One Fine Cowboy (7 page)

“Just a big ass, huh?”

Charlie shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“So where is he?”

Charlie gestured toward the barn, her mouth tightening.

“He’s out there, taking care of the morning chores, I guess. He hurt himself, so I offered to help, but he doesn’t seem to think a woman can handle anything more challenging than a broom and dustpan.”

“I’d say that girlfriend of his handled his money and his ranch for him, wouldn’t you? Left him in a world-class mess.” Doris glanced around at the ramshackle buildings. “I’m thinking maybe I ought to just head home.”

Charlie felt a surge of panic. She had to get Doris to stay. Nate needed the money.

“It’ll be okay,” she said. “I’ve planned dinner, and there’s a bunkhouse we can fix up just fine, if you don’t mind a little rustic atmosphere.”

We
? What was this
we
stuff? And why did she care if Nate needed money? For some bizarre reason she’d just allied herself with a cowboy.

What was she thinking?

She knew the answer to that. She was thinking the same thing she’d been thinking ever since she’d woken up. Her mind kept drifting back to the morning, remembering the warmth of Nate’s hand on her hip, the tender look she’d caught in his eyes before he’d realized she was awake. What would it be like to wake up to that look every morning? To know, first thing every day, that somebody…

No. There was nothing behind that look. They’d both been half asleep. He was probably just trying to figure out who the hell she was.

And if she was going to start making the situation into something more, she’d better get out of here and head home—the sooner, the better. She had The Plan, after all, and hooking up with a cowboy was definitely not on the agenda. In fact, hooking up with anybody was a bad idea. The course of her relationships was always a rocky road—one that generally led both parties off a cliff. That was okay when the guy deserved a long fall with a hard landing, but Nate seemed like a good guy.

Maybe Doris would pay the rest of her portion in cash, and Charlie could get her deposit back and skedaddle back to Jersey before she made some stupid mistake and hurt somebody.

“Rustic’s fine,” Doris said, interrupting Charlie’s reverie. “That’s the way I like it. But I’m not just here for dinner and digs. Can the guy handle horses? Or did I waste my money?”

“He’s good, I think,” Charlie mused. “Really, I wouldn’t know. I’m a psych student, not a cowgirl. I’m here to study inter-species nonverbal communication.”

Doris chuckled. “That’s the fanciest way to say horse handling I ever heard,” she said. “But it’s good we’ve got a trained professional on the premises. With all his troubles, it sounds like Mr. Broke-heart’s going to need a lot of counseling.”

Charlie laughed. “I’m not really a psychologist yet, though,” she protested. “I’m just studying—”

“I know,” Doris interrupted. “Nonverbal communication. That’s probably exactly the kind of counseling our lonesome cowpoke needs.”

Charlie looked down at the ground, suddenly shy. The verbal contact she’d had with Nate had mostly consisted of arguing, but the nonverbal moments they’d shared had been infinitely more successful—if having your insides turned into a throbbing mass of warm, gooey pudding was any gauge of success.

Doris put a motherly arm around Charlie’s shoulder.

“So that’s how it is,” she said. “I thought so. We’re not just going to be training horses here.” She gave Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’re going to be doing some cowboy whispering, too.”

Nate stepped out of the dimly lit barn and blinked in the sunlight. His eyes didn’t seem to be adjusting to the bright light like they should, so he could barely see the outline of a big white truck, with Charlie and someone else standing beside it. Maybe another one of Sandi’s so-called customers had turned up. Either that, or Charlie had gotten somebody to pick her up and get her out of here.

Both possibilities gave him a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Nate.” Charlie trotted toward him, that crazy hair flaring out, then settling, over and over like a candle in a stiff breeze. It made him want to reach out and muss it up. ’Course, she’d probably hit him if he did. For some reason, that realization made him smile.

“You’ve got company,” she announced.

She grabbed his arm and towed him toward a little old lady who had parked one foot on the running board of a customized F-450 Super Duty that looked like it could take on anything the West could dish out. The bumpers were cast steel, the headlights and side windows were protected with metal grills, and half of Wyoming seemed to be spattered over the sides and rear window.

It was some truck. Almost hot enough to distract him from the warmth of Charlie’s hand on his arm.

Almost, but not quite.

“Doris Pedersen.” The lady stepped up to him, hand extended. Nate took it, and she squeezed his hand so hard he thought she’d break it. She wasn’t very big, but she had a grip like a WWE wrestler.

“From Rocky Head Ranch,” she said, pumping his hand up and down. “I’m here for your clinic. Hope you don’t mind I came a day early, so I can rest these old bones. That Ford’s been bouncing my butt for six hours, and I feel like I just got off a shit-kickin’ bronc.” She put a hand on her back and grimaced. “So what’s the schedule?”

“I, uh, yeah.” He sounded like a real smooth operator, he was sure. “We’ll start tomorrow, I think.”

“You think?” The lady’s eyebrows were so light you could hardly tell when she raised them, except her eyes got bigger and her forehead wrinkled up even more than usual.

“I mean, yeah. Tomorrow.”

“What’s the agenda for the first day?”

“The agenda?” Nate could feel his own forehead wrinkling up. He couldn’t widen his eyes, though. The light hurt too much. Charlie had definitely been right about the concussion.

“I chose Package B,” Doris said.

Nate just stared at her. He had no idea what she was talking about. Sandi had offered packages? Heck, she’d never wanted much to do with his package. Not near enough, anyway.

“The three-week deal,” Doris said.

Three weeks! What was he going to do with a stranger around the place for three weeks? He remembered the brochure on Charlie’s front passenger seat. He should have taken a look at it before the wind took it. Figured out what he was in for. Now it was gone and he was flying blind. He had half a mind to saddle up Honey and set off in search of it. If he couldn’t find it, he could just keep going. Maybe ride off a cliff or something.

“You know,” she went on. “The ‘Green Horse, Green Rider’ program. I spend a lot of time on horseback, but I never got to start from scratch like that.”

“I picked that one too,” Charlie said. Her eyes slid over toward Nate, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She was going to help him out.

“That’s the one where we break a mustang to ride,” she said. She winced. “Not ‘break’ it. Gentle it, right?”

Nate nodded, squelching a sudden rush of excitement. The Bureau of Land Management held mustang sales a couple times a month. He’d been cleared as a registered bidder, but Sandi would never let him buy. Said the wild horses were too dangerous.

Now he’d have to. She must have figured out he’d run the customers off the property before he’d let strangers handle his own horses.

“Right. Package B.” He hitched up his belt and stood a little straighter so they wouldn’t know he’d only just come up with a plan. He was pretty sure there’d be a sale on Saturday, maybe as close as Wheatland or Riverton. He could teach the students about conformation and temperament for the next day or two, then have them put the knowledge to work selecting a mustang at the sale.

It would actually be a great experience for them. For the first time, the clinic idea seemed like it might work.

“So where’s the bunkhouse?” Doris looked right and left, taking in the tipsy shacks behind the house.

Nate felt his throat tighten up.

“There,” he managed to say, gesturing toward the dilapidated disaster that had once been a bunkhouse. “I—I’ll need to do some fixing up, though. It’s not quite ready.” He flailed an arm toward the house, wondering how the hell he was going to make that abandoned shed into living quarters for anything more civilized than a homeless field mouse. “You’re welcome to come into the house while you wait.”

“Well, I’d like to get my luggage unloaded,” Doris said. “Can you get me that one out of the back of the truck, at least? It’s got most of what I need to pretty up.”

He wondered if the bag held a full array of plastic surgeon’s tools and a Hollywood prosthetics kit. It would take all that and more to pretty Doris up.

Ouch. That wasn’t nice. Nate would have smacked himself upside the head for being so mean if he hadn’t been hurting so much already. The woman couldn’t help the body God put her in. And she seemed nice enough. Kind of demanding, a no-nonsense sort of person, but nice.

“I’ll be glad to get that for you, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. Maybe a dose of cowboy etiquette would help distract her from the condition of the ranch. After all, she was getting an authentic Western experience here. The place Sandi had shown in the brochure was one of those phony dude ranches, but Latigo was the real thing—a working ranch. Falling down all around them, but still working.

Doris popped the pickup’s tailgate, and Nate reached in for the bag. It was pretty far toward the front, so his fingers barely brushed it and he wound up pushing it farther away.

“Sorry.” He grunted and leaned farther into the truck, but he still couldn’t reach the bag. Charlie made a choking sound, and he turned around to see her covering her mouth with her hand. Her face was red as a side of beef.

“You okay?”

“Sure.” Her voice sounded kind of strangled. “Just—just inhaled some dust.”

Now Doris was coughing too. Must have been something in the air. Nate wriggled out of the truck and patted Charlie on the back. He tried not to smack her too hard, but her eyes got all teary and she bent over double.

“Sorry,” he said. He patted her more gently, and she seemed to get over whatever it was that got her going. Doris too.

Man, his head was pounding. He closed his eyes tight and squeezed his temples, trying to force himself back to normal so he could go after the luggage again. When he opened his eyes, Charlie was hopping up on the tailgate and scrambling into the truck, scuttling to the front on all fours. He couldn’t help noticing how lithe and strong she was, and how her jeans stretched tight over her butt as she made her way to the suitcase.

Junior’s dream mare wasn’t the only one with a perky tail.

“Thanks,” he muttered as she handed him the suitcase. He put a hand to his head, wishing the throbbing would go away. He was perfectly capable of unloading the truck himself if he could just get the laser light show in his head to shut down.

“You okay, son?” Doris asked.

He nodded. “Fine. Hit my head earlier. But it’s getting better.”

“Well, I’m sorry to cause so much trouble,” she said. “I’ll just go inside, if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” he said. “Fine.”

Doris trotted up the front steps, toting the heavy suitcase in one hand like it was Charlie’s dinky little purse. She stopped and turned at the door.

“So what’s for dinner?” she asked.

Nate froze, wondering what the heck he was going to do about feeding her. He rummaged through his freezer in his mind, trying to remember what was in there. There was a brisket, he was pretty sure, and a shoulder roast, but he had no idea how to cook either one.

“Turkey dinner,” he finally said. “It’s real good.”

“Turkey dinner?” Doris made a face. “What, like Stouffer’s or something?”

His mind scrambled. She was on to him. When Charlie put the frozen food on plates the night before, it had looked almost like homemade. He’d thought maybe he could get away with it again, but Doris was too sharp for that.

He did a quick mental inventory of the pantry.

“Spaghetti then,” he said. He could do that. Just boil the pasta, he was pretty sure, and then heat up a can of sauce and dump it on top.

“Oh, yum,” Doris said. “I love spaghetti—’specially when it’s seasoned right.”

Seasoned? You had to season it? With what? He watched Doris stride into the house, slamming the screen door behind her.

“Guess I’d better get to work on that bunkhouse,” he said. He shifted his eyes toward Charlie. “Gee, I’m not sure where to start.”

“Go get a broom and dustpan,” Charlie said. “I’ll dust.”

He could have fallen at her feet and kissed those ridiculous high-fashion cowboy boots in gratitude. She was going to help.

“And get some linens,” she continued. “Sheets, and all the pillows you can find. I’ll try to add some girlie touches, make it pretty. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”

Pretty? Hell, he was just hoping they could get the bugs out. His head was spinning again. “It’s awful in there,” he said. “Nobody’s slept there in years. The mattresses…”

“Take them out and beat them with a broom,” she said. “And open the windows. Let some air in.” She glanced toward the house and her expression grew crafty. “Maybe you’ve got some stuff up in the attic we could use. You want me to check?”

“No,” Nate said. He wished she’d get her mind off the attic. He didn’t want anybody poking around up there, touching stuff, moving it around. Sometimes he liked to go up there and just sit, remembering. Hoping.

It was none of her business.

“Okay. Just linens then,” Charlie said.

Nate turned toward the bunkhouse, humbled by his helplessness. He and Sandi had gotten together right out of high school, and she’d always said he just got in the way in the kitchen. He could barely cook for himself, let alone a bunch of strangers.

“One more thing,” Charlie said.

She was standing with her fists on her cocked hips, her head tilted to one side. Uh-oh. Nate swallowed. “Sure,” he said.

“I’ll help you for a day or two,” she said. “We can make this work. Make sure Doris is a satisfied customer, along with whoever else shows up. I’m willing to do all I can to get you started.”

“Great,” Nate said, honestly grateful. “Thank you so…”

“But you need to get the rest of her payment right away,” she interrupted. “Then you can refund my deposit, and I can get out of here.”

Nate nodded, but the motion set his head to hurting and his ears started to ring. Next thing he knew, a dizzy spell hit him so hard he almost collapsed in the dirt. Must be the concussion.

That, or the realization that he was on his own, playing host to God-knew-how-many aspiring cowboys and cowgirls. How was he going to feed and clean for a bunch of strangers when he could barely take care of Butt?

He shook his head, and the ringing intensified. Closing his eyes, he pressed the heels of his hands into the sockets, struggling to get the pulsing lights under control. When he opened his eyes again, there were two Charlies staring at him.

He stumbled to the steps and sat down hard. His forearms rested on his knees, and he hung his head low, staring at the toes of his boots.

Charlie sat down beside him and heaved a heavy sigh.

“Oh, geez,” she said. “You’re in bad shape, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“Do you want me to stay?”

A thick, strained silence stretched between them while he struggled to answer. Of course he wanted her to stay. Hell, he wanted her, period. He wanted to reach up right now and pull her close, rerun that kiss on the sofa one more time, just to make sure he got it right. But all he could do was sit there, staring at the ground.

“Dammit,” she said. “Don’t cowboys ever talk?”

Truth was, no, they didn’t—not this one, anyway. That was probably why he was so comfortable with horses. Horses communicated all the important stuff with looks and gestures. Body language.

Touch.

That he could handle. He could
show
Charlie he wanted her to stay. He could take her in his arms and kiss her with all the desperation he felt when he realized she could just take off down the driveway, head back to New Jersey. Or he could just look her in the eye, communicating his need that way. Twice now that had worked, forging a connection that bound them stronger than words ever could.

Heck, why did she need him to talk, anyway? Couldn’t she see just from the way he was sitting there, shoulders slumped, staring at the ground, that he was beat? That he needed help?

But women liked words.

He looked up at her. Talking was hard enough when it was just about the weather, or crops. Asking a woman to come to his rescue was about as bad as it got. In his world, men were self-sufficient. They didn’t ask for help unless they were desperate.

Nate reviewed his situation in his mind.

Yup. He was desperate.

“Yes,” he said, finally. “Please.” His voice sounded tight and strangled, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Please stay.”

“Okay,” she said, her posture relaxing. “I guess that’s about all I can hope for. Cowboy eloquence, right? But we need to set some ground rules.”

He nodded, swallowing.

“First of all, no kissing,” she said. “No touching either. And no looking at me like you’re thinking about me naked.”

Shoot. She’d noticed that after all.

“You are
so
not my type,” she said, drawing her brows low over her eyes. “And I’m going back to Jersey when this thing is over. So we might as well stop the shenanigans right now.”

Shenanigans? Was that what they called it in New Jersey?

He’d have to remember that.

“And I’m not staying for you,” she continued. “I’m staying because I want to learn horse training, and I guess I’ll let you teach it to me.”

She took a deep breath, like she was going to make some kind of confession.

“And besides,” she said. Then she muttered something he couldn’t quite hear.

“What?” he asked.

“I think I’m in love,” she mumbled.

Danged if he could figure out how to react to that. A minute ago she’d said he wasn’t her type; now she was saying she loved him. He’d always had a strange effect on the ladies, but this was the weirdest yet. He hadn’t done a thing right with Charlie—well, except maybe that kiss—and here she was already in love with him.

He was going to have to dial down the charm—if he could just figure out what he’d done that was so darned attractive.

She saw his stricken face and laughed.

“Not with you. With Junior.” She shoved his shoulder, joshing him like a kid sister. “I told you, you’re not my type. I mean, you’re a cowboy, for God’s sake. But I liked what happened with that horse. I want to do it again. I think I might like to work with horses more—see if Sadie will let me write this paper, maybe even present it at the conference. I always wanted to work with animals, and I think this might be my ticket.”

She pulled a blade of grass out of the lawn at their feet.

“I think the things you know about horses—about communicating with them—could help people learn to communicate better with each other.”

She looked over at him and gave a little snort of laughter. It sounded a lot like her coughing.

“Not that it’s doing you any good,” she said. “I mean, if you’d paid half as much attention to Sandi’s moods as you do to your horses’, I bet she’d still be here.”

Nate thought about that, then shook his head.

“Sandi didn’t like this life,” he said. “She didn’t like the ranch, the dirt, or the critters. She never would have been happy.”

“I don’t necessarily like those things either,” Charlie said. “But if I had a man who loved me and treated me right, I think I’d be happy most anywhere.”

She stood up and stretched, lifting her arms high above her head, totally unconscious of the way the setting sun outlined her silhouette in amber and peach. With her spiky hair and lithe figure, she looked like a heroine from a Japanese cartoon.

One of the sexy ones.

She looked down and caught him staring. His jaw was hanging open, and he probably looked like a lovesick hound dog.

“Of course, it would have to be the right man,” she said. She spun on her toes and trotted past him up the porch steps. “No cowboys, that’s for sure.”