Cowboy Summer

by Joanne Kennedy

  “We’re just heading back to the ranch,” he said. “Maybe you could answer some questions for these folks.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Gathering the reins, she turned Buster toward home. Cade opened his mouth to shout a warning, but it was too late; she’d thoughtlessly exposed the truth about Hermy’s backside to the Dude and Dudette, and the truth was not pretty. Her right leg and Buster’s hide were streaked with green manure, and Cade was pretty sure the calf had also filled Jess’s boot with the stuff.

  The Dudette shrieked in horror.

  “Oh no. Hermy.”

  “Sorry.” Jess didn’t sound terribly sincere. “Hermy’s not feeling well.”

  “Maybe I let you feed him.” The Dudette dug her heels into the roan’s sides in an effort to escape, but her horse had apparently joined Jess’s ranch reality conspiracy and chose that moment to fart loudly as it ambled along.

  Cade, smothering a laugh, nudged Pride toward the Dude to do some damage control. To his surprise, the man was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Honey?” he called to his wife. “I think that baby needs you to cuddle him.”

  The Dudette let out another shriek and headed for home as fast as the portly roan could carry her—which wasn’t very fast at all, despite the continuing jet propulsion.

  “We won’t get lost, anyway.” The Dude nodded toward Jess, who’d kicked Buster into a trot. “Hermy’s leaving a trail.”

  Cade couldn’t help laughing, but the man sobered suddenly. “Hope the little thing’s all right. My wife can be foolish sometimes, but she’s softhearted. You let that critter die, and she’ll cry for days.”

  “Might not be much I can do.”

  They were silent for a while, in a companionable way. Finally, the Dude gestured toward Jess.

  “That your girl?”

  “Used to be.”

  “Ah.” The man nodded sagely. “Try jewelry. Anytime mine’s mad, I just get her another necklace, and everything’s hunky-dory again.”

  That explained all the hardware. She must get mad at her husband every day.

  “It’s not that. We had a—a misunderstanding.” Cade sighed. “Sometimes I think she looks for excuses to give up on life before it gives up on her.”

  “Self-sabotage.” The Dude nodded wisely. “Margo was like that. Lost her family young. Abandonment issues.”

  Cade nodded. That was probably Jess’s issue, too. After her mother had left, she’d been desperate to change something, anything, to win Dot Bailey back. Cade had been one of many casualties.

  It wasn’t Jess’s fault, really. It was hard for her to hand over her heart, that’s all. Maybe he was an idiot—for sure, he was an idiot—but as long as there was a glimmer of hope, he’d stick around.

  The Dude gave Cade a conspiratorial smile. “You work for me, Son, you could keep that cowgirl decked in diamonds. What is it you do for a living?”

  “I train horses.”

  The man waved away Cade’s purpose in life like the lord of the manor dismissing a servant. “I’m talking diamonds, Son. Sounds like you’re making cubic zirconia money.”

  “It’s very satisfying, sir.”

  “Well.” The man harrumphed. “We’ll talk later. For now, I’ve got some questions about this place. Do you raise your own feed? I don’t want to be buying hay all winter. That’s what put Big Al Johnson out of business, and I’m not about to let it happen to me.”

  Cade looked at the man with new respect, surprised he knew enough to ask.

  “No worries there, sir. Heck grows enough hay to feed twice the stock he’s got.”

  “That’s fine, Son.” The man shifted his heavy haunches, and Cade wondered if he’d be able to walk by evening.

  “Who’s that friend of yours?” Cade asked. “Is Big Al from around these parts?”

  “No, that was in a book. I read a lot of westerns. Louis L’Amour, that kind of thing.”

  Cade cleared his throat, which seemed to have developed a sudden frog. And the frog was laughing.

  “You can learn a lot from Louis L’Amour,” he managed to say.

  Like how to run a fictional cattle ranch, in the fictional nineteenth century. With fictional cows and horses and fictional weather.

  He had a very strong feeling that the Diamond Jack was doomed.

  Chapter 32

  After his adventures with the Rhinestone Cowboy and his lady love, Cade felt beaten down and licked. Jess was selling the place, and nothing would ever be the same. The unanswered letter from John Baker haunted him, pricking his conscience with regrets. Of course, his father’s ghost had sensed his weakness and plagued him all night long. Minute by minute, hour by hour, his words taunted and harassed until Cade had clutched the pillow around his head to drown it out.

  You need a goddamn woman to tell you what to do, don’t you? You can’t make a move without her. Why can’t you stand on your own, like a real man?

  You’re gonna let your best chance go for a woman who don’t even care. You know that, right? You’ll wait all your life for that chippie to change her mind. You think that big-shot trainer’s gonna tolerate that? He doesn’t want some loser on the payroll.

  Fortunately, the voice faded in the light of day. Maybe ghosts were allergic to sunshine or faded in the light of dawn’s promise. In the east, the sky blushed to a cotton-candy pink, and a mist scented with earth, mint, and sage rose from the dew-tipped grass.

  Finishing his chores, he turned out all the horses but one—a bucking, biting beauty Heck had bought at auction a year earlier. Heck had turned the impossible creature out in his far pastures for a year; he swore “letting a horse be a horse” was the best cure for the shattered, abused animals he liked to pretend were bargains.

  “You’re no bargain,” Cade told the horse as he released it into the round pen. “He’ll spend more fixing you than you’ll ever be worth.” The words didn’t matter, as long as he spoke softly. “Sometimes I think he buys mutts like you just to keep me in business.”

  Carrying a long, flexible pole with a white rag attached to one end, he closed the gate, letting the high stockade walls shut out the rest of the world. From the center of the ring, he coaxed the mare into running circles around him, keeping her on the move. The plan was to short out her flight reflex. Being a herd animal, she’d look for safety in any living creature once she tired out, and Cade would be waiting, ready to prove not all men meant pain and fear.

  It was going to take a while. The horse was a bundle of nerves, wily and uncooperative. Frantic, she scrambled around the pen, bumping the walls, looking for a way out.

  He knew just how she felt. She was reflecting his own emotions, feeling his desperation over Jess. He struggled to calm his mind and focus on her, and she calmed somewhat, dropping her head, running steadily.

  Once in a while, he’d lose focus, think of Jess again, and the mare would kick up her heels, evade the flag, and change direction. Once, she charged across the ring right at him, hell-bent on collision. He’d stood his ground, and she’d veered away at the last minute, resuming her endless run.

  After a while, the sun went behind a cloud, and a breeze kicked up. The mare offered a few subtle signs that she was weakening, shooting him an assessing gaze from a questioning eye when she thought he wasn’t looking or dropping her head as he stepped closer. It wasn’t much, but it told him he’d succeed. Eventually.

  He planned to make the mare safe enough to go back to Heck as a riding mount. The old man would appreciate the work Cade had put into her, but more important was the get-well message: here’s your horse, ready to ride. I know you’re ready. I know you’re back.

  Jess would be so pleased. He pictured her smile, and then…

  He could have sworn he heard his father’s harsh laughter floating on the wind. She ain’t smilin’ at you, that’s for damn
sure. She don’t even believe you. If she loves you so much, how come she don’t trust you? You weren’t doing nothing wrong.

  The horse humped up her back and crow hopped around the ring, bouncing on pogo-stick legs until Cade twitched the flag and got her running again.

  Maybe he should keep this one. She threw a temper tantrum every time he thought about Jess. It was like the horse was training him.

  “I get it, Redline.”

  Heck always had him give the horses a new name—one they wouldn’t associate with their old lives. This one would be Redline, because she pushed everything to the limit.

  But he could push harder.

  As the sun rose higher in the sky, he kept the mare running until his arm ached. Wearily, he waved the flag while thoughts of Jess popped and hissed in his mind, fogging his thoughts like smoke bombs.

  Catching the turbulence of his emotions, the horse reacted as a person would react to stirring music, flaring her nostrils and picking up speed. He hunted through his mind for something a little less rousing, but his thoughts were as stubborn as the horse, dragging him toward Jess. Or worse, toward his dad.

  She won’t even give you a chance to explain, will she? Might as well quit making a fool of yourself, letting her lead you around like one of them horses.

  Maybe his father was right. If Cade was smart, he’d go to California, spend a couple of years learning from the best in the business. He’d come back with the kind of experience that would let him take on his own apprentices and make some real money. Jess would wait, or she wouldn’t.

  Who knew? Maybe if he walked away, she’d follow.

  Probably not. But at least she’d appreciate what she’d lost. And we could both move on.

  That wasn’t his dad. That was his own thought, and the notion made his tension ebb. Surprisingly, giving up felt good.

  The horse slowed and stilled, fixing a wary eye on him. Her ears were still pressed against her skull, but the eye on Cade’s side had ceased rolling in its socket, and when he let out a long, slow breath, she stretched her neck, lifting her lip and sniffing the air like a connoisseur.

  “Maybe it’s time to let her go,” he said softly. “What do you think?”

  Tilting her head to one side, Redline slowly closed one eye in a wink. And he could swear she smiled.

  He considered her tangled mane, her chipped, worn hooves, and the wild, wary look in her long-lashed eyes. She’d been a horse for a while, all right. A wild one. But now, separated from her herd, she needed a friend.

  She took a step toward him.

  He took a step back.

  She took more steps, stretching her neck toward him. The more he stepped away, the worse she wanted him.

  Just like a woman. Right, Son? Get it?

  After a while, Redline leaned over and nibbled his shoulder with her soft, flexible lips.

  “You done?” he asked her. “You figured this out?”

  She blew out an exhausted raspberry.

  He reached out a hand and let her smell it, then slowly stroked her neck, admiring the clean, smooth muscles, the straight, solid legs. She trembled once or twice but stood firm, her eyes soft. She was his now, and he hadn’t forced her. The secret with horses was walking away. The choice to join up had to be theirs.

  Obviously, a woman was not a horse. But Jess was as skittish and high-spirited as Redline, so maybe if he left and lived his life, she’d follow. If not, he’d be in the world he loved—the round pen, the range, and the rodeo. There were worse fates.

  After stroking Redline all over, he lifted each foot, then led her in a few slow figure eights. She was calm but weary, so he clipped a lead rope to her halter and led her out of the ring. When he released her into the pasture, he sensed a lightness in her that hadn’t been there before, as if she’d lost the fear and tension from her past. As if she’d finally found someone to trust.

  Maybe he’d stick to dealing with four-legged females from now on. He had more success with them. He couldn’t control Jess, or her feelings, but he could better his own life—if it wasn’t too late.

  Chapter 33

  Jess headed out to the barn with a bottle for Hermy. The calf had been holding his own for two whole days despite a continuing case of the trots. He was a smelly little guy, but he had an endearing personality, and his helplessness tugged at her heart.

  He must have been feeling better, because when she reached the barn, he wasn’t in his stall. Jess shouldn’t have been surprised—the latch was kind of wonky—but she hadn’t thought he had the strength to wobble to the door, let alone open it and wander off.

  Moving slowly through the barn, she was trying to moo like Hermy’s mother when a car door slammed outside.

  “Anybody home?”

  She peered out a barn window to see the Dude himself, big as life—or maybe a little bigger. He was followed by the Dudette, the two of them traipsing up the porch steps. With nothing more than a cursory rap on the screen door, the couple walked into the house as if they already owned the place.

  But they didn’t. If Jess had her way, they never would.

  By the time she reached the house, she was out of breath, and the buyers were in Heck’s study. The Dude was admiring a trophy Jess had won at a 4-H rodeo. It was a typical cheap plastic prize, with the usual motif of a gold-painted cowboy subduing a bucking horse atop a column engraved with “First Place, Goat Tying.”

  Swammett turned guiltily, setting the trophy down quickly as if he’d been caught stealing the silver. “Guess your dad was quite the rodeo star in his day.”

  “That one was mine,” Jess said.

  Wonder and admiration bloomed on the Dude’s face, and she smothered a laugh. He actually believed she’d ridden bucking horses. While there were women who did that, they were rare. Riding critters that didn’t want to be ridden was kind of a boy thing.

  Goat tying, however, was a girl’s sport. The guys made fun of it, but it demanded real skill. And cooperative goats.

  “Thought we’d stop by,” said the Dude. “Had a few questions.”

  “Sure. Sorry about the mess.” She tried to sound sincere, but it was hard to hide her annoyance. No doubt they’d arrived unannounced to see the house’s flaws. “We’ve been working on the house, making it nice for—well, for whoever.”

  Molly bustled in, holding a feather duster.

  “Well, hi.” She sounded like she was glad to see them, and she probably was. Molly could see something good even in the worst people. “What can we do for you folks?”

  “Like I said on the phone, we saw the land the other day, but we’d like to look at the house,” the Dude said. “I was thinking on the way over here I’d like to see the furnace.”

  Like I said? He must have called Molly while Jess was outside hunting Hermy.

  “The furnace? Sure.”

  To Jess’s surprise, Molly nodded, then trotted off, straight down the hall and out the front door. Did she think the furnace was in the garage or what?

  Jess thought about following her and fleeing, but she made small talk instead, hoping to stall the Dude long enough to make him forget about the heater. She hadn’t been down to the basement for a while, but she had no doubt the rafters were festooned with cobwebs while the floor was gritty with mouse droppings. Then there was the furnace itself, crouching on a concrete block, spreading its ductwork arms like an ancient, grumbly king of the spiders.

  “Is Val coming?” she asked.

  “Didn’t see any reason to bother her,” the Dude said. “Your mom said it was okay.”

  Molly hadn’t returned, so Jess led the couple through the kitchen toward the cellar door. The Dudette let out a little “eep!” when they passed the harvest-gold stove and the avocado fridge, but Jess hustled them through the cellar door.

  The ancient heater predated Heck and possibly his gr
andfather. Constructed of rusting steel plates bolted together at awkward angles, it seemed to seethe when it was on, as if it might explode at any second. Fortunately, it was summer, so the beast was calm.

  “The heater has almost as much character as the house itself,” Jess said with a phony smile. “There aren’t many of these babies around anymore. It’s very, um, historic.” Patting the side of the slumbering beast, she winced as a metallic clang echoed through the basement. “Um, I don’t know much about it, but we kids used to love it. We played down here a lot, and…well…”

  It probably wasn’t a good idea to tell the buyers that they’d called the furnace the Beast. Depending on their game, it had been an undersea monster, an alien bent on destruction, or a giant spider. With its tubular steel arms, it had an octopus-like look that still haunted her dreams.

  She heard a rustling sound and prayed silently that a pack rat or field mouse wouldn’t choose this moment to show its furry head. She was relieved when Molly popped out from behind the furnace, wiping her hands on a rag.

  Jess should have known Molly wouldn’t desert her. She must have snuck down the outside hatch so she could tidy up, which explained the suspicious absence of mouse droppings on the floor. Jess noticed a few tools leaning against the wall—a broom, a mop, and hey, was that the manure shovel? Molly must have been using it for a dustpan.

  “This heater sure works,” Molly said brightly. “Keeps us snug as bugs in rugs. My husband cares for it like it’s his own baby, so it’s not only a rare antique; it’s also in perfect working order.”

  The Dude looked a bit puzzled as he strolled around the Beast. Jess knew the constant care her father supposedly lavished on the thing actually consisted of a good swift kick now and then and hoped the Dude wouldn’t notice the dents.

  “I know it’s warm today, but could you fire the thing up for us? We’d like to make sure it works.”

  Jess frowned. Turning on the heater for the first time in the fall usually sent clouds of stale-scented dust flying from the floor registers. Val might have known how to say no to a buyer, but Jess felt trapped.