One Wild Cowboy

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Emily was already heading toward the paddock where the three mustangs were waiting.

  The younger two had already received their two training sessions for the day. Ginger was still waiting for her second schooling.

  All looked glad to see the pretty dark-haired woman striding happily toward them.

  Despite the way they had parted, Dylan was glad to see her, too.

  “Why does being out on a ranch always make me feel better?” Emily asked the horses as she approached the pasture fence. The three mustangs, which had been standing together against the fence, moseyed over to greet her.

  Emily stepped up on the second rail, the action making her tall enough to reach them. She smiled and ran her hands over the faces of the white filly and the black gelding, offering both a carrot for their trouble, and then turned to the leader of the mustangs, three-year-old Ginger.

  The mare stuck her head over the fence, too, wanting her treat. Emily gave it to her first, then waited to see what Ginger would do.

  Just as she’d done during the past three days of training Ginger pushed her head toward Emily, wanting to be petted.

  Dylan knew how that felt, too.

  Although they had seen each other numerous times over the past week, Emily had managed not to touch him once.

  Or look him in the eye, either.

  He’d given her the space she seemed to require, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss her.

  And that was a surprise.

  Dylan had never missed any woman who had come in and gone out of his life. He’d never allowed himself to do so.

  With Emily, it wasn’t a choice.

  He felt the way he felt.

  Just as she felt the way she apparently felt.

  “How is it,” Emily continued in a soft voice Dylan would not have been able to make out, had he not been coming up behind her, “that horses in general and you in particular always lift my spirits no matter what else is going on?” she asked Ginger rhetorically.

  Dylan wanted to know the answer to that, too.

  Had he been a fool to think—even after the downward turn of their relationship—that Emily had rushed out to see him, as well as the mustangs? That she enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed hers, even when she was still obviously angry with him? Or was he the one believing in fairy tales now? Indulging in wishful thinking…hoping someone would change even when they showed no real disposition to do so…?

  As if sensing the conflicted nature of his thoughts, Ginger nickered softly in response and swung her head toward Dylan, dipping her nose.

  As Dylan reached up to pet the mustang, Emily turned slightly and caught sight of him. He inhaled the familiar scent of her hair and skin. “You look tired.” The words were out before he could stop himself.

  She lifted an eyebrow at the unusual display of over-protectiveness.

  Dylan had to admit he was a little stunned himself. He didn’t usually comment on the shadows beneath anyone else’s eyes. Even eyes as pretty as Emily’s.

  The intimacy in her expression faded as quickly as it had appeared. “It’s been crazy busy at the café all week, from open to close,” Emily said with a shrug. “Even with the tables outside, we are jam-packed.”

  Dylan was glad she was getting her clientele back.

  It was easy to see why.

  Thus far this week, the specials had changed every day. After the success of her free entrée with a cup of coffee, she had gone on to offer a half-price breakfast special—which had been a fruit plate, biscuits and breakfast casserole. The third day it had been all the blueberry pancakes you could eat, for a dollar. This morning, there had been huge fifty-cent cinnamon rolls and coffee. Dylan had eaten there all four days.

  The lunch specials the café was showcasing were just as amazing.

  “I guess the additional promotions and the specials are really working out for you?”

  Emily beamed. “I’ve got all my regular clientele back and then some.”

  “Good to hear.” He liked to see her so blissfully happy and content.

  Emily released a stress-filled breath. “Which is why I need to be out here today. Breathing in the fresh air and spending some time with the horses really helps me unwind.”

  “You could do that at your folks’ ranch.”

  Emily moaned and playfully clapped both hands over her ears. “Yes, but at a price. My parents would want to talk about the financial details of my café.”

  Dylan had wondered about that himself—even though he knew it was none of his concern.

  But as long as they were on the subject… “They might have a point.”

  Emily lifted her hand. “I know I’m losing money, Dylan. I had no choice. Xavier was driving me out of business with his coupon deals.”

  Dylan’s muscles tensed. “How is Shillingsworth?”

  “I don’t know—I haven’t seen him. He put some college kid in charge of the Cowtown Diner and went back to the city a few days ago.”

  This was news.

  Dylan searched her face. “You think he’s given up?”

  Emily bit her lip. “I wish. But…probably not. He’s probably just figuring out some other way to exact revenge on me.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Whatever the situation was, Emily did not want to discuss it. “Enough chitchat. What are we going to do with Ginger today? Put the riding dummy back on her back and lead her around the ring?”

  With Emily’s help, Dylan had gotten the smart, adventurous horse used to the blanket and saddle. Then he’d progressed to the noisy plastic bags tied to the saddle horn. They flapped against her sides, where an actual rider’s legs would go. And finally, a riding dummy that weighed fifteen pounds, strapped to the saddle. Now, she was ready for more. As was the woman beside her.

  “Actually, I had something more exciting in mind. That is if you’re up for it,” Dylan said.

  THIS WOULD BE a whole lot easier if she weren’t still so attracted to the lonesome cowboy, Emily thought as Dylan stepped into the paddock.

  Throat dry, she watched him attach a lead to Ginger’s halter and lead the mustang back through the fenced aisleway to the round training pen.

  As they walked together, he explained, “It’s time for Ginger to get used to the weight of a rider. She likes and trusts you, so I’d like that rider to be you.”

  Excitement bubbled up inside her, along with pride at having been chosen to do this. “I won’t get thrown?”

  Dylan favored her with a sexy half smile. He took the blanket and saddle and put them on the big mustang. “Not if we do it my way,” he said reassuringly.

  While Emily gently stroked Ginger’s forehead, Dylan bent to attach the girths around the mare’s middle.

  “And how is that?” Emily asked, gazing into the horse’s dark eyes. Ginger stared back at Emily, her ears fixed forward, in a sign of happy curiosity and trust.

  “I’ll show you.” Dylan secured the stirrups and walked around to take the mare by the bridle. He stood close to Ginger’s head, on the left. Then gestured for Emily to come around, on his right.

  “I want you to put your left foot in my right hand, instead of the stirrup. Take hold of the saddle horn and lift yourself up, so you are leaning against the middle of the saddle. Stay as erect as you can, to give her a chance to get used to your weight. But you can still jump off and back, away from her, if need be.”

  Ready for action, Emily nodded her understanding.

  Dylan gave her waist a reassuring squeeze. “I’m going to hold on to your left leg with my right hand, to keep you steady at the same time I’m holding on to her with my left hand. Okay?”

  Emily had seen Dylan do the same thing with the riding dummy, so this was merely a reenactment of what they had done the previous day. Only now she would be the rider.

  She looked at Ginger, doing her best to imbue the mustang with confidence and courage, then turned to Dylan. “Let’s do it.”

  The first time she h
oisted herself, Ginger promptly moved in a way that shifted Emily right back off.

  Dylan caught Emily in one arm, holding on to the now-prancing Ginger with the strength and gentleness of his other.

  “It’ll happen,” he told them both softly. “You just have to trust that it will.”

  Emily nodded. Took a breath. And tried again.

  And again she was shaken back off.

  And so it went.

  For the next dozen or so times, Dylan was right there to catch and steady them both.

  Eventually, it became a game.

  Ginger chewed her bit and pushed them both away with her nose, dancing back and forth all the while.

  Emily knew then that Ginger never would be a docile, mutely accepting pet. After all, this was a mustang who was meant to state her opinion often. As if on cue, Ginger turned her head from side to side and whinnied softly, her voice carrying throughout the training pen.

  “We’re going to get through this,” Emily told her, already imagining the day she’d be able to take Ginger on a wild canter through the surrounding plains and meadows. Horse and rider as one…. And then, almost as suddenly, as if she were imagining it, too, Ginger allowed Emily to grab the saddle horn, step up and hold on.

  THE TWO FEMALES WERE a beautiful sight, Dylan thought in satisfaction as he let go of horse and half rider and used the long cloth lead to urge them both to circle the training pen.

  By now, Emily had one foot in the stirrup. Her body was resting against the saddle, her middle draped across.

  Ginger was moving forward, not quite trotting, not quite walking.

  Testing, it seemed.

  Liking what she felt.

  Of being one with the equally feisty and daring spirit that was Emily.

  And just that suddenly, Emily did what they had not agreed upon, Dylan noted furiously. She shifted and brought herself all the way down into the saddle.

  Caught as much by surprise as he, Ginger reared up on her hind legs.

  Emily slid backward.

  Momentarily lost her balance.

  And somehow managed to hang on before all hell broke loose.

  Fear roiled through Dylan as he watched Emily being catapulted off, falling into the wooden-railed side and finally landing with a hard thud on the dirt floor of the round training pen.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dylan didn’t know whether to read Emily the riot act or kiss her. The truth was he wanted to do a little of both. Ginger was equally on edge; the mare had backed up against the wall of the round pen and was standing still, head hanging down slightly, ears up and motionless.

  Dylan swiftly closed the distance between them and dropped down beside Emily, who was now up on her elbows, looking more peeved than in pain.

  He watched her sit up farther and test her limbs, apparently finding nothing broken. His relief morphed into anger. “You could have been seriously hurt.”

  Emily accepted his hand and struggled to her feet. She dusted off the seat of her pants and tilted her head. “But I wasn’t.”

  Dylan kept one eye on Ginger, who was still standing against the wall, watching them both. Figuring the best thing to do was put the horse to pasture, he went back to Ginger and took her by the lead. “If I’d had to tell your parents you’d been injured…”

  Emily came toward them both. “No point in worrying about something that never happened.” She boldly met his eyes. “I’d like to keep going.”

  Wishing he didn’t want to pull Emily into his arms so badly, Dylan said, “You really want to get back up on that horse?”

  Emily removed the elastic band from her hair. “Halfway. No more,” she declared smoothing the dark strands away from her face, putting her hair back into a ponytail. “Just to let Ginger know nothing’s changed, that this is still going to be expected of her.”

  Dylan studied the flush in her pretty cheeks and the furrow of determination formed along the bridge of her nose. “You promise you’ll do what I ask and no more this time?”

  Emily took a step closer and said softly, “I promise.”

  So up she went.

  This time, maybe because she felt she had made her point in tossing Emily to the ground, Ginger accepted the rider’s weight against her side.

  And this time, Dylan did not let go of either of them.

  Half an hour later, they finished the training session on good terms. Emily praised Ginger warmly as she turned her out into the paddock and then faced him.

  In that instant, Dylan noted the stain on the back of Emily’s burgundy cotton shirt. It was right across her shoulders, beneath the caked-on paddock dirt, and he knew exactly what had caused it.

  “Now you are really overreacting,” Emily said, minutes later, after he had said goodbye to Andrew and escorted Emily into the ranch house.

  Dylan did not think so. He tapped her in the vicinity of the spot. “Unless I miss my guess, that’s dried blood.”

  Emily didn’t look all that surprised.

  Which meant that she knew she’d been scraped up at the time. She just hadn’t wanted to stop what she was doing to tend to the skin injury.

  His exasperation with her grew.

  Emily shrugged. “So I’ll go home and take care of it.”

  Feeling the pressure building at the front of his jeans, Dylan decided to dial it back a notch. He had to stop wondering if she missed touching him as much as he missed touching her. He had to stop thinking about kissing her again. Concentrate on the here and now, and the first aid obviously required.

  He eyed her injury, knowing it bore further inspection. Sooner rather than later. Enough time had elapsed already, given the bacteria-laden setting. “How?” he countered. “There’s no way you can reach that on your own.”

  Emily looked up at him. “You’re offering to bandage me up?”

  “Yes.” Figuring enough time had been wasted, Dylan motioned for her to turn around.

  Emily made a face but obliged.

  Dylan plucked the collar of her shirt away from the nape of her neck and peered down. Best he could tell, the scrape was four-by-six inches or so. Smack-dab between the shoulder blades. “I’ll take care of it for you,” he offered dutifully, “but it’s going to have to be thoroughly cleaned first, and the best way to do that is to hop in the shower.”

  Wincing, Emily adjusted her shirt. “You really are a pain.”

  He regarded her with barely masked impatience. “I could always call your family, let one of them take care of it.” Then he wouldn’t have to go through the torture of touching her without making love to her.

  Emily continued to scowl at Dylan. “Don’t you dare.” She sighed loudly and gave him a vaguely accusing look. “And don’t you dare tell them I got thrown, either. My parents would have a fit.”

  And maybe with good reason, Dylan thought, given the poor judgment Emily had shown earlier today.

  Hand beneath her elbow, Dylan steered Emily toward the stairs. “I’ll need the duffel bag in the trunk of my car….”

  He remembered the extension of her closet. No one could ever say Emily did not come prepared. “Give me your keys and I’ll get it for you.”

  Emily dug in her pocket for her keys. “Thanks.”

  Dylan tore his gaze from the enticing flatness of her abdomen. He did not need to be thinking about the snug fit of her jeans any more than he needed to be thinking about the clinging cotton of her shirt. “Towels are in the linen closet. Bathroom’s—”

  “I remember where it is, cowboy.” Emily slapped the key in the palm of his hand, her fingers warm and silky against his skin.

  Because, Dylan thought, she had been there before. Not just upstairs, but in the same place he’d like to have her now—in his bed.

  He searched for some nonexistent gallantry and shot her a glance. “I’ll get you some clean clothes.” And while I’m at it, he promised vehemently, I’ll do my best to obliterate these reckless thoughts before they land us both in hot water.

 
DYLAN WAS AS GOOD as his word, Emily noted. By the time she had washed the dirt off her face, he was back, her duffel bag in hand.

  Unfortunately, the only things in there were another pair of jeans and two pairs of socks.

  He lounged on the other side of the open bathroom door. “Problem?”

  Yes, Emily thought in frustration, there were no extra undies. But Dylan didn’t need to know that, she told herself sternly. Pleasantly, she explained the portion of her predicament she wanted him to know about. “Apparently, all the extra riding I’ve been doing, coupled with my lack of time to get any laundry done, has left me without a clean shirt.”

  “Want to borrow one of mine?”

  Emily tried not to think what it would feel like to be wrapped in his clothing. And not want to make love with him again. “If it’s okay.”

  He nodded, as overtly casual as she. “No problem.”

  By the time Emily got out of the shower, a clean navy blue shirt was hanging on the inside of the bathroom door. He had managed to put the shirt there without opening the door more than an inch or actually coming in. Truth be told, Emily was a little disappointed about that.

  She’d wanted to think she was so irresistible that a rogue like Dylan couldn’t help but make a pass at her.

  Instead, he was nowhere to be found.

  Sighing her disappointment, while simultaneously applauding his good sense, Emily finished toweling off. Despite the warm soak, the scrape on her back was still raw and stinging. She debated over putting on the bra and panties she had just taken off, but they were as sweaty as the rest of her discarded clothing, and she couldn’t bring herself to put them on again when she felt so nice and clean.

  Frowning, she slipped on Dylan’s shirt, rolled up the sleeves and buttoned all but the top closure. The soft navy cotton fabric voluminously cloaked her middle and floated down past her hips. Grimacing, she tugged her jeans on over her bare skin. Luckily, they were one of her oldest, softest pairs.

  Telling herself that her lack of undies didn’t matter—it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, anyway—she put on her socks, bundled her filthy clothing together and headed down the stairs.