Tall, Dark and Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  “Whoa.” She grabbed the saddle horn.

  “Loosen the reins.”

  “Won’t he run away?”

  “Nope. Hold ’em like this.” He mounted Jimbo in one fluid motion and held up his hand to show her. “Lay ’em over the right side of his neck to turn him left, the other side to turn him right.” Spinning the gelding in a dizzying demonstration that smacked slightly of showboating, he settled deep in the saddle and the horse stopped short.

  Captain shifted his weight, eager to follow, and she let out a little squeal. Chase’s lips thinned, but he was obviously doing his best to be patient.

  “You won’t have to do much. These guys stick together, so Captain will follow Jimbo.” He gave her a critical once-over. “Keep your heels down, toes out. And hold the reins lower. You look like you’re scared to death.”

  “I am scared to death.”

  “Oh yeah. Sorry. Just remember, you’re on top now, so there’s nothing to worry about.” He grinned and gave Jimbo a click. Lacey clutched the saddle horn as Captain turned and followed. She tried to look straight ahead, because if she looked down, she’d remember how far she had to fall.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Just to those trees.” Chase pointed toward a green smudge near the distant horizon.

  The stupid trees had to be five miles away, but at least Captain was cooperating. He plodded after Jimbo at a sedate, rhythmic pace, his head held low. Lacey rocked with the easy motion and did her best to relax.

  “So.” Lacey could tell Chase was hunting for a topic to distract her from her fear. He’d never been the best conversationalist in the world, but it was nice of him to try. “Once you settle down, what kind of job are you looking for? I take it ranch work isn’t your first choice.”

  Lacey stared down at the horse’s ears. “Real estate,” she mumbled.

  He grimaced, and she rushed to clarify herself. “Not like Trent. I want to find people homes. Find homes that need families, families that need homes… help people build a life.” She stared down at the horse’s ears. “Believe it or not, I wanted to help Conway. Be a part of things, you know?” She sighed. “Trent said I didn’t have the instinct for it.”

  “I think you’d be good at it.”

  Lacey jerked her head up to see if he was joking. Captain perked up too, quickening his steps. She pulled back on the reins, and he settled back into a slow walk. “You think?”

  “You’d be good at lots of things, Lacey,” he said. “You always were.”

  “Cheerleading,” she said. “And dating.”

  “Motivating people. Leadership,” he countered. “Personal relationships.”

  She warmed inside at the compliment, but Chase didn’t know that most of those personal relationships involved fighting off teenage hormone attacks.

  “I never really thought about it that way.” She gazed at the horizon and suddenly realized she wasn’t thinking about falling anymore. The steady rhythm of Captain’s body shifting under the saddle was almost soothing. “This is nice,” she said, surprised. “He’s a good horse, isn’t he?”

  “He is.”

  She looked past Captain’s ears across the prairie. The horses were following a shallow dirt trail, probably made by cattle or antelope, that snaked through the grasses and meandered into some rocks scattered on a hillside up ahead. It seemed like Chase’s horse was following the trail on its own; he sat easily, relaxed in the saddle, holding the reins loosely while he scanned his surroundings.

  He looked good on a horse. At home. She studied his posture and tried to imitate it, relaxing her shoulders, holding the reins a little lower and slacker.

  They started up the shallow hill, winding between rocks that were shaped and stacked as if some giant had left suddenly while at play. One huge boulder sat atop another smaller stone, balanced like the oversized head of a top-heavy snowman. At the top of the hill, a slice of red rock was exposed, standing out against the green grass like the slash of a knife. They followed the gash down into a ravine, Lacey imitating Chase as he leaned back and let his horse navigate the weed-choked two-track.

  When they emerged from the ravine, the land opened up in front of them. Miles of green prairie spread beyond the hillside, cut by barbed wire fences supported by gray posts that leaned one way, then another. The placement of the fences seemed totally random, but the grass and brush that had grown up around them made them appear to be as much a part of the landscape as the rocks and trees. A small building stood a short distance away beside a shallow, winding stream. It was obviously abandoned.

  “Was that a homestead?”

  Chase nodded. “I think it was originally the Galt family place. That stream’s the border between our properties.”

  “Guess we won’t check it out then,” she said.

  He nodded agreement, then tilted his chin toward a few white-faced cattle that were grazing placidly nearby.

  “I need to check that calf. The one Galt shot.”

  “He shot one of the babies?”

  Chase nodded. “Sit tight. I need to rope her and check her out.” He spun his horse and grinned. “This is the cowboy part.”

  He fed out a loop from a coil of rope that hung on his saddle and prodded his horse with his heels, whirling a wide loop in the air before settling it over the calf’s head.

  As he wrapped the rope around the saddle horn, his horse backed rapidly and pulled the lariat taut. The heifer bawled as Chase slid down from the saddle and grabbed her, hefting her into the air and laying her down on her side. Quickly and smoothly, he bound her legs together. She struggled once to rise, then gave up, laying her head on the ground.

  Lacey decided she’d better behave herself. The guy was downright dangerous with a rope.

  The thought gave her the shivers.

  “She looks good.” He leaned over the calf, oblivious to the fantasies floating through Lacey’s mind. “There’ll be scars, but not bad ones. No redness or swelling.” He tugged a small spray bottle from his back pocket and gave the animal a few well-placed squirts. “Fly spray.” Giving the knot a pull, he set the heifer free. She struggled to her feet and stared at him a moment with a bemused expression in her long-lashed eyes before trotting away.

  Lacey tensed and leaned forward to watch her go. As her legs tightened on the horse, she felt his muscles gather beneath her. He’d been restless the moment the rope came out, but now his head came up, his ears tilted forward, and he was suddenly prancing, his front legs dancing in place. She grabbed the saddle horn just as he took off like a stone flung from a slingshot, hurtling toward the herd.

  For a moment, Lacey felt like she was suspended in the air, still seated, her hand still poised in front of her like she was holding the horn, but there was no saddle beneath her. No horse, either. With a heavy whump she hit the ground, her seat-bones taking the impact and sending pain rocketing up her spine.

  Chase was beside her in a heartbeat, his face anxious.

  “Sorry. He’s usually so good. Damn.” He punched his fist into his thigh. “You must have cued him somehow.”

  She tried to give him a smile, but it was a weak, watery one. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Maybe she’d collapsed a lung. She brought her fist to her chest and sucked in the fresh prairie air, once, twice, three times.

  “Oh, lord.” He rolled his eyes. “Now you’ll be even more scared of horses.”

  She felt her heartbeat slow and something moved in to replace the fear. Anger. A much healthier emotion, and more useful. It fed her lungs and heart, giving her strength to sit up and glare at him. “I fell, Chase. Your horse threw me.”

  “He didn’t throw you. He bolted. You just—you just didn’t bolt with him.”

  Dammit, he was suppressing a smile. She could see the telltale twitch at the corner of his lip, the amusement in his eyes.

  “Whatever.” She felt the anger rise, swamping the pain and the fear, heating her up inside and threatening to spill out and set the
grass on fire.

  Chase squinted to watch Captain, who had settled down a few feet away to crop the grass as if nothing had happened. “He’s an old rodeo roping horse. He’s gentle and well-trained, but when he sees action, he goes a little nuts.”

  “A little,” she said. “Just a little. How did he do that? It’s like he shot out from under me.” She struggled to her feet, trying to ignore the pain in her tailbone.

  Chase grinned. “That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it?” His smile faded as she grabbed her back and winced. “Sorry, Lacey. I guess that wasn’t the greatest introduction to riding.” He looked back the way they’d come. “Do you think you can walk?”

  She pictured herself staggering home, defeated, trailing behind Chase and the horses.

  L is for loser. Might as well brand it on my forehead.

  “No,” she said decisively. “I’ll ride.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Don’t they say you should get right back on the bucking bronco when it throws you off?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll do.” She walked over to the horse, trying not to show how much each step hurt, and grabbed the strap of his bridle. “Come on, bud,” she said. “Let’s try that again.”

  Chapter 29

  Chase watched, surprised, as Lacey lifted her foot toward the stirrup. Sucking in a quick breath, she clutched at the saddle, then set her jaw and started to try again.

  “Hold on.” He took Captain’s reins and led the horse over to one of the big rocks that littered the hillside. “Can you climb up there? It’ll be easier to get on.”

  “Sure.”

  He could tell she was gritting her teeth against the pain as she scrambled up onto the rock, but she managed to ease a leg over the saddle as he held the horse steady. He handed her the reins and couldn’t help admiring her courage when she straightened up and turned the horse toward home. It was too bad she was so scared of horses. That kind of determination could make a good ranch wife.

  Wife? Now he was getting way ahead of himself. And way ahead of Lacey. After getting dumped in the dirt by the horse he’d promised would never hurt her, she’d probably run as far and fast as she could once she got away from the ranch.

  He rode home slowly in deference to Lacey’s sore seat, and they barely spoke the whole way. She didn’t have much to say once they got home, either, but she was hungry enough to follow him into the kitchen and help him slap heaping helpings of turkey and ham onto slabs of wheat bread.

  He tilted his head for her to follow and carried his lunch onto the wide front porch, plopping into one of the mismatched side chairs that lined the wall. Lacey stood at the railing.

  “You want to sit down?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “How bad are you hurt?”

  “Not bad.” She hunched over her tailbone like she didn’t want to put any weight on it. “I’m fine.”

  “Fine enough to do a little shooting after lunch?”

  “I don’t know, Chase. I hate to tell you this, but I’m kind of scared of guns too.” She stared out at the road, probably wishing she was home. Her house back in Conway was high on a hill, looking out over miles of green grass waving in the warm Tennessee breeze. Actually, now it probably looked out over a checkerboard of cropped green lawns speckled with brand-new double-wides. His, on the other hand, looked out over a long dusty driveway and a corral bordered by twisted, sunbaked fence rails.

  A dust cloud kicked up in the distance, growing as it neared the ranch. Not many cars passed the place; you had to turn three times onto dirt roads to find it, and there was no indication to the casual traveler that anyone lived out here. Once in a while a lost tourist passed by, or a hunter, but that was about it. Chase squinted, trying to see what kind of car it was. Or was it a truck?

  He glanced over at Lacey. She’d seen it too, and she’d shrunk into the shadow in the corner of the porch.

  “You don’t think…”

  “I don’t know. People don’t come out here often. It’s not an easy road.”

  Lacey was white, her hand shaking as she set down the last bite of her sandwich. As the truck bounced up the drive, she set the plate on the railing and headed inside the house.

  “I’m going out back.”

  Chase remembered the guns he’d left on the picnic table in preparation for their shooting lesson. “Wait. Don’t touch those.” He looked back at the approaching dust cloud. As he watched, the blurred shape resolved itself into Cody’s Jeep, with its tattered canvas top fluttering from the roll bar. There were two silhouettes behind the windshield.

  “It’s Cody,” he said. “Cody and Pam. It’s all right.”

  “Good,” Lacey’s voice called from the back porch. “They can help teach me how to shoot.”

  “I thought you were afraid of guns.”

  “I am, but I just realized I’m more afraid of Wade Simpson.”

  ***

  Lacey hoisted Old Bess to her shoulder, waiting for her heart to speed up, wondering if her chest would tighten with panic, but she felt fine. Strong, even, like Scarlett drawing a bead on a no-good Yankee marauder.

  “Step your left foot forward, but put your weight on your back leg,” Chase said, pointing to Lacey’s still-booted foot.

  “Just make sure you shove the stock into your shoulder,” Pam said from her perch at the picnic table. “Lessens the kick.”

  “You can shoot?” Lacey couldn’t picture her good-natured friend squinting through the sights of a shotgun. Actually, it was weird to see Pam in jeans instead of her ever-present apron. She fit into the warm, homey atmosphere of the café like a native species in its natural habitat. It must be nice to find the place you belonged, Lacey thought. She felt like an imposter everywhere she went, like she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

  “Of course I can shoot. Don’t sound so surprised,” Pam said. “Cody taught me. I hit a tree once.”

  “It wasn’t the one you were aiming for,” Cody said.

  She made a face, and Cody slung an arm around her shoulders. “You have other talents. And really, you don’t need accuracy for self-defense. ’Specially with a shotgun. So here, Lacey. Here’s how you stand. This way your body absorbs the kick.”

  He demonstrated the stance with a beat-up shotgun he’d dragged from the backseat of the Jeep. It had a short muzzle, way shorter than Bess’s. Lacey wondered if it was what they called a sawed-off shotgun. Weren’t those illegal? The thought gave her a shiver of dread, but at least it was Cody’s gun, and Cody was one of the good guys. Having a guy with a sawed-off shotgun on your side probably wasn’t a bad thing.

  Lacey did as she was told, but she had a feeling that if she ever used the gun for real, she wouldn’t be thinking about stances. Hell, she wouldn’t even be standing still. She’d be running away, praying she wouldn’t have to shoot anybody.

  “So who’s this guy you’re worried about, Lacey?”

  “Wade Simpson.” She shuddered. “He was a friend of my ex-husband’s. I think they did some business together, and now Wade—he wants to stop my ex from testifying.”

  “By hurting you.”

  “I don’t know what he wants to do,” Lacey said. “I’m not sure he does. But he said he’d follow me, and now Chase got a phone call from him looking for me.”

  “At work,” Chase said. “He knows she was in Grady.”

  “Better get on with the lesson, then.” Cody adjusted Lacey’s hold on the gun.

  “Let your breath out, all the way, then squeeze the trigger once you’re steady,” Chase said.

  “You don’t hold your breath?”

  “Nope. Let it out.”

  “Holding your breath makes you shake,” Pam added. “When you let it out, you get steady.”

  Lacey let her breath out and felt the world spin to a stop. Focusing on the shotgun’s metal sights, she stared through them at the target the way she’d stared through Captain’s
pricked ears while she rode.

  At least you couldn’t fall off a gun.

  “Squeeze the trigger. Slow.” Chase crooked his index finger to demonstrate. “Don’t pull it. Squeeze.”

  She squeezed. Nothing—nothing—nothing—blam! The gun roared, the stock slammed into her shoulder, and a gash opened near the center of the target—all in a half-second of stopped time. Pam whooped and hopped up and down, clapping her hands.

  “Hey,” Chase said. “That was good.”

  Lacey put the gun down and grinned, admiring her first-ever bullet hole. The shotgun had ripped a nasty gash through the red band bordering the bull’s-eye. It was probably beginner’s luck, and her shoulder was killing her, but there was something satisfying about making a good shot.

  “Try again.”

  She lifted the gun, holding it like he’d shown her.

  “Press it hard against your shoulder. That’ll keep the kick from hurting so much.”

  She snugged the stock into the soft flesh below the hollow of her shoulder, fitting it right over the bruise from the previous shot and trying not to think about what it would look like when she took her clothes off that night.

  It wasn’t like anyone would see it. She was keeping her body to herself.

  Yeah, right. Maybe she should take the shotgun to bed—not for Chase, because he seemed to have the self-control necessary to maintain the employer/employee relationship. No, she’d need it for herself, so she could shoot herself in the foot if she was tempted to sneak down the hall to his room.

  “You gonna shoot or just look cute?” Cody demanded.

  She pulled the trigger again, but this time, she jerked the barrel up and missed the target by a mile.

  Damn. That first shot really was beginner’s luck.

  “Squeeze, don’t pull,” Chase said, reloading the gun and handing it to her. “That way, the shot’ll surprise you, and you won’t anticipate it. Try again.”

  She did, and to her surprise, another gash opened in the target right beside the first one. Pam whooped again.

  “Man, she’s good,” Cody said.