How to Handle a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  Although she might not let him put it on. She’d have to give the dogs a treat later on to reward them for the show.

  Actually, she’d have to give them a treat for sidelining what could have been a very awkward situation. She’d been worried about what she’d say to Ridge. What he’d say to her. Whether Riley would be able to sense the tension between them…

  “Rrrrrrrr.”

  Dog and man seemed locked in a battle of will as much as a contest of strength, and Sierra wondered if Ridge even knew she and Riley were there. Riley had retreated to the porch and leaned against the railing, checking her cell phone messages and ignoring the half-naked man and his dog.

  Sierra couldn’t do that. In fact, she was tempted to join the game. Maybe the dog would let go and she’d be left with Ridge. If she could recapture the energy that had hummed between them in bed, she just might win. Or the battle would end with the two of them rolling in the dirt. She could think of worse outcomes.

  No, no, no.

  She was done with that. Ridge was a friend who was helping Riley and the boys. And she couldn’t spend all day waiting for him to reclaim his shirt. Somebody needed to stop this fight or it might go on long enough for her libido to cycle around again. There were a million other reasons she shouldn’t act on her impulses, but she’d deliberately insured herself against his charms when she’d gotten dressed, choosing her ugliest granny panties and a mismatched bra. There was no way anyone was going to slip back into last night’s amorous mood.

  But if this fight kept up, even that wouldn’t work. Putting her fingers to her lips, she let out a high, shrill whistle.

  Stunned by the sound, the dog let go of the shirt so quickly that Ridge stumbled backward and landed on the seat of his Wranglers. The dog ran to her, and she rumpled its fur as it gazed up at her with a happy doggie grin. If dogs could laugh, that’s what Dum was doing.

  “Good dog,” she said. “Good dog.”

  “Thanks.” Ridge rose and dusted off his seat. “I think.” He held up his shredded T-shirt. Sierra took one look at it and started to giggle.

  The other dog, who had been watching the fight, trotted over to check out Riley, who stood stiffly as the dog sniffed her thoroughly.

  “Hello, Dum-dum,” she said.

  That sent Sierra off into another round of giggles. About the time she doubled over and grabbed her stomach, Ridge tossed the shirt over the railing and joined her, laughing.

  “What? Isn’t that his name?” Riley looked indignant, which only made them laugh harder. “You said his name was Dum-dum.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.” Sierra struggled to regain her self-control, but it was a tough fight. “It’s…Dum,” she gasped out.

  “I know it’s dumb. It’s a stupid name for a dog. It’s—ack! What is that?” Riley’s eyes were fixed over Sierra’s shoulder, her expression a mixture of revulsion and horror that could only mean one thing.

  “Sluefoot,” Ridge said. “Dammit, how did you get out, buddy?”

  Sierra turned to see the horrifying horse coming up behind her, his head tilted oddly, his one good eye fixed on the newcomer. Judging from the determination in his stride, he was sure someone had brought him some treats, and he thought Riley looked like a likely candidate.

  “What the hell is that?” As the horse stretched his neck toward her, Riley retreated up the steps and both Sierra and Ridge burst into laughter again.

  “He’s my horse,” Ridge said. “He can let himself out of his stall, and he comes when you whistle.”

  Sierra clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I was just trying to break up the fight.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep here,” Riley said. “I swear, he is after me.”

  Sierra did her best to smother her laughter. “Ridge’ll have to put a lock on his stall. I’ll add it to the to-do list.” She showed him the folder she’d brought with her. “I brought your code requirements.”

  Riley perked up for the first time all day. “So he really is renovating?”

  “Well, yeah, dummy. I told you he was.”

  “I thought you were just trying to get me out here.” She grabbed the folder and started flipping through it. “There’s a lot here. When was the house last updated?”

  Ridge shrugged and Riley grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

  Sierra hadn’t ever seen Riley so happy. As soon as they stepped inside, she was everywhere, tapping the walls, frowning at the floorboards, even picking at paint on the wood trim. “This is probably lead-based paint,” she said. “I don’t know what the rules are in Wyoming, but in Colorado you have to strip this and repaint. You’ll need a mask, ’cause you don’t want to breathe the stuff. Pure poison. And I wonder if the insulation is asbestos.” Frowning, she looked up at the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Sierra had never noticed it before. It was apparently from the twenties or thirties. The brass was decorated in geometric patterns and the glass globes etched with matching designs. “That’s cool, but if your wiring’s the same age as the fixtures, you’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Sierra could feel her jaw dropping. Where had this confident, competent Riley come from?

  “How do you know all this?” Ridge asked.

  “I took classes at Climb Colorado,” Riley said. “I got a certificate in Home Renovation—or at least I will, as soon as I find a whole-house project to do. I know all about codes and how to do the work.” She pulled a curtain aside to study the woodwork beneath. “I haven’t been able to finish because my job took up my days, so I couldn’t get my final project done. But this would work.” She turned to Sierra with a bright smile. “This could be my project.”

  Sierra felt all the pieces of her universe clicking into place, fitting together in perfect harmony, making the random events of the past few days align in patterns as neat and pleasing as the decorations on the old light fixture.

  “This is perfect,” Sierra told Ridge. “She’s just the person you need.”

  Ridge shot her a doubtful frown.

  “See?” Riley said. “I knew he didn’t want me here.”

  “No, really,” Sierra said. “Riley, go get your stuff.”

  “Who says I want to help him, anyway?” Riley said. But she headed for the car to get the battered suitcase that had gone with her from one shoddy apartment to another with frequent stops at Sierra’s in between.

  “See?” Sierra gave Ridge an encouraging smile. “It’s meant to be. You help her, and she helps you.”

  “We’ll see,” he said.

  “It’s a great idea,” Sierra said firmly. “She needs a place to stay and a house to renovate, and you need help with your house. She won’t feel like she’s taking charity, and you won’t feel like, um, well, like I talked you into something you didn’t want to do.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “I never said I needed help. And you said she’d just be here a couple of days.” He nodded toward the bulky folder under her arm. “That looks like a lot more than a couple days’ work. And I can do it myself.”

  Sierra gazed pointedly around the room, at the cracked plaster walls, the damp stains on the ceiling, and the chipped paint Riley had pointed out. “Have you done this kind of thing before?”

  He shook his head. His hair was still wet, and droplets of water dripped onto his bare shoulders.

  “And you do need the help. Your hand…”

  “Forget my hand.” He looked positively fierce, and she decided she’d better remember not to mention his injury again. “My hand’s fine. I don’t need help from anybody. And she just said she doesn’t want to help.”

  “I said I didn’t want to help you,” Riley said, appearing at the doorway with an ancient Samsonite suitcase in tow. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do the work.”

  She looked utterly out of place in the old-fashioned front hall with her cockeyed haircut and her angular, mismatched earrings catching the afternoon light from the window. But her eyes glowed as she gazed around the hall
way at the antiquated fixtures and uneven walls. “I’d love to do the work. This place is a renovator’s dream.” She reached over to the window and stroked a pane of glass. “You want to keep all the original stuff you can, right? We’ll bring it up to date without spoiling the features that make it special. Preservation. That’s what I really want to do. Like, for historical places.”

  She tossed her hair back with more spunk than Sierra had seen from her in years and gave Ridge a sharp nod. “I’ll take a look at this to see what’s different from Colorado. Then I’ll check out the house, room by room, work up a supply list and a budget, and figure out a reasonable time frame for each job. Sound good?”

  Ridge stared down at the floor and heaved a heavy sigh. “All right,” he said. “Let me show you where you’ll sleep. Temporarily.”

  As he led Riley down the hallway, Sierra stood dumbstruck in the foyer, wondering what had happened to her needy, fragile friend. Who was this capable, sharp-eyed stranger who had taken her place?

  Most important, why did Sierra feel a little melancholy at the loss of the old Riley?

  Maybe it was because the new Riley didn’t need her anymore, and that made Sierra feel a little less capable herself.

  Chapter 36

  Two days later, Sierra could hardly resist the urge to hum as she shrugged into her leather jacket and pulled on her flowered cowboy boots. Everything seemed to be going smoothly between Riley and Ridge. Ridge hadn’t complained, and all Riley had talked about when Sierra called was how much work the house needed and how hard she was working. Sure, she was complaining, but there was an undercurrent of pride in her voice as she rattled off terms and talked about insulation and wiring and how to varnish the floors.

  The last few times she’d come into town, she hadn’t even stopped to see Sierra. Ridge had loaned Riley the old ranch truck, and Sierra would see it parked right across the street at the hardware store. Riley would exit the store, laden with purchases, and drive away with barely a glance at Phoenix House.

  Some people might have been insulted by that, but Sierra smothered the little flame of hurt in her heart and reminded herself that this was what she wanted for Riley: a job that made her feel productive and gave her a feeling of wholeness so she didn’t need Sierra—or anything else.

  Besides, Sierra had her own life to live. And this morning, that life included heading out to the ranch for the boys’ second riding lesson. Hopefully, seeing Ridge would be as easy as last time, and they’d be so busy with the boys, they’d barely have a chance to look at each other.

  Because if they did look at each other, she knew what they’d each be seeing. That night, those tousled sheets, those bodies twining together in the waning light…

  She pushed those images out of her head and stood at the foot of the stairs, hollering up to the boys.

  “Come on, guys! The horses are waiting!”

  A thundering cavalcade of kids responded to the call, four pairs of running shoes hitting the stairs along with one pair of pink cowboy boots. Jeffrey had been teased at first for wearing “sissy boots,” but his response had been silence. For once, Sierra wished the boy would fight, but the teasing had stopped.

  The rest of the kids had no problems fighting. Isaiah and Carter had claimed the back-facing rear seat, and Josh was whining that it was his turn to “watch where they’d been.” Sierra brokered a peace agreement that put a very smug Josh in the rear-facing seat, along with Jeffrey, while Isaiah and Carter looked forward to taking the first rides once they arrived at the ranch.

  There was the usual bickering on the long drive, fading to silence as the boys grew bored and maybe a little bit carsick. But they livened up on arriving at the ranch, spilling out of the car and racing around.

  Meanwhile, Sierra watched Ridge. She couldn’t help it. Things had run more smoothly than usual at the house over the last few days, and that had left her too much time and mental energy to devote to memories of the time she’d spent here the night she’d come for her phone, and the night after dinner at the Red Dawg. And then there was the shirtless tug-o-war game he’d played with the dogs…

  She’d decided it was okay to enjoy those memories. They were too good to throw away. Someday, in the distant future, she’d want a serious relationship, and she’d be able to judge the contenders by comparing them to Ridge, with his honesty, his generosity, and his hot, hot body that was always ready for action.

  Hot, hot… stop it.

  It was okay to enjoy those memories, but it was not okay to look at Ridge, because if she looked at him, he might look back and then he might notice she was staring—and maybe drooling a little.

  So she watched the boys as they gravitated toward the parts of the ranch that interested them. Jeffrey went straight for the corrals. Carter and Frankie headed for the hayloft, where they’d built a fort out of the heavy bales, while Josh, surprisingly, was petting Sluefoot and examining his bad eye like a budding ophthalmologist. Isaiah had found an old tractor with its engine exposed and was tracing the path of various hoses and wires.

  So she had a cowboy, a vet, a mechanical genius, and maybe a couple of soldiers. Not bad.

  She looked around for Riley but saw no sign of her. She worried that the mechanical whine coming from the house might be her friend tearing into something with power tools, but she couldn’t leave the boys to find out.

  She jogged to catch up with Ridge, who hailed the boys with a whistle as he headed for the barn. Naturally, they started their efforts to imitate him again, driving old Sluefoot to distraction. The old horse pawed at the gate, nodding his head in frustration. Ridge had evidently found a latch that was Sluefoot-proof—at least for now.

  “Where’s Riley?” Sierra asked.

  “In the bathroom,” he said. “Or what used to be the bathroom. She tore out the tile and now she’s cut a goddamn hole in the wall. I sure as hell hope she knows how to put it back together once she’s torn it apart.”

  “How’s she doing?” she asked. “Is she paying her way?”

  “Yeah, she is.” It was a grudging admission. “She’s made a big difference already. I’m not sure how, since she spends all her time in town with you. Maybe you could talk to her about it or just send her back here. You can’t have that much time to take away from your job.”

  “Ridge, she’s not spending any time at all with me. I haven’t seen her in a week. I feel like we’re kind of growing apart.”

  “Well, she’s spending it somewhere. When I send her into town for supplies, she doesn’t need to spend hours and hours visiting,” Ridge grumbled. “With the drive both ways, that makes half the day. Meanwhile, I’m waiting with a hammer in my hand because she can’t get home with the nails.”

  “Sorry,” Sierra said. “Does she act like she’s drinking or something?”

  “Don’t think so. She’s tired, though. I figured you had her doing side jobs at Phoenix House.”

  “No, honest. It’s not me.”

  “Well, she’s up to something. I’m about to the point where I won’t loan her the truck anymore. She’ll just have to tell me what she needs, and I’ll pick it up.”

  Sierra knew Riley would have a fit if she ended up trapped on the ranch with no transportation.

  “I’ll talk to her about it. Believe me, I’ll talk to her. She can’t lose this chance.”

  ***

  Ridge watched Isaiah circle the ring. The kid had a tendency to boss the horse around too much, and he was going to find himself in the dirt if he didn’t change his ways.

  Ridge was tempted to let him learn his lesson the hard way. Lessons that ended with the aspiring cowboy on the seat of his pants tended to stick. But Sierra probably wouldn’t approve, so he held up a hand in a “stop” gesture.

  “Whoa.” Isaiah pulled hard on the reins. He still had his brows drawn down and wore a fixed scowl of rebellion that probably had more to do with life in general than controlling the horse. But Dusty didn’t care where the rough treatment came fro
m. The horse pinned his ears, tossed his head, and pranced his front legs, almost rearing.

  “Whoa. He’s gonna throw me,” Isaiah said, tugging the reins harder. “This horse don’t behave.”

  “That’s because you’re not behaving.”

  “What?” The kid was instantly on the defensive. “You told me to stop; I stopped. He’s the one that’s being bad.”

  “Remember I said to get in his head, work with him, not against him?”

  Isaiah shrugged.

  “You’re trying to steer him like a car. He’s not a machine. It’s a two-way conversation. You tell him to turn, he’ll turn. You don’t have to drag him around.” He stepped into the center of the ring. “Press on him with your left leg. Just barely, not hard.”

  Isaiah obeyed and the horse did a reluctant but serviceable side pass toward the rail. His ears were still pinned, and his expression was as sulky as his rider’s.

  “Now the right. Just a gentle pressure. No heel, just your leg.”

  The horse stepped right.

  “See? He’s a flight animal. He doesn’t fight pressure; he moves away from it.”

  “He’s a sissy, then.”

  “No, he’s smart. Horses aren’t made for fighting, so they’ve found a way to live where they don’t have to.”

  “What about when wild stallions fight?”

  “That’s the exception, not the rule. Mostly, horses follow the rules of the herd and live peacefully.”

  Isaiah muttered something that might have included the term “chickenshit” but Ridge chose to ignore it. “So when you use the reins, they’re not like a rope you drag the horse around with. They’re a signal, not a weapon. Same with shifting your weight or touching him with your heels. It’s a special language, and he knows what everything means, so you don’t have to force him to do anything.”

  Isaiah didn’t look convinced.

  “It’s like if I was standing beside you, and I wanted you to move. I could just touch your shoulder and ask you to move. I wouldn’t have to shove you.”

  “You better not.” The scowl darkened.