How to Wrangle a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  “Thanks,” she said. “You did a great job. Really.” She grabbed the broom he’d propped in a corner. “I’ll sweep it out. You go check on the kids.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She nodded sharply. “And, Shane?”

  “What?”

  He turned in the doorway, and she knew she’d never forget how he looked in that moment. His bare arms were streaked with grime from the tack room, and at some point his T-shirt must have snagged on a nail, because it was torn right across his chest. His hair was tousled and damp with sweat, and one leg of his jeans was hung up on the top of a scuffed cowboy boot. He looked dirty, exhausted, and sexier than sin.

  She’d lost her place again, and struggled to think of something to say. “Those flyers I printed up?”

  “I’ll put ’em up tomorrow.” He grinned. “I’m going to town anyway. Want to come along?”

  She shook her head. She had work to do, up in the attic.

  “Okay.” He flashed a mock salute. “See you, boss.”

  And even though the rational part of her knew without any doubt that the two of them simply weren’t compatible, the rest of her watched him walk away with a hitch in her breath and a jackrabbit heart.

  Chapter 32

  Shane was carefully tacking up Lindsey’s notice at the feed store when RaeLynn Evans strolled in.

  Blond and perky, RaeLynn always stood a little too close. Her daddy owned the store, and she seemed to consider it her personal cowboy smorgasbord. The look in her eyes made him worry she’d rub up against him like a cat, or knock him down and throw herself on him like a dog rolling in scent.

  She leaned closer, reading the notice and whispering the words to herself. When she was done, she stood back with a smirk on her face.

  “So she’s got you running her errands now?”

  He could tell from her tone there was talk around town about him and his new boss. Wynott was full of rampant traditionalists, and he was sure the fact that he took orders from a woman probably emasculated him in the eyes of women like RaeLynn.

  So why was she fluttering her lashes at him? Matter of fact, how did she even manage to do it? With all the lumpy mascara and sparkly shadow weighing down her eyelids, he was surprised she could even blink.

  “Nobody that comes in here is gonna call her,” she said. “Ranchers don’t fuss over dogs and cats like that.”

  He’d had the same thought and couldn’t help chuckling. “She does animal massage too. And acupuncture.”

  He felt vaguely disloyal as RaeLynn snorted again. But he was just stating facts. “I wouldn’t pay a dime for that puncturing. Makes you look like a whore.”

  It took Shane a second to realize RaeLynn had confused acupuncture with piercing.

  She stroked one hand down her sizable chest. “My body is a temple. I’m not gonna mess it up with that kind of thing. And who’d do that to an animal, anyway?”

  Shane tried to picture a cat with an earring or a dog with a nose stud, and smiled. RaeLynn took that as encouragement and sidled closer.

  Ugh.

  “I bet I can beat her when it comes to massage.” She rubbed her breast against his arm. “I give one heck of a back rub, cowboy.” She touched his shoulder with one finger and batted her lashes again. “Matter of fact, I’m just closing up here. We could—”

  “Sorry. Got a lot to do.” Shane waved the flyers.

  RaeLynn pouted briefly, but when she saw it had no effect, she cocked her head and eyed the flyers.

  “What you oughta do is put one up at the Red Dawg,” she said.

  “I don’t know. That’s a rough crowd.”

  “Not in the daytime.”

  She had a point. During the day, the Red Dawg was fairly civilized, despite its rustic decor. Tourists, travelers, even ladies who lunched enjoyed its cowboy-themed fare, from Buckin’ Bar-B-Q Buffalo Patties to Cow Camp Stir-Up Soup. The food was a lot better than it sounded.

  It was Red Dawg nights that were dangerous, as the setting sun lured the serious drinkers out of their lairs. The former oil workers drove over from the trailer park to spend their unemployment checks, while the bikers from Cheyenne roared out of the city to drink in a bar where it was still legal to smoke indoors. Meanwhile, the used-up small-time ranchers, tough as rawhide and tanned like leather, sat at the bar and drank steadily as they told stories of the glory days when they could still heft a bale of hay and buck out a green three-year-old.

  Shane wasn’t sure any of those folks would spend real money on a pet, but RaeLynn knew the community as well as anybody.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll try that.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.” RaeLynn put one hand on her hip and did a weird little swivel, kind of an abbreviated stripper dance. “You can just take me out to dinner sometime.”

  He stilled, and she probably saw that he was trying to figure out how to extricate himself from her clutches. Her flirty smile soured.

  “If your lady boss will let you, that is. She probably doesn’t like you catting around, does she?”

  Shane had never catted around in his life, but RaeLynn had her own version of reality, and he knew from experience there was no point in arguing.

  “You’re right,” he said, with a mental apology to Lindsey and a big sigh of relief. “She’d never allow it.”

  Shane made a few stops en route to the Red Dawg, pinning up flyers at the quilt shop and the post office, where he smiled as he posted it between a couple of wanted posters.

  By the time he got to the bar, the sun was setting, and stepping into the dim light of the Red Dawg blinded him for a moment. But he sensed a change in the atmosphere as he entered, and saw shadowy figures spinning their bar stools to observe the new arrival. He knew they couldn’t see much more than a silhouette, but they turned back to their drinks without a word. If he’d been female, there’d have been catcall and lewd invitations, but a man was of no interest this early in the night. Give them another hour or two and they’d be spoiling to fight any newcomers. Shane had timed it just right.

  The place was eerily quiet. With the wells dried up and the work gone, a lot of the men were trapped in an endless loop of poverty. They’d bought motorcycles and boats and fancy cars when they were flush, and sold them for pennies on the dollar when the jobs dried up. A lot of the wives left, but the men and a few of the women remained, living in a trailer park on the site of the “man camp” the oil company had thrown up when the wells were pumping.

  Springtime Acres, it was called—a loose assemblage of single-wide trailers somebody bought at a discount and trucked up to a few empty acres off the highway. There’d been no real effort to form a community; it was up to the residents to plant grass and put skirting on their homes, and most of them didn’t bother. It felt like a temporary sort of place, but many of the men had been there for ten years, living first on unemployment, then welfare, and then on whatever possessions they could pawn or sell outright.

  The Red Dawg bulletin board advertised everything from lost dogs and fundraisers for cancer patients to Mary Kay parties and “for-a-good-time-call” scrawls. He dutifully tacked up Lindsey’s neatly printed notice, with its carefully cut tabs on the bottom bearing her phone number, but he was sure she wouldn’t get many calls. He’d seen the mangy dogs that roamed the trailer park, and it was obvious they didn’t get much veterinary care. As for the lunch ladies, they mostly came in from town, where they had their own veterinarians.

  A sunburned hulk who was a dead ringer for Dog the Bounty Hunter swaggered up and stared over his shoulder, the way RaeLynn had. RaeLynn smelled better though—both her body and her breath. Shane stifled the urge to wrinkle his nose.

  “Hey.” The man turned to his drinking companions. “It says ‘For a good time, call that new lady vet!’”

  He tore off one of the phone numbers. A few other men, laughing and making lewd jokes, did the same, jostling Shane to one side.

  He felt his hackles rise�
�whatever hackles were. Hearing Lindsey spoken of that way made him want to hit somebody. And hey, it had been a long time since he’d been in a bar fight. Clenching and unclenching his fists at his side, he savored the slide of his muscles, the strength of his grip.

  Maybe it had been too long.

  Then Ozzie Wells stood up from a table in the corner, and Shane’s hankering for a fight oozed right out of him. Ozzie stood about six foot six, and had to edge through most doors sidewise. He’d been a hand at Ed Brockman’s place until he’d had a confrontation with his boss, and now he lived alone at Springtime Acres. His graying brown hair, half frizz, half unintentional dreadlocks, hung down past his shoulders. The man had to be on the far side of fifty, and Shane wondered what would happen to him as he grew older.

  Nothing good, probably.

  Shane knew that Ozzie spent nearly every evening at the Red Dawg, hunched over a corner table nursing a double shot of whiskey or two for a couple of hours. He spoke to no one, and no one spoke to him. Legend had it that the bartender tried to take his truck keys away from him once, but Ozzie simply held up a shot glass, which looked laughably tiny in his great paw, and bared his rotten teeth. The bartender let go of the keys and never asked again.

  Now, the big man lumbered over to the notice and squinted at the lettering. Shane could see the brown stumps of teeth in his mouth as he sounded out the words with painful slowness. The fetid stench of his breath was sickening, and Shane took a step back when the man turned to face him.

  “This Bud Ward’s granddaughter?”

  Shane nodded. Ozzie turned to the buzzing crowd, which immediately hushed.

  “You all need to be respectful.” Carefully, he tore off one of the tabs with Lindsey’s phone number on it. “That’s a real fine woman, and a good family. And we could use a good animal doctor round here.”

  Ozzie looked Shane up and down, making him wish he’d worn his barn-cleaning clothes instead of a striped Wrangler shirt and jeans with no worn spots. He’d dressed for Lindsey, not Ozzie Wells.

  “You’re looking mighty pretty, there, cowboy.”

  To Shane’s horror, the big man slung one meaty arm around his neck and tugged him close. “You got your eye on that woman?”

  “She’s—she’s like a little sister to me,” Shane said.

  It wasn’t a total lie. Grace was family, as Bud had been. And Lindsey, as their granddaughter, was under his protection. The rest was nobody’s business.

  “Good.” Ozzie nodded his approval, and Shane was reminded of a giant, shaggy Muppet as the man raised one meaty arm in the air and waved at the bartender. “Shots all round,” he hollered. “Make ’em doubles!”

  “You’ll do that for us, won’t you, little buddy?” Ozzie patted Shane on the head, making him wonder if his neck would ever be the same. “You’ll buy us a round?”

  Shane nodded, feeling a little dazed.

  “Good man.” Ozzie punched him in the arm, and Shane tried not to flinch.

  Shane managed to extricate himself from Ozzie’s casual embrace and settle up with the bartender before leaving the drinkers to their revelry. He should have stayed, had a drink or two, made sure they respected him enough that they’d leave Lindsey alone.

  But strange as it seemed, she was probably safe under Ozzie’s protection, and he felt uncomfortable in the bar. There was a stench of desperation about the place, a feeling of loss and loneliness. The oil boom had mowed through the Wynott area like a rototiller, tearing everything up and then tossing it down again with no regard for the folks left behind.

  As he closed the door, shutting out the sounds of men trying to outshout each other, Shane took a deep breath of the soft twilit air. His boots crunched across the gravel lot, and the songs of a cricket orchestra gradually overwhelmed the cries of the revelers as he left the bar behind. The mercury lights in the parking lot glinted off the gleaming hood of his truck, making it easy to find. None of the other trucks were shiny.

  Again he felt a little ashamed. Sure, he’d worked hard to get where he was. But these men had worked too—many of them at dangerous jobs where their lives were on the line, at the mercy of explosions, falls, and other accidents. Yet they had nothing now. Less than nothing, most of them. Buying them shots was the least he could do.

  Climbing into the cab, he pondered his next move. Putting up the notice at the bar had been a mistake. He’d have to let Lindsey know she was likely to get some prank phone calls—heavy breathers, maybe worse—from the men at the bar.

  But, hey, he’d tried. RaeLynn was right; there weren’t many folks in the area who’d pay for her services. So whatever Lindsey needed money for, it was probably going to have to wait.

  Chapter 33

  Shane was saddling one of Grace’s old horses, getting ready to ride fence, when Lindsey jogged down the porch steps with a little black case in one hand and her fringed hippie purse in the other. He hadn’t seen her in a couple days; she’d been out a lot. He had no idea what she’d been up to. Shopping, probably. He’d wondered how long a city girl could stand the isolation of the ranch.

  Their lovemaking, earth-shattering though it was, had stopped through an unspoken agreement. He wasn’t sure why she’d let it end, but he knew why he hadn’t tried harder to get together with her.

  He was scared.

  Lindsey Ward made him feel things. She made him reckless and wild and uninhibited, yet at the same time, she made him miserable. Why did love have to be so hard?

  Right now, the mere sight of her made his heart lift. She was so happy, so carefree. Even from that distance, he could hear her humming. What was that song? “Walking on Sunshine,” that was it. There was a bounce to her walk, and as he watched, she executed a quick little dance step.

  Pausing, she glanced around the ranch with a smile. And why wouldn’t she? It was a beautiful day in a beautiful place, and the place belonged to her. So did he—his heart, anyway. He was a goner when it came to Lindsey Ward, though it was obvious she hadn’t missed him one bit.

  He gave her a smile and what he hoped was a casual wave, making Old Silver pin his ears and jerk his head sideways.

  “S’okay, boy.”

  Shane stroked the horse’s neck. Silver had been with them so long, it was easy to forget he’d once been abused, but horse’s memories were far longer than humans’. A quick gesture or an angry word could still make the old gelding flinch.

  He did more than flinch when Lindsey dropped her bag and ran into the corral. As she leaped into Shane’s arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, Silver shied and pranced to the far side of the corral.

  Lindsey landed a huge smacking kiss on Shane’s cheek and leaned back, grinning at him. He did his best to reflect her joy back with his own, but he knew he could only offer a pale imitation. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had that kind of happiness in him, except when he was alone with her.

  “Spin me,” she said.

  He obliged, whirling her around and around while she tilted her head back and smiled at the sky, her hair fanning outward. Watching the world whirl around them, he felt like the center of her universe. It was a good feeling, but dizzying. Reluctantly, he set her down.

  “I’m so happy.” She hugged herself and hopped a little on the tips of her toes. “When I got home the other night, I had a bunch of messages, and I’ve been out at the trailer park all day. Just got home and there are three more calls.”

  “Who called you? Did Ozzie call you?”

  She nodded. “I just love that guy. He looks so tough, you know? But he loves his big ol’ tomcat. Little Oz, he calls him. Isn’t that cute?”

  “Adorable,” Shane said.

  “I’m heading out to see him now.”

  “Maybe I should go with you. That’s a rough crowd.”

  “Only because they lead rough lives.” Her ebullient mood dampened a bit. “That place is terrible, Shane. A disgrace. Human beings shouldn’t have to live that way.”

  “Most don’t.”

>   Anger flared in her eyes and she jabbed a finger in his chest. “Don’t you judge those men. Not until you’ve taken a walk in their shoes. When they moved here, it was to work hard at good jobs, for good money. They had no way of knowing it wouldn’t last. And now they’re trapped.”

  She was right, as usual. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to tell her how extraordinary she was. Most people never spared a thought for men like Ozzie, but she walked into their lives without fear, asking only how she could help.

  “So Ozzie has a cat, huh?”

  The smile returned. “A big, old, scrappy tomcat with one eye and half a tail. And, boy, does he love Little Oz. He actually broke down and cried when I told him Little Oz didn’t have cancer. Just fatty tumors.”

  The cat was sounding more attractive every minute. Fortunately, Lindsey wasn’t looking for a response. Scooping up her bag, she slung her purse over her shoulder.

  “I’m headed out there now,” she said. “Hold the fort!”

  “You sure you don’t want me—”

  “Oh, I want you,” she said. “I want you like crazy. But that’ll have to wait.”

  He stood there, gaping his mouth like a moonstruck calf while she climbed into her grandfather’s truck, revved the engine, and peeled out of the drive with a careless wave of her hand.

  He watched her go, raking one hand through his hair and wondering how long he’d have to wait. One part of him thrilled with the knowledge she still wanted him, but waves of worry drowned his anticipation. She was going to leave eventually. He’d feared all along that she’d break Cody’s heart, but Cody was young and adaptable. It was Shane’s heart that would break when she left.

  Draping Silver’s dangling lead rope over the fence, he wished he could just enjoy Lindsey instead of worrying so much. When good things happened to him, he expected them to be whisked away by the curse that had pursued him all his life. Ever since his mother had left him with his brutal, useless drunk of a father, his mind had rushed to defend against worst-case scenarios, and when Tara disappeared with Cody, it got even worse.