Love Me Some Cowboy

by Lisa Mondello

  Holt leaned against the fence, his arms folded across the top rail. His shoulders quivered in a most suspicious manner. "Need help?"

  "Oh, no. I'm doing just fine. Thanks."

  She managed to get her legs beneath her and stand. All that starch in her jeans helped. Approaching the horse, she gave a tremendous heave. The saddle whacked onto Petunia's back, stirrups and straps flying. The horse snorted, kicking at the stirrups. Cami planted her hands on her hips, quite pleased with herself, until she noticed that the saddle horn pointed south, when it should have pointed north.

  She sneaked a glance at Holt. Had he noticed? His shoulders quivered again, which probably meant he’d noticed. Dang. She turned back to the horse.

  A few twists and turns and grunts had the saddle where it belonged. Now for the hard part—getting it connected. Crouching, she peered beneath Petunia's belly at the two woven straps dangling from the far side of the saddle. Large brass rings decorated the ends.

  Connected to the back strap ring she noticed a beltlike contraption. Finally. Something familiar. Something that should be easy and straightforward. She darted under the horse and grabbed the back strap.

  "Ahem."

  Cami glanced at Holt. "Ahem?"

  He nodded. "Ahem."

  "Gotcha."

  She let go of the one strap and grabbed the other, gently easing it beneath Petunia's belly. Now to figure where the darn thing connected. Striving not to appear as green as she happened to be, she poked and prodded. How many cowboy movies had she watched over the years? More than she could count. How did they saddle horses in those movies? A memory clicked into place. The rider lifted something up and...

  Experimenting, she lifted a leather flap connected to the saddle and found a matching ring with several thongs attached to it. Aha! It only took a minute to wind the thongs from the one brass ring to the other. Last of all she tackled the back strap. This one proved easier still, fastening like a belt. Finished, she slapped the dust from her hands, proud as punch. She'd done it. She'd actually done it!

  "You want me to mount up now?" she asked, facing the two men with a broad grin.

  "Boss?" Gabby nodded toward Cami's feet. "Best get those spurs taken care of first."

  Holt nodded. "Climb up on the fence," he ordered.

  Somewhat awkward in her stiff, new duds, she did as ordered, while he strode over to Loco, waiting patiently in the shade. Unsnapping a leather holster buckled to the saddle, he pulled out a tool that looked like a cross between a pair of wire cutters and a hammer and carried it back to her perch.

  "Hold on a sec." He grabbed her boot and twisted, snipping the long, sharp points off her spurs.

  "Hey, there. Whatcha doing?" Cami cried in alarm.

  "You aren't getting anywhere near Petunia with these on your boots. You'd cut her to ribbons." Once he'd snipped the spurs down, he bent in the sharp ragged edges. "Okay. Now you can mount up."

  She climbed off the fence and frowned. Her spurs didn't jangle worth a darn now, but real cowboys learned early on to face adversity. And spurs that didn't jangle were a minor adversity, nowhere near as bad as losing her longhorn cow buckle.

  Assuming a horse was like a car, she approached the driver side of Petunia, determined to get this one thing correct. She'd done a truly pathetic job at roping, worn the wrong kind of spurs, and gotten the saddle pointed backward. She didn't want to embarrass herself further by getting herself pointed backward, too. She closed her eyes and pictured the dynamics involved in putting the proper foot into the correct stirrup in order to end up facing Petunia’s head rather than her tail.

  Satisfied with the game plan, Cami stuck her left foot into the stirrup and grabbed the horn, swinging her right leg up and over. The next instant, the saddle slid rapidly beneath her. She released a muffled shriek and clamped on with all her might.

  Silence reigned.

  Well, she'd done it. She was, indeed, facing the horse's head. Unfortunately she was facing it from the vantage point of the horse's belly.

  Gabby exploded with laughter, toppling from the fence rail. Petunia ducked her head between her front legs and peered at Cami as if she'd taken leave of her senses—which in all likelihood, she had.

  Familiar chap-encased legs appeared beside her. "Tex?"

  She gulped. "Yessir?"

  "You ever saddle a horse before?"

  "No, sir. I sure haven't. And if you look real close at my resumé, I don't think you'll find any such claim."

  "Trust me. I'll give it a real close look." He stooped. "You need some help?"

  "Maybe a little," she admitted reluctantly.

  He reached beneath Petunia and plucked her off the saddle by her shirt collar. "This does not bode well for your future as a wrangler. You realize that."

  "Yessir. I do. Is this strike two?"

  "You could say that."

  He unhooked the saddle and tossed it onto the rail. "Pad first, then blanket. Shake them out, checking for burrs and lumps. They need to be smooth under the saddle," he explained as he went. "Place 'em high on the withers."

  "High on the withers. Got it."

  "Next comes the saddle. Hook the offside stirrup on the horn, so you don't clip her elbow, and put the saddle on her." He glanced down at Cami. "Horn in front."

  "Horn in front. Got it."

  Lifting the saddle off the rail, he dropped it onto the horse's back with an ease she could only envy. Next he ran a hand across Petunia's ribs. "Check her flanks," he ordered.

  "Nice flanks."

  He closed his eyes. For some reason his face went all tight and still and she had the ridiculous impression he was counting. Finally, he spoke again. "I'm glad you approve. You might notice, they aren't moving."

  "No, they aren't," she agreed.

  "Which suggests?"

  "That she's holding real still."

  He released a long-suffering sigh. "It also suggests she isn't breathing."

  Cami stared harder at Petunia's flanks. "That doesn't sound good. Should we be worried?"

  "I'm beginning to think so.” He jammed his hat down and explained, "She's holding her breath."

  Cami nodded solemnly. "Me, too."

  He ignored that. "You can't get a saddle on good and tight when a horse is holding its breath." He gave a significant pause. "Once she releases it, the saddle slips off."

  "Well, I'll be!" Cami exclaimed. "That sneaky devil. She sure put one over on me. So what do we do?"

  Holt grabbed the front cinch and clipped Petunia's side with his knee. The horse exhaled and he pulled the strap tight. In short order, he finished saddling. What had taken her twenty minutes to accomplish, he'd done in two.

  He leaned against Petunia's side. "Like to give it another shot, or you want to concede defeat now?"

  She drew herself up straight and proud. "You're forgetting I'm a Texan. That means I’m tough as nails and danged stubborn to boot. I'll never concede defeat. Long live the Alamo!"

  For the first time, a genuine smile eased his mouth. "You've got grit, I'll give you that."

  "Thanks." She grabbed the reins and gave Petunia a conciliatory pat. "Don't forget our bargain," she warned the horse, and once again shoved her foot into the stirrup.

  This time she gained the horse's back without further incident. Not bad, she decided. Anchoring her hat more firmly on her head, she steered Petunia away from the fence. This was it. Her final chance at the big time. She could do it, no sweat. Besides, how hard could it be?

  With an enthusiastic "Hiyah!" she slammed her newly trimmed spurs into Petunia's sides. She realized her mistake a moment too late.

  Petunia didn't take kindly to having spurs, trimmed or otherwise, slammed into her sides. With a shrill whinny, she launched straight into the air and landed with a bone-shattering thud. Still not having expressed her disapproval thoroughly enough, she took off like a shot. Cami bounced once in the saddle, once on Petunia's hindquarters and once on the ground, skidding to a halt on her much abused po
sterior. Her hat drifted down to settle at her side.

  She struggled to her feet, spitting dirt. "I hope you realize this cancels our bargain!" she shouted after the horse. Reluctantly, she glanced toward the two men. Gabby had fallen off the rail again. Holt occupied himself staring at the ground. She picked up her battered pink cowboy hat and hobbled across the corral.

  "Strike three?" she asked.

  "Strike three," Holt confirmed. He lifted an eyebrow. "You sticking to that story about first sitting a horse when you were a toddler?"

  She slapped dust from her hat. Feathers filled the air. "Yessir. I am."

  "Uh-huh." He eyed her keenly. "I assume that was also your last experience sitting a horse."

  "Yep." She offered a crooked grin. "But look on the bright side. At least this time I didn't break my arm when I got thrown."

  "I'm so relieved."

  She heaved a sigh. "Mr. Winston—"

  "Make it Holt. You've earned the right to that, if nothing else."

  "Thanks." She stared at him earnestly, wiping a trickle of sweat from her brow. "I know it doesn't seem likely, but I can do this job, given half a chance. I'm a fast learner. You only have to show or tell me things once for me to catch on. And I want this job. I want this job more than I've ever wanted anything."

  A deep frown creased Holt's brow. Slowly he shook his head. "Sorry. There's a dozen dudes scheduled to arrive next week and I need a wrangler who can carry his weight."

  "I can carry my weight," she insisted, forcing herself to meet his hard, unemotional gaze. "I can carry more than my weight if it means working on a ranch."

  "Sorry, but I have to pass."

  He turned to leave and Cami knew she'd better talk fast, or her job would be over before it ever started. "Is there anyone else you can get on such short notice? At least give me a chance until you've found a replacement."

  "You have my answer," he said without slowing his gait. Something in his voice warned her to proceed with the utmost caution.

  "If I haven't convinced you I can do the job by the end of those two weeks, I'll go. I'll even refund my wages."

  "No." He kept walking.

  It was all or nothing time. A few more steps and he'd be gone and so would her dreams. "Our contract provides for a two week unconditional trial period," she called after his retreating back. "I'm asking you to stand by your word and give me every minute of those two weeks."

  She saw him hesitate and she played her final card, the one that in ages past would have gotten her a bullet in the gut. "Or don't you stick by your word? I thought a cowboy's honor meant everything to him."

  That stopped him. Slowly he turned to face her. With a low, menacing growl, he snatched off his hat and buried it in the dust. "That tears it."

  "Head for the hills, girl!" Gabby yelped. He hopped off the rail and loped toward Holt.

  Deciding the foreman had offered a decent piece of advice, Cami did some rapid backpedaling. Suddenly the corral seemed a whole heck of a lot smaller. At the rate Holt advanced, she'd run out of retreating space real soon. Perhaps she shouldn't have played that last card with quite so much enthusiasm. "Um, Holt? Mr. Winston? Sir?"

  He continued to stalk her. "You and me seem to have a small communication problem. I think it's time we cleared that up."

  Gabby gained Holt's side and grabbed his arm. "Now take it easy, Holt."

  "Yes. Let's take it easy," Cami agreed, with an urgent nod. "Very easy."

  Holt shrugged off his foreman's hand. "Forget it."

  "It was desperation talkin', not her," Gabby tried to convince his boss.

  "Desperation," she said, tripping over her shiny new boots. "Absolutely. It was desperation."

  Holt snagged a hunk of fringe and yanked her to a stop. "When I'm done with her, desperation won't do her talking ever again."

  She stared in horror at his restraining hand and dug in her heels like the most ornery of mules, pushing against his pull. He let go and she stumbled, sprawling in the dust at his feet.

  Petunia trotted over and shoved her muzzle into Cami's face. Cami shoved back. "Move aside, Petunia. He's gonna kill me, sure as I sit here. And I wouldn't care to have you caught in the crossfire."

  Gabby danced at Holt's side. "She just wants to be a cowboy, is all. She didn't know what she was sayin'."

  Cami frowned. Up until that moment, she'd been in complete accord with Gabby. Now she wasn't so certain. "Wait a minute,” She scowled up at the two men. "If he's going to kill me, I intend to die for the right reason. I did mean what I said. I meant every word. True, desperation encouraged me to say it. But we signed an agreement, and I intend to make him stick to it."

  "What? You... He... I..." Gabby sputtered to a halt and folded his arms across his chest. "I give up, boss. Go ahead. Shoot her."

  Good, old Texan cussedness came to the fore. "Not until I've had my say." She pushed dark curls away from her face and spoke from the heart. "For my entire life, all I ever wanted was to be a cowboy like my poppa. I was born on a ranch. If my poppa hadn't died, I'd have been the sixth generation to grow up on Greenbush land. I know I'm a mite clumsy right now, but give me a chance. That's all I'm asking. You won't be sorry."

  "I'm already sorry." Holt spoke roughly, but she sensed his anger fading. He reached down and held out his hand. "Come on, Tex. As much as the thought appeals, I'm not going to shoot you. Leastwise, not today."

  She took his hand and stood. "Can we come to some sort of compromise? You want a wrangler and I want a job. By the end of two weeks, I'm willing to bet we'll both be satisfied."

  He mulled over her words. His gaze, hard and stern and unrelenting, met hers. "I need a wrangler who can groom horses."

  "No problem."

  "Ever do it?"

  "Nope. But I'm strong and I'm determined and I've never been afraid of backbreaking work. You show me how, and it'll get done."

  "I also need someone who can saddle a horse and stay on it while riding."

  "I guarantee, Petunia and I will come to terms."

  "I believe you, Tex. But that still leaves me short a wrangler who can handle cows and knows how to rope."

  She spoke with certainty. "Give me those two weeks and you'll have all that. Otherwise, I'm gone without a word of complaint."

  He shook his head in disbelief. "You expect to learn everything in two weeks?"

  "Just watch me." She peered at him anxiously. "Does this mean I can stay?"

  Gabby grabbed Holt's arm and muttered, "No sense in turning away help, incompetent though it may be. Get some work out of her for all your time and trouble. Tomorrow you can phone around for a replacement."

  Holt still didn't seem convinced. "Give me one good reason why I should let you stay," he said to Cami.

  "I'll give you three. I like people and I like animals." She threw her arms around Petunia's neck. "And they like me."

  Petunia snorted and swung her head, knocking Cami back on her keister. "See?" Her dimples flashed. "The exception that proves the rule."

  Gabby rolled his eyes heavenward. "Lord Almighty, have mercy. Cuz we're gonna need a heapin' helpin'."

  "Amen," Holt concurred.

  Chapter 3

  THE BEDROOM LIGHT switched on, practically blinding Holt. He sat up cursing. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

  "You awake?" Gabby whispered.

  "I am now." Holt threw back his covers. It had to be serious for his foreman to rouse him from a sound sleep. "What's wrong?"

  "I'll show you, if'n you give me a minute," Gabby muttered. "I'm gonna turn the light off, okay? See if you can get over to the window without breakin' something."

  "Worry about yourself, old timer. I can make it just fine." The room went dark once more. Holt kicked his boots to one side and gained the window without barking his shin more than twice. Quite an achievement, considering his eyes were blurry slits and his brain hadn't sputtered to life.

  "Now, real easy like, twitch that curtain apart," Gabby instruc
ted, "and tell me what you see."

  Holt looked and swore again. "Damnation, I don't believe it." He turned and glared at Gabby. "What time is it?"

  "Four-thirty."

  "Four-thirty? What the devil is she doing up at this hour?"

  "Don't holler at me! You were the one who told her she better not be late on her first day of work." Gabby yanked at his mustache. "You also said, if'n she was, you'd fire her and t'hell with the contract. Those were your exact words. I'll fire you and t'hell with the contract.'"

  "I remember, you old coot. You don't have to repeat it a hundred times." He glanced out at her again and winced. Moonlight spilled over Tex, encasing her in a cold silver glow. Did she have to look so lonely? So vulnerable? So female? And, damn it to hell, even from this distance she drew him on some level, making him wish he were close enough to watch the twitch and tremble of all those curls. To watch the way her blue, blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. To wonder if those dimples were going to take to winking at him. To lose himself counting all those bitty— Aw, shit.

  He pulled back from the window as though escaping the gates of hell. "Late for work does not mean four-thirty and she damn well ought to know that. It's ridiculous. She's got Petunia saddled and everything."

  "Petunia don't 'pear none too happy about it, neither. Not that I blame the poor horse." It was clear from Gabby's tone whom he did blame.

  "I can't help it if the woman has a burr under her saddle about being a cowboy."

  "Yes, you can." Gabby folded his arms across his chest. "She ain't gonna be happy and outta here till she shakes that burr loose. And you're just the man to help her do it."

  The muscles tightened in Holt's jaw. "Fine. When I get up in another hour and a half, it'll be my pleasure to check her saddle blanket for burrs.” Maybe other parts of her, too. “In the meantime, I'm going back to bed."

  "And leave her shivering out there? Look at her. Even her hat's got goose bumps."

  "Those aren't goose bumps," Holt said in disgust. "She's plucked some poor chicken bald and filled her hat up with more of those danged feathers."

  Unable to resist, he peered through the window again and frowned. He hated it when Gabby was right. And this time he was very right. Tex shook so hard she could probably register as a minor earthquake. Didn't she have more sense than to stand there in that cold spring wind? He ought to open the window and blister her ears with a few home truths. That would warm her up. And then some.