by Day Leclaire
Holt shoved his Stetson to the back of his head, revealing dark brown hair shot with streaks of sun-ripened gold. Without the shadow cast by his brim, she could also see his face more clearly, and she liked what she saw.
His features contained none of the smooth, boyish charm of so many of her male friends. The weathered crags and valleys of Holt's face revealed a man who'd lived hard and on his own terms, who'd known his fair share of sun, dust, and wind. A starburst of tiny lines emphasized his unwavering gaze, and deep creases bracketed a firm mouth and square chin. From the high jutting cheekbones and uncompromising blackness of his eyes, not to mention the hint of copper tinting his skin tones, she suspected Mexican or Indian blood had found its way into his ancestry.
He'd changed his torn shirt, she noticed with some relief, the heavy denim free of distressing blood specks. His fleece-lined vest blew open in the breeze, revealing a pair of work gloves tucked into a wide black belt. His leather chaps rode low on his hips, clinging to long, lean legs and emphasizing the fluid grace of his movements.
Here before her stood an honest-to-goodness cowboy. He was tall, spare, and muscular. And absolutely perfect. She gave herself an entire minute to drink him in, aware that a big part of the attraction related to his occupation. She'd always had a soft spot for a cowboy. This one fell into the category of super-sized cowboy. How she envied the life he'd led, the life she'd always dreamed of leading.
"Don't just stand there. Haul your citified tail over to the corral and let's see what you can do," the honest-to-goodness cowboy groused. "Or, like as not, can't do," he added beneath his breath.
"Yessir, boss," she said, trotting after him. This was it. Her big chance. Boy howdy, it didn't get any better than this!
Gabby exited the barn, weighted down by a saddle and blanket, and leading a large dun mare. He gave the horse a light swat on the rump and it trotted into the corral. With the ease of long practice, he swung the saddle onto the upper rail of the fence and climbed up next to it.
"All set," he called.
Holt nodded, slapping the resumé and references against his thigh. "Says here you're quite impressive with a rope," he addressed Cami. Snagging a length of thick braided manila off a post by the corral, he tossed it to her. "Try impressin' me."
The rope uncoiled, half the length slithering in the dirt. Not a problem, she decided, gathering up the excess. She'd impress him. Sure she would. Besides, how hard could it be?
Holding the bulk of the rope in her left hand, she swung the looped end into the air and twirled it. To her utter delight, not to mention amazement, it worked. A large spinning circle appeared above her head. She looked over at Holt and grinned.
"Where'd you like it, pardner?" she drawled.
"Lasso the post next to Gabby. The post," he emphasized, "not my foreman."
"You got it." She snapped her right arm back and then forward, toward the post. The rope obediently flew off behind her. It never reappeared. Instead, the rope went taut and she heard an anguished howl. She whipped around and stared in horror.
"Congratulations," Holt said. "You roped my sheepdog. Any time we need Git hogtied, I'll know who to call."
"Lord have mercy!" she exclaimed, running for the dog. Gently she eased the rope from around the animal. He gave her hand a pitiful little lick and flopped onto his back. "I'm sorry, Git," she said earnestly. "Truly, sorry."
Holt strolled over and peered down at the dog. "I do believe he surrenders. If you can convince the cows to do that, we've got it made." He eyed her sternly. "Now, would you care to tell me what you do with a rope that's so all-fired impressive?"
"Hang swings," she admitted.
"Come again?"
She cleared her throat. "I... I hung a couple swings for the neighborhood kids. Their parents were very grateful. When I asked for references, they were happy to oblige."
"You're kidding."
"Am not. I have a real knack for knots, too. And one other thing." She dug deep into her pocket and pulled out her spare yo-yo. "I can rope something fierce with this."
"The hell you can."
She looked him straight in the eye and said, "The hell I can, too."
"That's not even a rope," he scoffed. "It's a string."
She shrugged. "Rope, string. It's all the same. Only difference is the thickness."
He shoved his hat back on his head, clearly put out. "I'd call that a rather significant difference. Wouldn't you?"
"No. Just watch."
She jumped to her feet and stood a comfortable distance from the post he'd wanted her to lasso. Planting one heel firmly in the dust, she gave the yo-yo a few warm up spins. Ready, she jerked her wrist and sent the yo-yo flying toward the post. It whistled by Gabby, spun around the post and tied in a pretty knot.
Gabby nearly tipped off the railing. "Son of a bitch!"
Holt folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you plan on doing to my longhorns? I've got news for you."
Cami frowned. "It won't work?"
"Glad you agree."
"But don't you see? I'm a natural with ropes." She glanced at the yo-yo. "Okay, with strings. But I can graduate to ropes. I know I can. The only difference is—"
"Thickness. So you say. Fact is, I need a wrangler who's already good with ropes. Not with yo-yos," he added, stemming her attempts to argue. "With ropes."
"Strike one?" she asked.
He inclined his head. "Strike one. Let's see how you do with horses." He examined the papers in his hand. "Says here you're a natural with livestock and you first sat a horse when you were three."
"True. Every word."
"Uh-huh. Well, don't just stand there. Go get your horse saddled."
Cami scuffed her boots in the dirt. Would this be the right time to point out that her resumé didn't mention anything about saddling horses? Perhaps not. Somehow she doubted Holt would appreciate the distinction. Besides, how hard could it be?
"Er, what's his—" She peeked at the animal's hindquarters. "Her name?"
"Petunia."
"Good. A Petunia." Anything named after a flower couldn't be too bad. "I can handle a Petunia. Sure I can." With a decisive nod, she headed for to the corral fence.
The horse stood ten yards away, swishing flies with her tail. Reacting to the jangle of spurs, the animal swung her head around and gave Cami the once-over. Apparently unimpressed, Petunia turned away with a noisy snort.
"Hey, there," Cami called. "Nice day, isn't it?"
The horse ignored her. Was it her imagination, or had the animal suddenly grown? Not that it mattered. Huge or not, she'd have to find a way to stick a saddle on her back and climb aboard. Catching the reins, she led Petunia over to where Gabby sat with the saddle. He tossed her a pad and blanket.
Okay. A pad and blanket. They undoubtedly went under the saddle so the horse wouldn't suffer from saddle sores. Made sense. She could do this. But which came first? Pad or blanket? She struggled to recall and drew a total blank. No problem. When all else failed, use logic and reason. Then guess.
She stepped in front of the horse, stroking the soft tan muzzle. Petunia ducked her head and Cami took the opportunity to whisper into the huge horsey ear. "Time for you and me to reach a little understanding. I need to look good and I'd appreciate your help with that. I've already struck out on my first cowboy skill. I'd be real sorry, if not downright annoyed, if I struck out on this one, too. So what do you say we girls stick together and make a small—though profitable—bargain? Say a lump of sugar in exchange for fifteen minutes' good behavior?"
Petunia snorted, grabbed a mouthful of silver shirt fringe and chowed down. Cami scuffled with the horse and came away with a bit less fringe than when she'd started. "That's a yes, right?" she asked. Petunia grabbed for more fringe and Cami darted toward the horse's midsection. "Well, if that's a yes I'd hate to think how you'd tell me no. But I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I guess."
"That horse ain't gonna saddle itself, no mat
ter how long you stand there and jaw with it," Gabby informed her.
She gave a decisive nod. "Gotcha. More saddle, less jaw."
Trusting to dumb luck, a quality that rarely let her down, she placed the pad first and the blanket second, across the horse's back. Great. She scratched her head. Not great. There seemed to be a whole heck of a lot more blanket than horse. This couldn't be right. The deep creases in the thick cotton caught her attention and inspiration struck. She folded the blanket and eyed the results. That looked much better. She returned for the saddle.
"Allow me," Gabby said. He straddled the rail, grabbed the saddle horn, and passed her the saddle.
"Too kind," she said. She grasped hold of it, staggered beneath the unexpected weight, and measured her sixty-seven inches in the dirt.
Gabby chuckled. "Heavy sucker, ain't it?"
"I hadn't noticed," she claimed, struggling to get the saddle off her chest.
Holt leaned against the fence, his arms folded across the top rail. His shoulders quivered in a most suspicious manner. "Need help?"
"Oh, no. I'm doing just fine. Thanks."
She managed to get her legs beneath her and stand. All that starch in her jeans helped. Approaching the horse, she gave a tremendous heave. The saddle whacked onto Petunia's back, stirrups and straps flying. The horse snorted, kicking at the stirrups. Cami planted her hands on her hips, quite pleased with herself, until she noticed that the saddle horn pointed south, when it should have pointed north.
She sneaked a glance at Holt. Had he noticed? His shoulders quivered again, which probably meant he'd noticed. Dang. She turned back to the horse.
A few twists and turns and grunts had the saddle where it belonged. Now for the hard part—getting it connected. Crouching, she peered beneath Petunia's belly at the two woven straps dangling from the far side of the saddle. Large brass rings decorated the ends.
Connected to the back strap ring she noticed a beltlike contraption. Finally. Something familiar. Something that should be easy and straightforward. She darted under the horse and grabbed the back strap.
"Ahem."
Cami glanced at Holt. "Ahem?"
He nodded. "Ahem."
"Gotcha."
She let go of the one strap and grabbed the other, gently easing it beneath Petunia's belly. Now to figure where the darn thing connected. Striving not to appear as green as she happened to be, she poked and prodded. How many cowboy movies had she watched over the years? More than she could count. How did they saddle horses in those movies? A memory clicked into place. The rider lifted something up and...
Experimenting, she lifted a leather flap connected to the saddle and found a matching ring with several thongs attached to it. Aha! It only took a minute to wind the thongs from the one brass ring to the other. Last of all she tackled the back strap. This one proved easier still, fastening like a belt. Finished, she slapped the dust from her hands, proud as punch. She'd done it. She'd actually done it!
"You want me to mount up now?" she asked, facing the two men with a broad grin.
"Boss?" Gabby nodded toward Cami's feet. "Best get those spurs taken care of first."
Holt nodded. "Climb up on the fence," he ordered.
Somewhat awkward in her stiff, new duds, she did as ordered, while he strode over to Loco, waiting patiently in the shade. Unsnapping a leather holster buckled to the saddle, he pulled out a tool that looked like a cross between a pair of wire cutters and a hammer and carried it back to her perch.
"Hold on a sec." He grabbed her boot and twisted, snipping the long, sharp points off her spurs.
"Hey, there. Whatcha doing?" Cami cried in alarm.
"You aren't getting anywhere near Petunia with these on your boots. You'd cut her to ribbons." Once he'd snipped the spurs down, he bent in the sharp ragged edges. "Okay. Now you can mount up."
She climbed off the fence and frowned. Her spurs didn't jangle worth a darn now, but real cowboys learned early on to face adversity. And spurs that didn't jangle were a minor adversity, nowhere near as bad as losing her longhorn cow buckle.
Assuming a horse was like a car, she approached the driver side of Petunia, determined to get this one thing correct. She'd done a truly pathetic job at roping, worn the wrong kind of spurs, and gotten the saddle pointed backward. She didn't want to embarrass herself further by getting herself pointed backward, too. She closed her eyes and pictured the dynamics involved in putting the proper foot into the correct stirrup in order to end up facing Petunia's head rather than her tail.
Satisfied with the game plan, Cami stuck her left foot into the stirrup and grabbed the horn, swinging her right leg up and over. The next instant, the saddle slid rapidly beneath her. She released a muffled shriek and clamped on with all her might.
Silence reigned.
Well, she'd done it. She was, indeed, facing the horse's head. Unfortunately she was facing it from the vantage point of the horse's belly.
Gabby exploded with laughter, toppling from the fence rail. Petunia ducked her head between her front legs and peered at Cami as if she'd taken leave of her senses—which in all likelihood, she had.
Familiar chap-encased legs appeared beside her. "Tex?"
She gulped. "Yessir?"
"You ever saddle a horse before?"
"No, sir. I sure haven't. And if you look real close at my resumé, I don't think you'll find any such claim."
"Trust me. I'll give it a real close look." He stooped. "You need some help?"
"Maybe a little," she admitted reluctantly.
He reached beneath Petunia and plucked her off the saddle by her shirt collar. "This does not bode well for your future as a wrangler. You realize that."
"Yessir. I do. Is this strike two?"
"You could say that."
He unhooked the saddle and tossed it onto the rail. "Pad first, then blanket. Shake them out, checking for burrs and lumps. They need to be smooth under the saddle," he explained as he went. "Place 'em high on the withers."
"High on the withers. Got it."
"Next comes the saddle. Hook the offside stirrup on the horn, so you don't clip her elbow, and put the saddle on her." He glanced down at Cami. "Horn in front."
"Horn in front. Got it."
Lifting the saddle off the rail, he dropped it onto the horse's back with an ease she could only envy. Next he ran a hand across Petunia's ribs. "Check her flanks," he ordered.
"Nice flanks."
He closed his eyes. For some reason his face went all tight and still and she had the ridiculous impression he was counting. Finally, he spoke again. "I'm glad you approve. You might notice, they aren't moving."
"No, they aren't," she agreed.
"Which suggests?"
"That she's holding real still."
He released a long-suffering sigh. "It also suggests she isn't breathing."
Cami stared harder at Petunia's flanks. "That doesn't sound good. Should we be worried?"
"I'm beginning to think so." He jammed his hat down and explained, "She's holding her breath."
Cami nodded solemnly. "Me, too."
He ignored that. "You can't get a saddle on good and tight when a horse is holding its breath." He gave a significant pause. "Once she releases it, the saddle slips off."
"Well, I'll be!" Cami exclaimed. "That sneaky devil. She sure put one over on me. So what do we do?"
Holt grabbed the front cinch and clipped Petunia's side with his knee. The horse exhaled and he pulled the strap tight. In short order, he finished saddling. What had taken her twenty minutes to accomplish, he'd done in two.
He leaned against Petunia's side. "Like to give it another shot, or you want to concede defeat now?"
She drew herself up straight and proud. "You're forgetting I'm a Texan. That means I'm tough as nails and danged stubborn to boot. I'll never concede defeat. Long live the Alamo!"
For the first time, a genuine smile eased his mouth. "You've got grit, I'll give you that."
"Than
ks." She grabbed the reins and gave Petunia a conciliatory pat. "Don't forget our bargain," she warned the horse, and once again shoved her foot into the stirrup.
This time she gained the horse's back without further incident. Not bad, she decided. Anchoring her hat more firmly on her head, she steered Petunia away from the fence. This was it. Her final chance at the big time. She could do it, no sweat. Besides, how hard could it be?
With an enthusiastic "Hiyah!" she slammed her newly trimmed spurs into Petunia's sides. She realized her mistake a moment too late.
Petunia didn't take kindly to having spurs, trimmed or otherwise, slammed into her sides. With a shrill whinny, she launched straight into the air and landed with a bone-shattering thud. Still not having expressed her disapproval thoroughly enough, she took off like a shot. Cami bounced once in the saddle, once on Petunia's hindquarters and once on the ground, skidding to a halt on her much abused posterior. Her hat drifted down to settle at her side.
She struggled to her feet, spitting dirt. "I hope you realize this cancels our bargain!" she shouted after the horse. Reluctantly, she glanced toward the two men. Gabby had fallen off the rail again. Holt occupied himself staring at the ground. She picked up her battered pink cowboy hat and hobbled across the corral.
"Strike three?" she asked.
"Strike three," Holt confirmed. He lifted an eyebrow. "You sticking to that story about first sitting a horse when you were a toddler?"
She slapped dust from her hat. Feathers filled the air. "Yessir. I am."
"Uh-huh." He eyed her keenly. "I assume that was also your last experience sitting a horse."
"Yep." She offered a crooked grin. "But look on the bright side. At least this time I didn't break my arm when I got thrown."
"I'm so relieved."
She heaved a sigh. "Mr. Winston—"
"Make it Holt. You've earned the right to that, if nothing else."
"Thanks." She stared at him earnestly, wiping a trickle of sweat from her brow. "I know it doesn't seem likely, but I can do this job, given half a chance. I'm a fast learner. You only have to show or tell me things once for me to catch on. And I want this job. I want this job more than I've ever wanted anything."
