The Accidental Cowboy

by Heidi Hormel

  Triple crap. The canvas hadn’t been well secured and the supplies were drenched. Which wouldn’t have been a disaster because everything was in waterproof containers, except—and she gave the donkey a long glare—a number of the food packages had been torn open and were ruined.

  “Reese, you don’t even like this stuff,” she accused. She’d packed extra, but they’d still need to cut the trip short. “Thanks for making me look incompetent.” Reese did not look regretful or interested.

  Partway through separating the damaged from the still-sealed food, a scuffing and tiny bray from Reese told her that Jones had emerged from the tent. She knew her ears were red with embarrassment—good thing her hair covered them. She kept her head down and her gaze on the packets of food.

  Jones cleared his throat. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Her impulse was to tell him no. To tell him that she didn’t need his help. That she was a big girl who could take care of herself and the camp without breaking a sweat. She needed to remember that she wasn’t in the corporate world where she had to fight for every inch of respect and that a good cowgirl knew when to ask for a hand. “The other tent needs to be set up, and we have to check on the bedding. If it got wet, lay it out to dry.”

  “Is there anything left to eat?” he asked.

  She smiled to herself. “Enough, but we’ll need to head back to the ranch sooner than we planned. I packed extra but not that much extra.”

  “Did the animal do that?” he asked, close enough that she caught the whiff of pine and moss. The heat left her ears and headed south.

  “Reese can’t be trusted around food, apparently,” she said, gathering herself to stay unconcerned by his nearness.

  “Is the rain done?”

  “Should be. Monsoons come in quickly and blow right back out.”

  “Scottish storms do that sometimes but we’re more likely to get all-day rain. I wonder what—” He abruptly stopped.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Now she was curious. “Come on. What? How the prehistoric beans survived this kind of rain?”

  * * *

  “THAT’S IT.” Every muscle in Jones’s body tightened painfully as he realized he’d been about to spill the beans—another American expression that had nothing to do with his research. Could he blame the aftereffects of what they had done in the tent? What he’d woken up wanting to do again?

  The silence stretched out and grew tense as his brain considered and discarded what he should say. Wouldn’t she figure out what he was doing soon enough? Maybe not. He couldn’t imagine that they’d find anything this trip.

  “I had a relative, a distant cousin, who was an archaeologist and did explorations in Arizona.” Completely true.

  “Really? What part? Did he find anything? When was this?”

  His heart beat a little faster. He was skirting so close to the edge of disaster. “He did find unusual items, just before the Great War... World War I.” Now Kincaid’s Cache was barely known. Would she find the nearly ancient history in terms of the Western US of any interest? She was a cowgirl, so maybe.

  “Are they in any museums?”

  “Not that I know of. I believe he may have sold what he found to fund his search,” he said, and looked away.

  “Too bad.” She dug into a pack, then said, “So this archaeology is in your blood, huh? Any famous ancestors or finds?”

  “No famous Kincaids, even the one who lived here. My search wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone if that student hadn’t uploaded his video.” He stopped talking right then. She didn’t know about Dolly-Acropolis and he wouldn’t be the one to tell her anytime soon. “Not that many people saw the video.” Except every archaeologist.

  “You’re on YouTube?”

  “Isn’t everyone? Nothing interesting, really.” He needed to make sure she didn’t look this up. “I’d been asked by the university to lead a project, based on documents that had been donated to the archaeology department. I had authenticated everything.” Dear Lord. It did sound a bit like what he was doing now. “We all got a bit caught up in the promise of the materials.” This story didn’t make him sound any less like an idiot, as his brother had pointed out at the time. Iain was good at that sort of helpful suggestion. Maybe next time you’ll remember that you’re an academic and not Indiana Jones, he’d told Jones when he’d called after the heap of moldy dolls and not the pile of Viking-era artifacts had been shown and reshown on every news program. Also, after Iain had been named to the chairmanship that Jones had been promised.

  “I’m guessing by that you didn’t find anything?”

  “The university is still arguing with the family who provided the documentation about whether someone ransacked the site and then hid or sold the artifacts.”

  “That must have sucked,” she said with straightforward sympathy. Now he felt even worse.

  He opened his mouth to say...something. Closed it again so he wouldn’t have to lie any more today.

  “Let’s salvage what we can. Even though I brought extra food, I forgot that a man as big as you would need a lot of fuel.” She smiled broadly. “Or that Reese would be so insistent on getting into the stores. If we’re lucky and we’re careful, we may only need to trim off one day.”

  “A reasonable plan.” He reached out and touched her arm, going on the instinct he usually ignored and tugging her toward him. He needed her and soon enough she might not be speaking with him. She started to open her mouth, so he took full advantage, pressing their lips together to interrupt what she had to say. He finished the kiss and looked at her. Her long lashes lay against her cheeks and her chest jerked with her uneven breaths.

  “Don’t think you can just kiss me, and I’ll do whatever you want.” She glared up at him.

  “No, ma’am,” he said in what he hoped was a good imitation of a cowboy drawl.

  Her sudden laughter made Reese bray in response. “Stick to digging up moldy jewelry, doc.”

  Her teasing didn’t make him want to hide. Instead, he thickened his burr until he sounded like a caricature of a Scotsman. “Lassie, you’ll appreciate my treasure-hunting skills later tonight.”

  Her eyes went a little hazy and she licked her lips. Now all he’d be able to think about as they made camp was what they’d be doing in that single tent later.

  * * *

  LAVONDA SCOOTED OUT of their shelter before the sun rose, leaving behind the solid warmth of Jones’s arms. It wasn’t exactly that she was upset by what they’d done. They were both adults and consenting. Nothing wrong with enjoying themselves, no matter her list of reasons to resist. The real trouble had been when her mushy, girly brain imagined a life with him, beyond the night. She couldn’t go there.

  “Okay, Reese,” she said in a low voice as the burro smacked his lips and showed his teeth. “I’m getting you breakfast.” His two companions stamped their hooves in agreement.

  She looked up at the sky, which was uncharacteristically gray. Had the giant Scotsman brought his own weather with him? She shook her head at her own fanciful thoughts. Being out in the desert with the real world far away could make a person forget her reality: more or less unemployed with a long-term plan that had a lot of holes.

  Well, she couldn’t solve her future this morning, so she may as well focus on what she could solve. Find the best way to the arroyo and figure out how long their food would last. All of that would take her less time than mixing up the powdered eggs into breakfast, leaving her more than enough time to obsess over the decision to repeat last night’s sleeping bag aerobics.

  The big question: Could she spend time in his sleeping bag without letting her heart get involved? Possibly, since half of the time she wanted to take a very large stick and beat the pompous out of him. Of course, then he’d smile or ro
ll an r and she’d get hot all over, like I-want-you-right-now hot. She’d never been a love-’em-and-leave-’em sort of woman. On the other hand, roughing it in the desert and acting as a wrangler was not how she usually thought of herself...anymore. After the last rightsizing—being laid off, by another name—she’d had enough in severance to take a break. She hadn’t really planned to go all cowgirl again, but that was how it’d worked out, helping Jessie and Olympia with their stock. It had all felt so familiar, but had it been right?

  She’d promised herself she would have a different life than her parents and siblings. She wanted to make a living that didn’t involve broken bones or shoveling manure. She’d found communications at college and never looked back. She’d been as good at that as hanging on to a bronc. Now, with so much time gone since she’d worn a suit, could she go back to the high-rises and the strict corporate hierarchy? But if not that, then what? That was the biggest, scariest question she’d ever asked herself. Jones crawled from the tent, a ray of sun glinting off his auburn hair. “Coffee?”

  “Give me ten minutes. I thought you’d want tea.” She sneaked a glance. Why did his shadowed jaw and slightly flattened hair look sexy? It should just look messy. He was stretching and...well...just wow. That was a lot of fine man that she’d ridden like— “I’m making eggs. If you want something else, get it from the packs.” She concentrated on the camp stove and brewing coffee. Obviously, she needed the caffeine to get her brain working at full capacity and back in control of her lady parts. Or maybe they were cowgirl parts, because they certainly weren’t acting ladylike.

  Without warning, Jones’s scent and arms surrounded her. He buried his face in her nape, and his words warmed her skin. “I want you for breakfast.”

  Her body softened back against him and she vibrated with excitement. “But I thought you needed coffee.”

  “I need you.”

  That should have sounded cheesy, but, no, she melted, turned and reached up to pull his mouth down onto hers.

  * * *

  THE PAST THREE DAYS had been a combination of hot wrestling in the sleeping bags at night and daytime drudgery of trying to find the landmarks Jones’s materials had noted, along with one or two sketchy GPS coordinates. On top of that, the weather had been un-Arizona-like with rain and gray skies. Then yesterday afternoon, Reese had stepped wrong and injured his leg, and that was followed by another monsoon. There had been no question that they needed to head back to the ranch.

  Her little crew had stopped just now because instead of a dry wash below them, a river filled the space. She shouldn’t have been surprised, which didn’t mean that she was happy about the landscape change. On the plus side, if they swung west, they should be able to cross at a spot where the arroyo widened and the water would be shallower and calmer. Where they stood now, the torrent of water squeezed into a narrow channel that looked like the black diamond of white-water rapids. With Reese limping and walking slowly, the extra mileage would take them two hours out of their way.

  “What?” Jones asked, swigging from his canteen. At least they had plenty of water.

  “We’re going to have to make a big semicircle to a wide spot in the arroyo where it should be safe to cross.”

  He patted Joe’s withers. “My man here can make it. Reese can swim, can’t he?”

  “It’s not just the depth. The water here is running fast, really fast. Even Brownie couldn’t swim those rapids.”

  She tugged on Reese’s lead to get the burro moving. He walked three steps before balking and leaning back on his haunches. Great. He decided now was the time to act up. “I’m out of grain, so unless you want to try and live off cactus, you’d better cooperate.” Reese eyed her, shook his head hard and finally stepped after her. He plodded along with only a little limp. Her horse sighed. They were tired, too. They had been moving since early morning. On top of that, the horses were weighed down with what had been on Reese’s back, to baby his bad leg. It was going to be a long, miserable ride. It didn’t help that she kept feeling twinges of private muscles that had been given a workout. Worse. Those muscles were sending zinging messages that said, Hey, another round of “hide the salami” might make me feel better. She’d never imagined muscles could be such liars.

  “Does this happen often?”

  She was startled by Jones’s voice as she argued with her aching muscles. “What?” she asked guiltily, for a second imagining that he knew what her muscles had been suggesting.

  “The rain and flooding.”

  “Not often this time of year, but in the summer, flooding happens often enough. That’s why there are arroyos, washes and dry rivers. Phoenix has a whole system of canals and parks to deal with runoff.”

  “The ground is like a sponge in the Highlands. It can take in a lot of moisture, although we have small waterfalls and streams that crop up after particularly heavy rains.”

  She nodded. “You’ll see. By tomorrow or the next day, you wouldn’t even know that there had been any rain.”

  They plodded along for another twenty minutes in silence—not a tense silence but not totally comfortable, either. She turned to ask him about the tartan he’d worn on their first meeting and noticed that Reese had drifted closer than she liked to the lip of the arroyo. Sure-footed or not, the edges of arroyos could be undercut by the water and collapse without warning.

  “Eee-awh,” Reese protested as she pulled on his lead rope.

  “Stupid donkey,” Lavonda said, giving another tug.

  Before she could tell him no, Jones got down off his horse, walked up behind the animal and gave a push on his hindquarters. For a moment, Reese stood frozen. Lavonda could see a disaster rushing toward them. “Jones, step away. Reese doesn’t like to have his—” That’s all she got out before hell broke loose. The burro kicked out his back legs, catching Jones in the thighs. His horse skittered away and cantered off. The giant Scot yelled and dropped to the ground nearly over the edge of the arroyo. Lavonda jumped from Brownie, dropping Reese’s lead to get to Jones, who was close enough to roll into the water as he clutched his legs, swearing and in obvious pain. Reese let out a series of ear-piercing brays, which were followed by unsettled whinnies from Brownie. Lavonda looked over her shoulder to tell Reese to shut it just as the edge of the arroyo disintegrated and the burro disappeared. “Reese!” she screamed, and lunged to capture the lead. It was gone.

  She raced to the edge. The burro clung to the side of the arroyo about five feet from where he’d fallen. The whites of his eyes showed in terror as he brayed frantically. Lavonda lay down on the ground, reaching out to catch his halter, but he thrashed away. She feared his frantic movements would dislodge his unstable perch.

  “Out of the way,” Jones said with authority.

  “Get a rope,” she snapped. “I can lasso him.”

  Jones bumped her out of the way. With the large span of his arms, he easily reached the burro’s head, catching the halter and dragging Reese toward him. The burro instinctively kicked out his legs to find purchase. Instead, they smashed away the small shelf of dirt on the side of the arroyo. Jones’s muscles bunched as he took most of the donkey’s weight on his shoulder. “Get the rope,” he said through gritted teeth. She froze for a moment. “Now.” Then she was off, because both Reese and Jones were in trouble. If the donkey kept thrashing, he’d either damage Jones’s shoulder or pull the man into the arroyo. She chased down Brownie, who’d trotted fifty feet away. She dug through her packs and unearthed a coil of rope with knotted ends. Reese gave another loud bray and Brownie took off. Damn it.

  “Hush, now,” Jones crooned to the donkey. “Wee man, you need to stop your thrashing. Hush.”

  Lavonda took a deep breath, allowing his calm voice to stop the shaking in her hands. The knots gave. As she ran, she made a quick loop. Fortunately, she’d had to use a regular saddle on Reese to pack up their equipme
nt. If she could catch the horn, she could use her body weight to hold Reese until Jones could get into a better position. Between the two of them and with a little help from Reese, they should be able to pull him up the slope. Then she heard it, even over the rush of the water. A bray, a large splash, nearly drowning out the yell and another splash. They were both gone. She raced to the edge. Maybe the water wasn’t as deep as she thought or running as fast. She scanned the desert for the horses. Crappedy crap. It was her and her muscle power that would save Jones and Reese.

  She scanned down the slope, then moved her gaze downstream. Jones held Reese’s halter so the burro’s head and white-rimmed eyes were just above the water. Jones went under and popped back up. Lavonda ran.

  Chapter Seven

  Damn it, man. Let the animal go. Save yourself. Jones couldn’t be that rational with the thrashing, braying donkey fighting for its life. At the same time, instinct kicked in. He tried to touch bottom while keeping his head out of the fast-moving water.

  “Jones,” Lavonda yelled from somewhere above him. “Catch the rope.” His mouth filled with water when he swirled into an eddy that pushed the dirty, grit-filled water up and over his head. He kicked out his legs and his head popped up just as a wave of water broke over him. He coughed and gagged. The donkey no longer thrashed. He glanced at the little animal, who looked calmer, eyes intent. He glanced at the bank. Lavonda stood with a rope raised over her head, whirling it in a circle.

  “Catch,” she yelled as she released the circle. He watched its lazy path toward him and reached out. The loop landed a foot away. As the noise of the water suddenly increased, he turned his gaze forward. The arroyo narrowed further and debris had accumulated. They sped up as the water’s power increased. Even if he’d been able to plant his feet, Jones didn’t think he could have stood against the pull. The burro had his head aimed at dry land. Jones followed along, kicking his legs and moving his arm to help steer them toward the bank. The water looked less turbulent there. Lavonda yelled again. “Hold on to Reese. I’m going to rope him.” The loop flew again. This time it landed and tightened on the horn of the saddle. He watched as the tiny woman leaned her body back against his weight and the burro’s. He kept working at stopping their downstream momentum. The white water sucked him and the struggling donkey forward and into the debris. Jones’s head went under again, then his hand lost its death grip on the burro’s halter. He heard the faint sound of Lavonda’s voice.