How to Kiss a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  “I’d like to use firearms, but it’s not an option,” Brady said. “This is a persuasive sort of posse. We’re going to talk Cooter Banks into letting us take the horse he stole back to the rightful owner.”

  “Cooter has Speedo?”

  Brady nodded. “He sent a ransom note to Suze. It was anonymous, but it was pretty obvious who it was from.”

  “So Suze knows?” Shane asked.

  Brady shook his head. “Um, no.”

  “Then how did you explain the ransom note?”

  “I didn’t.” Brady squirmed under his oldest brother’s dark-eyed stare.

  “So you opened her mail?”

  “I did.” Brady squared his shoulders. He wasn’t doing anything terrible. He was just getting the horse back. As long as Speedo was okay, Suze would be happy and Brady would be off the hook.

  Shane didn’t say anything more, but those eyes stayed on Brady, their expression a mixture of disappointment and surprise.

  “I didn’t want her to worry,” Brady said. “I can tell her after Speedo’s safe and sound.”

  “Sure you can,” Shane said. “Sure. She won’t notice anything if the horse has been neglected or underfed.”

  “Yeah,” Ridge said. “She’ll just blame me.”

  Brady squirmed. He had no doubt Cooter was guilty on both counts, and he didn’t want Ridge’s reputation to suffer for his screwup.

  Cooter lived in a single-wide trailer that was set against a hillside on a broad stretch of rocky land. A sagging barbed-wire fence marked off a pasture area that was mostly dirt. Two shaggy horses pricked their ears up as Brady drove the pickup up the drive.

  After he parked the truck, Shane walked around to the back and opened the horse trailer, dropping the ramp.

  “We might be persuasive, but if I lived out here, I’d be armed,” Shane said. “We might have to move fast.”

  “Good point,” Brady said.

  There were lights on in the trailer, but no one appeared at the window or cracked the door open. Brady was surprised. Living out here, an unexpected guest could mean trouble, and Cooter must have heard them.

  “How are we going to do this?” Ridge asked.

  “Let’s check that shed over there.” Brady pointed toward a structure behind the trailer. “Make sure Speedo’s here before we start trouble.”

  “We’re not starting anything,” Shane said.

  Brady bristled. “If he’s got that horse—”

  “Then he started the trouble.” Shane shot an elbow into Brady’s ribs. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  They strode out to the shed, if you could even call it that. The whole thing leaned to one side, and the windward side had slumped nearly to the ground. Boards and shingles lay all around it. It was hardly an appropriate place to keep a sixty-thousand-dollar barrel horse.

  Ridge lifted a rusty latch and the plank door creaked open. The interior of the shed was dark, but not dark enough to hide a white heart that seemed to float at eye level.

  “Speedo,” Brady breathed. He’d know that heart-shaped blaze anywhere. “Thank God.”

  “I’ll load him up,” Ridge said. “We need to keep quiet.”

  Brady didn’t want to be quiet. He’d wanted to punch Cooter ever since that breakfast meeting, and seeing Speedo housed in a dirty old shed made him even madder. His hands clenched and unclenched, his palms literally itching for a fight. But keeping Speedo safe was the priority.

  The horse had retreated to the back of the shed. Ridge stepped inside, muttering sweet nothings, but the horse was twitchy, shying away when Ridge reached for his halter.

  Brady muttered a few things too, but they were hardly sweet. It was obvious Speedo hadn’t been treated well. As Ridge led him out, the fading sunlight revealed his dull, ungroomed coat. He swung his head up and pulled away from Ridge, almost making him lose his grip.

  But when he saw the trailer, he calmed.

  “It’s like he knows he’s going home,” Brady said.

  “He does.” Ridge read horses better than anyone Brady knew. His quiet strength was a calming influence, and by the time he’d settled Speedo in the trailer, the horse was comfortably munching hay, as if nothing had ever happened.

  “It’s your call, Brady,” Shane said. “Do we go home, or do we rouse Cooter?”

  In response, Brady strode up to the trailer. It was a sorry sight, almost as sorry as the shed where Speedo had been hidden. Siding was peeling off in long strips that flapped in the wind, and there was no skirting to hide the concrete blocks it was mounted on. A swamp cooler on the roof rumbled and coughed.

  “Maybe he couldn’t hear us over the swamp cooler,” Shane said.

  “Maybe.” Brady finally got to use his fist. It felt good, even if it was just pounding on the door.

  “Open up, Cooter,” he said. “We know you’re in there.”

  A light flicked on over the door, but that was the only sign of life.

  “Let us in, or we’ll call the sheriff,” Brady said. “He’d be mighty interested in that letter you sent. You know horse stealing’s a federal offense?”

  He had no idea if that was true, but Wyoming took the crime of horse stealing very seriously. The days of frontier justice were over, but there’d been a time when Cooter would have found himself the guest of honor at a necktie party—more commonly known as a hangin’.

  Brady started to pound on the door again, but it opened slightly. A very wide eye peered out at them over the safety chain.

  It definitely wasn’t Cooter. He didn’t have eyelashes that long, and he didn’t wear eyeliner, as far as Brady knew.

  “Who are you guys?” said a breathy feminine voice.

  “We’re from Decker Ranch,” Brady said. “We’ve come about the horse.”

  “Oh!” The door swung shut and they could hear the woman fumbling with the security chain. A moment later, the door opened wide to reveal a skinny, pale girl with long brown hair that was ragged at the ends. She wore cutoff shorts and a bikini top, and she looked about fifteen.

  “You guys wanna come in?” she asked. “Cooter’s not here. But I could get you some beer.” She bit her lip and glanced back at the inside of the trailer, as if Cooter might somehow be watching her.

  “We don’t want to come in,” Brady said.

  “Okay,” she said. “You wanna buy the horse, though, right?”

  “No. We’re taking the horse.”

  “You can’t do that!” She stepped outside. She was clearly frightened, biting her lower lip so hard Brady was scared it would bleed, and clutching her arms around her middle as if her stomach hurt. But she looked him in the eye, and he could tell she believed what she was saying. “That horse belongs to Cooter. He spent all his money on it, and he’s gonna sell it and make us rich. He says it’s a real good horse.”

  “It is a real good horse,” Brady said. “It’s also stolen.”

  “No.” She shook her head and backed away as if denying it could make it a lie. “It can’t be. He spent all his money on it. That’s why we couldn’t pay the rent last month.”

  “I don’t know what he spent his money on, but it wasn’t that horse,” Brady said. “He stole it. I can call the sheriff if you don’t believe me.”

  “No!” Her eyes widened in panic. “Don’t call the sheriff!”

  Shane stepped forward. “Who are you, anyway?”

  She glanced warily from Brady to Shane to Ridge and back to Shane. “I’m Sharlene. Sharlene Banks.”

  “You Cooter’s sister?” Brady asked.

  “I’m his wife,” she said, lifting her chin as if that was something to be proud of.

  Brady didn’t think he’d ever felt so sorry for someone in his life. Cooter had somehow talked this little thing into marrying him, and installed her in his barely livable trailer to wait for
him while he was mowing through buckle bunnies like a reaper through seed corn.

  “How old are you?” Shane asked.

  “Old enough.” She lifted her chin again. “We are legally married.”

  “Okay,” Brady said. “Well, that horse is legally someone else’s, so we’re going to be going now.”

  “You’re taking it?”

  “You bet,” Brady said.

  “You can’t do that.” Fragile yet determined, she confronted the three men. “Cooter’ll kill me. I’m supposed to take care of it, but it’s mean and I’m scared of it. If he comes home and it’s gone, he’ll kill me.”

  Brady looked from Ridge to Shane. “You want to come with us? We’ll take you someplace safe.”

  “No.” She skittered toward the door, reminding Brady of a frightened mouse. “He won’t really kill me. He just gets real mad.”

  Shane set a hand on Brady’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  They piled into the truck, but Brady didn’t start it. Instead, he looked over at the trailer. Sharlene had gone back inside, and the place was silent. “We can’t leave her here,” he said.

  “I’ll send Sierra out tomorrow,” Ridge said. “That kid can’t be more than fifteen. Sierra’ll know what to do.”

  Brady nodded. Sometimes it came in handy to have a social worker for a sister-in-law.

  “Wish I could be there when Cooter gets home.” Brady pictured himself landing a hard roundhouse punch, the kind that shouted “POW!” in comic books.

  “Me too,” Ridge said calmly. “No horse, no wife, no nothing.”

  Shane grinned. “Revenge is sweet.”

  “I’d rather hit him,” said Brady.

  * * *

  Brady showed up at Suze’s house the next morning with a freshly groomed Speedo riding in the trailer behind him. The horse seemed none the worse for wear now that he’d been fed and exercised.

  He’d gotten away with his lies. He should have felt elated, but he felt lower than prairie dog poop.

  Speedo nickered as they pulled up, and Suze appeared at her window.

  “Speedo!” she said. “You brought him! Oh, Brady!”

  Brady gave her a crooked smile. He was Suze’s hero for the moment, but he felt his sin of omission burning in his gut. She still thought Speedo had been with Ridge all this time, and there was nothing to tell her different. Her horse was here, and he was fine.

  Brady didn’t have to tell her what had happened. Not today. And being Brady, he wasn’t about to reveal the truth until he absolutely had to.

  His anger at Cooter had faded as disgust for his own flaws took over. He was a cheat, taking the easy way out, letting Suze think he’d taken care of Speedo when really, he’d almost lost him.

  “But why tell her?” the little devil on his shoulder whispered in his ear. Most people had a little angel on the other shoulder to balance things out, but Brady figured his had gotten disgusted and left.

  He led Speedo out of the trailer and put him in the corral where Suze could see him.

  “You want to come up?” she asked.

  He should. He should go up there and carry her downstairs and take her to see her horse. It was the least he could do.

  But then he’d have to look her in the eye.

  “I’ve got some work to do in the barn, and then I gotta go,” he said. “Sorry.”

  He heard the window screech shut and knew he’d disappointed her. Hell, he’d disappointed himself.

  He was just a disappointing kind of guy.

  Chapter 41

  Brady jammed his hat down onto his head and steadied the ladder he’d leaned against Suze’s big red barn. It wasn’t ideal roof-repairing weather, but the job needed to be done. He’d discovered mildewed hay bales and rotting wood in a corner of the loft a week earlier, and he couldn’t let the damage continue another day.

  The damage he’d done to his relationship with Suze was piling up though. He’d continued to take care of the barn and the horses, and he’d done dishes whenever he could sneak in the house without being seen, but he hadn’t gone upstairs and she hadn’t come down for the past few days.

  It was just as well. A relationship built on deception was no relationship at all. It was better to stay away.

  The trouble was, she didn’t know he’d deceived her. So she didn’t know why he’d suddenly deserted her, either. He had a feeling he’d gone and hurt her again.

  Hard work wouldn’t make up for that, but he had to do something. He planned to get up on the barn roof before the heat of the sun became unbearable, but the wind was whipping up into the kind of tempest that swept up every dead leaf and loose bit of litter and carried them off to Nebraska. Brady knew he’d be okay when he was crouched down nailing shingles, but if he wasn’t careful when he stood up, a gust could easily topple him over and send him skidding down the slope to his doom. He wouldn’t do Suze much good if he broke his own legs trying to help her.

  He watched an enormous tumbleweed bound past and shook off a smaller one that danced across the tips of the grass and clung to his leg. He laughed as Dooley rose from his sentry position on the front porch and took off after the tumbleweed with great leaps, barking as he ran.

  With one hand pressing his old straw hat to his head, he started up the ladder. The wind was no friend to broad-brimmed cowboy hats, but in the thin air of the high plains, he’d get one heck of a sunburn if he didn’t wear one, and this particular one was a tight enough fit to stick.

  Dooley had returned from his hunt, carrying his head high as he pranced home with his prize. Settling at the bottom of the ladder, he began to eat the newly subdued tumbleweed.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that, buddy,” Brady called down, but the dog ignored him. With all that fur in his ears, it was a wonder he heard anything.

  By eight o’clock, Brady had torn off a big patch of old shingles and felt like his skin was dry as an old corn husk from the wind. He sat down on the sloping roof and wiped his brow.

  Demolition was the fun part of a job. Now it was time for the real work.

  He reached for a box of nails, but his clumsy work gloves made him bobble it, putting on a brief juggling act before it opened up and spilled. Half the nails fell down into the mess of weeds below.

  “Dooley, no.” Tumbleweeds were one thing. Brady was sure the dog shouldn’t eat roofing nails. “Leave it. Leave it.”

  Dooley surprised him by dropping the nail he’d caught and lying down with his head between his paws, his back legs sprawled behind him so he looked like a very small, very hairy bearskin rug.

  “Good job, Dooley,” Brady said. “You’re acting almost like a good dog.”

  Brady reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, accidentally tipping his hat back. The wind whipped up as if it had been waiting for that very moment and flipped the hat into the air.

  Cursing, Brady watched his second-best straw hat tumble across the grass and join the tumbleweeds lodged against the fencerow. Well, at least it wasn’t going anywhere.

  But like the wind, Dooley had been waiting for just this opportunity. Yipping happily, he raced across the grass, seizing the hat in his teeth and giving it a good shake, as if it were a rat that needed killing. Trotting back to the bottom of the ladder, he lay down with the hat between his front feet.

  Just then the wind whipped up again and the hat spun out of the dog’s grip, sailing toward the fence again. Dooley chased after it.

  Brady just watched. Heck, it was an old hat, anyway. It might be wearable at the end of the day, or it might not, but Dooley would be a happy dog.

  He fished in his front pocket and took out a bandanna, which he wrapped around his head do-rag style as a stopgap sun block. Then he got to work, sliding the first shingle into place.

  He paused with his hammer suspended above
the first nail. Suze was probably sleeping, but what was he supposed to do? She probably slept all the time.

  He was fixing her barn and entertaining her dog. She couldn’t complain too much if he woke her up. Besides, he had a feeling her annoyance would help her heal. Being mad seemed to give her energy.

  But he wasn’t ready to face her, and he needed a break anyway. Settling down on the roof, he took a can of Coke out of his toolbox and swallowed half of it in one go, then ran the chilled can across his forehead.

  Man, that was good. Nothing like a cold drink on a hot, blue-sky day.

  Looking out over the Carlyle place from this vantage point, it looked almost idyllic. Speedo and Bucket grazed in the pasture. The area around the house was cleaned up, and he’d mown the lawn too. It looked nice. He’d fixed a lot of problems for Suze.

  Did it really matter that he’d had to fix a terrible mistake of his own with that late-night raid on Cooter’s place? He’d fixed the Speedo problem just like he’d fixed the lawn problem and like he was fixing the barn problem now.

  Maybe he wasn’t such a terrible person after all.

  He was finishing off the Coke when the corner window on the second floor screeched open and hit the top of the window frame with a resounding bang.

  “Brady Caine, I always knew you were a pervert!”

  It was Suze in all her rumpled glory. A bad case of bed head failed to spoil the effect of a barely there nightie that was worn to sheer transparency and revealed her black lace panties every time she lifted her arms.

  Brady almost fell off the roof. How was he supposed to do the right thing when she wore that?

  “I can’t believe you’d go that far,” she said.

  He started to speak, but she kept right on going.

  “I don’t care if it’s just a joke. It’s not funny. People expect privacy in their own homes. And you’re not fooling anybody with that toolbox.”

  As a matter of fact, his tool wasn’t fooling anybody either. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get down the ladder.