Every Cowgirl's Dream

by Arlene James

  Thank God Rye had packed up his and Champ’s household items and shipped them off to his folks in Durango days earlier. That left only a couple hundred minor items, such as extra tires, tools, cleaning supplies, a set of collapsible tables, flashlights, lanterns, medical gear, ropes, pickets, paperwork, maps and even a laptop computer complete with Internet link and fax—again, courtesy of Dean—to be organized and dispersed, along with a strongbox, a goodly sum of cash, a few toys, a radio, a dozen extra pairs of work gloves, an arsenal consisting of a shotgun, a rifle and a handgun licensed in five states and registered to Pogo, two guitars and a harmonica. In addition, they had three cellular phones among them, one belonging to George, one to Dean and the other to Kara.

  Packing up a trail drive was only slightly less involved than moving a small city. They were all tired, confused and frustrated, and Kara didn’t appreciate it much when Rye stated disgustedly that he’d survived years on the rodeo circuit with nothing more than a clean change of clothes, a shaving kit, a road map, his saddle, a rope and a picking string. Now he was hitting the road with a whole ranch in tow, he pointed out acerbically, including a woman and a kid.

  “Two women,” she reminded him, hurt that he’d just done what so many others had before him.

  He seemed hardly to hear her as he was called over to help Shoes decide whether or not it was worth the space and effort to take along a small acetylene torch.

  It came their turn to guard the herd just before dinner. Dayna packed them a small feast which they carried out to the holding pens with them. Fried chicken, mountains of mashed potatoes rising above gravy seas, stewed vegetables, chocolate cake, yeast rolls. They gobbled it up with unabashed gusto, as if it had been days instead of hours since they’d last eaten, their plates balanced atop their knees, paper napkins tucked into their collars. Dayna had been extremely generous, and Kara couldn’t finish her portion. Rye polished off her leftovers with barely a pause to catch his breath.

  “I hope we packed enough food,” Kara said drily, still slightly miffed at the insult she felt he’d dealt her earlier. “If the rest of the men eat like you, we won’t get to Colorado on what we have.”

  “We can always buy extra along the way,” Rye said dismissively, wadding up his napkin and dropping it in the bag Dayna had provided for their refuse. Henceforth, they would be very sensitive to proper disposal. They all understood the necessity of capturing their own trash, of doing as little damage as possible to properties across which they would cross.

  “Somebody better get a second job then,” Kara grumbled.

  Rye resettled his hat forward and lay back in the dust. They had wedged themselves into the side of the hill, so he was only half reclining at best. “In case you haven’t noticed, neither one of us has a first job, not a paying one, anyway.”

  Kara sighed. “True.”

  He lifted his hat off his face. “Don’t sound so glum. It’ll work out. Besides, if...when we get this herd to New Mexico, you’ll be all set up for the future.”

  “Which leaves only the present to worry about,” she pointed out morosely.

  He sat up again, shaking his head. “Women! They’re never happy, no matter what—”

  Kara instantly saw red. She slugged him, hard, rocking him sideways. He grabbed his shoulder. “Ow!”

  She clapped her hands over her mouth in mock dismay and babbled in a singsong soprano. “Oh-I’m-so-sorry-did-thathurt?” She dropped her hands—and the voice—abruptly shooting to her feet. “You arrogant pig, you deserved that! You have some nerve!”

  “Me?” he bellowed, getting up to gape at her, eye level.

  “For your information, cretin, all women are not alike! No more than all men are! But you want them to be, oh yes, you do! Well, tough! I’m not the soft, simpering, idiotic, dainty little fragile flower you’re comfortable with!”

  “I never said—”

  She stuck her face in his, practically spitting her words at him. “I may not be the delicate type, but I do have talents! I ride as well as any man! I rope as well as any man! I think as well as any man! And because I do, I give up everything good about being a woman! I’ll be damned if I’ll let you hang me with everything bad you think a woman is!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The very reasonableness of his tone shocked her into temporary silence. She stared at him, feeling her anger slip away. Petulantly she folded her arms beneath her breasts, confused when his gaze dropped to her chest. “I don’t like being lumped into stupid categories.”

  He ignored that. “What do you mean you give up everything good about being a woman?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you so dense that you don’t think I know how you see me?”

  “Apparently so.”

  She sneered at him. “I’ve been through this a hundred times! I know exactly how you see me.”

  He brought his hands to his hips. “Do tell.”

  Anger dissolved into mortification. Tears suddenly burned the backs of her eyes, but she’d be hanged before she’d let them fall. She mimicked his pose, putting her own hands to her hips. “It’s always the same. The instant I stand up to some guy or, God forbid, prove I’m as capable a cowboy as him, I become this sexless, senseless thing, not quite one of the guys, but definitely not female enough to be noticed or acknowledged for anything more than the accuracy of my drop. I catch the cows, I can’t be intelligent, too—and forget attraction. I might as well be one of the heifers—except the bulls only see me for the loops I drop, too.”

  Rye folded his arms, unfolded them, yanked on an earlobe, raked his mustache, put his hands on his hips again. Finally he said, “Now let me get this straight. You think you’re unattractive to men.”

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes again, giving him a smirk instead. “I’m not an idiot.”

  He popped a knee out, shifting his weight. “Uh-huh. So how do you explain the way everyone stares at your butt every time you lift yourself out of the saddle to throw a rope?”

  She blinked at him. “They do not!”

  “They sure as hell do. Why wouldn’t they? I do.”

  “You do not!”

  He threw up his hands. “You know what your problem is? You’re stupid! You’re as stupid about men as you say I am about women!”

  “I didn’t say you were stupid!”

  “Don’t you remember what happened the night you fell in my lap?”

  She did remember. In torturous detail. Her face, her body, burned with it suddenly.

  “Don’t you know what would have happened if your mother hadn’t walked in?”

  She gulped. “Th-that was an accident.”

  “So? I was still on the verge of kissing you.” His voice lowered, softened. “The scary thing is, I’m not sure it would’ve stopped there.”

  Shaken, she literally quivered. He would have kissed her. He wouldn’t have stopped with just a kiss. But that was then. That was before. She shook her head defensively. “I...I don’t believe you. Now you wouldn’t. Not now.”

  A muscle spasmed in the hollow of his jaw. He shifted his weight again, rolling back on his heels, legs spread. “Look at me.”

  “What?”

  “Look at me, dammit!”

  She wasn’t really certain why, but her gaze dropped to the fly of his jeans. She couldn’t miss the long, hard ridge pushing against it. Her gaze zipped right back up to his face. “Wh-why?” she asked incredulously.

  “You folded your arms.”

  She stared at him. “I folded my arms?”

  “Yes. You folded your arms,” he told her, looking pointedly at her chest.

  She looked too, gulping. She’d had these breasts forever, it seemed. No one had ever looked at them quite like that. Why did they seem higher, fuller suddenly? This made no sense whatsoever. She shook her head.

  “Hell,” he said, and then he knocked her hat off with a sweep of one arm and yanked her to him, his hands at her waist. She looked up just in time. H
is mouth fell on hers and his tongue rammed into her before her eyelids could even drop closed behind her sunglasses, which collided with his and dug into her face. The surprising, slightly prickly softness of his mustache played an exquisite contrast to the hard demand of his mouth. She’d wondered how that mustache would feel, and now she knew that the reality far surpassed any speculation.

  The world sped up, spinning off its axis, throwing her off balance, hurling her against him in a full-body slam. She threw her arms around his neck, feeling her breasts move against his chest. He made a sound that echoed inside her, and his hands slid around her waist, then downward, cupping her bottom and pulling her tighter against him. She slid her tongue on top of his, reaching for the back of his mouth.

  Something exploded. Suddenly his hands were all over her, rubbing, skimming, clutching. He slid his hand between her legs, pressing the heavy seam of her jeans against her. He splayed it over her belly, kneading, even as he cupped her from behind with the other. When he squeezed her breast, it was almost painful. And hot. Deliciously hot. She was burning up from the inside out. And she needed him to put out the fire, needed him desperately. Perhaps more desperately than she realized, because she pressed so hard against him that he stumbled backward, and suddenly they weren’t embracing so much as trying not to topple over.

  They rocked back and forth until they found their feet again. He had one hand clamped against the back of her head, the other splayed between her shoulder blades. Her own were gripping handfuls of his shirt at his waist His mouth worked hers still, his tongue stroking, sweeping, challenging. She wanted more. Her hands twisted in his shirt, and she made a pleading sound, deep in the back of her throat. All at once he broke the kiss and shoved her away from him.

  She was too stunned at first even to think. He ripped his sunshades off and pointed them at her, his chest heaving, his hat perched on the back of his head, one side of his shirttail hanging free. “Get away! Get—” He waggled the glasses at her. She stood rooted to her spot. He didn’t mean her, surely. He straightened and grabbed at his hat as it slid from the back of his head, cramming it on again. He then folded his shades and made a stab at sliding them into his shirt pocket, missed and dropped them on the ground. They both went for them. He veered off just in time to prevent collision. Kara swept them up and held them out at arm’s length. He snatched them away as if rescuing them from a fire.

  “I will not,” he began, voice cracking.

  “What?”

  He swallowed. “Never mind. Just...” He tried to wave her away, realized she wasn’t going anywhere and retreated himself, striding swiftly toward his horse.

  She simply didn’t understand what was happening. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere!” He plopped his hat on the saddle horn and reached for his canteen, unstoppered it and poured the contents over his head. It was as close as he could get out here to a cold shower.

  “Oh.” Kara clasped her hands behind her back. “I...I thought you were mounting up.”

  He shot her a murderous glare. “Not in these jeans!”

  She blinked, then remembered what she had pressed against so recently and blushed. He raked his hair back, rammed his hat down over it and took a deep breath. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” he drawled sarcastically.

  Her mouth jerked into a smile. “Hardly.”

  “That makes two of us!”

  She slid her sunshades off her nose, feeling the indentations they left behind, and squinted at him. “So what are we going to do about it?”

  “Nothing! Not a damned thing!”

  Disappointment settled in. She tried not to let it show too badly. “Why not?”

  He strode back up the slight incline, hands on his hips, and came to a stop slightly above her, forcing her to look up at him. “You will not cut your teeth on me,” he vowed.

  She didn’t deny that she was inexperienced, just stared at him, wishing. Wanting.

  “I can’t let you,” he added softly. “I bleed too easy. The last one nearly bled me to death.”

  She wasn’t surprised. She’d known it. But there had to be a way they could be together. Feelings that hot and explosive just didn’t go away. In some part of her, she was certain that they were merely looking for the accommodation. “Was she anything like me?”

  He flinched, then shook his head. “No. But it doesn’t matter. I’m still me.”

  “Maybe this time would be—”

  “No.”

  Just like that. “You can’t mean that you won’t touch me again, that we can’t—”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  And he did. She could see it on his face, in his eyes. What had felt beautiful and breathtaking to her had seemed like a threat and a mistake to him. She bit her lip and dropped her gaze so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening there. She had cried enough lately, more than enough. She tried to find something flippant and clever to say. In the end she just nodded. He stood there a moment longer, then he simply walked away. She slid her glasses back on, even though twilight had softened the glare, and sat down right where she was.

  Well, wasn’t that just her luck? He was the first man who actually wanted to, but he wouldn’t. Still, he wanted to. That was something. Not much, but something. She sighed and looked out over the cattle, standing placidly in the holding pens, munching the hay scattered by the men. She was going to spend her life with a horse between her legs and some cow on the end of a rope. It was what she wanted, and yet it seemed oddly barren now. Nevertheless, it was the life to which she’d been born, and she’d embrace it with all the skill and enthusiasm she’d inherited. She was a Detmeyer. She had a proud legacy and work to do to maintain it. How many could say that? Few. Damned few. She wasn’t about to trade it for anything so fleeting as desire, no matter how compelling. She had everything she needed for now, and when she needed more, she’d get it. Somehow.

  Nodding decisively, she fixed her gaze on the horizon and her mind on tomorrow. The tears receded. The fires burned low inside her. Eventually the men came, along with her mother and the boy, in a caravan of trucks and trailers and horses. They would make camp on the flat tonight, and tomorrow they’d hit the trail, bright and early. She got up and dusted off the seat of her britches, then reached for her hat and the bag of trash resulting from their dinner. She had work to do, people to see, a camp to set up. Then she’d have a cold, skimpy shower, change and hit the hay. Tomorrow would bring a whole new set of problems, and she’d have them to solve. It was enough, more than enough in some ways. She just wouldn’t think about any others. She just wouldn’t.

  He pitched his bedroll right next to hers, then settled down with his back to her, Champ at his side. The excitement was palpable. He’d spent a good hour with Champ, answering his questions, calming him for sleep. He didn’t expect to sleep himself. Wasn’t sure he even wanted to. He knew he’d dream about making love to Kara, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to kick himself for letting this happen. Why hadn’t he just let her think she was unattractive? Why had he had to prove her wrong? Lord, he was an idiot when it came to women. Well, it wouldn’t happen again. She hadn’t spoken to him or so much as glanced in his direction all evening, and that was fine with him. So why did he feel compelled to speak? He clamped his jaws together, and still it came out.

  “Good night.”

  She paused as if uncertain he’d been speaking to her. Then she softly said, “Good night.”

  He closed his eyes. An instant later he opened them again and rolled onto his back, turning his head to look at her. “I think we’re ready for tomorrow.”

  To his surprise, she shot him a fleeting, tremulous smile. “I think so. Guess we’ll see.”

  He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, to whisper in her ear that he was sorry, that she was beautiful, that he wanted to be inside her but he just couldn’t take a chance like that, not with a nice woman like her. When had he started thinking of her as nice? He mut
tered, “Guess so.”

  She finished smoothing out her sleeping bag and pads, then shifted into a sitting position and tugged off her boots, placing them side by side between her place and his. The nights before she had put them at the foot of her makeshift bed. Obviously she wanted space between them now, too. That was good. Sort of. He rolled back to his side, listening as she settled down and wondering why those boots sitting there bothered him so. She flipped the side of the sleeping bag up over her body. She never zipped it, but she’d be zipping it before they reached New Mexico. The nights were cool now. They’d turn downright cold before long. He tried desperately not to think that he could keep her warm. He hitched his own cover higher and reached over to do the same for Champ. The boy was sleeping deeply. Rye closed his eyes and thought about tomorrow, mentally checking off a long list of all that must be done before they moved those cows so much as an inch.

  He opened his eyes to the half-light of dawn, and his first thought was how generously her breast had overflowed his hand. For a moment he was afraid that he had touched her again in his sleep, but a careful inventory told him he was safe. Except that he was throbbing hard, and he didn’t want to remember the dream that had gotten him that way. He jackknifed up, stomped into his boots without checking them first, glanced at his sleeping son, rammed his hat onto his head and hiked up the hill. He went down the other side and around a boulder to relieve himself. It was a painful process, and he was flirting with frustration by the time he crested the hill again.

  The camp was stirring. Dayna came out of the motor home, carrying a large thermos of coffee and a stack of tin cups. Shoes was pulling on his boots. Pogo was hosing water over his face, preparing to shave with the help of the sideview mirror on the water truck. Everyone seemed to be waking except Kara and Champ. Rye went down the hill and straight to Kara’s recumbent form. Ignoring Shoes’s mumbled greeting, he nudged her between the shoulder blades with the toe of his boot. She jerked and made a little snuffling sound, then rolled onto her back and lifted her arms above her head, stretching like a lazy cat. Her eyes opened, and she smiled up at him, her golden hair fanning out behind her and all rumpled around her face. He hadn’t thought that she was particularly pretty the first time he’d seen her, but now something about that round face, the tip-tilted end of her nose, the hugeness of those blue eyes fringed with gold and the softness of her mouth compelled him.