How to Lasso a Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas

  “I hope not.” Cait sighed, releasing some of the tension that bunched her shoulders. “Seeing him in there, where I found Pa . . .”

  “Your pa was too old to be breakin’ mustangs,” Beulah said in her no-nonsense tone. “He tol’ me so himself ’bout four months back.”

  “He never told me.”

  “He didn’t want you worryin’. You know how he was, always wantin’ to protect you.”

  Cait threaded her fingers together and squeezed tightly. “I know and I hated that he treated me like a child. If he’d worried more about himself, maybe he’d still be alive.”

  Beulah slapped the leather lightly against the mule’s rear end, urging it into more than a plodding walk. “He knew somethin’ was wrong with you, too, but he never pushed. But I think it hurt him to know you was hidin’ something from him.”

  Cait stared off to the side, barely noticing the summer green or the colorful spill of wildflowers around them. “I couldn’t tell him. It would’ve killed him.”

  “You was the one who damned near died back then.”

  Cait smiled bitterly. “I made the mistake. It was my price to pay.”

  “Lots of girls make mistakes.”

  Cait turned to the only person in the world who knew what had been stolen from her, although Beulah didn’t know the identity of the thief. “Pa wouldn’t have understood.”

  Beulah sent her a sidelong glance, but didn’t comment. The remainder of the trip into town was thankfully silent.

  Chapter Four

  WHEN CAIT AND Beulah returned from town with their wagonload of supplies, Deil was alone in the corral, and there was no sign of Win. His horse, however, was in the other pen along with Cait’s own saddle mount, so Win hadn’t gone far.

  Beulah halted the wagon in front of the house and Cait hopped down to unload the dry goods onto the porch. She’d carry them inside later, after lugging the sacks of grain into the barn. Cait walked ahead of the wagon, while Beulah drove the mule. She reached out to open the wide barn door, but jumped back when it was pushed out from the inside.

  Wiping his damp torso with a towel, Win smiled at her. “I thought I heard someone drive in.”

  Frozen, Cait stared at him, her gaze following a single water droplet that rolled down the middle of his smooth, glistening chest. Muscles flowed beneath the bronze-tanned skin, tantalizing her and giving her an odd fluttery feeling deep in her belly.

  “Cait, the man’s askin’ you a question.”

  Cait dragged her gaze away from the tempting expanse of skin and sinew. “Uh, what?”

  “Do you want some help?” Win asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “I can do it,” she snapped. “Besides, you’ve got a hurt arm.”

  He held out his injured arm, which no longer had a bandage wrapped around it. “Good as new.”

  The gash had closed, and a faded blue, purple, and yellow bruise surrounded the scab. The wound wouldn’t be bothered by carrying a sack or two of grain, but she didn’t want him near, especially after she’d made such a fool of herself staring at his bare chest. As if she’d never seen a chest before. Hell, she’d seen her pa’s chest hundreds of times while he’d washed up on the porch. One man’s chest was just like another.

  Liar.

  “No, I—” Cait began.

  “Let ’im help, girl,” Beulah interrupted in exasperation. “It ’pears he’s used to heavy liftin’.”

  Not appreciating Beulah’s interference or her deliberate look at Win’s muscled arms and torso, Cait pretended not to hear. She reached for a sack of oats from the wagon bed.

  Big, work-roughened hands brushed hers. “I’ll take that,” Win said.

  For a moment, Cait wasn’t going to release it, but her common sense overcame her stubborn pride. She allowed him to take the bag, then reached for the next one.

  Carrying the forty-pound sack, Cait entered the well-lit barn and fought to keep her attention from straying to Win’s broad, naked back and shoulders. But his body lured her, just as it had so long ago.

  “Why didn’t you let me get that?” Win asked with a scowl.

  “I’ve been doing it for years.” She dropped it onto the sack Win had just laid down.

  “Why?”

  Startled by the question, Cait stared at him through the barn’s shadows. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Your pa—”

  “Was getting old. He couldn’t do it all himself.”

  “He should’ve hired some help.”

  “How? We were barely scraping by before he died. Capturing the wild herd was going to take care of all our problems. Now my only chance is that stallion.” Cait had leaned closer and closer to Win, until her nose was almost touching his chin. His scent—musky sweat and maleness—suddenly filled her, making her heart pound and her palms dampen.

  “And you need me to tame that stallion.”

  His matter-of-fact words and warm breath fanning across her cheek made Cait reel back. “Yes, dammit. I need you. Does that make you feel better, to hear me admit it?” Despite her anger, her voice was subdued.

  He stared at her, his eyes softening with regret and apology. “I’m sorry, Cait.”

  They both knew he wasn’t only apologizing for his blunt remark. Cait’s insides clenched and she felt the humiliating sting of tears but fought them back. She lifted her chin. “Don’t be. I wanted to find out what it was like and you obliged me. I’m glad you left. It would’ve been uncomfortable with you hanging around like a lost puppy.”

  Win’s nostrils flared and his lips became a grim line. “So it didn’t mean anything to you?”

  Cait shrugged, while her insides cramped with agony. “It meant as much to me as it did to you, which obviously was nothing.”

  Win’s eyes blazed and he grabbed Cait’s shoulders, yanking her against him. Cait felt her breasts crushed to his bare chest and her nipples hardened. He swooped down and kissed her, his lips at first unyielding, then moving like a summer breeze across a smooth pond.

  He teased her lips open and swept his tongue into her mouth. Her hands, trapped between their bodies, flattened against his bare, silky-smooth chest. She could feel his heart thundering against her palms and her fingertips pressed into his warm skin. Cait groaned and surrendered, brushing her tongue against his and savoring his unique, masculine taste.

  Suddenly, he thrust her back. “I wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.’ ”

  Hot shame poured through her veins. She’d hated him for ten years. How could one kiss make her forget so easily?

  “What’re you two doin’ in there?” Beulah called from outside the barn.

  “Nothing,” Cait hollered back immediately, then realized she’d echoed Win’s word.

  Her face heated, she stalked out of the barn. Beulah had jumped down from the buckboard and was attempting to lift a sack of grain. As Cait approached her, a coughing fit stopped the older woman and she grabbed a crumpled hanky from her sleeve and held it against her mouth and nose.

  “It sounds like you’re getting croupy,” Cait said in concern. “Would you like to come into the house for some tea?”

  Beulah shook her head. “I’d best get going.” Her voice was muffled by the handkerchief she held to her face.

  There were only two sacks left in the wagon, and Cait tossed one over her shoulder. Win, who must’ve come out of the barn soon after she had, grabbed the other one. Cait ignored him as she carried the grain sack into the barn. She hurriedly dropped it beside the other two and rejoined Beulah, who was stuffing her handkerchief back up her sleeve with trembling hands.

  “I can saddle Pepper and ride back to your place with you,” Cait offered.

  Beulah snorted. “Why in the world you wanna do that, girl? There ain’t nothin’ wrong with me but some dust gettin’ up my nose.” Shaking her head and muttering, the cantankerous woman climbed into the buckboard. She picked up the reins and eyed Cait closely. “Now, you best behave yourself, girl. I got to run back into
town in a few days so I’ll stop by to see how you and Taylor’s doin’.” Beulah raised her head and gave Win, who lounged against the barn door, a warning look.

  “I’ll be good,” Win said with a wink.

  Beulah leaned down toward Cait and said in a loud whisper, “Don’t you let him be talkin’ you into anythin’ you don’t want.”

  Surprised by the oddly phrased warning, Cait only nodded.

  Without so much as a wave, Beulah hiyahed her patient mule into a lazy walk. Cait, feeling a frisson of worry for her friend, watched until the buckboard disappeared from view.

  Win, buttoning his shirt, joined her. “Now I remember her. She’s that crazy lady from down near Otters Gulch.”

  As children, Cait and Win had only known Beulah as that crazy lady from Otters Gulch. It wasn’t until after Win had disappeared that Cait had come to know Beulah Grisman as an eccentric, independent woman with a heart the size of a saddle blanket.

  “That’s what we used to call her,” Cait admitted, then added, “She may be a little strange, but she’s not crazy. We became friends after you left.”

  Win’s brows furrowed, probably wondering how they came to know each other, but Cait wasn’t about to enlighten him. That chapter of her life was closed.

  Cait knew she should shelve the box of goods she’d picked up at the mercantile, but standing in the shade with Win was oddly comforting in spite of the shocking kiss they’d shared earlier.

  “How is Deil coming along?” she asked.

  Win slid his thumbs into his front pants pockets and stood hipshot, with one knee bent. “I’m going to try to forefoot him again tomorrow morning.” He paused and his gaze felt like a caress, sending a shiver down her spine. “I could use your help.”

  Cait’s muscles tightened, hoping she had the strength to face the demon again. “I’ll be here.”

  With the predatory grace of a wolf, Win stepped in front of her. “Can I count on you?”

  Her heartbeat climbed a notch or two, but she met his intense gaze squarely. “Seems to me I should be asking youthat question. I wasn’t the one who ran off like some horse thief in the night.”

  “I guess I deserved that.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I had my reasons, Cait.”

  “You could at least tell me what they were.”

  He tipped his head back and stared at the hot blue sky. “It was nothing you did, Cait.” He chuckled softly. “You did everything right. Too damned right.” Win’s steady gaze settled on her. “You were so young. Hell, we were both kids. But I was older and knew better. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

  Even after all the heartache he’d caused her, she believed his remorse. He was older than her and had often taken the blame for the mischief they’d gotten into together. She laid her hand on his forearm. The light hairs tickled her palm and his skin’s warmth brought a burst of heat with it. “What happened that night was as much my fault as yours, maybe even more so. I was the one who had to tempt you with that stupid dress.”

  “It wasn’t a stupid dress, and it sure as hell more than tempted me.” He chuckled, and creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Where did you get it?”

  Cait stared at his laugh lines, suddenly faced with the tangible evidence that they were no longer fifteen and seventeen. They’d both grown up, but scars remained.

  “It was in my mother’s trunk. Pa never could throw any of her things away.” Cait remembered the one and only time he’d tried to sort through her mother’s belongings. After opening the trunk, he’d quickly closed it and hurried outside. Cait had followed him and stood in the doorway, shocked to hear her big, strong father sobbing in the deepest shadows of the porch.

  “Do you still have it?”

  Win’s question startled Cait out of the past. “Yes, but that was the only time I wore it.”

  “I figured you’d wear it to the town dances and all the boys would line up to dance with you.”

  Cait peered into Win’s face, trying to determine if he was teasing or serious. “I never went to any dances.”

  “Why?” Win asked, genuinely puzzled.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t plan on marrying, so it didn’t make any sense to go.”

  “Why?” he repeated.

  Becoming annoyed, Cait snapped, “Because.”

  Win held up his hands, palms out. “Whoa. Don’t be getting all riled up again. I didn’t mean anything. I’m just trying to figure out why someone as beautiful as you isn’t married yet.”

  Beautiful. Cait would’ve given the moon to hear him call her beautiful years ago, but now it brought a strange lump to her throat. She forced a nonchalant shrug. “The ranch kept me so busy I never had time to think about it.” She glanced at the angle of the sun. “I’d best make us something to eat. It’s long past noon.”

  She felt Win’s burning gaze on her back as she walked to the cabin, but there was nothing more she owed him. She picked up the box containing flour, sugar, and coffee she’d left on the porch and carried it inside.

  As she put away the goods, she allowed her memories free rein. She remembered how she’d had to lie to her father for the first time in her life to hide her humiliation. How she’d cried every night for nearly a year before the pain became tolerable. How the love she’d had for Win had burned away, leaving ashes of hate.

  But their kiss in the barn showed that beneath the hate, love’s embers still smoldered.

  Cait couldn’t afford to fan those embers back to life. Even if Win still held some affection for her, he would undoubtedly ride away again. And this time, even the embers would become extinguished, leaving nothing but the empty shell of a bitter woman with no hope of a family.

  Chapter Five

  FOUR NIGHTS LATER, Cait bolted upright in bed. She sat there in the darkness, disoriented, trying to determine what had awakened her. A horse’s scream split the night’s silence and Cait scrambled out from under the muslin sheet and wool blanket. She jerked on her boots and trousers, but didn’t take the time to don a shirt over her gown.

  She grabbed the rifle propped beside the bed and dashed out of the cabin. Pausing on the porch, she searched for Deil in his pen and found him looking toward the trees. The shrill cry sounded again. It came from the mares’ corral, the direction Deil faced.

  Cait bounded across the moonlit yard, almost colliding with Win when he hopped out of the barn, tugging on a boot.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  Cait slowed her pace slightly to answer. “Something’s spooked the mares.” She turned and ran, her heart thrumming wildly.

  Cait was barely aware of Win following her, his long legs devouring the distance between them. She angled through the trees, not wasting time by going through the wide opening she normally used. Branches slapped her face and arms.

  She stumbled to a halt at the edge of the clearing. Before her lay a network of three corrals that Win and his father had helped build. The first pen housed three mares and their foals. The biggest corral held the rest of the wild horses, and the smallest enclosure was where Cait worked with one mustang at a time. The herd milled about nervously, nickering and kicking at one another. Something had obviously frightened them.

  “Do you have trouble with cats around here?” Win’s close voice startled her.

  “Not lately,” she replied. “A few years ago two came down from the mountains, but that had been a bad winter. The Duncans and Crowleys lost a few head of livestock, but the mountain lions never came this far south.”

  Win grunted and she glanced at him. He was surveying the area, his eyes narrowed and body tense. She noticed he wore his gunbelt around his trim hips, obviously expecting trouble, too.

  “What is it?” she asked quietly.

  He took a deep breath and his nostrils flared, as if sniffing the air, searching for something that didn’t belong. Instead of answering her, he prowled around the corral, his gaze aimed at the ground.

  Cait remained in place, narrowi
ng her eyes as she watched him through the silvery glow of the nearly full moon. He circled the outer perimeter of the pen, his fluid motions and cautious steps giving her an even more powerful impression of a stalking wolf.

  He hunkered down, examining something on the ground. “Come here,” he called to Cait.

  She hurried over to his side and leaned over him. “What is it?”

  Win pointed to a barely discernible indentation in the loose dirt. “It was a mountain lion. Only one, but enough to get the horses riled up,” he announced grimly.

  An icy chill swept through Cait and she glanced around nervously, her mind conjuring wild cats out of fuzzy shadows. “But they never come this close to humans unless they’re starving. After the mild winter, they shouldn’t have any trouble finding food.”

  Win shrugged. “Maybe it’s a rogue. I’ve heard tell of mountain lions coming into ranch yards and taking a dog or foal.”

  Cait’s grip on the rifle tightened. She couldn’t afford to lose a single horse.

  “He’s long gone,” Win said quietly. “At least he’s still afraid of people.”

  “What about the horses?”

  “They warned you this time. They’ll do it again.”

  “But what—”

  Her question was interrupted by a mare’s distressed whinny. With her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, Cait spotted the horse immediately and recognized the mare as one whose milk had dropped into her teats only two days earlier. Usually that meant a foal would be born about six days later, but it appeared this mare was going into labor early.

  “She’s ready to foal,” she said tersely.

  Win nodded. “The scare probably triggered it.”

  Cait’s gaze remained on the restless mare that pawed at the ground in between pacing a small area of the corral. “I need to get her moved into the smaller pen so the others don’t bother her. I’ll get my horse.”

  “I’ll help,” Win offered.

  “You can do that by keeping an eye on her, then opening the gates for me.”