by JoAnn Ross
“I keep telling you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He lifted his head and looked down at her. “You’re the wrong woman for me.”
“I am.”
“And I keep telling you, you’re wrong about that, sunshine. And before this weekend is over, I’m going to prove it to you.”
“That’s not possible.” She might have been wrong about Cleopatra and Antony. And the Hatfield-McCoy match had definitely been a mistake, as was the Prince of Wales and the shy young teacher. But Sunny had chosen care fully this time, using logic—and a computer—rather than her heart.
“Of course it’s possible.” He took hold of her hand and laced their fingers together. “Don’t forget, you’re talking to the only man to ride Desperado to the buzzer this year.” Point made, he began walking across the field.
“Where are we going?”
“To the medical tent.”
“The medical tent?” Suddenly she remembered her reason for tracking him down in the first place. “Oh no,” she cried out as she noticed the bright red stain darkening his black-and-white patterned shirt. “You did hurt yourself.”
“Nothing that a few stitches won’t fix,” he assured her. “But I figure it might be a good idea to get it sewed up before the bull-riding competition. Old Frankenstein’s already mean enough. No point in giving him a whiff of fresh blood.”
“Frankenstein?” Her voice rose as she felt her own blood leaving her face. “You drew a bull named Frankenstein?”
“Yep. He’s a real outlaw.” The grin Clint flashed her was as cocky as hell. “Lucky, huh?”
To Sunny’s vast relief, Clint got through the bull riding without a scratch, and once again earned the highest score. However, she was not looking forward to the next day when she’d have to watch him practically lying on his back on two thousand pounds of potential killer on the hoof all over again. She’d already been forced to watch in horror as one bull had gored a hapless cowboy from Utah in the side.
But she wasn’t going to worry about that. Not now. Wanting to enjoy this one stolen night with the man she loved, she’d accompanied Clint, Dora and Rooster to the Boot Hill Saloon, where everyone had gathered to either drown their failure, or celebrate success. The cowboys had showered, shaved and changed into clothes that didn’t smell of horse, dust and sweat and although a lot of the women were still dressed in jeans, others had switched to fringed denim or broomstick-pleated skirts that swirled around their legs as they danced the Cotton-eyed Joe.
“Now this is the life,” Rooster said, as he tipped back his wooden chair and observed the couples out on the dance floor. “A day at the rodeo, followed by a little drinkin’, a little dancin’, later some lovin’—”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, cowboy,” Dora challenged with a toss of her head.
“Now sweetie pie,” he countered, “that’s not true at all. But I’m damn sure of you.”
She punched him playfully in the arm. “You keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna find me some young stud to ride off into the sunset with.”
Rooster looked less than terrified by that threat. “Wouldn’t do you any good.”
“You don’t think I could get one of them cowboys?” Her feigned glare was sharp enough to slice the neck off his beer bottle. “Some men like a woman who knows what she’s doin’.”
“All men like a woman who knows what she’s doin’,” Rooster agreed in that slow drawl that had endeared him to Sunny. “And I’ve not a doubt in the world that if you announced you were available, you’d have more young bucks buzzing around you than bees at a honeycomb.
“However,” he concluded, “the reason it wouldn’t do you any good is because I’d come after you. And bring you home where you belong. With an old, out-of-work cowboy who wouldn’t have any reason to get up in the morning if you weren’t there.”
“Dammit, Rooster O’Neal,” Dora complained. “If you keep talking like that, I’m going to turn into a blubbering fool.”
He leaned forward and brushed a tear away with a gentle touch that made Sunny’s own eyes fill. “Just thought I ought to tell you how I felt,” hesaid. “It dawned on me today, that with all the troubles we’ve been having, I’ve been a bit snappish lately—”
“Like a horse with a burr under the saddle,” Dora said with another sniff.
“Exactly. So I decided I’d better start making amends before you up and left me.”
“Not on your life, you old goat.” She reached out and put her hand on his grizzled cheek. “You’re stuck with me. Because in my book, cowboy, for better or worse means for good.”
“We’ve sure had a bunch of the worse lately,” he muttered.
“Which means we’re bound to get to the better real soon.”
Clint and Sunny exchanged a look that told her they were thinking the same thing. That as bad as their financial situation might be, Dora and Rooster O’Neal were two very lucky people.
“How about a dance?” Clint said suddenly, wanting to give the couple some privacy.
“I don’t know…” Although she appreciated what he was trying to do, she’d been watching the complicated line dance and doubted she could follow along.
“Don’t let us embarrass you,” Rooster said. “Sometimes, even when you’re married, you’ve got to remind yourselves of your priorities. But I guess you’ll both find that out for yourselves, some day.”
Sunny wasn’t about to respond to that comment. “May I ask a question?” she said instead.
Rooster signaled the waitress for another round. “Sure.”
“I was watching a late movie on the television in my room last night—”
“Had trouble sleepin’ did you?” Dora asked sympathetically.
“Just a bit.” Sunny steadfastly ignored Clint’s knowing look. “Anyway, it was about some men from the city who went to this ranch to take part in a cattle drive—”
“City Slickers,” Dora said.
“That’s the one.” Sunny nodded.
“Jack Palance stole that movie,” Rooster said. “Lock, stock and barrel.”
“I don’t know,” Dora mused. “That Billy Crystal was awfully cute. And it was real sweet when he delivered that calf.”
“Nothing sweet about delivering a wet bloody calf,” Rooster argued. “And what was that about, taking the dang thing home with him?” He shot a look at Clint. “You ever hear of anyone takin’ a cow to New York City?”
“Not one that wasn’t already cut into New York strip steaks,” Clint said.
“The thing I was wondering,” Sunny began again, determined to make her point, “is if that’s possible.”
Rooster stared at her. “Taking a cow to the city? We already told you—”
“No, I was talking about the cattle drive. Is it possible to actually get people to pay you to do your ranch work?”
“Sure,” Rooster replied. “More and more ranches are getting into that. It’s kind of a spin-off of the old dude ranches, where city folk used to like to hang out and watch cowboys work.
“But after a while it seemed just watching wasn’t good enough. These days, all sorts of people—doctors, stockbrokers, insurance men—actually get a kick out of saddle sores, sleepin’ on the ground listening to coyote parties and trying to wrangle dumb surging masses of bovine stupidity.”
“The movie certainly made it look appealing,” Sunny said. “So, I was wondering—” she turned to Clint “—why you can’t do that with your ranch?”
He looked absolutely horrified. “How about because I don’t have any desire to baby-sit a bunch of whining greenhorns? That was a movie, Sunny. Not real life.”
“But Rooster said—”
“I don’t care what Rooster said.” He put the bottle down on the table with a decisive thump. “I run a working ranch. I don’t have any time for coddling pampered stockbrokers and prima donna movie stars. If I wanted to be in the vacation resort business, I’d plant a bunch of grass in the back pasture,
learn how to caddy and open up a golf course.”
“You know,” Rooster mused, rubbing the gray stubble on his chin, “that’s not such a bad idea.”
“What the hell have you been drinking?” Clint shot an incredulous look across the table at his long-time friend. “It’s a nutty idea.”
“Lots of folks are getting into the business,” Rooster said. “It’s better than losing the ranch.”
“Or turning it into an emu pasture,” Dora said. “Clint, I think you should at least give Sunny’s idea some thought.”
“No way.” He folded his arms. “Besides, an operation like that would take someone experienced with cows who also had a knack for handling people. And none of the seasonal hands I hire fit that category.”
“Rooster does,” Sunny said. She wasn’t surprised that Clint hadn’t liked her suggestion. She hadn’t thought he would, which was why she’d chosen her time carefully.
The older man shot her a grin. “I was wondering if you were going to think of that. Or if I was going to have to nominate myself.”
Clint’s eyes narrowed and Sunny could practically see the wheels turning inside his head. “Then there’s the financial problems,” he insisted. “It figures that you’d have to have insurance, in case some fancy-pants urologist broke an arm when he got thrown off his horse, or a buffed-up soap opera star who wanted to play cowboy got his foot stepped on by a stupid cow.
“And then there’s the logistics of trying to figure out if you were actually making a profit at the end of the day, after you’d added all those extra expenses, like cots and tents and food and—”
“You could have someone work out a financial plan,” Sunny said.
“Accountants cost money. They’re like lawyers. The last one I had to hire to straighten out some tax problems cost more than my vet.”
“I’d do it for free.”
“You?” He arched a brow. “I seem to recall hiring a housekeeper. I don’t remember you saying anything about being a CPA.”
“Well, I’m not, exactly. But I do have a talent for business management—”
“I thought your talent was cooking.”
“My money skills are just as good. In fact,” she said, meeting his challenging look with a level one of her own, “they’re better.”
“Well, imagine that,” Rooster said. “Pretty as a new colt and brains, too. You’d better latch on to this one, Clint. Before she gets away.”
Clint gave Sunny another of those long probing looks she was beginning to get used to. “I think you and I ought to have a little talk,” he said finally.
She flashed him her sweetest smile. “Whatever you want.”
Clint shook his head in frustration. “A smart woman like yourself should knew better than to give a man an opening like that.”
His remark earned a hoot from Rooster, a laugh from Dora and made Sunny blush. Before she could come up with an appropriate answer, a young man she vaguely recognized came up to the table. His face, which she guessed, under normal conditions would have been handsome, was badly swollen; what parts weren’t black or blue were a dark purple.
“Ah, Clint?” He was obviously uncomfortable. His hands were jammed into his back pockets, and he was looking down at the floor and rubbing a path in the sawdust with the toe of his boot.
“What can I do for you, Rope?”
“Well, I was wondering if I could talk to you in private, for a minute. If you aren’t doin’ anything too important.”
“Well, I gotta tell you, Rope,” Clint drawled, “under most circumstances, I’d probably have to shoot any man who interrupted just when I was about to dance with my lady.”
The young cowboy shot a apologetic look Sunny’s way. “Sorry ma’am,” he mumbled.
“Don’t think anything of it…Rope, was it?” Sunny replied.
“Uh, yes, ma’am. That’s right. My daddy said he named me that hoping I’d grow up to be smarter than him and be a calf roper ‘stead of a bull rider.”
“Didn’t see you doing much riding today,” Rooster crowed with a laugh. “But you did a right fine job of flying, son. Although I wouldn’t recommend landing on your pretty face next time.”
Color flushed upward from Rope’s collar, as bright red as the stripes in his American flag shirt. “Well, Clint, I’m sorry to have disturbed you, so—”
“Aw, jeez, Rope,” Clint said, “can’t you tell when your leg’s bein’ pulled?” He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “I won’t be long,” he told Sunny. Then, just in case there was any question about whose woman she was, he caught her chin in his long fingers, and kissed her so quickly that it was over before she had time to react.
“Poor Rope,” Dora said as the two men walked out the door. “The way he’s limpin’ he’s gonna be too stiff to climb up on that bull tomorrow.”
Sunny suddenly remembered why the cowboy looked familiar; he’d ridden before Clint and had hit the ground right after the bull left the chute. She’d been terrified that he was going to get stomped to death. Fortunately, the clowns had leaped into action, and had successfully distracted the huge animal.
“I can’t understand why anyone in his right mind would want to do this,” she muttered.
“There’s probably a good argument about cowboys not bein’ in their right minds to begin with,” Rooster allowed. “But in the beginning, it was a way for them to hone the skills they needed on the range. It was natural that things would get a little competitive.”
“A little?” She’d watched a bareback rider compete with a broken wrist, complete with heavy cast.
“You know what the Duke said,” Rooster answered with a shrug. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
Personally, Sunny thought that was about the most stupid reason for risking your life she’d ever heard. “The Duke?”
“You don’t know who the Duke is?” Rooster looked at her with the same amazed disbelief he might have shown had Sunny suddenly announced that the bartender should get rid of the beer and start serving a nice dry California chardonnay.
“John Wayne,” Dora said. “He was before your time, honey.”
“She still should have heard of him,” Rooster grumbled.
“Maybe the girl’s got better things to do than sit around and watch old movies. Like figuring out a way to save Clint’s ranch and get you working again.”
“Yeah.” He looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, Sunny. No offense meant. And, that’s a right fine idea you came up with.”
“Thank you, Rooster. No offense taken.” She glanced over at the door and wondered what business Rope had with Clint. “I wish Clint thought so.”
“He’ll come around,” Dora assured her.
“Can’t imagine any male with blood flowing in his veins bein’ able to keep saying no to you, Sunny,” Rooster said.
Since she sincerely liked the man, Sunny wasn’t offended by his chauvinistic statement.
“When Rooster’s right, he’s right,” Dora affirmed. “You’re just going to have to keep after him.”
Sunny was about to answer that that was exactly what she intended to do, when the door opened again and Clint came back into the room. But before he could get to her table, he was sidetracked by Charmayne.
“Will you look at that girl,” Dora complained. “She’s got more brass than Sousa’s band.”
Sunny watched as Charmayne took Clint by the hand and practically dragged him out on to the dance floor. “She certainly can ride well,” Sunny murmured, knowing that she was in deep, deep trouble when the sight of Charmayne pressing up against Clint created a physical pain in her chest.
This was what she’d wanted, she reminded herself. What Clint needed. But it was so hard. She sighed, thinking that being mortal could be both exhilarating and depressing at the same time.
“You don’t have to worry about Charmayne,” Dora assured her. “Whatever she and Clint had was over a long time ago.”
“The girl’s yester
day’s box score,” Rooster added.
“She’d be a good match for Clint, though,” Sunny suggested. “They have so much in common, and she could help finance the ranch, and—”
“Clint’s a grown man, Sunny,” Rooster said. “And a bright one. Seems to me if he thought Charmayne Hunter was so right for him, he would have gotten hitched to her a long time ago.”
“I suppose the fact that he was in love with Laura Swann had something to do with that,” Sunny murmured, thinking that Charmayne couldn’t get any closer to Clint unless she crawled inside his shirt.
“Sometime’s it’s tough gettin’ over your first romance,” Dora told her. “But a smart girl would rather be a man’s last love than his first.” She patted Sunny’s hand.
“But I’m not—”
“It’s as plain as the nose on both your faces,” Dora said, cutting her off. “And Rooster and I think it’s just dandy.”
“Haven’t seen Clint looking so loose in years,” Rooster observed.
Sunny had to ask. “Not even when he was with Laura?”
“Laura was a lovely woman,” Dora said. “Intelligent, pretty, sweet. But from what we could tell from watching that affair from the sidelines, Clint had more heartache than happiness where she was concerned. Even before she was killed.”
Dora patted Sunny’s hand. “Anyone can tell that you’re good for him, Sunny,”
“But I’m not—”
“Don’t you worry, most men are a little slow on the uptake,” Dora interrupted again before Sunny could explain that she wasn’t the right woman for Clint.
“Even if it takes more than one throw to land a steer and tie him, he’s still roped and tied,” Rooster advised knowingly.
“I don’t understand—”
“What Rooster’s tryin’ to say is that you’ve got to keep trying.”
“All you have to do to win,” the older man said, “is get up one more time than you fall.”
“That’s enough with the cowboyisms, Rooster O’Neal. You’re starting to sound like Gabby Hayes.”
Although she had no idea of who Gabby Hayes was, Sunny laughed. Her stress somewhat relieved, she returned her attention to the dance floor. Although the song had ended, Charmayne and Clint were still standing in the middle of the floor, talking.
