The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl

by Nancy Martin

  “I’ll stay out of trouble,” Carly pleaded. “You won’t even know I’m around. Please? Can’t I go with you?”

  “Why not?” Becky asked. She gave her brother a meaningful stare. “I’ve hired a few other guys to help out. We can handle things around here, I guess. Take a picnic, Hank. It might be fun.”

  “But—”

  “Go on. Show Carly around the old homestead you love so much.”

  Hank felt panic rising up around his ears. Suddenly he wanted to strangle his sister. “But, Becky...”

  “The boys and I can handle things around here. You go up into the hills and see what turns up.”

  “Sounds wonderful!” Carly cried, looking as starry-eyed as any city-bred greenhorn on her first day at the dude ranch. “I’ll go see about a picnic, if you’ll find me a suitable horse, Hank.”

  “Perfect plan,” Becky said, looking pleased with herself.

  Hank watched Carly turn and jog toward the house, and his dismay faded. Her beautifully curved backside looked great in jeans.

  Maybe spending the day with her wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Becky leaned down from the saddle to murmur in her brother’s ear. “It’ll be fun. I promise. Besides, she’ll just be in the way around here today.”

  “Don’t try to make it sound like you’re looking out for her safety,” Hank growled. “You’re just getting me deeper and deeper into trouble—and you’re enjoying it!”

  “I think you’re going to like this kind of trouble,” Becky predicted. “C’mon. I’ll find you some gear and a couple of horses.”

  “A couple of ancient ones, please,” Hank said, following his sister.

  Half an hour later, Hank found himself holding the reins of two animals that had been humanely retired to the Fowler ranch after long lives cutting cattle elsewhere. Becky had a soft heart for old horses—no doubt one of the reasons why her finances were always such a mess.

  “This one’s Laverne,” Becky said, patting the speckled neck of a sad-looking Appaloosa. “And this one’s Buttercup. Which one do you want?”

  “They both look like they’re on their last legs.”

  “Oh, you’ll be surprised how much life they’ve got left. Just don’t gallop them for hours.”

  Hank eyed the two prospects and decided Buttercup was at least capable of supporting his weight. Laverne looked as if a trip to the glue factory might be a mercy, but Becky wouldn’t hear of such a thing and assured him Laverne was capable of carrying Carly.

  He struggled to saddle the two horses, and Carly came bouncing back from the house with a picnic lunch wrapped up in a canvas satchel. She had added a sweater and a down-filled vest to her ensemble and looked like a city slicker ready for a trail ride. Hank dutifully added her picnic to their overstuffed saddlebags.

  “Why do we need all this stuff?” he whispered to Becky when she added more gear to Buttercup’s load.

  “You never know what might happen,” Becky murmured back.

  “You don’t suppose Laverne’s going to kick the bucket on this trip?” Hank asked, nervously watching as Carly petted the Appaloosa’s spotted nose.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of you getting lost,” Becky retorted. She jerked her head to indicate Carly. “Help her into the saddle, hero.”

  “This is so exciting!” Carly cried as Hank boosted her up onto Laverne. She didn’t notice as Laverne let out a gusty sigh of resignation. Fortunately Carly also didn’t seem to grasp the elderly condition of either one of the horses Becky had selected for them.

  Hank took his courage in hand and hauled himself into Buttercup’s slippery saddle.

  Despite all the years he’d spent in the great outdoors, Hank had never mastered the art of riding and tended to spend most of his horseback time hyperventilating. He was athletic enough in other sports, but the skills required for sitting on a moving horse continued to elude him. Long ago he’d decided it was probably a mental block brought on by some psychological reasoning that only a few decades of psychotherapy could fix.

  But instead of seeing a shrink, he just stayed away from horses.

  This time that wasn’t possible.

  Becky gave Carly a few quick instructions about riding Laverne and made Carly practice some turns around the corral. Satisfied after several minutes, Becky nodded and opened the gate. “You’re a natural,” she called to Carly.

  To Hank, Becky whispered, “Nobody could fall off Laverne even if they tried. But Buttercup—well, you’d better be a little careful with her. She has a stubborn streak.”

  Hank groaned. With trepidation, he urged Buttercup after Laverne as Carly headed out of the ranch gate. He ignored his sister’s big grin and concentrated on balancing in the saddle. Silently, Hank prayed he could get through the day without breaking any bones.

  Passing through the gate, Buttercup gave an almost frisky swish of her tail as if she were happy to be setting off on an adventure. Hank clutched the saddle horn to keep his balance and cursed under his breath.

  Heading away from the ranch, Carly inhaled a deep gulp of South Dakota air. The morning had turned deliciously warm, and the air was so clear it almost hurt to breathe it. From astride her horse, Laverne, Carly could see for miles, and the country was exquisitely beautiful.

  “I could get used to this.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  Carly stammered, not realizing she’d spoken aloud and that Hank was just a few paces behind her. “I...I was just thinking, well, as long as a person has to live someplace, it might as well be as pretty as this.”

  Hank urged his horse forward and angled the animal so that his knee made contact with Carty’s in a friendly bump. “I had you pegged for a confirmed city girl.”

  “Oh, I am. But this is magnificent!”

  She spread one arm to indicate the panorama around them. The Black Hills rose ponderously over a seemingly endless green- and wheat-flecked prairie. Stands of aspen trees shivered in the slight breeze, their colors shifting like a shimmering waterfall. The cloudless sky was infinite and a shade of blue Carly had never seen before.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she added with a sigh. “Makes me glad to be alive.”

  To be honest, Hank’s proximity contributed most to Carly’s high spirits. It was amazing how much an attractive man on a horse could lift a girl’s mood. Glad to have the mouthwatering cowboy all to herself, she sent him a grin. “What should we do fust?”

  “First?” he asked, raising one bemused brow.

  “Well, I’d like to work up an appetite before we have our picnic,” she said smoothly. “How exactly do we look for strays?”

  He shrugged. “Think like a cow, I guess.”

  “You mean, try to figure out where they’d be hiding?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “I see. Well, if I were a cow, I’d want to be under those trees over there.” She pointed toward a stand of woods at the base of the mountain. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “It’s as good a place to start as any.”

  “Great I’ll race you!”

  Carly booted Laverne just like she’d seen in Western movies and was rewarded by a yelping shout from Hank and a lumbering gallop from her horse. Clinging to the saddle and a handful of mane, Carly whooped with delight. The wind whipped through her hair. The thunder of pounding hooves filled her ears. She could hear Hank’s horse breathing down her neck as they tore across a wide field, heading for the trees.

  She laughed with delight. It was like riding a carousel horse—a smooth rhythm as she sat in the rocking-chairlike saddle.

  At last, however, Laverne slowed down and jumped over a trickle of a stream. The landing jolted Carly almost out of her saddle, and she was glad her horse trotted to a halt within a few yards. Breathlessly she clumsily turned Laverne around to find out what had happened to Hank.

  Startled, she saw that he’d gotten off his horse and was hunkered down, studying some marks in the soft earth near the stream.

&
nbsp; Carly trotted Laverne over to him to see what he was doing.

  “What have you found?”

  Hank got up quickly—or was it stiffly?—and used his hat to brush dust from his jeans. “Oh, I was just looking at some tracks, that’s all.”

  Carly hadn’t noticed before that his jeans were so filthy. “You didn’t fall off your horse just now, did you?”

  “Of course not!” He looked offended. “I just—a ranch isn’t the cleanest place on earth, that’s all. I found some wolf tracks.”

  “Wolf tracks!” Carly forgot about Hank’s jeans. “You’re sure?”

  Hank pointed to the ground. “See for yourself.”

  “Those look like dog tracks to me. Maybe Charlie was out here—”

  “Charlie doesn’t leave the rug in the living room,” Hank told her. “No, this is a wolf, I’m sure.”

  “The one we heard howling last night?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Those are awfully big tracks.”

  “Which means we probably have an awfully big wolf in the neighborhood.”

  Carly shivered. “Should we turn back?”

  Hank weighed his options. Death at the jaws of a wild beast? Or death by humiliation if he returned to the ranch and had to show Carly what an amateur he really was?

  He manufactured a cowboy drawl. “I reckon we’ll be safe enough.”

  “Okay, but let’s stick together, all right?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  He climbed back into the saddle, thankful that Carly hadn’t seen the tumble he’d taken just moments earlier. His whole body ached despite his precaution of taking two aspirins before leaving the ranch. His good luck had held, too. Finding the wolf tracks when he landed in the dust had been nothing short of miraculous.

  “Let’s head for those trees,” he said as he authoritatively set off in the lead. Buttercup plodded along as quietly as an old donkey who’d never dream of pitching off her rider, but her ears were alert for the next opportunity for mischief. Hank vowed to be more careful of Buttercup’s sly ways.

  “Look!” Carly cried suddenly. “There’s a cow!”

  Hank prayed she was seeing things. “Where?”

  “There!” She stood in her stirrups and pointed excitedly. “That’s a stray, right?”

  Sure enough, a white-faced Hereford wandered out from behind the line of trees about two hundred yards away. Hank stifled a groan. He had no desire to start chasing down half-wild cows. “Well, it could be one of the neighbor’s herd,” he cautioned. “We’ll have to check the brand.”

  “How do we do that? Let’s go!”

  There was no stopping her. She booted her horse into a lumbering gallop so that Hank had no choice but to follow her again. He clutched his saddle horn for dear life as Buttercup pounded after Carly’s horse. The tall grass whipped against Hank’s stirrups. He prayed there weren’t any gopher holes for Buttercup to step into.

  “Yii—ha!” Carly cried.

  The steer looked up from grazing, startled to have his morning snack interrupted. It took one look at Carly and snorted belligerently.

  “Carly, wait!”

  But she urged Laverne ahead, and the steer suddenly turned and made a surprisingly agile dash into the trees.

  “Get your rope!” Carly yelled over her shoulder. “Don’t you have to lasso him?”

  Actually, Hank had once been pretty good with a rope. When he’d been growing up, practicing with twenty-five feet of hemp had been a hell of a lot easier than helping with any ranch chores. But picking up his rope meant letting go of his stranglehold on the saddle horn.

  “Come on!” Carly shouted. “He’s getting away!”

  You’re out of options, pal, Hank thought.

  He made a grab for his rope. Buttercup seemed to know what to do, and she dove excitedly into the brush after the Hereford. Hank hung on, struggled with the rope for an instant, then managed to make a loop—all the while plunging deeper and deeper into the thick bushes. Buttercup snorted and leaped a culvert. Hank held back a yelp.

  Then, suddenly, there was the steer, and Hank’s rope was ready. He threw it instinctively, and a miracle occurred. The steer threw his head directly into the loop. Buttercup jolted to a stop, the steer kept running and the rope played out smoothly.

  The steer reached the end of the line, Buttercup braced herself, and suddenly everything was perfect.

  Except that Hank had forgotten to wrap his end of the rope around the saddle horn. He went sailing right over Buttercup’s head.

  Carly shrieked.

  Hank landed on the hard ground with a thump. His prey took off like a rocket, and a second later Hank’s arm was yanked out of its socket one more time. Suddenly he was being dragged through the brush. His mouth was full of dirt, his belly scraped the rocks and his belt buckle practically made sparks as he flew along the earth.

  “Whoa!” he bellowed, his panicked brain temporarily malfunctioning.

  Then he slammed into a tree. His momentum whirled him around on his belly, but Hank still couldn’t make himself let go of the rope. It tightened around the tree, and he heard a thunderous crash nearby.

  “Wonderful!” Carly cried, panting as she leaped down from her horse. “That was perfect!”

  “P-perfect?”

  “You caught him! He’s still on the ground! Is he stunned?” Carly threw herself down beside Hank’s prone body. “Should I check the brand? I thought you were supposed to stay on your horse. Wow, this is exciting!”

  She kept talking, but she might as well have been speaking Russian. Hank couldn’t think. Dizzily he sat up on one elbow. He shook his head to get rid of the stars that swam in his line of vision. He spat the dust from his mouth and squinted at the Hereford that he’d managed to stop purely by accident.

  The steer scrambled up and shook himself off. Dust flew from his thick coat. But he stood docilely at the end of the rope, realizing he’d been beaten.

  Painfully, Hank got to his feet, too. His ears were ringing. The scratches on his stomach stung. He couldn’t catch his breath.

  But he pulled himself together with all the concentration of an Oscar-winning actor.

  “All in a day’s work,” he said gruffly, hoping like hell he hadn’t broken any ribs.

  Starry-eyed, Carly watched as Hank reeled in the rest of his rope and approached the steer.

  The animal was breathing hard, but it was unafraid of Hank. Hank risked patting its shoulder. With a jerk of its head, the steer snorted, but didn’t try to fight him. Hank ran his hand along the rough fur and looked for a brand.

  “Aha,” he said, at last spotting a mark on the beast’s hip. “See this symbol? That’s the Conner brand. This steer isn’t ours.”

  “You’ll have to let it go?”

  Hank was already removing the rope from the steer’s neck. “Yep.”

  Disappointed, Carly sighed. “Darn. It seems so anticlimactic. The first real cow roping I’ve ever seen, and you have to let it go.”

  “That’s life out here in the West,” Hank said cheerily. And, thank God, I’m still alive, he thought.

  But Carly looked truly sorry as Hank turned the steer loose. It bolted for cover in the bushes once again. “I guess we’ll just have to keep searching,” she said on a disappointed sigh. “Oh, no, look!”

  Hank wheeled around. Buttercup kicked up her heels and joyously headed back to the ranch at a gallop, clearly delighted to find herself free as a bird.

  Hank was willing to bet Buttercup wasn’t as happy as he was, however.

  But he concocted some fake anger for Carly’s benefit. “Damnation!”

  “She’s going back to the ranch!” Carly cried. “Is she supposed to do that?”

  “No,” Hank snapped. Then, for the sake of authenticity, he added, “I’ve been training her lately. I guess all the lessons haven’t sunk in yet.”

  “Training her to do what?”

  “Well, you know, ranch stuff.”

  “Should
I go after her?”

  To be truthful, Hank was immensely relieved to be rid of the horse. But he had to find a way to hide his relief from Carly. “Uh, no,” he said. “You might get hurt chasing around the countryside. Just let her go.”

  “But what will you do?”

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to walk.”

  “I thought cowboys hated to lose their horses.”

  “Oh, we do,” Hank assured her. “But it happens.”

  He found himself standing very close to Carly, and she was staring up at him with a shine of admiration in her eyes.

  They were very pretty eyes, too, he had to admit.

  Looking down at her, Hank forgot about his aches and pains. He forgot about acting like an idiot. He began to think like an ordinary, red-blooded American male and decided it would be an easy matter to gather her up in his arms and kiss the stuffing out of Carly then and there. His mouth got very dry.

  She had to be thinking about the same idea because her gaze turned shadowy. “I... I guess we could share my horse, couldn’t we? Ride double, I mean?”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want to tire out Laverne.”

  Carly looked momentarily disappointed. “We wouldn’t?”

  “I don’t mind walking, really.”

  She frowned a little. “Maybe I’d better walk, too. To avoid getting saddle sore.”

  “Well, if you think that’s best...”

  She smiled up at him again. “I think we’d better stick close together. I’d hate to get lost out here.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, I’d hate for you to get lost,” he corrected himself. “Shall we?”

  Hank hesitated for only an instant. “That way.” He pointed with a great deal more confidence than he was feeling.

  They gathered up Laverne’s reins and set off walking over the rough terrain, Hank pushing brush out of their way as they progressed through the thicket. Already, he could feel his body tightening up from the two falls he’d taken so far. He forced himself not to limp, but the muscles in his back had begun to protest.

  With your luck, you’ll end up in traction before this day is over, he told himself.