“Then why did he pick me in the first place?” she’d fumed at her friend, trying to cover her embarrassment. “There were plenty of older girls there to choose from.”
Mary Ellen, in her sixteen-year-old wisdom, had winced to take some of the sting out of her answer, and guessed, “Fresh meat?”
And that was probably all Maggie was to him now, too—a challenge waiting to become a conquest.
With a satisfied nod, Maggie gave the accelerator another nudge. Okay, now she felt better about calling him a felon.
A tape she’d been listening to on her way to work rattled loosely in the tape deck. She shoved it in the rest of the way, and Celine Dion’s powerful voice flowed from the speakers.
What a coincidence, she thought, frowning. Just like Maggie’s, Celine’s memories were all coming back to her now.
Suddenly the little Ford’s “check engine” light flashed on.
Braking quickly, Maggie pulled over to the side of the road and shut off the car. Now what? Reaching down, she popped the hood release, then climbed out just as the dust she’d been raising caught up with her. Squinting and coughing, she fanned a feeble hand to clear the air, then walked to the front of the car.
Fingers of steam curled from beneath her sprung hood.
Chapter 3
“Wonderful,” she muttered. “Just wonderful.” It was hot, she was still five miles from her uncle’s spread, and this was probably one of the least-traveled roads in the whole state. Why was it that these things always happened when one was twenty miles from the nearest garage?
Maggie raised the hood, and the trickle of steam became a billowing white cloud. It only took a moment to discover the hole in her radiator hose. Sighing, she slammed the hood. Then she grabbed her purse and keys and started walking.
Thirty minutes later, she was breathlessly climbing over a barbwire fence and taking what she hoped was a shortcut across a tree-dotted pasture. She’d spent a little time here when she was a girl, but not really enough to pick out familiar landmarks; staying on the road would have been wiser. But at the rate she was going, it would have been Tuesday—and time to go to work again—when she got home.
She was sweaty, ornery and footsore by the time the dull drumming of horse’s hooves sounded in the pasture behind her. She heard a soft, deep “whoa,” then the blowing stomp of the large animal being pulled up short. She knew who the rider was without turning around. It had been that kind of day.
“Out for a walk?”
Maggie turned to glare at him, then faced forward again and kept moving. Right. When she walked she always wore a soggy uniform and a purse slung across her chest like a paperboy’s bag.
Ross brought his buckskin mount alongside her as she hiked through the knee-deep grass. He matched the horse’s pace to hers. “Guess something happened to your car, huh?”
She tried not to sound out of breath, and failed. “Radiator hose.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”
She just bet that he was.
“Quite a coincidence, our meeting again today. Buck and I were just heading for home when we saw you.”
“Buck” clopped softly along beside her, and Maggie gritted her teeth.
“I replaced that rotted fence post today. Looks like Brokenstraw’s cows will be staying on their own side of the fence now.”
Buck kept walking, Ross kept riding, and Maggie kept seething. She felt as though she’d spent the last hour in a Navajo sweat lodge, and emerged with none of the curative benefits.
“Well, take care,” Ross said, reining his horse around and pointing it in the other direction. “Supper’s probably ready by—”
Maggie’s angry shout startled half a dozen crows into flight. “Do I have to beg you for a ride home?”
Ross held his horse up. “No,” he said politely, and she could read the payback in his eyes. “All you have to do is ask.” He didn’t add a reminder that her reputation was safe—that chances of anyone seeing her out here with “the sheriffs favorite felon” were slim to none. But she’d have bet anything that’s what he was thinking.
“All right,” she said, swallowing her pride. “I’m asking.”
Dismounting, Ross led the horse back to her, then offered her a clean handkerchief from his back pocket. Mumbling her thanks, Maggie blotted her sweaty face. “I’ll launder it for you and send it back.”
“Just keep it.” He paused, assessing her flushed complexion and the long tendrils of black hair that had come loose from her braid. “There’s water in my canteen. It’s probably warm, though.”
“I’d love some, thank you.”
He retrieved it for her, and as she drank, Maggie experienced a peculiar feeling knowing that he’d sipped from the same container. She managed a weak smile when she gave it back. “Delicious.”
“Old family recipe.” After returning the canteen to his saddlebag, he gestured to his horse. “All set?”
Nodding, Maggie mounted up. Her feet didn’t reach the stirrups, and he adjusted them. Then Ross swung up behind her, and reached around her for the reins.
“Shouldn’t take long,” he said, his deep voice burring beside her ear. “Ten minutes, tops.”
It was the longest ten minutes of Maggie’s life. Even though they were separated by the cantle’s hard ridge of leather, suddenly she was fifteen again, and her stomach was quivering as they rode because she was in Ross Dalton’s arms...surrounded by his scent...feeling his warm breath fan the side of her neck.
Maggie sat ramrod-straight and gripped the saddle horn for balance, trying to ignore the jostling rub of his forearms against hers. Trying to minimize their contact. But now and then with the change of terrain, she’d bump back against his chest or he’d lean forward to keep his seat. By the time she got to her uncle’s place, she was so tense that her shoulder blades ached.
Her aunt Lila opened the screen door and hurried out, as Ross reined his horse to a halt near the path leading to the house.
“Maggie! Thank goodness. We were beginning to worry about you. I called the office and Mike said you’d left quite a while ago.” Lila smiled a welcome to Ross from the top step. “Hi, neighbor. Where did you find her?”
Ross slid down off the horse’s rump, and Maggie swung her leg over the saddle and dismounted.
“Not too far from here. She had car trouble.”
Maggie frowned at him. “I can speak, if you don’t mind.” She turned back to her aunt. “I had car trouble.”
Lila Jackson seemed to hold back a smile as her gaze took in the two of them standing together. “So I’ve heard. You look like you could use a shower and some supper before we drag out the truck and tow chain. Any idea what’s wrong with your car?”
Ross answered again, and Maggie clamped down hard on her molars. “She thinks it’s just a radiator hose. If you want, I can take a look.”
Moe Jackson appeared behind the screen door, gripping a walker. His voice was gruff. “No need, we can handle it.”
“Nice to see you up and around Moe,” Ross called cordially. “How’s the leg?”
Maggie shifted uncomfortably, hoping her uncle would try to be civil. Regardless of the grudge he held, Moe was a fair man—and Ross had helped a member of his family.
“Comin’ along,” he returned without cracking a smile. “You okay, Maggie?”
“I’m fine. Just a little warm.”
“Good. Your aunt was worried about you.” Without another word, he turned awkwardly and moved away from the screen door.
Maggie saw Ross’s mouth tighten, then he climbed back into the saddle, ignoring the short stirrups. Though her uncle hadn’t been openly hostile, his tone and manner spoke volumes. Moe Jackson would tolerate Ross, but he wouldn’t welcome him.
“Well, I’d better get going and let you folks have your supper.”
Maggie nodded soberly. If her rescuer had been anyone but Ross, he would’ve been invited to stay for the evening meal as an expression of her family’s app
reciation. Maggie knew that Ross was aware of that, too. There was an old saying some Montanans still used: “The latchstring is always out.” It just wasn’t out for Ross.
Lila sent Ross an apologetic smile as she followed her husband back inside. “Thanks again, Ross. Say hello to Jess and Casey for us.”
“I’ll do that.”
When Lila, too, was gone, Ross dismounted and bent to readjust his stirrups. Maggie felt her heart soften as she watched his strong hands at their task.
“I’m sorry he was so cold. He’s still upset about... well, you know.”
“You can say it. Plenty of other people still do.”
He walked to the other side of the horse, and Maggie followed. “Then that’s unfair,” she said sincerely, as he adjusted the other stirrup. “You never wanted to be a part of it, and you weren’t.” She paused. “And I’m sorry I called you a felon this afternoon. That’s not true, either.”
Ross returned to the left side of his horse and mounted again. He looked down at her. “Only because I turned state’s evidence. Otherwise, there would’ve been an accessory charge, and I would’ve been serving time now instead of talking to you.” The reins chinked lightly against the buckskin’s bridle as Ross slowly turned his horse toward home. “Moe has a right to feel the way he does.”
Twenty minutes later, Lila Jackson bumped her old Chevy pickup around the bend in the road where Maggie had left her car. And Maggie was startled to see Ross there. He was just slamming her hood and tucking a pocketknife into his jeans.
Maggie found herself battling that strange attraction again. It didn’t matter that he was the most aggravating man she’d ever known. He was the perfect American cowboy—long and lean...flat-stomached and gritty in his plaid shirt and dusty jeans. Several yards behind her car, Ross’s horse was tied to a fence post and pulling up grass below the barbwire.
Maggie got out of the truck. “Hi.”
Ross’s reply was cordial and friendly despite his words. “Before you accuse me of trying to steal your car, let me assure you that I’m not interested.” He tapped his tan Stetson. “No hat room.” His glance slid over her loose hair, clean jeans and pale blue shirt, and Maggie was glad she’d used her time to clean up a bit. “Looks like you skipped supper,” he observed.
“I’ll eat later. I needed the shower more than the food. So what’s the prognosis?”
“It’s fixed. Temporarily, anyway. The hole was close enough to the radiator connection for me to cut off a couple inches of hose, then stretch it back on and re-clamp it. But I wouldn’t put too many miles on the car before you have the hose replaced.” Shifting his eyes, he smiled at her aunt Lila who, for some reason, was hanging back beside the truck. “Got a water can in that bucket of bolts, Lila?”
“You name it, I got it.” Grinning, she fetched the can from the bed of the truck. “And you have some respect for this fine piece of machinery,” she added. “She’s a gutsy old girl. Eight cylinders, and 396 horses. She’ll take anything you drive.”
“My apologies,” he said, chuckling.
Ross filled Maggie’s radiator, then splashed a little water on his greasy hands and wiped them off in the grass. A few minutes later, Lila was driving off, leaving her niece to follow in her own car.
“So,” Maggie said when they were alone again. “I guess I owe you another thank-you.” Frowning at her sneakers, she considered the offer that she was about to make, then once again met the compelling blue eyes beneath the Stetson. “I was thinking...that is, if you still wanted to have lunch...that we could drive over to Big Timber on Saturday. My treat, of course. I know this restaurant where the food’s great, and—”
His eyes went cold. “—and there probably wouldn’t be a soul around who knew either of us, right?”
Maggie flushed deeply—and lied. “Ross, that wasn’t my reason for suggesting Big Ti—”
“The hell it wasn’t. You’re scared to death to be seen with me. Fortunately for both of us, I already have a lunch date.” He moved closer, grit scraping beneath his boots, and something imminent darkening his eyes. “But you’re right. You do owe me another thank-you. I want a kiss.”
Shocked, Maggie tried to backpedal away. But she had nowhere to go. The backs of her knees smacked her front bumper, her legs buckled and her fanny dropped firmly on the hood of the car.
“You give me too much credit,” Ross said with a shrug. “But if you need to be sitting for this, fine.”
Before she could say no, one of his broad hands tipped up her face and his warm mouth covered hers. Her response to him was swift and astonishing. A shivery heat flooded Maggie’s limbs, and her traitorous lips parted for him. Ross deepened the kiss, vanquishing all her reservations and making her an eager, active participant. The next thing Maggie knew, they were standing, she was in his arms, and their warm bodies were melting together, straining for a closer fit.
When they finally broke from the kiss, Maggie’s heart was hammering and her lungs had shut down. Her eyes opened and she gazed into the hazy bewilderment in Ross’s. It unnerved her to see that she wasn’t the only one who’d been shaken by the kiss. She knew that she should say something, should breathe...but she couldn’t do either.
Abruptly, that telling look vanished from his eyes, and was replaced by a perceptive twinkling. Bringing his hands to her shoulders, Ross eased her back down on the hood. “How was that, sweetheart?” he asked. “No tongue to scare you off this time. And no people around to see.” Then he walked behind the car to untie his horse, acting as though the kiss hadn’t fazed him a bit.
It took a full moment for Maggie’s muzzy head to clear. Then rage splintered through her like heat lightning on an August night. He really loved getting under her skin. In fact, for some unknown reason, he seemed to have made infuriating her his life’s calling. Well, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d gotten to her again. Lifting her chin, Maggie got calmly to her feet, brushed off her seat and got inside her car.
And her feelings suddenly changed.
She shared the blame for the kiss and his cocky taunts. He’d had to do something to snatch back some power after she’d insulted him with her out-of-town lunch invitation. Brash as he was, he still had feelings; a man who kissed like he did had to be capable of a lot of emotion.
Maggie drew a soft breath. Who would’ve thought that after all these years he could still turn her knees to butter just by taking her in his arms?
Iron horseshoes thudded against the packed dirt road as Ross led his horse up to her open window and peeked inside. A teasing grin still curved his lips. “Waiting for seconds, Maggie?”
Maggie’s anger came screaming back. Amazingly, she held it in check. “Actually, I was just sitting here wondering how long it would take you to come back for more.” She started the engine. “Not that it was all that great, but you obviously enjoyed it.”
“Sorry, you’re dead wrong.”
“I am, huh?” Smiling, she dropped the car into gear. “You don’t lie any better than you kiss.” Then she buried him and his horse in a spin of tires and a thick cloud of dust.
The only thing that made her exit less satisfying was Ross’s hearty laughter fading into the distance.
When Maggie reached the sunny fairgrounds on Saturday afternoon, it was bustling with activity—adults and children alike all decked out in wild-West paraphernalia. Chaps abounded, as well as dusty Stetsons and wedge-heeled boots designed to hook securely into stirrups.
Maggie bought a paper cone of French fries and a cola from a vendor, then climbed the metal grandstand. The Charlie Daniels Band blared from the speakers overhead, nearly drowning out the happy cacophony of the crowd. She found an end seat six rows up, just above one of the chutes.
All around her, the fecund smells of dust, hay and animals rode the air, mingling with the aromas of grilling hamburgers and French fries. And in spite of herself, Maggie felt a twinge of excitement. She hadn’t planned to come to the rodeo—had
never been to one before. But as she’d come out of Hardy’s Mercantile earlier, she’d seen the rodeo playbill in Ruby’s window, and decided to find out what all the shouting was about.
Maggie pulled her sunglasses out of her purse, then frowned. Yes. Yes, that was the only reason she was here.
“Good afternoon, folks,” the announcer’s drawl boomed from the booth above her. “Welcome to the preliminaries. We’ve seen some fine ridin’ and ropin’ so far, and we’ll be gettin’ to the bulls pretty quick. So grab your refreshments and take your seats. Trent Campion’s up first and he’ll be ridin’ a nasty bugger called Rampage.” An instant later, the music came up again and Charlie Daniels and his fiddle were back to dueling the devil down in Georgia.
An elderly voice shouted over the lively music. “Now, how did you get yerself such a fine seat, Maggie?”
Maggie glanced down to see Ruby Cayhill carrying a bag and spryly angling her way across the bleachers. She still wore a red apron over her waitress’s uniform. As she made her way to Maggie, she yelled greetings to friends, and waved a bony arm.
Maggie slid over to make room, a little nervous about Ruby’s climb. “I don’t know, Aunt Ruby,” she said with a smile. “I think it’s just a case of ‘finders keepers.’ No one was here, so I took it.”
Ruby pulled a cushion out of her bag, slid it under her bottom and plunked herself down. She peered at Maggie through her spectacles. “Don’t recall ever seein’ you at one of these things before.”
“This is my first time. My dad never really approved of rodeos. He thought that it was prideful for men to risk life and limb for applause.”
Accidental Hero Page 4
