The Cowboy

by Joan Johnston

  Callie blew out a breath of air. “The considerate thing would be to make love to me. Then we could both get some sleep.”

  “Come here,” Trace said gruffly, as he reached across the bed for her.

  Callie scooted the short distance between them and found herself body to body with Trace, with only the T-shirt she was wearing to sleep in between them. She pressed her cheek against his throat and inhaled the pine-scented aftershave he wore. She told herself she just needed the warmth and comfort Trace could provide in the cold, lonely night. Soon he’d be gone, and she’d be alone again.

  “Love me, Trace,” she whispered. “Love me.”

  She felt his arms tighten around her. “You’re exhausted, Callie. You need—”

  “I need you inside me,” she said, sliding her hand down between his legs.

  He groaned as his mouth found hers in the darkness.

  There was nothing frantic about this coupling. Trace took his time, his tongue stroking lazily into her mouth, his hands slowly searching out the places where he knew she liked to be touched. Callie felt cherished, relished, valued.

  She tried to return the favor, but Trace caught both of her hands in one of his and kept them pinned against the pillow.

  “I don’t want to be hurried,” he said. “I want to take my time.”

  She was writhing beneath him, begging for release, before he finally began to push himself inside her. Even that he did slowly, inching his way inside until she thought she would die of need. He held her hips in his hands, preventing her from thrusting upward, until he was fully seated within her.

  They moved together, in a rhythm as old as time. His groan of satisfaction called forth an answering moan from her throat, and he caught the sound with his mouth.

  Afterward, he kept her hugged tightly against him, their bodies heaving air in unison, his cheek brushing against hers. He already had enough of a beard to tickle her, and she gave a breathy laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “Your beard tickled me.”

  He stilled for a moment, then tightened his arms around her. “You should have been mine, Callie. You should have—”

  “Don’t, Trace,” she said, cutting him off. “We’re together now. Until you’ve had your fill of me,” she finished bitterly.

  The silence stretched between them.

  “Have you ever wondered what it would have been like if we’d gotten married?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I have.” He rolled over onto his back, but kept her body tucked against his side. “We’d have had at least six kids by now.”

  “You’re ambitious,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Big families are more fun.”

  “But more work,” Callie said, thinking of all she had to do with only two children.

  “There would have been two of us to share the load,” he reminded her.

  “And of course you’re rich, so we wouldn’t want for anything.”

  “I wasn’t rich when I left home. But yes, I am now.”

  “What have you been doing? Where have you been all these years?” Callie asked.

  He hesitated, then said, “I’ve been a cattleman. In Australia.”

  Callie laughed in disbelief. “I pictured you as a playboy in a casino in Monte Carlo. Or in a steel-and-glass building in Hong Kong manipulating the Asian market. I never figured you would travel around the world and end up working as a cowboy! Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were?”

  “Owen always knew where I was. I figured he could get in touch with me, if I was needed at home. And he did. I didn’t want my father knowing where I was, because I didn’t want him pressuring me to come to work for him. So I asked acquaintances who were traveling to send postcards from distant locales.”

  “You could have told Dusty where you were. He wouldn’t have told your father.”

  “I never told Dusty where I was, because I knew he couldn’t keep it from Lou Ann, and once Lou Ann knew, the whole county would, too.”

  “True,” Callie said with a chuckle. “So how did you end up in Australia?”

  Trace’s fingertips idly followed the shape of her collarbone. “I did my share of playing around the first few years I was gone. Then I went to visit a distant cousin of mine, Alexander Blackthorne, in Queensland. Turned out he owned a cattle station nearly twice the size of Bitter Creek.”

  Callie tried to imagine a ranch that large. “That would be over two thousand square miles of land!”

  “Two thousand three hundred,” Trace said.

  “How do you keep track of cattle over mat much area?”

  “I fly a lot,” Trace said.

  “Cowboys don’t earn much,” Callie said. “How did you make your fortune?”

  “The easy way,” Trace said. “I inherited it.”

  “Are you telling me a distant cousin left you a two-thousand-square-mile ranch?”

  “They’re called cattle stations in Australia,” he said. “Alex got stove up in a riding accident about two months before I showed up. His wife had left him a long time ago—couldn’t take the isolation—and his sons had both died. We kind of hit it off—”

  “I’ll say!” Callie said. “Have you already inherited this monstrosity, or—”

  “Alex died eighteen months ago,” Trace said. “He got a kidney infection that killed him. I have a good crew of men to keep an eye on things, but I’m anxious to get back home.”

  Callie stared at Trace, stunned by the pronouncement of some faraway cattle station in Australia, of all places, as home. “So you really will be leaving here as soon as your father’s back on his feet.”

  “I don’t think I can wait for my dad to fully recover,” Trace said. “I don’t think he ever will.”

  “Does he know you’ve inherited a ranch in Australia?”

  “I told him I was working for Alex. I haven’t told him I inherited the ranch.”

  “Why not?”

  Trace shrugged. “What purpose would it serve?”

  “So how long are you planning to stay in Texas?”

  “At least until the Futurity is over in December. After that, I can leave anytime.”

  “Why would you start a breeding operation if you’re going right back to Australia?” Callie asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about breeding horses for cutting in Australia for quite a while,” he said. “But I couldn’t find the quality of quarter horses I wanted.” He shrugged. “I figured I’d build an operation here and ship the best of them home to Australia.”

  There it was again. Australia described as home. “You know your father expects you to stay here and run Bitter Creek.”

  “He’ll have to handle the disappointment,” Trace said brusquely.

  “If you care so little what he thinks, why did you bother to come back at all?” Callie asked.

  He met her gaze in the moonlight. “I came back for you.”

  Callie felt the hairs stand up on her arms. Her heart began to pound. She tried to back away from Trace, but his arms held her captive. “Let me go, Trace.”

  “I don’t want to let you go, Callie.”

  She made her body rigid, evidencing her displeasure. “Are you planning to ship me back to Australia, along with your cutting stock?”

  She felt his body tense at the jibe. The moment she felt his hold loosening, she sat up and scooted away to the opposite edge of the bed.

  As he sat up, his eyes, hot and angry, locked with hers. “There’s a lot of room for kids to grow in Australia,” he said.

  “Texas is plenty big for me. Besides, my family—”

  Trace grabbed her arms and shook her. “Forget about your damned family! What about us?”

  “Keep your voice down!” she hissed at him. “You’ll wake up the whole house.” She tore herself free and left the bed.

  He cornered her by the chest of drawers, pinning her against the wall with the weight of his body, his palms pressed flat on either si
de of her head. “When is it our turn, Callie? When do you put us first?”

  So many emotions were roiling inside her that Callie wasn’t sure which one would bubble up first. She fought back defeat and desperation. Ruthlessly banished desire. Made a brief, losing struggle with reason. And finally gave in to anger.

  “You had your chance! You could have stayed around long enough to find out—” She bit her lip. “It’s too late for us, Trace.”

  “The hell it is!”

  He grabbed her hips and lifted her enough to thrust himself inside her. To Callie’s horror and chagrin, she was wet and ready for him. He grunted with satisfaction, as his eyes met hers.

  “You belong to me. You always have.”

  “You bought and paid for me,” she retorted. “I hope you get your money’s worth before you leave!”

  He shut her mouth with his own and took what he wanted, making her want him in ways she hadn’t known she could want. She clutched his shoulders, hanging on for dear life, as he brought them both to climax with a cry that was more pain than joy.

  He collapsed against her, his head pressed against her throat, his breathing labored. “Damn you, Callie. This isn’t the way … I didn’t want …”

  He released her, and she met his gaze with defiance, clenching her teeth to keep her chin from trembling.

  He left her and retrieved his jeans from the floor beside the bed. “Get some sleep,” he said. He met her gaze and added grimly, “You’re going to need it.”

  Without another word, he left the room.

  Callie had dreaded facing Trace across the breakfast table, but when she came downstairs, Luke announced that Trace had already had his coffee and left the house. “He said he’d be back in time for supper.”

  “Great,” Callie muttered.

  She managed to smile her way through their usual morning routine, but once Luke and Eli were out the door and on their way to school, she collapsed at the table, her face in her hands.

  “Are you okay, Mommy?” Hannah asked.

  Callie forced herself to sit up and smile. “Sure am, sweetheart. Know what we’re going to do today?”

  “What?” Hannah asked.

  “We’re going to start training Smart Little Doc and give Sugar Pep a good workout.”

  Callie had always believed that the best cure for misery was hard work. Luckily, there was always plenty of work to be done around Three Oaks. She planned to start with the job that required the most concentration—training her horse and Trace’s for the Futurity.

  She started with her own horse because she and Sugar Pep were already a team, and it was a pleasure to work with such a willing partner. Together, they produced something more than the sum of each, but it took trust and faith on the part of both to compete in such an unforgiving sport. One break in concentration by either of them, and the cow would escape and rejoin the herd.

  In actual competition, horse and rider entered the arena and slowly approached a herd of between forty to sixty cows. Thirty feet in front of the herd, they would cross a line that set the clock to running. Horse and rider then had two minutes and thirty seconds to cut two cows, or if time allowed, three cows from the herd in sequence.

  Driven by instinct, the cow always scrambled to return to the safety of the herd, dodging and weaving to get past anything in its way. Under the rules, Callie was required to slacken the reins, and from then on, it was up to Sugar Pep to keep the cow separated from the herd. Callie could direct her horse to quit a cow only when it was clearly stopped or turned away.

  Some horses loved the challenge of the sport and only needed a little instruction. Others had to learn the techniques of stopping and turning and pivoting that were so essential to winning the contest between horse and cow.

  Stiff penalties were assessed for losing control of the cow, for always cutting from the edge of the herd—which meant you had to “cut deep” at least once during the time allotted—and for switching cows after you’d committed to a particular one. Scattering the herd and using the reins could also lower your score.

  It sounded simple in words. It looked beautiful in execution. But hours and hours of practice went into training a truly great cutting horse.

  To Callie’s surprise, Sugar Pep seemed reluctant to come to a complete stop before she turned. Callie finally realized that she was communicating her own agitation and impatience to the horse. She tried relaxing, but the problem persisted. When Sugar Pep finally gave her a good stop, she ended the workout for the day.

  “She’s looking good.”

  Callie had been so focused on her horse, she hadn’t noticed Trace’s arrival. “She’s coming along,” she said, patting Sugar Pep’s neck. Today’s problems, Callie conceded, were her own fault.

  “I came by to say I’m sorry.”

  It was a good thing Callie had a good sense of balance, or she might have fallen off her horse in surprise. “A Blackthorne admitting he’s wrong? A Blackthorne apologizing?” She knocked her hand against her ear. “I think I must have something wrong with my hearing.”

  Trace chuckled. “I suppose I deserve that. Will you forgive me?”

  Callie resisted making a flippant response. If things had gotten out of control last night, she was at least partly to blame. “Tighten the cinch on Smart Little Doc’s saddle for me, would you?”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” he said as he complied with her request.

  “All right. You’re forgiven. Now, go away. I’m busy.”

  “One other thing.”

  “What?” Callie asked, letting him hear the annoyance in her voice.

  “I’d like you to ride my horse in the Futurity.”

  This time Sugar Pep jumped, as Callie’s hands reflexively tightened on the reins. The rules allowed her to ride both horses, but Callie wasn’t sure she wanted the additional responsibility. “I thought you were going to ride him yourself.”

  “That would be doing a disservice to the horse,” Trace said. “I haven’t got nearly the seat you have.”

  “Get on your horse, and let me see,” she said.

  Trace met her gaze for a moment, realized she was serious, then stepped into the saddle.

  She crossed to the corral gate on horseback, opened it, and held it for Trace to enter the arena. Once he and Smart Little Doc were inside, she kneed her horse through the gate and closed it behind her.

  She slid off Sugar Pep, took the couple of steps to the corral and hung her arms over the top rail. “Cut a cow from deep in the herd,” she said.

  Callie gave him points for walking his horse toward the herd of twenty cows crowded together at the far end of the corral, rather than trotting up and scattering them to the four winds. “Cut out that featherback,” Callie ordered, directing him toward a hereford with a white stripe of feathered hair down the center of its back.

  She watched as Trace set the horse’s nose toward the steer. He ended up cutting three cows, instead of one. Callie watched to see whether he could keep Smart Little Doc focused on the featherback.

  In competition, there would be two turn-back riders to make sure the other two steers rejoined the herd with a minimum of interference. Callie smiled when Smart Little Doc crouched nose to nose with the featherback, refusing to let him escape with the other two animals.

  She critically eyed Trace’s form as Smart Little Doc went to work. All cutters hung on to the saddle horn, but she could see Trace’s grip was too stiff, and his heels weren’t angled down enough. “Relax,” she instructed. “Don’t anticipate.”

  “How the hell—”

  “Keep your upper body still.”

  Cutting was all about stopping and starting. Looking the cow in the eye, Smart Little Doc matched the steer’s every move—leaping, sprinting, crouching to keep it cut from the herd. Callie whistled soft and low as she watched the horse work. Smart Little Doc could turn on a biscuit and never break the crust.

  Trace, on the other hand, was struggling to keep up with his
horse.

  “Keep your range of focus wide. Stay centered in the saddle.”

  As she finished speaking, Smart Little Doc took a sudden sharp turn, and Trace was left sitting in the sand. Callie had to give the horse credit. Smart Little Doc never missed a beat. He stayed right with the cow.

  “Grab the reins,” Callie said with a laugh. “Before you get trampled.”

  Trace stood and brushed the sand off his Levi’s. “I’m glad you think that was funny.”

  “You just need a little practice,” she said.

  “I’d need years of practice to match your ability, and I’ll never have your natural talent,” he said.

  Callie tried not to make too much of the compliment, but his praise made her feel good inside.

  Trace crossed to the rail with Smart Little Doc trailing docilely behind him and laid his hands over hers. “I’ll give you an extra ten percent of the purse to ride him.”

  Callie shook her head no.

  “What is it you want? Name your price.”

  Callie didn’t hesitate. “Move out, and I’ll ride your horse.”

  Trace stared at her a long moment. “Done. So long as you agree to spend time with me at the cabin.”

  “How much time?”

  “As much as I can get.”

  “I’m a busy woman.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration,” Trace said. “Now that that’s settled, I have another job for you.”

  Callie didn’t think the matter was at all settled. But so long as she wasn’t committed to anything specific, she intended to spend as little time with Trace as she could manage. “What is it you need me to do?” she asked.

  “I wondered if you’d come look at a couple of mares for me. Dusty recommended them, but I’d appreciate having your opinion.”

  “I have chores to do, Trace.”

  “I’ll send one of the Bitter Creek hands over to help out this afternoon.”

  “I have to take care of Hannah.”

  “I’ve already asked Lou Ann if she’d baby-sit.”

  Callie pursed her lips. She was certain that if she came up with another excuse, Trace would have arrangements made to get around that, too. “I have to be back before Eli gets home from school,” she said at last.