The Cowboy and His Baby

by Jessica Clare

  He felt even more trapped when a familiar blonde stopped in front of him.

  “Well, well,” Theresa said, flicking an imaginary hint of dust off his collar. “Look who we have here. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Have I?” Dustin kept his tone friendly even though he wanted to groan with frustration. “Can’t imagine why.”

  “Be careful or you’re going to hurt my feelings.” She mock-pouted at him, her bright red lips full and attention-grabbing. Theresa was dressed to kill in a slinky black number that looked completely out of place in Painted Barrel, not that it had ever stopped her before. She was hot, of course, and he’d dated her a few times before he’d realized what a train wreck she was. Now he spent a lot of time deliberately avoiding her.

  “I’m a mite busy at the moment,” was all he said to her, though he kept his smile polite as he tried to sidestep.

  “You always seem to be too busy for me lately.” Her lower lip thrust out even as she sidled closer to him. “I thought we were dating.”

  “I’m not sure why you’d think that,” he told her politely, removing the hand she put on his chest. “We went on two dates last year. That’s it.”

  “But you haven’t seen anyone since.”

  Now how did she know that? “Does it matter?”

  “Does to me,” Theresa said with a sly look. “If you’re waiting for me, I’m right here.”

  “I’m not waiting.” And before she could give him another pout, he stepped away. Theresa, and her overbearing craziness, was another reason why he was feeling a bit trapped around town lately. It made him a little sad to realize he’d be moving on. He liked working at the Price Ranch. He liked Old Clyde and Jordy, and Eli and Cass, who weren’t here tonight because Cass was feeling under the weather. It was like a little family, and maybe that was why Dustin was feeling the itch to start somewhere fresh. He wasn’t good with family.

  He dropped off the beers to Jordy and Old Clyde, and made his excuses. Told them he wasn’t much in the mood to celebrate and he’d find his own ride back to the ranch. How exactly he was going to do that, he wasn’t quite sure, but the night was young enough, and one of the firefighters had started doing Uber or Lyft or one of those car services in his spare time. Maybe Dustin would call him. Didn’t seem right to ruin Clyde and Jordy’s fun. They’d all had a long spring, with calving season just now settling down. This was their first night to relax in a while and he wouldn’t spoil it just because he was in a mood. So he clapped the two cowboys on the shoulders and headed out the door for some fresh air and peace and quiet.

  Outside, the fresh air was bracing. The moment he stepped out of the crowded bar, he immediately felt better. That was one of the things he liked best about the ranch life—the surroundings, quiet and serene. It felt like the entire town of Painted Barrel was squeezed inside the bar itself. The music was muted, and the air was brisk and had a snap to it despite the warm days, thanks to the mountains. Overhead, the stars were brilliant and for a moment, it felt like he’d left civilization behind.

  A dog whined.

  “Good boy,” murmured a sweet voice.

  Dustin glanced down the wooden front of the bar itself. The building was old, and since it was a “saloon” the owners had done their best to give an Old West feel to the place. It had a narrow covered porch made of wood and a couple of rocking chairs set outside, and near the cluster of cars, there was a hitching post, since one or two old farts still took their horses into town in defiance of modern life. Old Clyde and Dustin had driven into town in Jordy’s Jeep, and Dustin had nearly forgotten that Clyde took his dogs with him. He took them everywhere, and the leashed duo were sitting on the end of the porch, just where Clyde had left them.

  Seated on the ground next to the dogs was his feisty redhead.

  Well, now.

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the building, watching her for a moment. She hadn’t noticed his presence yet, and while the dogs were wagging their tails at the sight of him, they thumped even harder when the woman pulled out something from her sweater and held it up.

  “Let’s see if your owner’s trained you right,” she told them in a low voice. “Who wants to give me their paw?”

  Immediately both dogs offered a paw to her, and she laughed, the sound sweet and full of delight. Hell, upon hearing that laugh, Dustin wanted to offer her a paw, too.

  She gave them another bit of something, the dogs chewing, and he heard the crinkle of plastic.

  “Such good boys,” she told them again, stroking their heads. “I’d take you both home with me if I could.”

  “I think their owner might object,” Dustin drawled, moving forward with deliberately heavy footsteps to get her attention.

  He expected her to gasp and jump up, a guilty expression on her face at being caught, but she only grinned and turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I like your dogs more than I like you.”

  Dustin couldn’t help but chuckle at such honesty. He moved forward, sitting on the railing across from her as she rubbed one dog’s ears and then the other’s. Inside the bar, she’d been interesting, a low-key, oddly solitary figure amid a gang of party-minded people. Here, with the dogs shedding all over her and licking her face? She was radiant.

  He was transfixed. Her hair blew about her face and as he watched, the bigger dog, Gable, climbed into her lap and nearly bowled her over, eliciting a fresh peal of laughter. She looked like a completely different person, and it charmed him. Nothing was more appealing than a woman full of joy at petting an animal.

  If every night in Painted Barrel was filled with a girl like this, he wouldn’t be so damn bored of it all, he realized. When she looked up at him expectantly, Gable still licking her freckles, he crossed his boots and leaned against the rail-post. “I hate to transfer your lack of affection to someone else, but those aren’t my dogs.”

  “Oh.” She looked surprised. “They clearly know you, though.”

  “Yeah. They belong to my friend.”

  She made a face. “The one buying a drink for every single woman he saw in the hopes of getting laid?”

  So cutting, that comment. He loved it, because she wasn’t wrong. “Nah. My other friend, the eighty-year-old sitting back and laughing at the one buying a drink for every single woman he saw.”

  The woman smiled wider. “Well, if it’s not you, and it’s not your friend, I guess that’s all right, then.” She rubbed one dog ear expertly. “It looks like he takes good care of you, doesn’t it, buddy?”

  “You like dogs?” Damn, what was wrong with him? Next he’d be asking her stupid stuff like “Do you like air?” or “Isn’t the weather nice?” Normally he was smooth around women, but it was because they knew how to play the game the same way he did. It was like this one had no idea there was a game, and that intrigued him as much as it left him at a loss of how to make small talk. He could compliment her on her appearance, or her clothing, say something flirty—a dozen things sprang to mind and he quickly discarded them. He wanted this laughing, real person to stay. He didn’t want her to shut down and glare at him.

  “If I didn’t like dogs, I might have a hard time with my line of work,” she said, her tone tart, and when the smaller dog, Leigh, stuck her face into the front of the woman’s sweater, she didn’t get upset or squeal with outrage. She chuckled and carefully removed her, rubbing the thick white fur. “Your dad needs to work on training you better. I think she’d tear me apart to get to my cheese.”

  He frowned, not entirely sure he heard that right. “I . . . uh, beg pardon?”

  She looked up at him again, as if he was an afterthought to the fine evening she was having petting someone else’s dogs. “My cheese. It’s in my sweater.” She reached in to the front of her sweater and pulled out an enormous, square block of cheddar that she’d apparently had stuffed in her bra. “I stopped by the store before I g
ot dragged to the bar and my purse is back at the hotel, so I put it in my shirt.”

  “Well, that’s . . . new.” He rubbed his jaw, fascinated. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.”

  She just chuckled.

  What did a fella say to something like that? “You a big cheese fan?” Smooth, Dustin, real smooth.

  The woman sputtered with laughter. She laughed so much and so freely that he felt doubly bad for making her uncomfortable inside the bar. It was clear that the terse, tight-jawed woman inside wasn’t the one she normally was . . . and he preferred this laughing woman. “Yeah, I guess that sounded stupid, didn’t it?”

  “It definitely sounded odd.” She tilted her head at him and then broke another tiny tidbit off of her cheese block. Immediately, both dogs went to attention. “The cheese is for my pup at home. It’s part of his training.” She gave the bit to the dogs, making sure both got a taste, and then glanced over at him. “I’m a dog trainer on the movie.”

  “Ah. Well, I figured it was either that or you were a lactose vigilante of some kind.” At her smile, he wanted to sit down right next to her and just bask in her happiness, but he didn’t dare. Not when she was laughing and happy and all he wanted in the world was more of that. “I’m sorry about earlier. Ruining your night and running you out of there. Wasn’t my goal.”

  “I see. Is that why you followed me out here?”

  “Nah.” Dustin shrugged, glancing around the quiet streets. “Kinda wanted to get away myself. Too crowded, too loud.” Too much of the same old thing.

  “I understand. I’m not much of a party person myself. I’d rather be with my dogs. The only reason I came out was for more cheese.”

  “That’s as good a reason as any, I suppose.” He couldn’t help but grin down at her. Despite the ugly sweater and the way she shoved her hair out of her face as if it were a bother, she was one of the most fascinating women he’d met in a long, long time. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps it had something to do with her quick and immediate refusal of him—a put-down that his overinflated ego needed, he suspected. Dustin was one of a handful of single men in the area, and probably the best-looking one. That meant if he had his sights set on a woman, he usually got her. It had to be the thrill of the chase, he told himself.

  Or her freckles. He did have a thing for freckles. As she rubbed Gable’s ears, he decided to prompt her again. “So . . . you’re a dog trainer. Do you have a lot of dogs, then?”

  She grimaced, and even that was pretty. “I wish. Right now I just have the one dog, Spidey. He’s for the movie. Because of travel and the job, sometimes it’s easier to focus on one dog and one dog alone—that way there’s no jealousy or competition between animals. If it was up to me, I’d have a dozen like this big boy here, though.” And she fondled Gable’s multicolored ears. “Tell me about them?”

  “Well, that one’s Gable and I’m guessing he likes long walks on the beach. The other’s Leigh, and judging from her personality, she’s a bit more of a Scorpio.”

  Her laughter pealed into the night, and he felt warm down to his boots. “No, silly. What breed are they?”

  “Oh, riiiight,” he said, drawling the words out as he teased her. “They’re from the same litter, actually. Leigh’s the little one, the runt. The mother’s a Great Pyrenees and the father’s an Australian cattle dog.”

  “So mutts, then.” She smiled. “Mutts are the smartest.”

  “Well, these two are pretty damn smart and they’re good at chasing cattle. More than anything, though, they love Old Clyde, and that’s all that matters. He got them as pups after his last pair of dogs died within a few weeks of each other.”

  Her face softened. “Oh, poor man.”

  “Yup. Eli—that’s another cowboy on the ranch I work at—his dog got pregnant from one of the other cattle dogs and him and his girlfriend kept a couple of the pups for Old Clyde so he’d have company. Kept one for themselves, too. Of course, Cass doesn’t really much understand the concept of ‘working’ dog so she spoils all of ’em. I swear when mealtime rolls around, we suddenly have a kitchen full of dogs begging for bacon.”

  “They need a firm hand,” she murmured, stroking one demanding nose. “Treats are nice, but they should be a reward. It’ll make them work harder to please you when they know they’re going to get something great out of it.”

  “That’s what your cheese is for then, I take it.”

  She nodded and then looked sad and distracted. “My poor little Spidey’s giving everything he’s got on set but the director still isn’t happy.”

  Her crestfallen expression made him want to deck whoever was giving her—and her dog—a hard time. “Sounds like your director isn’t much of a dog lover.”

  “No,” she said flatly. “He’s really not.”

  “You want me to go over there and read him the riot act? Get all John Wayne in his face?”

  The woman looked up at him, her eyes shining with mischief. “As much as I’d love to see that, we’ve still got a week of shooting before the movie wraps, and I’d just like to be done.”

  “Well, all right. You just let me know. It’s the least I can do since I ran you away from your beer.”

  She got to her feet, dusting off her pants, and dog hair went flying everywhere. “I’m not sorry. The company out here was much better than in there.”

  He toyed with the brim of his hat. “I’d be flattered except I’m pretty sure you mean the dogs and not me.”

  “I absolutely mean the dogs,” she told him, laughing. “They’re such good boys.”

  “One’s a girl.”

  “All dogs are good boys,” she declared, and was that flirtiness in her tone? He was fascinated.

  “So they are. I stand corrected.”

  She smiled up at him, tucking the block of cheese back into her sweater, and then gestured across the street. “I’m going to head back to my hotel. It was nice to meet you . . .”

  “Dustin. And I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let a lady walk herself back to her hotel at night.” He tipped his hat at her. “So consider me your official unofficial escort.” He was trying not to lay the charm on thick, lest he scare her away. When she hesitated, he continued. “No creepiness or ulterior motives. Here.” He took out his wallet and handed her his driver’s license. “You can hold on to that if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

  She took the license, then hesitated for a moment, glancing down the wide street. “Is it not safe to walk alone?”

  “Oh, Painted Barrel is safe, but I’m a bit old-fashioned, and it gives me an excuse to walk off some of this beer.”

  Her smile grew shyer. “All right.” She pulled out a phone with a cracked screen and took a photo of his license. “Let me send this to Katherine in case I show up headless on the news in the morning.”

  “You wound me. I’m more of an ass man.”

  She blinked, then laughed, handing back his license as she finished the text. “I’m going to ignore that.”

  “All right,” Dustin said agreeably. She wasn’t chasing him off despite some cautious flirting, so it was progress. He thought about offering her his arm, but he didn’t want to make her even more uncomfortable. She was a mite skittish as they stepped down from the saloon’s porch, so he undid their leashes, then whistled and the dogs jumped up to follow him. When her face lit up, he knew that was the right call. And because she got quiet, he decided to be the one to talk for a bit. He told her about Gable and Leigh, how Old Clyde named them after actors in Gone with the Wind, his favorite old movie. How the ranch had six working dogs, all with different personalities, and they all helped out with cattle roundups. How you could never have too many dogs on a ranch, really. She wanted to know all of their names and ages and their breeds, and it occurred to Dustin that he still hadn’t gotten her name.

  Of course, asking no
w might scare her off, he realized as they stepped up to the front of the hotel. He held the door open for her and she paused, looking at him.

  They were both quiet for a long moment, a small smile on her mouth.

  “I guess this is good night,” he murmured.

  “I guess so,” she said, tucking one orange lock of hair behind her ear—which was also freckled, he noticed. He liked that. She opened her mouth to speak, and then her phone buzzed with a text. She pulled out her phone, and then quickly put it away again, her expression changing.

  “Bad news?” he asked.

  “Katherine says I should ask you out on a date.” She averted her eyes, gazing around everywhere except at him.

  “Well . . . I do like the way Katherine thinks,” he admitted, grinning. “But I won’t push. How about I give you my number and if you need to pick up more cheese sometime, you give me a call. I know all the best cheese places in the state.”

  Her laughter was like music to his ears, and she pulled up her phone and typed in the number he recited to her. She bit her lip, then gave him another shy glance. “You know I’m probably not going to call you.”

  “I won’t expect it. But I’ll still be sad if you don’t.”

  “If I do, I expect some wine with my cheese.”

  Dustin laughed. “I think I can manage that.”

  She smiled at him and gestured inside. “I’m going to go now. It was nice to meet you, Dustin.”

  “Nice to meet you too . . . Jennifer? Betsy? Frances?” he guessed, taking wild shots.

  “Annie. No relation to the redhead in the movie. Or the comics. Just bad luck.” She smiled again. “Good night.”

  He nodded, and when the door shut behind her, he watched through the glass until she disappeared up the stairs of the quaint, old-fashioned hotel. Well. That was unexpected. He suspected he’d be thinking about Annie for a long time after tonight, and hoped she’d call.