Cade realized he was smiling. He might not be into revenge, but this was strangely satisfying. Amber Lynn and Mona must be fighting like cats in a bag, and suddenly, Jasper Lyle, bank president, desperately needed Cade Walker, a no-account, common cowboy.
But Cade didn’t need the Lyles. He never had, not even to pay off Amber Lynn’s debts. His reputation as a horse trainer was growing with every client, so he could take care of the mortgage on his own if he had to.
But he wouldn’t have to. He had written proof it had been paid.
“Well, thanks, Mr. Lyle.” Cade couldn’t help sounding sarcastic any more than he could help smiling at the ceiling. “And congratulations. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said Amber Lynn was getting the wedding of her dreams. I’m wondering—who’s the groom?”
“What? Why, it’s…she said…”
Cade jumped in before Jasper could stop stammering. “I’ll be sure and send something special for a gift, but I won’t be coming to the service. I’m the ex-husband, after all, a country bumpkin and a—what was it? A ne’er-do-well, that was it. So I really can’t imagine I’d be welcome.”
And if I ever saw your daughter in a wedding gown again, I’d run screaming from the room.
A series of bumps and thumps, followed by a crashing sound, reverberated over the line. It sounded like Lyle’s desk chair might have spun out of control and tossed him through a window.
Gently, with a feeling of great satisfaction, Cade hung up the phone.
The bumping and thumping continued, but now it was Amber Lynn pounding on the door.
“Cade? I need to talk to you. Now! Who is that? It’s not my dad, is it?”
“Sure was.” Cade leapt from the bed and opened the door. “Good news. He forgave my loan. And hey, you’re getting married!”
Chapter 9
Jess rose early to a bluebird day drenched in sunshine. She had a good horse, fine weather, and a mission of mercy to save sick baby calves.
The only cloud in her sky was her dad’s health. She’d seen sweat bead on his forehead when he tacked up and heard a raspy sound in his chest. But after a brief pause for breath, he swung into the saddle like his old self.
Jess was feeling like her old self, too. She loved seeing the ranch from the back of a good horse, and while her quarter horse gelding might be getting old, he was the only creature on earth, outside her family, that she loved without reservation. All through her teen years, Buster had offered a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, and a healthy distraction from drinking, boys, and all the other temptations that prey on small-town kids with nothing to do. She’d ridden him for miles, lost in her thoughts, reins slack in her hands. He’d always kept her safe.
Her dad nudged his mount into motion, and Jess followed, enjoying the creak of saddle leather and the warmth of the sun on her back. She didn’t see why her stepmother was so worried. Heck was riding like a grandpa today, so slowly old Buster was prancing and champing at the bit.
“You must be fired up about something to make him act like that,” her dad said.
“Nope.” Her crazy kiss with Cade had crept into her mind again, but she didn’t need to share that with her dad. “I’m fine.”
“You and Cade didn’t fight, did you?”
“No.” She couldn’t help smiling. “We got along just fine.”
“Used to be a lot more’n fine.” He shot her a sidelong glance.
“Uh-huh.”
She didn’t want to discuss Cade with her dad. That kiss had been a stroll down memory lane—such an enjoyable stroll, she had to squeeze her legs around her horse’s barrel even now, just thinking about it. But it hadn’t changed anything, because nothing could change. She’d dedicated years of energy to climbing the corporate ladder. She had to admit she was a little bored with her job in Denver, but the Hawaii location would take care of that problem. Nobody could be bored on a beach, right? But Cade’s life was here, and that would never change.
She closed her eyes, trusting Buster, and pictured an endless expanse of sand and white-topped waves rolling in and out with their slow, rumbling thunder. She pretended the cry of a hawk was a seagull overhead and imagined exchanging the scent of sage for that salty, fishy smell that should be gross but wasn’t.
But when she opened her eyes, the clear blue sky, the gleaming shafts of sun-bleached grass, the sunflowers dancing on their long stems, and all the other wonders of the West shoved Hawaii right out of her head.
Buster tossed his head and danced. “He needs to run, Dad.”
“Can’t do it. Your stepmother laid down the law. It’s not safe.”
“Right.” She nodded toward his flashy palomino, who was sidestepping like Seabiscuit at the starting gate. “That’s why you picked that horse.”
“Oh, he’s safe. He’s one of Cade’s.” Her dad patted the animal’s neck. “Trust me, that boy’s horses are bombproof when he gets done with ’em.”
“That’s Cade’s?” Jess eyed the horse’s perfect conformation. “Looks expensive.”
“One of his clients’ horses. He likes me to give ’em some ranch work now and then. Calms ’em down, helps ’em focus.”
“He’s doing well, then?”
“Sure is.” Heck glowed as if Cade were his own son. “Earned the trust of some of the best in the business. That boy’s going places, Jess.”
Jess thought about Cade and all the places he could go. Her bedroom. The hayloft. The back of his pickup, parked under the stars down by the quarry. She’d gone all those places with him and enjoyed every trip. Maybe they could have a private high school reunion, just the two of them.
She sighed. “He might be going places, but he’ll never leave here. And I’ve got other plans, Dad. I’m in line for a promotion. This job lets me travel and meet so many people—I just love it.”
“That’s great, hon. I’m proud of you. But I’m proud of Cade, too.” Her dad gave her a sideways look. “He’s making a good living doing what he loves to do, right here at home.”
Home. The word echoed in Jess’s mind as they plodded up a rock-strewn hill. Twisting in her saddle, she watched the house grow small in the distance as the valley celebrated all around it, dancing to a tickling breeze. Dressed in rust and gold, sap-green and sage, swaying aspen rattled leafy castanets. Beyond them, white patches on the mountains warned that snow would fly before long and everything would go cold—just about the time Jess lost the warmth of home.
She watched the petulant, old-man look leave her dad’s face, proving the ranch itself was the cure for what ailed him. That made her wonder if her stepmother was on Heck’s side at all. Maybe this was all about money or a more leisurely lifestyle. Molly didn’t have to work now, but she probably wanted to live in a swankier neighborhood, with other people around. She’d become one of those ladies who lunched, spending her husband’s money while he—well, Jess didn’t know what her dad would do.
Heck opened the gate to the next pasture, a wide, flat acreage scattered with boulders the size of small houses. It looked like a giant stone baby had abandoned his toys beside the deep ravine, where a creek fed undergrowth so thick it would hide their bovine patients forever.
The Highland cattle were solitary beasts who nursed their young alone rather than hanging in a herd. They were absurdly cute, with flat pink noses, ginger Beatles moptops, and wide, branching horns. They looked ridiculous, but her dad claimed their lean beef commanded a high price.
She wondered how this latest experiment in exotic livestock was going. Better than the alpacas, she hoped, or the emus. Or the camels.
Oh God, she hated to even think about the camels.
“See, they’re all spread out.” Her father nodded toward what appeared to be reddish-brown hummocks in the distance. “Should be able to rope these babies one by one,
without spookin’ the rest of ’em.”
“Should’s a big word, Dad.” Jess touched her rope nervously. “I’m really out of practice.”
Up ahead, a mama cow nuzzled a calf that bore the telltale signs of scours, a disease known to cowboys everywhere as the dreaded “runny ass.” It could kill a calf in a matter of days if it wasn’t treated.
“This one’s mine,” Jess said and nudged Buster into a sidelong walk. She and the horse avoided eye contact with the moptopped baby and his redheaded mama. She wished her dad raised Herefords or Black Angus—or any breed without horned heifers—but the thought flew out of her head as she kicked Buster into a lope.
Her dad let out a loud cowboy whoop behind her, and joy rose with it, free and unfettered on the wind. Jess hadn’t ridden in years, let alone roped, yet it felt so right. Maybe it was like riding a bicycle, and you never forgot how.
As she neared the so-called baby, she realized he was more of a teenager, and a bull calf to boot. He bolted, of course, but Buster, cow-smart and cunning, cut him off from his mama on dancing, darting hooves while Jess clung to the saddle horn and prayed. Anyone who thought cowboys didn’t pull leather had never ridden a working cow horse. It was a challenge just to stay in the saddle.
When the horse brought her into position, she felt her skills click into place one by one. Forming a loop, she twirled it overhead.
As she sent it spiraling into the sky, her world narrowed until all she saw was the rope and the calf. She didn’t notice the heifer until the beast darted forward and scraped one of her boots out of the stirrup with its horn. Surprised, Buster spun a sudden circle. Jess grabbed the saddle horn again, but the world dipped and wobbled and—whump!
Breathless, she stared up into the hairy face of Mama Cow, whose mournful mooo wafted the scent of half-digested cud into Jess’s face.
Those horns looked a lot bigger from the ground. Staggering to her feet, Jess found Buster right beside her. Sticking one foot in the stirrup, she grabbed the saddle horn and hauled herself onto his back.
The fluid grace of the motion made her feel like a real cowgirl again. Sure, she’d been tossed, and her loop missed by a mile, but she hadn’t gotten hurt, and most important, she hadn’t cried.
Her butt was going to be sore for a week, though.
“You think she would have gored me, Dad?”
“Naw. But she’s running that calf toward the ravine. Better get going.”
Buster put on the gas, almost jerking Jess from the saddle before she gathered her wits and her rope, throwing a spinning loop that settled neatly, perfectly, miraculously over the bull calf’s head.
She was so stunned by her success, she paused, and the calf ran halfway through the loop. The neat catch turned awkward, circling the head and one foreleg. But he was caught.
Leaping from the saddle, she raced down the rope while Buster backed slowly, keeping it taut. Grasping one furry ear and some loose skin at the calf’s flank, she summoned all her strength and strained to lift him.
“Bawww,” said the baby.
They danced a long and clumsy waltz, Jess hauling and shoving, the calf bawling and balking. It was a familiar feeling—incompetence on the plains. Maybe she’d been right to trade her saddle for an executive desk chair and a story about how she used to be a cowgirl.
But no. She would always be a cowgirl. Always.
Determined, she hooked one foot around the calf’s hind leg and tugged him off-balance. Whump! again—but this time, it was the calf who hit the dirt.
At a rodeo, she would have been disqualified six ways to Sunday, but this was real life, and there were no rules except to be as gentle as possible with His Runniness while making sure he took his medicine. It would be nice if she could avoid rubbing up against him while she did it, but that wasn’t really a rule, nor was it possible.
Pressing the bawling beastie to the ground, she dragged his legs together and whipped the piggin’ string around his bony ankles, then pulled the knot tight as a familiar, cud-laden breath bathed her face with the scent of rotten vegetation.
“Oh no.” She jumped to her feet, waving and dancing. “Git, Mama. Git!”
The bull calf bucked and strained, the mama cow mooed, and Buster held his ground without so much as a twitch while Jess raced to her saddlebags, dancing like a spastic leprechaun to keep Mama Cow at bay. She could hear her father’s laughter, but she was getting the job done, wasn’t she?
Returning to her patient, she thrust a drenching tube into his mouth midbawl and shoved the plunger home. Mama backed off while Jess cleaned the baby’s nasty bottom.
“Yeah, you don’t want to do that part, do you?” Jess slashed the calf’s hide with a fluorescent marker. “Not so worried now.”
“One down,” her dad said. “Good job, hon. Wasn’t pretty, but it worked.”
Climbing back into the saddle, Jess grinned. She was bruised and breathless, sticky with sweat and streaked with unmentionable cow leavings, but her heart swelled with a sense of accomplishment she’d never found at Birchwood Suites.
“How many to go?” she asked.
“Not sure.” Her dad glanced around as if the calves might come out and stand for a count. “We had sixty, but there were coyotes.”
“Ouch. Better get going.”
Ride, rope, wrestle, repeat. As the sun rose in the sky, sweat ran down Jess’s back and between her breasts. She could swear Buster grew an inch every time she dismounted. Why else was it so danged hard to get back in the saddle? A real cowgirl would be ashamed of the way she climbed on stumps and rocks so she could haul herself onto the horse. Then again, real cowgirls got the job done, no matter what. It only looked pretty in the movies.
She was relieved when her dad turned toward home.
“You did good, hon.”
As she turned to answer, the wind whipped up and caught the curls that had escaped her ponytail. She swiped them out of her face and grinned. “I’m rusty, but I’ll get better.”
“It’s no work for a woman, though. Not on her own.”
She had a sudden urge to toss a loop over her father’s stubborn head and talk some sense into him. She thought again of the few lady ranchers in the county who, through widowhood or sheer orneriness, ran big spreads on their own. Their brand of beauty never aged; they became bright-eyed, leather-skinned spirits of the plains, wise in the ways of wind and rain, cattle and coyotes. Maybe she could become one of them.
Yeah, and maybe Buster could open a restaurant.
Clicking her tongue, she let her dad eat a little of her dust while she loped Buster up the hill and calmed herself.
At the summit, they rested their forearms on their saddle horns, enjoying the view and inhaling the sweet, sage-scented air. The ranch spread out below them, with crooked fences stitching together quilt squares of green and brown. Scrub and tall grass lined each patch like lace, and winding trails crisscrossed the whole panorama, leading from barn to house, house to garage, garage to barn.
How many times had she tramped those trails, lugging hay, toting water, hauling grain? Her brother had hated the hard, heavy work, and she had to admit she’d done her share of grousing. But lately, she’d missed it with a country-girl ache that never died.
Maybe, by some miracle, her dad would get better, and the family land wouldn’t slip out of her loop like a randy bull calf bent on escape.
Chapter 10
“You okay, sugar?”
“Yeah.” Feeling the heat of tears behind her eyes, Jess pulled the brim of her hat down and looked away. “I missed this place so much, Dad.”
He sighed. “Enjoy it while you can.”
A thousand protests rose to her lips, but she bit them back. It would be better to use her skills, draw on the accounting courses she’d taken to assess the business and find solutions. If she could find the funds to hire someone b
efore she left, her dad wouldn’t have to do the heavy work.
“This here’s what matters, Jess.” He gestured away from the house at the acres of rangeland, dotted with cattle, wreathed by the silver ribbon of Willow Creek. “Nothing but this land.”
She laughed. “You sound like the dad in Gone with the Wind.” Laying on a dreadful Irish accent, she quoted, “It’s the only thing worth workin’ for, worth fightin’ for, worth dyin’ for…”
“He was right, wasn’t he?”
“I think so, but you apparently don’t, since you’re selling this place to please a woman.” She faked a saucy smile, but her lips quivered, and she had to look away.
“Now, don’t be like that.”
“Like what? Like honest?”
“Like mean-spirited.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. But don’t you want to know what I’m thinking?”
“Not when you’re thinking like that.”
Drinking in the view, she calmed herself with the breadth of the sky, the acres of grass, and the knowledge that the land would endure whether it belonged to the Baileys or not. Besides, she’d be in Hawaii, slathered with suntan lotion, holding an umbrella drink, and watching the waves roll in.
She just didn’t want to come back and find it hacked up into two-acre lots, cluttered with tacky houses, and sliced into alleys and cul-de-sacs.
Grimacing, she turned her horse toward home. “Ready to go?”
“Not yet.” Her dad spun his mount and gave her a devilish grin.
“Oh no. I know that look.” She shot him a glare. “We’re not racing.”
Ignoring her, he whooped and dug in his heels. Rearing, the palomino plunged downhill as if somebody’d popped the clutch.
Jess forgot to stop him, forgot to follow, forgot everything in the pleasure of watching her dad ride like—well, like her dad. Molly’s warnings flashed through her mind, but she brushed them away like pesky flies. As he rose in the stirrups to urge his horse on, something small and mean inside her was glad Molly didn’t own every part of him.
Cowboy Summer Page 7
