The Accidental Cowboy

by Heidi Hormel

  Minutes, eternities later Jones felt firm earth under him and he could breathe. Alive? Dead?

  “Jones.” Alive. That was Lavonda’s voice, frantic, high and piercing. Reese held the fabric of his sleeve in his teeth and tugged. Then, he let that go to put Jones’s wrist in his mouth. What the— “Jones, don’t move. I’m coming down to you.”

  Reese tugged again. Jones’s arm dropped to the ground. He felt dizzy but had enough energy to crawl out of the water. He let his head hang down, drawing in gulps of air. Bruises he’d gotten in the tumble through the water throbbed.

  “Damn it, Jones. There’s no way down. Can you two walk along the edge? The arroyo looks like it widens a few hundred feet down. I should be able to help you out there.”

  He squinted up into the sun that radiated around Lavonda’s head. “Hey,” he said. “You’ve got a halo.” He laughed and hacked up dirty water, spitting grit from his mouth.

  “Did you hit your head? Jones, look at me.”

  He smiled up at her because, damn it, he’d survived. “Ee-awh,” Reese brayed at both of them.

  “Jones, use Reese to stand. You won’t need to walk far.”

  “I’ll crush him.”

  “You won’t. Reese carries packs heavier than you.”

  All of Jones’s muscles quivered and his left arm didn’t work. Good thing he was right-handed, he thought dreamily, using that arm to lever himself up as he ignored Reese’s donkey breath on the back of his neck, until donkey teeth grabbed his collar. The little animal must think it was a mother cat and him the kitten. Jones chuckled.

  “Stand up, sweetie,” Lavonda said, lying on the ground and looking down at him, her cartoon-princess eyes wide and worried. Why worried? He was fine now. He’d even stood up. He and his mate Reese were going to walk out of this.

  Jones swayed a moment on his jelly-filled legs before instinctively putting his hand out to steady himself against the little donkey. Reese grunted, then took a step forward.

  “That’s it, Jones. Hold on to Reese. Remember, he’s a trail burro. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “He’s a pixie’s steed.”

  “What?” Lavonda asked, that worried tone returning.

  “You’re a pixie and this is your noble steed.” Jones patted Reese and laughed. The sun beat down on his head. Damn. He’d lost his lucky hat. He’d liked that hat.

  “Jones, you’re not making any sense. Just keep walking, honey. Not far and I can help you.”

  “With your pixie dust?”

  “Let Reese guide you. That’s it. Not far now.”

  Jones wondered why she sounded farther away. Had she decided to fly above them? He looked up and nearly lost his grip on Reese.

  “Jones,” Lavonda snapped. “You hold on to that burro and walk. Now.”

  He automatically snapped his attention to her. Not flying. She stood above him. “You’re closer. Did you get bigger? Or did I get smaller? Is this Alice in Wonderland?”

  “Follow Reese. You’re almost there.”

  He looked at the burro. The animal turned its head to him and winked. Really. He’d winked. He must be a pixie steed. He didn’t remember any of the books he’d ever seen showing a donkey as pixie transport, but then none of the pixies he’d ever seen had breasts like Lavonda’s. Maybe American pixies were different.

  “Jones, stop with the pixies. Come on. Three more steps and you can sit down.”

  Now, Lavonda stood on one side under his arm and he had his other braced on Reese. “I’m good. No need.”

  “Don’t let go.” Her voice snapped across his brain.

  He tried to straighten, but that made things go out of focus so he shuffled along. Finally, blessedly, he wasn’t moving and was horizontal. He took a deep breath, sighed and drifted into a nice cushy place that held the hint of pixie dust.

  * * *

  WELL, SHIT AND HELLFIRE. Jones was safely out of the arroyo. Yeah. He lay stretched out on the ground, not moving. Big and immovable. How was she supposed to get him back to civilization? He might not be unconscious, just asleep from exhaustion. She looked at his pale face, noticing again the naughty-boy sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Had he hit his head? Done some other damage? She had no idea. Basic first aid she could do. She pushed Reese’s questing nose away. The donkey nibbled at the ends of Jones’s damp hair.

  Lavonda grasped the man’s shoulder and shook him. He smiled but didn’t open his eyes. How far were they from the ranch? Miles. She scanned the horizon for the horses and saw them in the far distance. No way could she get his deadweight onto either of those animals. Could she leave the two of them here and walk out for help? Probably. She could rig up shelter from the sun. She watched Jones’s lips move. They abruptly pulled into a fierce frown, his brows slamming down toward his closed eyes. That had to be a good sign, right? His face couldn’t be doing that if he was in a coma.

  First things first, check the phone. If she could make a call and give coordinates, then it was probably best to stick around. One decision down. She unearthed her phone. Thank God for solar-powered chargers. She had juice and a faint signal. Not a reliable connection but hopefully enough to make a call. Nine-one-one or Olympia? Nothing seemed broken, and Olympia could make it faster than the emergency crews, plus she could bring a trailer for the horses and Reese.

  “Hey, Olympia.” Lavonda tried to sound casual.

  “What’s up? This is a bad connection.”

  “I know. I’m out—”

  “Aren’t you on the trail?” Olympia said at the same time.

  “Let me talk. There’s been an accident.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just listen. Jones, the professor I was guiding, fell in an arroyo trying to rescue Reese. I think he may have hit his head. Anyway, I can’t get him to mount up. We need a ride. I can give you coordinates. Can you—”

  “Of course. I’ll have to bring the kid, but give me the numbers.”

  Lavonda read out the coordinates twice and then hung up and cried, just a little, because cowgirls didn’t cry even if they broke an arm or a heart. They did not cry. First rule of rodeo.

  She sucked in a long deep breath, then turned to Reese and Jones. The donkey dozed and Jones hadn’t moved. He’d lost his hat. She needed to get him into the shade. She trudged across the open ground toward the grazing horses. They had the supplies, including the tent canvas she needed to rig up an awning. They had at least two hours, maybe more, before her friend showed up.

  * * *

  LAVONDA CHECKED THE phone again for bars and the time. They’d passed the two-hour mark. She should have called 911. Jones hadn’t moved and his face had smoothed into a nonexpression. She dialed Olympia’s number and the phone showed failed call. No signal. Where had the bars gone, damn it? She reminded herself calmly that signals were fickle this far from a tower. “Everything is fine,” she said out loud. “Jones has shade. The animals have water.”

  Drink. She’d gotten the donkey water but hadn’t had any herself and neither had Jones. Pulling out the insulated canteen, she took a sip, followed by long swallows. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty. Stupid, she told herself. She’d been harping on Jones about staying hydrated.

  “Jones,” she said, giving his shoulder a little push. He didn’t respond. She tried again, and this time his lids fluttered. “Jones, come on. Take a drink.”

  “Jings.”

  Crap. He was delirious, not making sense. “Jones,” she said, sharply this time. “Wake up.”

  “I’m up,” he mumbled, and took her hand. She laughed in relief. Jones frowned and glared from slitted eyes that reminded her of Cat. She laughed harder, until tears rolled down her cheeks.

  * * *

  “ONE, TWO, THREE.” Jones counted out each lift of the gr
ain bag over his head. Sweat gathered at his temples. He needed to build up the muscles in the shoulder that the donkey had nearly pulled from its joint. “Twenty,” he gasped moments later, dropped the bag onto the stack in the corner and turned to Lavonda, who stood looking at him. “Did you need something?”

  “Just dropping off Cat. She was being annoying. Did you take your allergy meds?” She cocked her head and asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I would think that was obvious.”

  “If I’d known that you wanted to heft stuff around, I would have gotten you to clean out the stalls, and then you could have cleared the brush from the second corral. Maizey is supposed to do that, but the university is using her to clear the outdoor labs.”

  “Maizey?”

  “The goat. They’re good for keeping invasive plants and brush in check. It was an experiment started by the previous owners.”

  Jones looked her up and down, knowing his face was hidden by the shadows. Good thing, because he had something in mind. “The sacks are fine, but not heavy enough.”

  “Absolutely not.” She shook her head and started to back away.

  He tried to look innocent as he stepped toward her. “I signed up for another game. I need to stay in condition.”

  “I thought you were focused on your work.”

  “Training for the games gives me a focus so my brain can wander down new paths. While lifting weights or running, I often come up with new connections. It has been posited that allowing the brain to—”

  “I am not your barbell. If you need extra weights, find a gym.”

  She turned and he made his move, grabbing her and lifting her in one clean motion into a bench press. He watched carefully to make sure he didn’t bash her head into the barn beams. That would be bad form. “One,” he said as he allowed her to drop down and then pushed her upward. “Two.”

  “Jones, put me down.”

  “Three,” he said as she moved again. She grabbed at his wrist. “I won’t drop you. I’ve lifted much heavier weights, though you’re more solid than I would have thought.” She pinched the skin on his wrist hard. “Ouch. Four.” He blew out a breath before pushing her back toward the roof. “You do realize that if I drop you, it will hurt.”

  “I rode broncs. I’m not afraid of a little hurt.”

  “Ha. Five.”

  “I mean it. Put me down.”

  “Two sets of ten. Six.”

  “No.”

  “Seven.”

  “Cat. Reese. Get him,” she yelled, wiggling and stopping when his grip wobbled. “You won’t think this is funny when I get back at you. No more fancy beer. No more Hobnobs.” Cat yowled at the last. Until he stored the treats in the freezer, the feline wouldn’t be stopped from breaking into the kitchen cupboards and eating his supply.

  “I believe...nine...that would be cruel and unusual punishment...ten. Done.” He lowered her to the ground, placing her on her feet. She swayed a second. He watched carefully to make sure she didn’t fall.

  “You think that was funny? I know where the castration shears are.”

  He laughed. “That would be cutting off my...well, you know what to spite your...parts?”

  “You’re a pig. Men are pigs. I knew it. I’ve known it my whole life. You think this is funny?”

  He shrugged his shoulder and stopped almost immediately. The lifting might not have been the best idea he’d had recently, not that many of his ideas in the past six months had been stellar.

  He watched her expression go from annoyed to mad. “Did the doctor say that you were allowed to lift weights?” He tried the shrug again. “I thought you were smart.”

  “I am. My shoulder is fine. I need to strengthen the muscles to keep the joint stable. I separated it years ago, so it’s prone to injury. It’s nice to know you care, though.”

  She snorted and pushed Cat away with her foot. “I saved your bacon, didn’t I? I didn’t do that so you’d end up in the hospital.”

  He stepped close enough to catch her scent of chili and spring leaves. “Have I thanked you for that?” He massaged her shoulders. He had thanked her more than once in the bed they’d been sharing.

  “You will thank me by not reinjuring yourself, because you’re expected to find those beans.”

  “I’ll find the damned beans.” That broke the mood. He’d been doing well enough ignoring that he hadn’t made progress on finding Kincaid’s Cache while getting deeper into his lie. “You don’t trust me to be careful?”

  She shook her head. “You’re a man, so, no, I don’t trust you.”

  “Condemning all men?”

  “I’ve known a lot of men.”

  “Really?” He knew what she meant. That did not stop a spurt of heated anger from lodging just under his breastbone.

  “I have a brother and father, and have worked at corporations and competed in rodeos. I have firsthand knowledge of how often men don’t know when to call it quits.”

  He made a noise that she could interpret however she wanted.

  “You only have a short time in Arizona and you want to make sure you can take advantage of every day. I know you’ve lost time in the field, resting your shoulder, which bench-pressing bags of feed—”

  “And petite ladies.”

  “I’m petite now?”

  “I may have more experience with determining the age of wheat grains, but even I know not to comment on that.”

  “How is the search for a new guide going?” She obviously wanted to change the subject.

  “I have been considering the efficacy of hiring a new guide,” he said in his best professor tones. Another lie. He hadn’t called any of the names that Stanley had given him. “You and I worked well in the field. You have the experience and—”

  “If you think that would be best and aren’t making the decision because we shared a tent.”

  “Just a tent?” He stepped to her.

  “Sorry. An air mattress.”

  “You sound upset.”

  “I just want to be clear about what we’re talking about.”

  “What are we talking about?” He suddenly wasn’t so clear.

  “Crap,” she said with feeling. “You’re going to make me say it. We’re talking about being lovers.”

  “I thought that was already established.”

  “Could you sound less like a professor and more like a man?”

  “Do you want me to growl or roll my r’s?” he asked, doing both. She shivered. He’d found out both of those made her hot.

  “Boundaries. We need boundaries,” she breathed.

  “What boundaries?”

  “In the field, I’m the guide. We’ll keep our relationship private, because I don’t want Daddy or Danny here with shotguns.”

  “Do people really do that?” He might actually be in the Wild West, after all. More of his childhood dreams coming true.

  “Close enough.” She firmed her chin.

  “As long as you promise to keep your ideas about training to yourself.”

  “I promise to supply you with Hobnobs and teach you how to clean out the stalls.”

  “I would think a visitor would be given a pass on barn work.”

  “Houseguests would offer to lend a hand.”

  “That puts us at an impasse. I’ll wrestle you for it.”

  “Really. You think that’s fair. Look at you. Look at me.”

  “Thumb wrestle?”

  “Tickle torture.”

  “No. No tickling.”

  “What? You’re a big Highlander with tough-as-nails muscles. What’s wrong with a little tickling?” She reached out and tested the ticklishness of his armpit. He tried to push her away, but he couldn’t stop laughing. She kept at it unti
l he could barely catch his breath and collapsed with her on top of him. “Kissing is allowed, right?” she whispered against his lips.

  “Most definitely yes.” His arms came up and around her to hold her tightly against him. This right here was enough for now.

  Chapter Eight

  Lavonda sipped her coffee and looked out from the back patio, enjoying the view of the mountains, the muted browns and greens of the desert. She could see herself staying here, settling in. At Hacienda Bunuelos, she’d found her first “home” since she’d become an adult. Not that she’d nested, not like Jessie and Olympia. The ranch with its out-of-place veranda and the softly rounded edges of the old-fashioned adobe was the kind of property that she could make into so much. Transforming the house and upgrading the stables, though, would cost money. Money she didn’t have after living off her savings since she’d been downsized. She could get the money she needed if she went back to work in corporate communications—not exactly her calling, but she was darned good at it.

  She’d done a little discreet digging and the university might be willing to sell the property. Of course, to buy it, she needed a job, thus another reason to put out her résumé as soon as her commitment to Jones...to the university and Gwen ended. It would be over by fall, and by then Lavonda would have a business plan, like the dozens she’d created for her various employers. Maybe the property could be her retirement career, something appropriate like a retreat-style bed-and-breakfast or dude ranch. Both had possibilities and neither would include Jones. Anyway, he wasn’t her type. She went for suits and neatly trimmed hair.