“Obviously,” Rio continued, shaking his head, “it was a prank….”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Those crazy teens…”
Rio turned back to Dylan. “But as long as we have you here…” He paused, his expression serious. “The sheriff’s department got word late today that your request to put your ranch on the community-service list was approved.”
What? Emily thought in shock.
Rio shook Dylan’s hand in congratulations, then finished cheerfully, “The district attorney’s office notified us that your first juvenile will be coming Monday after school. It’s Andrew Saunders, Simone Saunders’s son.”
Chapter Eight
Emily looked at Dylan, unable to contain her hurt. Maybe it was growing up “McCabe,” but in her world friends and family shared the things that were important…and this definitely fell into that category.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked quietly.
Dylan’s lips thinned. “I had a proposal,” he told her curtly. “That didn’t mean it would be approved by the court.”
And clearly Dylan was not a man who counted on anything before it actually materialized.
Realizing once again how little information she knew about the lonesome cowboy, and how much she wanted to know, Emily touched his arm. She lifted her face to his and drew a breath. “It’s a good thing—what you’re doing.”
He curled his lips derisively. “And that’s a surprise because…?”
Open mouth, remove foot… When would she learn to speak with her head and not her heart, where Dylan was concerned?
“Obviously, you’re a good guy,” Emily sputtered on with as much reassurance as she could muster. “Anyone who works with damaged horses or mustangs has a good heart. No question.”
Her attempts at damage control had only minimal success.
Dylan lifted a provoking eyebrow and waited a long moment. “I hear a ‘but’ in there….”
Okay, so he wasn’t going to sugarcoat this or make it easy. Maybe she shouldn’t, either. The heat of her rising temper warming her face, Emily shoved her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “You’re not usually one to get involved in other people’s problems.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “That one landed on my ranch.”
“So?” Emily reacted in kind, determined to confront him whether or not he wanted her to. “It doesn’t mean it has to keep on being your problem, does it?”
Dylan looked her over in a manner meant to annoy her. “Andrew is curious about horses,” he explained, as if addressing a particularly slow-witted student. “Ten to one, his mom can’t afford for him to take riding lessons. Jobs on ranches usually go to those with some sort of experience.”
Stepping closer, Emily let his condescending enunciation pass. “You’re going to teach him to ride?”
Dylan shook his head. “I’m going to teach him that horses are to be respected and cared for, not terrorized and set free by a group of possibly well-meaning but ultimately destructive teenagers. He’s got to think about the consequences of his actions before he acts.”
Emily hesitated. “And you’re going to teach him that?”
Dylan nodded. “Starting next week after school, when he shows up for his first work session.”
“I DON’T KNOW about this,” Simone admitted Monday afternoon, near closing. “I mean, I’m glad that Dylan presented the option to the district attorney and the sheriff’s department, and that his ranch was quickly approved as a community-service site, but I’d almost rather Andrew be picking up trash on the side of the road. It seems a lot less dangerous than working with mustangs.”
Emily measured yogurt, flour, water and malted milk into a mixing bowl. “First of all, Dylan is not going to put a greenhorn like Andrew in with Ginger, Salt and Pepper.”
Simone watched Emily add the new sourdough to the original starter. “Maybe not deliberately, but what if Andrew doesn’t listen well or follow directions and does something stupid and gets hurt anyway?”
Chances of that were slim, Emily knew, but for someone like Simone—who had no experience on a ranch—the danger of livestock combined with the great outdoors loomed large.
Emily paused to combine both doughs and cover them with plastic wrap. “Would you feel better if I were out there, at least during his first session with Dylan?”
Simone relaxed. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all,” Emily said.
It was a beautiful spring day. Business at the café had once again been woefully slow—while the Cowtown Diner still had throngs of people standing in line to get in. Emily was hoping as soon as the newness of the establishment wore off, business for the Daybreak Café would pick up once again, but there was no guarantee of that.
It would be good to get away. And…she had promised to cook dinner for Dylan this evening as a payoff to the bet they had made. So the sooner she got out there, the better.
“Thanks, Emily.” Simone hugged her in relief. “You’re a real friend.”
Andrew was less thrilled to have Emily give him a ride out to the ranch.
“Did Dylan tell you that you were going to need a longsleeve shirt, jeans and work boots?” she asked. The teen was still dressed in the T-shirt, khakis and loafers he had worn to school that day.
“Yeah. They’re in my backpack.”
A lot of good they were doing there, Emily thought. She smiled. “Why don’t you put them on now? It would be better to arrive at the ranch, dressed and ready to work.”
“Whatever.” Andrew grabbed his gear and headed, slow as molasses, for the men’s room.
Emily glanced at her watch. Because Andrew had taken his sweet time getting over to the café from the high school, they had less than fifteen minutes to get out to the Last Chance Ranch.
“Are you going to be late?” Simone asked, worrying anew.
Emily looked at her friend. This was where being one of four kids who had given her parents their share of grief came in handy. She knew what her folks had done to regain control in any given situation. “Don’t worry about it.” She patted Simone on the shoulder. “Andrew’s accountability starts now.”
And, as Emily expected, Dylan held Andrew responsible from the get-go. “You’re late,” Dylan said.
“If Emily had driven faster…”
Not about to take the blame, Emily lifted a hand. “I was going the speed limit.”
Dylan frowned. “I’m going to have to report that to the officer in charge of your community service, Andrew.” He paused to let his words sink in. “He may extend it, as a consequence.”
Andrew sulked. “By how much?”
Dylan shrugged, unsympathetic. “That will depend on the rest of the report I give. How cooperative you were, what the quality of your work is, how much you talk back to me and so on.”
Andrew glared at Dylan but said nothing more.
Smart kid, Emily thought. Now if Andrew would just turn his whole attitude around….
Dylan handed Andrew a pair of work gloves and a shovel. “Grab that wheelbarrow and follow me.” The two headed off to the stable. Emily stayed where she was, just outside the stable. As she expected, it didn’t take long for the fireworks to start. The exchange that followed could be heard, clear as day. “That’s horse manure!” Andrew bellowed in rage. “You expect me to shovel horse manure?”
Dylan’s boots sounded on the concrete aisleway as he strode toward the door. “Once you muck out the stalls, you’re going to clean them with a disinfectant solution and put down fresh hay.”
More indignation followed from his young charge. “There are twenty stalls!”
“Then you better get busy.” Dylan paused in the open doorway, his expression stern. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to check your work.”
And so it went, over the course of the next three hours. By the time Simone arrived at the ranch at six o’clock to pick Andrew up, her son was filthy, exhausted and even surlier than when he started.
“I’ll see you Wednesday,” Dylan said.
“I can’t believe I have to do this for twelve more weeks!” Andrew muttered, stalking off.
Simone thanked Dylan and left with her son.
Emily turned to Dylan. She had spent the previous three hours gentling the two younger mustangs and was pleased that the same method they’d used on Ginger had worked on Salt and Pepper. “So what next?” she asked.
WHAT DYLAN WANTED to do was forget everything they’d previously agreed upon, take Emily upstairs into the shower with him and then to bed….
That plan was nixed by the vintage Corvette racing up his drive. Emily stared in the same direction as he. She looked shocked and displeased. “What’s he doing here?”
Dylan grimaced and stared at the arrogant teen who was fast becoming a thorn in both their sides. “I’ll find out.”
Emily tensed. “You sure?”
“It’s my property. I’ll handle it.” And protect you from any more hassling in the process. “In the meantime,” Dylan said, handing her the soft cloth rope, “do you feel comfortable starting Ginger’s training session by yourself?”
Emily looked longingly at the mustang. The idea of working with the horse obviously trumped whatever curiosity she had about Shillingsworth’s presence.
“Absolutely. How do you want me to start?”
Briefly, Dylan explained.
Cloth lead coiled in her hand, Emily slipped into the round training pen with Ginger.
Dylan stayed just long enough to make sure the workout started off well, then turned and headed toward the adjacent parking area.
Xavier got out of his car.
Dylan strode toward him. “What can I do for you?”
“I want my shot at Emily, and I’m asking you to step aside.”
If the nineteen-year-old wasn’t so deadly serious in the request, Dylan would have burst into laughter. But it was clear as the seconds drew out that this was no laughing matter. This kid was used to getting everything he wanted, no matter what the cost. He obviously could not handle the fact Emily was not interested in him.
“I want her,” Xavier repeated.
And that was the deciding factor?
“A cougar is the ultimate accessory for a nineteen year old mogul…is that it?”
Shillingsworth’s ears reddened. “You laugh now, just like my dad, but I’m going to be rich and famous, and the success of the Cowtown Diner is just the beginning. By the time I’m thirty, I’ll own hundreds of restaurants, all over the country, from all the different major chains.”
Well, at least they knew the kid had a working ego—and then some. “Diversifying?” Dylan asked dryly.
Shillingsworth adopted a belligerent stance. “It’s smart business strategy. And before you tell me I’m too young to succeed, consider the fact that many of the major companies today were helmed by college dropouts like Michael Dell, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs.”
“I hardly think you’re in their league, given the fact that your restaurant has only been open four days now.”
Xavier smirked. “I’m glad to see you are counting. ’Cause I am serious about doing whatever I have to do to go out with Emily McCabe.”
“Do yourself a favor and accept the fact that she’s already taken, kid,” Dylan said, realizing the words were truer than he wished.
Xavier chuckled. “Women like Emily never stay with guys like you. Sure, she’ll dally with you for a while. You’ve got the whole mustang thing going for you, after all, and she clearly loves horses as much as she loves her café, but at the end of the day, she wants someone from a good family.” Xavier snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait. You are from a good family. Or you were—until you got disowned. At birth, wasn’t it?”
Shock rendered Dylan momentarily silent. “Who told you that?” he asked coolly.
Xavier regarded Dylan smugly. “My lawyer has a P.I. on retainer. It was not hard to uncover. The question is, does Emily know?”
No one in Laramie knew this, Dylan thought. Which was the way he wanted it. He stepped closer, telling Xavier with a look, if he pushed this harassment any further, Dylan would take the gloves off and give as good as he got. “What’s your point?”
Xavier’s glance turned to the round pen, where Emily could be seen working the mustang with long, gentle strokes of the cloth lead. “I’m sure Emily wants a man with a rich, powerful family, just like her own. She won’t be happy, long term, without it.”
Dylan’s gut tightened at the possible truth to the words. “Get off my property.”
“I’m richer…and more socially acceptable…than you will ever be,” Xavier boasted. “So do us both a favor, cowboy, and give the lady to me.”
GIVE THE LADY TO ME. What the hell was wrong with him, treating a woman like a piece of property that could be moved around at will? Dylan fumed, as Xavier got back in his vintage sports car and drove away much faster than necessary, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.
Scowling, Dylan wheeled around and headed toward the round training pen. Emily had finished running Ginger and was now directing her in a counterclockwise motion.
He shut the gate behind him. Emily moved gradually toward him, still working Ginger until the two of them were close enough to talk quietly. “What was that about?”
Dylan shook off the query. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”
Indignation flared. “If it was about me, it’s my concern.”
Leave it to Emily to chide him because he was trying to protect her. “I thought that was my role in this scenario—as your man. To shield you from unpleasantness.”
He watched as Emily turned her body to a forty-five-degree angle to the mustang. She relaxed her shoulders and dropped her gaze to the ground.
Ginger shifted toward Emily.
Emily moved away from the horse.
Ginger followed.
When Ginger nosed her shoulder and hair, Emily turned quietly. Smiling tenderly, she reached up to hold Ginger’s bridle and stroked the white blaze down the center of the mare’s face. The mustang luxuriated in the gentle affection as if she had been accustomed to it all her life, instead of just a few days.
Emily moved her hands over the horse’s body, letting Ginger know she could trust her as much as Ginger already trusted Dylan. “So Xavier still hasn’t given up on me?”
Dylan motioned Emily to return to the horse’s face. He went to the wall and picked up a small featherlight training blanket. While Emily held Ginger steady, he placed the cloth on her back. “What do you think?”
Ginger bucked a little, trying to shake the blanket off.
Dylan calmed the mustang with a touch and a gentle word. He returned to get a light-weight training saddle, and brought it back. He set it atop the blanket and watched Ginger buck a little once more.
As Dylan expertly steadied the mustang, Emily said, “I think I’m going to have to speak to him.”
He reached around and fastened the girths, so the saddle and blanket would stay on. Finished, he stepped back. He motioned for Emily to let go of the bridle. He took the cloth lead and began the process of driving the mustang around the pen, once again diverting her attention from the unfamiliar weight on her back.
Watching everything that was going on Emily kept pace with Dylan.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dylan said as Ginger kept trying to buck the blanket and saddle off.
“Why not?” Being careful to stay clear of the powerful hind legs of the horse, Emily shot a glance at Dylan.
“That will only encourage him. He wants your attention—he doesn’t care how he gets it.”
“Then what do you suggest I do to discourage him?” Emily asked, exasperated. “He’s seen us together on what at least looked like a date. He saw us kissing. He found me here, with you. Judging from what just happened, none of that matters. He still thinks he has a chance.”
Dylan shrugged and stopped driving the mustang away. “We could get
engaged.” The reckless words were out before he could think.
Shocked, Emily turned toward him. “Be serious,” she murmured clearly irritated that Dylan could suggest something so ludicrous. “We’re not in love…not anywhere near it!”
Dylan stepped closer. “So marrying me is out?” he drawled, wondering if maybe Xavier Shillingsworth was right, if—in Emily’s estimation—he wasn’t in the McCabes’ league for anything long-lasting.
“Definitely out,” Emily said firmly.
DYLAN WAS JOKING, wasn’t he? Emily thought. He hadn’t really meant he wanted them to get engaged. Yes, they’d slept together, enjoyed each other’s company and shared a love for horses, but beyond that they barely knew each other! So his suggestion couldn’t have been for real. Perhaps it was some sort of test….
The question was why he’d want to appraise her that way.
Obviously, something had happened in his discussion with Xavier Shillingsworth. Something that he didn’t want to talk to her about…
“You know my reputation with relationships…?” Dylan asked flatly.
Emily nodded. “That you’re never going to be tamed by any woman…so no one would buy us becoming engaged.” She forced herself to be logical. “Least of all my family. And trust me, we really don’t want them stepping in at this point and getting involved.”
Dylan studied her with a brooding expression. “Because they’d disapprove?”
“Probably,” Emily was forced to admit. “Unless they thought we were right for each other.”
Because we were in love.
She fell silent. “Not that I’m interested in giving up my freedom to get married, either,” she said. “Besides, I doubt even that would discourage Xavier. He has such an overinflated image of himself.” She paused. “I guess it’s just going to take time and repeated rejection. Surely, he won’t want to wait around for that long. I mean he strikes me as kind of an immediate-gratification type of guy.”
He gave her a long look. “That’s what worries me.”
Emily waited.
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