finn, and Rhett are O’Donnell cousins. They would have made a man prove himself on this trip, but they sure didn’t plan on you, so go strike a blow for women.”
Haley settled the hat down better on her head. “You are scarin’ me a little bit, but don’t tell them I said that.”
She marched right up to the horse named Apache with new determination, stuffed her roll of toilet paper into her saddlebag, jammed her scuffed-up work boot down into the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn, and threw a leg over the horse. It was like riding a bicycle and it all came back to her, right along with the reasons that she didn’t like that class all those years ago. Her butt hit with a thump and the jar traveled up her backbone with enough force to make her wince before the horse took a single step.
“You ready?” Dewar asked.
Haley nodded.
She had a hat and a jacket.
She had toilet paper.
It didn’t transform her into a cowgirl, but by damn, those cowboys didn’t know that.
“I can take notes and send back to Carl. You don’t have to go,” Dewar said.
“Oh yes I do,” Haley said. She’d show her father that she was as tough as any field reporter on his payroll.
Dewar inhaled deeply and yelled, “Head ’em out!”
He rode ahead of the whole crew, slapping his hat against his thigh to start a hundred head of cattle moving out of the pasture and across the two-lane highway. Four other cowboys did the same, with the chuck wagon bringing up the rear. Haley wasn’t sure what she should do, but finally she and Apache fell in behind the whole affair. In an hour her butt was asleep, her legs felt like they’d never be straight again, and the bagel she’d eaten early that morning had vanished.
She urged Apache on to a trot and rode along beside the cows so she could see Dewar better. He sat loose in the saddle, his back ramrod straight, and his long legs didn’t look like they hurt like hers did. An image appeared in her head of him riding strip stark naked like the hero in the Cheryl Brooks book she’d heard about from a friend who worked on the RT Book Reviews magazine.
Cheryl wrote amazing erotic paranormal fiction. In a recent interview she’d described the beginning of her new book. Just reading the interview had given Haley hot flashes and had been the primary reason she called off the engagement with Joel. If her fiancé couldn’t make her as hot as a book teaser, then there was something wrong with the relationship. She couldn’t very well tell her father such a thing, but it was the truth.
She’d imagined Joel sitting on a horse with no clothes on and all it did was make her giggle. She’d imagined him doing the things to her body that Cheryl’s heroes did to her heroines and not one faint little shiver of anticipation tickled her backbone.
But imagining Dewar sitting all straight and tall and naked, now that was a different matter and it scared the bejesus right out of her. She’d only just met the man and he could be married or engaged or in some kind of a relationship. Surely someone that sexy wasn’t single, so she had no right to be drawing mental pictures of him naked.
Hmmm, if that’s against the rules, then he can keep his hat and boots. Oh, my! That even presents a sexier picture, she thought.
She leaned forward for a better view through the cows, and when she sat back a fresh stab of pain hit her tailbone. She wanted to cry, but she’d be roasted alive over a barbecue pit in the devil’s backyard before she complained.
Her stomach grumbled, but she kept a death grip on the reins and fell back far enough that she couldn’t see Dewar so plainly. She would definitely slide right off Apache if she kept leaning to one side to get a better virtual vision of him wearing nothing but boots and a hat.
Her stomach growled again. Were there chocolate cookies somewhere in that wagon? In her research cowboys ate a hell of a lot of beans on the trail, especially if no one killed a deer or enough rabbits for Coosie to fry up for supper. The reality show would have a helluva time getting seven cowboys and as many cowgirls to do a Western reality show if all they got was beans and wild game on the whole trip. Or would they? That big payout at the end of the trip in Dodge City would bring contestants out by the droves.
Next week, while she was gone, the committee would begin throwing around names for the show and that’s where she wanted to be. It had been her idea from the time she heard about the Hand Fishin’ reality show, and it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t be sitting behind her desk fielding ideas. Just because Joel was Carl’s golden-haired boy wonder at the office, he got to stay in an air-conditioned office while Haley got bunions on her ass and a nose full of fresh cow-shit scent with every foot that the cowboys herded the cattle through the mesquite.
Who would have believed that cows could crap so much and just keep walking the whole time? Or that it took five cowboys and a chuck wagon to herd a hundred of them to Dodge City, Kansas?
She rode along behind the wagon and talked to herself, wishing that she could write down ideas and ride at the same time. “We’ve got to cross the Red River, and I bet there’s no way that egotistical cowboy is going to use the bridge. I wouldn’t on the reality show. It’s too great an opportunity for things to go wrong, and that’s what makes a good show. Note one when we stop tonight: first there’s going to be saddle-sore tempers at the end of the day, and the Red River will have to be crossed, so get the cameras rolling from the other side. Fall off the horse and it’s an automatic point deduction. Let a cow get away from you and it’s more deductions. Fall into bed with the trail boss and you get fifty extra points.”
She looked around to see if anyone was listening, only to find a straggling old black and white cow staring at her. Haley stuck her tongue out at the heifer and she looked the other way.
“One cow down. Six cowboys to go. Wonder if I stick my tongue out at them if they’ll back down and leave me alone?” she mu
mbled.
Dewar led the way across the Red River at a narrow place with sloped sides down to the water’s edge. The clay-colored water flowed gently that morning and barely skimmed his horse’s belly. Only the bottom of his jeans and the soles of his boots were wet when the cattle reached the other side.
The horses pulled the chuck wagon across without a problem. Haley made mental notes and hoped that when her contestants crossed the river that it was rolling and much deeper.
They would begin filming in late summer. She planned on having the season ready to roll by spring of the next year. If pretty boy Joel hadn’t gone back to his precious West Coast by then, he could just stand back and know that she had as much film smarts as he thought he had. The first season wouldn’t be prime time, but it did have a pretty good chance at a slot on Sunday afternoons, and reality shows had better ratings if there was danger.
It was a probably a good thing that her father had sent her on the trip. Joel, bless his heart, would have died of acute nose snarling the first time he got a good solid whiff of cow shit. And his delicate skin would break out in hives for sure if he had to wear tight-fittin’ jeans.
On the Oklahoma side of the river they passed through several acres of mesquite before coming out in a flat pasture between the ghost town of Fleetwood and Terral, a small town located to the west of them. Haley could hear traffic passing on Highway 81 even though she couldn’t see anything except patches of mesquite, tractors stirring up dust in fields, and pastureland.
Haley read that the Chisholm Trail came out in Indian territory right across the river. In one account, it said that cattle were so thick at times in the river crossing that a cowboy could walk across the river on their backs. She looked for the places where her research said that there were still signs of a million cattle being herded, but she only saw green grass.
The wagon pulled up under a big pecan tree and stopped. As if they knew it was midday, the old longhorn bull who’d been leading the herd came to a halt. He bawled out a message to his followers and they all lined up around a farm pond for a drink before they started nibbling on the green grass.
Haley tugged on Apache’s reins. “Whoa, boy!”
When the cowboys dismounted, she slung a leg over the side and stepped out of the stirrup only to get a charley horse in her calf. She sucked air, stomped it out, took a step, and looked down at her bowed legs. If her knees ever touched again it would be a sheer miracle. She would have to wear long flowing skirts for months to cover up the effects of riding every day.
“Little sore, are you? It will get better every d-d-day. I’m Buddy,” the cowboy stuttered.
“Pleased to meet you, Buddy. I hope it gets better real soon,” Haley said.
Buddy was taller than she was, but that couldn’t be counted as bragging about much since she barely tipped the charts at five feet three inches. He had arms as big as hams and a belly that hung out over his belt. Haley didn’t figure anybody would ever mess with him, not even with a stutter. His thick hair was brown, and his eyes were the same color. His face was round and kind looking, and she’d guess him to be somewhere in his forties. His boots were scuffed and his jeans worn, and his confidence said that he knew everything about riding, camping, and herding cows.
The man on the chuck wagon hopped down and extended his hand. “You shocked us so bad we weren’t even polite back at the house. My real name is Dexter but on the trail I’m Coosie and I run the eatin’ part of this trail ride. Every time a cowboy calls me anything different than Coosie he gets his pay docked by a dollar at the end of the line. Since we didn’t have breakfast there were no leftovers to use for dinner, so I’ve got bologna sandwiches and chips today, but that’s a treat we won’t be gettin’ very often.”
Haley shook hands with him, her small hand dwarfed by his. “I’m glad to meet you, Coosie.”
He should have been one of those huge football players that ran a couple of steps and blocked anyone trying to get past him to the ball. He was somewhere around Buddy’s age but twice his size. His arms were enormous, and his big round head was shaved smooth as a billiard ball. His eyes were gentle and his smile genuine, but Haley sure didn’t want to ever get on his bad side.
One of the younger cowboys spoke up, “And we’re the O’Donnell cousins. Dewar’s daddy had three more brothers. We each belong to one of those brothers. I’m Sawyer. This here”—he pointed to his left—“is Rhett, and that would be Finn.” He pointed to his right. “We weren’t expecting a woman on the ride, but if you’ll keep up, we won’t hold the fact that you’re a girl against you.”
“Hell, we might even convert you to a real cowgirl by the time the trip is over. You might get a tat on your neck and learn how to two-step,” Rhett said.
“Don’t bet on it,” she said.
Tat, her ass! Two-step? They could all go to hell. She might have a hat and a pair of boots, but she couldn’t wait to get back to her high heels and power suits.
It was easy to tell that they were all kin to Dewar. They had the same thick black hair. Sawyer had almost black eyes that looked right into her soul when he nodded. His skin was that lightly toasted color that said there was some Hispanic in his genes. Finn had clear blue eyes, light-colored skin, and a tight smile that said he kept his thoughts close to this heart. Rhett sported a tat of a longhorn on his upper bicep and wore his dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail. Obviously the rebel cousin, his green eyes glittered when he shook hands with her.
Dewar rode up and expertly slid off his horse. His knees weren’t bowed in the least and for that Haley could have choked him and enjoyed watching him turn blue.
“You ready to go back yet? My cell phone still has enough battery power to call Liz, the woman you met back at the ranch. She’ll come rescue you. I still think this is a prank Raylen and Liz is pulling on me because I wouldn’t let her come on the trip with us,” he said.
“Why didn’t Raylen come with you?” Haley asked.
“Because he wouldn’t if Liz couldn’t.” Rhett chuckled.
Haley cocked her head to one side. “And why couldn’t she come? She rides and I bet she cooks.”
Sawyer laughed out loud. “She rides, but she doesn’t cook. We got Coosie to do that for us anyway. We don’t need a woman to cook for us on the trail, and I’m willing to bet a hundred-dollar bill that you don’t last a week before you call your people to come get you.”
“I don’t cook either, so if anything happens to Coosie, don’t expect me to do his job. And honey, don’t bet money you haven’t got because I will take it away from you with a smile on my face,” Haley said.
“We planned on this being a…” Dewar stopped without completing the sentence.
“A boys’ clubhouse with no girls allowed?” Haley asked.
He held out his phone. “Something like that.”
Haley’s chin jacked up a full inch. “I’ll stay.”
“Well, you got until tomorrow morning. That’s when I reckon my cell phone will go dead, lady. What does that B in your name really stand for anyway?”
“I told you, it stands for bitch,” she said.
Sawyer chuckled. “I believe it and that bet is still on, lady. You leave, you shell it out. You stay all the way up to the time when you get back in that cute little sports car and I’ll hand it over.”
“I asked a simple question. What’s the B for?” Dewar said.
Her skin tingled just listening to Dewar’s deep twangy drawl. Sawyer’s was just as deep and twangy, but it didn’t send the vibes to her soul like Dewar’s did.
“And I answered it, Mr. O’Donnell.” Haley pointed at Sawyer. “Bet is on, darlin’. But let’s make it interesting. Let’s up the ante that says you can’t run me off.”
Sawyer shook his head. “Hundred dollars is enough of a bet for me, lady.”
Dewar took a step closer to her. “Name is Dewar. Mr. O’Donnell is my granddad on my father’s side.”
“Well, I don’t like Dew-Are so I�
�m going to call you Dewy. It sounds like someone is trying to ask for Scotch whiskey to me. Why would your mama name you after something that comes in a liquor bottle anyway?”
“If you call me Dewy, there will be a war and, darlin’, I will win. My mama named me that because she’s real fond of Dewar’s White Label and it’s a good old Irish name,” he growled.
“I wouldn’t call him that if I was you,” Rhett drawled.
Haley turned her head slightly to look at him.
“I heard about this guy who came on to him in a bar and called him Dewy Darlin’.” Rhett grinned.
“That never happened. It’s just a rumor.” Dewar blushed.
Haley turned back to Dewar. “Leave me alone about my middle name and I’ll call you Dewar and I’ll even say it right.”
Dewar stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
The effect of his bare skin touching hers sent shock waves through her body. It really was going to be a helluva long thirty days, and she was going to have to curb her imagination because that tingle was exactly what she imagined the heroine in Cheryl’s book feeling like when the hero touched her.
Chapter 2
Dewar raised a gloved hand and called a halt to the ride as the sun drifted toward the treetops on the western horizon. The cattle and horses had free rein in a sixty-acre pasture split down the middle by Flat Creek. It was little more than a shallow gully filled with spring rainwater, but it would water the livestock and it wouldn’t be too tough to cross the next morning.
Haley slid off the horse and untied the saddlebags.
“Let m-m-me help you,” Buddy said.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded tired even in her own ears.
Together, they removed the saddle and blanket from Apache’s back, brushed him well, and turned him out to graze with the cattle.
When they finished she turned around to find that the cowboys had already staked out a claim for bedrolls and settled their saddles at one end to use as a pillow. She looked around at the circle they were making around the campfire. Coosie and Buddy were on the east side with the foot of their bedrolls toward the fire. The chuck wagon was on the south, and the O’Donnell cousins were lined up on the west. Dewar had rolled out his bed under a weeping willow at the edge of the gully on the north side of the camp.
Carolyn Brown - [Spikes & Spurs 07] Page 2
