Reunited with the Cowboy (5 page)

And you sulked the entire time
, John wanted to add, remembering how she would flounce through her jobs as if she wanted to be anywhere else but helping with those “stinky old cows” as she used to call them. But on the Bannister ranch, when work needed to be done, everyone was expected to pitch in, and when the job was big enough, even Princess Heather had to help out.

“I can help load syringes and move cows,” she said. “I know what needs to be done and how to do it.”

Still John hesitated, unable to stop from eyeing her current clothes, which were totally unsuitable for the hard, dirty work. She shoved the sleeves of her silk shirt up her arms, as if already preparing herself for the job. “Just let me help,” she insisted. “Please.”

It was the
please
that finally convinced him.

“Okay. I won't say no,” he said, still surprised at her offer. “But don't say I didn't warn you, Princess.”

Her eyes narrowed at the reference to her childhood nickname. The one her brother, Lee, had used liberally whenever she'd shirked her chores.

“You don't need to warn me. I know what needs to be done,” she said with some force.

John guessed her defensiveness had as much to do with his use of her nickname as his doubt that she could help.

He'd always liked to tease Heather about keeping him on his toes. How she could be so different at times.

It seemed that over the years she had retained that ability. He still wasn't sure what to make of her, or why he should care.

Chapter Five

T
he rain that had been forecast for tomorrow was introducing itself with a light drizzle that was already dripping off the roof, turning the leftover snow into slushy puddles.

Heather pulled her hat—correction, Keira's hat—lower over her forehead and hunched her shoulders against the sudden chill of the cooling air. Sugar was right on her heels as she walked out of the house.

Their dog lived for this kind of work, Heather thought, taking a moment to pat the animal on the head.

Heather herself? Not so much. As she followed John down the path, slipping on the mud the moisture had created, she had a few second thoughts about what she had done.

But Alice's comment, combined with John using her old nickname, had stiffened her resolve. Given her something to prove.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked as she caught up to him. He glanced at her soft leather designer boots, which were the only ones she owned with the right heel for riding. “I didn't think you'd want to get those dirty.”

“They're all I brought, and Keira's feet are smaller than mine. I think Mom threw my old boots out. I don't care about these.”

“Since when? You never even liked to get your pants dirty when you were helping,” he said.

“At least dirt washes off.”

When John shot her a questioning look, Heather wished she had kept the cryptic comment to herself. She could guess what he was thinking. She always liked to look good. Her clothes were important to her.

The past few years, however, she'd changed her priorities. Clothes didn't matter as much, because she knew better what was really important.

“I've got the cows gathered in four pens,” John said, as they got closer to the corrals, the noise of the bawling cows increasing with each step. “We've got to get your horse saddled up first. You still remember how?”

Heather tried not to bristle at his question. It bothered her that he thought she had strayed that far from where she'd come.

“Like riding a bike,” she said, with an airy wave of her hand.

“I'll get the needles and vaccine ready. You get Rowdy.”

She gave him a quick nod, then left for the tack shed, Sugar trotting alongside her.

The building was just around the corner, between the corrals and the barn. As she rolled open the heavy door and stepped inside the large shed, the achingly familiar smells of leather and oil and the pervasive scent of horse washed over her. Nostalgia and yearning followed as she clicked on the light.

Halters and bridles, neatly coiled, hung from hooks along one wall. On the other, saddles of various sizes rested on their racks.

How often had she come running in here, quickly grabbed a halter, then headed out to get her horse? It didn't matter how many hours she had been riding the day before, how many figure-eight patterns she had gone through, how sore she was. Every time she stepped in here, anticipation washed over her.

She pulled a halter off a hook, then found the bridle and saddle Monty had had custom made for her. She ran her hands over the stamping on the cantle, almost worn from years of riding. How many competitions had she ridden in with this saddle under her?

She'd never won very many, but had loved participating. Flying around the arena on Rowdy, reins threaded through her hands, leaning into turns, had made Heather feel fully alive. Barrel racing was the one thing in her life that had given her purpose.

She slung the halter over her shoulder, hooked the bridle on the horn, heaved the saddle and the blanket underneath it off the rack and carried everything outside.

“You stay, Sugar,” she said to the dog as she set the saddle on the hitching rail by the horse pasture. Heather climbed over the fence, whistling at the herd of horses standing on a rise a few hundred feet away.

They lifted their heads, then came trotting toward her, Rowdy in front.

Their hooves pounded on the ground as they picked up speed, dirt kicking up behind them. Just before they reached Heather, they slowed, spinning around as Tia, the lead mare, bared her teeth in warning, keeping the other horses in their place.

“Don't be so bossy,” Heather declared, holding her hand up. Tia shook her head, as if trying to assert her supremacy, but Heather just kept her palm up in warning and walked past her to where Rowdy stood.

“Can't believe you big, tough guys let that little mare push you around,” she said as she reached her mount. He swung his head away at first, but then, as she talked to him, came closer. Heather stroked his neck, rubbed his forelock, then slipped the halter rope around his neck. “Good boy,” she whispered, rubbing him again. “Thanks for not making me chase you down.”

She knew it was simple pride, but she wanted to show John that she was capable. That in spite of the fancy clothes he'd seen her in, in spite of her modeling career, she was still a cowgirl at heart. Still the girl he had once cared for.

“Not that I want him back,” she said to Rowdy as she tied him to the hitching post, voicing her thoughts to the horse. “But I wouldn't mind some simple respect.”

Something she'd always sought, she realized as she slid the bit into Rowdy's mouth and buckled the headstall. That was why she had gone to college. So she could show John she was worthy of him. She shook off the memories, relegating them to the past. She shouldn't want or need John's respect anymore. She was her own person now.

She pulled the saddle off the rail, set it aside, then laid the blanket high on Rowdy's withers and slid it back a bit, just as Monty had taught her.

A few minutes later, she had the cinch tied up snug, the running martingale secured. She took a moment to tug on the stirrups and then walk around Rowdy. It had been years since she'd gotten up on him, and wanted to make sure they understood each other before she climbed on. But as she put her foot in the stirrup, rising up to let him feel her weight, Rowdy stood perfectly still, the only movement from him a twitch of his tail and a flick of one ear.

“Thanks, buddy,” she said, patting him on his shoulder as she settled in the saddle, shifting her weight to make sure the stirrups were still the right length. But all was well. “Let's go work some cows,” she told him.

As she set out, she felt the rise of anticipation from being atop a horse. In spite of the drizzle, a sense of well-being rushed over her. She had a feeling of rightness. Of being exactly where she should be.

John was already on the walkway as she came near, standing slightly above her.

“We're ready,” she said.

“That didn't take long.”

“He was right there. I think he was happy to see me, weren't you, boy?” she said, rubbing her hand over Rowdy's mane. “We're going to have to go for a ride when this weather eases up.” Heather squinted up at the low-hanging clouds, unable to keep from smiling as she thought about going out into the hills.

“Not the best day to work cows,” he said, squinting up at the leaden clouds in turn.

“But Monday will be worse. So let's just get it done.”

“Okay. Here's how we'll do it. I want you to let five cows into the chutes at a time, then close the gate behind them.” He shot her a questioning look and she nodded, tucking Rowdy's reins under her arm and tugging on her gloves.

“Only five,” he emphasized. “More than that and there's not enough room in the chute for them.”

“I think I can count that high.” She couldn't stop the slightly sarcastic quip from coming out. “And if I can't, Rowdy can.”

John leveled her a wry look. “If you prefer, you can give the shots and I can move the cows around.”

Heather shook her head. “I'm better at the counting and sorting. I was never very good at needling. Too scared to jab them hard enough.”

“Like that time Lee tried to get you to needle that cow?” John asked with a mocking grin. “I thought you were going to cry.”

“I did. Mostly out of frustration because you and Lee kept laughing at me.”

“Cows have tough hides,” John assured her.

“So you said, but I kept thinking they were going to hate me for hurting them.”

John's sardonic grin eased into a smile. “You always were a bit of a softy,” he said quietly, his words surprising her.

She looked up at him, his blue eyes holding hers a second longer than necessary.

Her heart slowed at the connection, and for a moment she couldn't look away. It was as if time sped backward and they were just two young kids, eager to spend some time together. Alone.

She shook off her silly reaction. “So, let's get going,” she said, bringing herself back into the moment.

She rode over to the corrals, going around the long way. She dismounted and the cows ran away from her, leaving lots of room for her to close the metal gate behind her and Rowdy. When it screeched, they all started bawling again. As she mounted again, she looked over the gathered animals, which were pushing against each other, lifting their heads to moo in protest.

Heather remembered other times that she, Keira, Lee, John and sometimes Tanner would help Monty out with moving the herd. They'd always made a fun day of it in spite of her reluctance. Afterward, they'd have a wiener roast at the same pit that had been there since forever.

Good times.

“Counting the cows?” John called out from his spot above the melee.

“Trying to see if they're divisible by five,” she yelled back.

John laughed. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sounded so patronizing. I'm just a little uptight about this.”

His apology, combined with his genuine smile, melted her resistance. “Of course you are. Dad was supposed to be helping. Instead you're stuck with Princess Heather.”

“I'd say that's better than nothing,” he said. “But that would be even more patronizing than my counting comment.”

Across the space between them, she felt his look, as tangible as a touch. The cows in the pens, the horse under her, all dragged out memories.

Then she turned away from him, nudged Rowdy in the ribs and moved slowly toward the herd. She had a job to do and she was going to do it. She had no right to entertain any thoughts of John. No right to allow any of the old attraction to seep in.

She'd had her chance with him, and she'd messed that up.

The drizzle worked its way down her neck, but she ignored it. Taking in a deep breath, she nudged Rowdy, whistled to Sugar and moved slowly toward the cows, unbunching them. Rowdy cut out five, and with Sugar herding them in the right direction, they got them through the gate that John held open.

She grinned as exactly five went in. Slamming the gate behind them, she gave him a cheeky thumbs-up.

He returned the gesture and Heather felt the tension in her chest ease.

It would be okay. She could do this.

* * *

John slammed the gate of the chute behind the next five cows that Heather and Rowdy had sent toward him, then made quick work of giving each animal a shot, though he shivered in the rain that had started up.

Part of him wanted to quit as water ran off his hat and down his neck, but he quelled that. This job had to be finished today.

As soon as he was done, he walked over to the head gate, taking his time on the slippery walkway. “You can send in five more,” he yelled over the noise of the cows and the clanging of the gate. The animals in the chute pushed at each other, making the boards creak as they spied freedom beyond.

John glanced back over his shoulder to see if Heather had heard him, but she was already working her horse through the remaining cows, cutting a few away from the herd. Sugar went with her, helping her move them toward the open gate.

She was making her way slowly through the bunch, looking confident and in charge. Her coat held smudges of dirt, her hair hung down her back and the rain had made her mascara run in spite of her cowboy hat.

But it was the smile on her face that caught his attention. In spite of the lousy weather and the chill that was slowly permeating every layer of clothing, she wore an ear-to-ear grin. A genuine smile that looked nothing like the one he saw in the magazines Ellen had saved with Heather's picture on the front.

This expression was the same one she'd had just before every rodeo competition as she'd waited in the alley of the arena, mounted on Rowdy, every muscle in both rider and horse trembling. And when she'd gotten the signal, she would kick Rowdy and bend over him, her face lit up with anticipation.

John watched her for a moment, then caught himself.
Too much living in the past
, he thought as he walked over to the gate to let the cows into the chute. He pushed it open and glanced back at Heather to make sure she was managing all right.

She was leaning sideways, trying to unlatch the gate for the next bunch she and Rowdy had sorted. Though she had done so a number of times, this time she couldn't manage it. Maybe the rain made the latch stick. John was about to go over to help her when she moved Rowdy away from the gate and dismounted.

She tied the reins to the rail, then walked toward the gate. Just as she unlatched it, the cows remaining in the pen suddenly broke toward her, tossing their heads as if in warning.

“Watch out!” John called.

But the animals Heather and Rowdy had cut away caught sight of the ones coming toward them, then turned and spun back just as the others joined them.

In the melee John watched with horror as one of the cows pushed against Heather. Rowdy whinnied as if warning her; Sugar growled, then snapped at the cow's heels, which made it spin around again. Heather grabbed the gate for support, but it swung away and she went down between the cows.

“Heather, Heather,” John cried, vaulting over the fence and running down the alleyway. He slipped on the wet wood, but then jumped over the railing into the pen where Heather had fallen.

He couldn't see her.

His heart in his throat, John worked his way along the fence, not wanting to push more cows toward where Heather had fallen, afraid they might spook and trample her.