Love Me Some Cowboy

by Lisa Mondello

  This one, larger than the last, proved more difficult to rope, evading every one of Cami's attempts.

  "You need to heel him," Holt explained, coming up beside her. "Swing your loop alongside Petunia high and slow. Take your time so you don't rile the herd." He demonstrated, circling his rope level with his shoulder. "Ease it under the calf right in front of his hind legs and jerk hard as soon as his hooves hit the middle of the circle."

  Snaring the struggling critter, Holt dragged him over to the ground team. This time Frank stood back and let the guests flip the calf and hold it for branding. Assured they'd gotten the knack of wrassling, he retreated to the top rail of the corral fence to watch.

  Cami continued to rope the calves. The smaller ones, which she could catch around the neck gave her little trouble. It was the larger ones she had to heel, that were the problem. Time after time, Holt came up beside her and caught the ones she missed.

  Once again he proved the point he’d been making all season. She had no experience. No wonder he refused to consider her a cowboy. How could he, when she couldn't perform the simplest of cowboy duties?

  She progressed through the herd, fighting the dust kicked up by the milling animals. The plaintive bleats of the calves mingled with the concerned moos of their mothers. The stench of burned hide hung thick in the air. The sooner they finished this job, the better she'd like it.

  Attempting to heel an escaping calf, she dropped the rope directly in the path of his hind legs. The second he stepped in the loop, she pulled up sharply. To her utter amazement, she caught herself a calf.

  "I did it!" she shouted. "I got one!"

  From his position on the railing, Frank stood, whooping in delight. Just then a cow slammed against the wooden rail. Frank teetered, fighting for balance. It proved an unsuccessful fight. He fell into the milling cattle, disappearing beneath surging beasts. A cloud of dust concealed him from view.

  Standing at the far rail, Charlotte screamed.

  Chapter 9

  REACTING INSTANTLY, CAMI kicked Petunia in the rump and cut through the herd with desperate speed. "You, cow! Get away from him!" she shouted. "Haul your tail outta there. You tromp on anything vital and I'll turn you into hamburger."

  "Over here," she heard Frank groan, from somewhere beneath a young heifer.

  Pulling up alongside, she shooed away the Hereford and offered a hand. Grasping her wrist in an iron grip, Frank swung up behind her, his right arm pressed to his ribs. Carefully she rode to the far side of the corral.

  Charlotte ran to the gate and swung it open. She took one look at Frank's bruised and scratched face, and promptly burst into tears.

  He slid off Petunia. "Stop your caterwauling, woman," he ordered sternly. "I'll live."

  "This time," Charlotte flashed back, through her tears. "What about next time?"

  Frank grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a quick shake. "Gol'durn it, Charlie, I have had it! I'm clear out of patience with you. I've gotten through the past forty-five years and lived to tell the tale. Whether you believe me or not, I aim to get through the next forty-five the same way. If you want to share any of those years, you're going to have to get over your fears. Because I don't have time to hold your hand and reassure you every time I take a spill."

  To Cami's everlasting astonishment, her sweet, southern, proper momma opened her mouth and shouted, "Who says I want to share anything with you?"

  "I do!" With that Frank tossed her over his uninjured shoulder. Glancing around at the stunned crowd, he inclined his head. "If you'll excuse us, we have a detail or two to work through in private." He stomped across the yard toward his horse. A moment later, he and Charlotte were sharing a saddle.

  Cami watched them disappear over the ridge. It took her a moment to gather her wits to speak. “Well, who would have thought?"

  "Get on with ya, Tex," Gabby groused. "Those two have been circling each other like a pair of wary dogs ever since your momma first stepped foot on the place. A blind man could have seen it."

  "You talk too much, old man," Holt muttered, pulling up beside Cami. He shot her a look of concern. "You okay?"

  "You think she loves him?" Cami asked in wonder, staring after her mother.

  "Let's go for a little ride," Holt suggested. He urged his mount into an easy trot and Cami fell in beside him. "Would it upset you if she did love Frank?"

  Cami frowned, considering. "Not really. I always figured Momma hadn't remarried because she loved my poppa so much no one could replace him. Maybe I was wrong."

  "I wouldn't say you were wrong. Just a bit off base." He hesitated, eyeing her keenly. "She must have been widowed pretty young."

  "Twenty-two."

  "And she's never had a serious relationship since?" Cami shook her head and Holt frowned. "That's a long time to be without someone to share your life with. Think maybe there could be another reason she didn't remarry?"

  Cami regarded him with an intent gaze. "You think she was afraid, don't you? That it wasn't only love for Poppa that kept her single, but fear of getting hurt again."

  He nodded. "Makes sense doesn't it? Isn't that why she came here? Because she was scared spitless you'd be injured in a ranch accident, like your father?"

  "Yes," she admitted.

  He reined in beneath a widespread cottonwood and leaned across the saddle horn. "Care to hear how I see it?"

  "Okay."

  "I don't think she hung around the A-OK out of worry for you alone. I think she also stayed because of Frank. I think she fell in love with another cowman and couldn't decide which was worse. Leaving that love behind, or staying and facing her deepest fear—of losing another man to a ranching accident."

  "She was afraid to love and lose again." She cleared her throat and said daringly, "Sort of like you."

  He reared back and his horse danced beneath him, pawing at the ground. "We were discussin' Charlotte. Let's stick to that, shall we?"

  She took his rebuff with good grace, but gave herself points for a solid hit on the truth meter. "Right before the Western Roundup dance Momma talked about returning home, but she didn't. I couldn't understand why. I guess this explains it."

  "She fell in love with Frank."

  "It would seem so." Cami grinned. "She sure didn't stay because of me. She'd already concluded I could take care of myself."

  His eyes narrowed. "And just how did she come to that conclusion?"

  Cami shrugged. "She knows cowboying is in my blood."

  "That tears it!" He crushed his hat low on his head. "Tex, you and me are gonna straighten out this misconception of yours once and for all. Cowboying is in your blood, is that what you believe?"

  "With all my heart."

  "And I assume cowboying was in your father's blood. And that cowboying is in Frank's blood. But look what happened to them." He waited for his words to sink in, then snagged her reins, drawing her close to emphasize his point. His eyes were fixed on hers, his expression stern and relentless. "Ranch life is dangerous even for a skilled cowboy. And, Tex, you aren't even close to skilled. Get too cocky and you put not only yourself in jeopardy, but others as well."

  "I'd never, ever hurt someone," Cami insisted, shocked. "Why, whopping that snake just about broke my heart."

  "I'm not saying you'd be neglectful on purpose. I am saying that out here ignorance can kill."

  They were chilling words, words he forced her to heed. "You know I try my best," she said in a low voice. "And you know I love this life more than anything."

  "I do know you try," he assured her. "And I know right now you believe this lifestyle is the best there is. But that's because it's a dream you want to fulfill, a connection between you and your father. But for me, it's a permanent way of life. Once you've played out your fantasy and proven to yourself you're daddy's little cowboy, you can pack up and leave. I'm here for good."

  She sat rigid in the saddle, defiance in every line of her body. "You're wrong. And one of these days you'll eat those words.
Whether you're willing to face it or not, you are like Momma. You're afraid of repeating a past mistake, the same as she is." She nailed him with a cool, direct stare. "But a cowboy, a real cowboy, isn't afraid of anything."

  And with that, she snatched her reins free and turned Petunia's head toward home.

  * * *

  "AFTERNOON TEA," AGNES muttered, banging a kettle onto the stove. "Since when do we serve afternoon tea? Where the blue blazes does she think she is, anyway?"

  Cami sat at the table arranging wafer-thin lemon slices onto a tray. "Momma's just excited."

  The housekeeper's expression soured. "About what?"

  "It's a surprise."

  "Well, I don't like surprises." Agnes switched her aggression to Frank. "And what are you doing here?" She didn't wait for a response. "Takin' up space, that's what you're doin'."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Your ranch is thatta way, in case you've forgotten." She jerked her thumb south.

  "Yes, ma'am. Sure is." He yanked on his collar. "That tray ready yet, Tex? Charlie'd like it in the parlor."

  "Sure thing." She handed it over.

  Agnes whipped around. "Parlor? What parlor's that? We don't have a parlor!" she shouted at Frank's rapidly retreating back. She stomped to the sink, muttering beneath her breath. "Flowers takin' up every one of my good pitchers. Next she'll have candles dripping all over my table. Well, I won't stand for it, you hear?"

  "They can hear you in Alaska," Holt said, striding into the kitchen. "What's all the hollerin' about?"

  "Hollerin'?" The housekeeper advanced in his direction. "You haven't begun to hear hollerin'. You know what that silly twitter bug of a woman wants? I'll tell you what she wants. She wants four petties. What in tarnation's a pettie, I'd like to know? I don’t even know how to make one, let alone four of ’em."

  "It's a—"

  "Never you mind." She waved a soup spoon in the air. "It don't matter what it is. I'm not fixing it. Fact is, I'm not fixing another blamed thing until that banty hen's back scratchin' in her own yard."

  "You'd let the guests starve?" Holt demanded.

  "Darned tootin' I would. I'm going to my sister's place. When Miss Fancy Pants decides to hightail her citified caboose outta my path, I'll consider returning. In the meantime, you can go whistle for your vittles." With that she slammed down the spoon and snatched off her apron.

  Cami sighed. She'd learned from their occasional run-ins that Agnes was more bluff than action. The crusty housekeeper just needed to feel needed, to feel one of the family. "They're going to announce their engagement," she explained.

  Agnes stopped dead. "Come again?"

  "Momma and Frank. That's the surprise. That's why she'd like everything all elegant and everything. They're going to announce their engagement."

  "Well, now. Well..." Temporarily speechless, Agnes sat down at the table. "You don't say. Why doesn't anybody tell me these things? Don't I count any more?" She rounded on Holt. "Did you know about this?"

  He shrugged. "I suspected."

  She shook her head in wonder. "I'll be. A weddin'." She sniffed, dabbing the corner of her eye with a dishrag. "I always did have a soft spot for a weddin'."

  "Momma's being very brave," Cami said, shooting a sidelong glance at Holt. "Ever since Poppa died, she's been a bit gun shy."

  Agnes nodded sagely. "She's not the only one. I know someone else who's gun shy when it comes to trippin' down the aisle again."

  "It's because of that city slicker," Cami said.

  "They're the ruination of many a fine man," the housekeeper concurred, with a surprisingly companionable nod. "A rancher needs a proper wife who'll stick by him through the hard times as well as the good." She stared at Cami, her eyes narrowing. "Somebody like you, Tex."

  So she'd finally been accepted by the ornery woman. Cami buried a smile. "You're forgetting. I'm a city slicker, too."

  "Maybe. But you're a cowboy at heart," Agnes insisted, giving her official stamp of approval.

  "That's not possible," Cami heaved a sigh. "I have it on very good authority that cowboys are heartless."

  Agnes reared back. "Who told you that?"

  "Holt."

  He hurled his hat to the floor. "That's not what I said and you damned well know it."

  Cami jumped to her feet. "You said that cowboying isn't in the blood or in the heart. But if it's not there, I'd like to know just where the heck it is."

  He thrust his face into hers. "I said, you crazy female, that cowboying is a learned skill, not a state of mind."

  "You think a body can't be a cowboy unless they're born and grow up on a ranch." She planted her hands on her hips, refusing to back down. "Well, I'm here to tell you, you're wrong."

  Agnes looked from one to the other. Then she folded her arms across her ample bosom. "Amen to that, sister," she said, with a decisive switch of allegiance.

  He spun in his tracks. "You have a hell of a lot to say for somebody who doesn't work for me any more." Then he turned on Cami, jabbing an index finger beneath her nose. "As for you, I won't be conned by another city slicker. You may fool Agnes with your cowboy act, but you don't fool me."

  "Huh!" Agnes snorted. "The only fool I see is standing there flappin' his jaw."

  Holt picked up his Stetson and slapped it on his head. "Woman, if you hadn't already quit, you'd be fired." And with that, he strode from the room.

  "Don't threaten me!" Agnes shot after him. "Or I'll really quit. And then where'd you be? Up a creek, that's where." With a satisfied smile at having gotten the final word, she tied her apron around her ample waist and returned to the stove. "Now. What the Sam Hill's a pettie, do you suppose? Pull my cookbook off that shelf over there, Tex, and look it up. We've an engagement party to plan."

  * * *

  A WEEK PASSED and nothing changed. Though Cami continued to revel in ranch life, she longed to share her excitement and enthusiasm with Holt. But he'd erected a barrier between them, a barrier she couldn't seem to circumvent. Not even with kisses.

  Slowly determination built. Somehow, someway she'd prove him wrong, prove that she belonged on a ranch, that this lifestyle was as much a part of her, as it was him. So she bided her time and quietly went about her job, perfecting her skills, always intent on finding a way to win him over.

  The morning of the weekly wiener roast she noticed him exiting the ranch house wearing a business suit. She pulled up short, her mouth falling open.

  "Good golly," she breathed. "That you, Holt?"

  "It's me, all right." His dark eyes gleamed with amusement. "Close your mouth, Tex. The flies around here are none too tasty."

  "You're in a business suit."

  "Now, don't rub it in," he carped. "Sheer necessity is the only reason I'd torture myself wearing these city duds."

  She circled him. Six feet and three inches of raw, lean muscle filled out a business suit real fine, she decided. Black pinstripe strained across his broad shoulders and molded the powerful muscles of his thighs. A thick leather belt with a rodeo buckle encircled his lean hips. And at his throat, a large silver-rimmed piece of onyx anchored the braided bola that substituted for a necktie. The only familiar articles he wore were his black Stetson and his boots.

  "You sure do look swell," she said in admiration. "Going someplace special?"

  "Not to my way of thinking. I have a business meeting with some cattle brokers. I've found it's smart to look the part of the prosperous cowman. For some reason, they give me a better price."

  She frowned. "But what about this afternoon's horseback ride and wiener roast? Will you return in time for that?"

  "I'll have to give it a miss, I'm afraid. Gabby can lead it."

  Cami clasped her hands together, a sudden thought occurring to her. It was perfect. The perfect way to impress Holt with her improved cowboy skills. "Would you let me lead it, instead?" she asked, hoping it didn’t sound too much begging. Even if she was.

  He didn't hesitate for a second. "No."


  She talked fast. "I remember where to take them. I've been there at least a half dozen times. You just go over the ridge to the rock with the moss mustache and hang a left. Go down the gully past that funny stump that looks like a porcupine with his quills in an uproar. Turn right. Sing one verse of 'The Worms Crawl In.' Hang a sharp left and we're there. Am I right?"

  "Right. No."

  She talked faster. "Once there, I have everyone dismount. Build a fire. You taught me how yourself, if you remember. Roast the wieners. I hardly burn 'em at all anymore. I'd be extra careful this time. I’ll be sure to wait until the cold stuff becomes hot stuff, then yank them out of the fire before we get to the black and flaming part. Not to mention, the face full of water part. That should count for something, don't you think? And I have the songs we're supposed to sing down pat. Eat. I handle the eating part real well. Put out the fire. Come home. What's so hard about that?"

  "Nothing," he said flatly. "But you'd find a way to screw it up, anyway."

  It was difficult to argue with fact. "Aw, Holt..."

  He shook his head. "You're not experienced enough. Gabby will lead the group."

  Crestfallen, she nodded. "Yessir, boss. Whatever you say."

  He smiled encouragingly. "You're doing fine, Tex. No need to rush it. There's plenty of time."

  "Is there?" she whispered forlornly. "The summer's half gone already. And we’ve only galloped that once. I miss galloping." She dared shoot him a hopeful glance. “Don’t you?”

  He hooked her collar and gave a fast yank, tumbling her into his arms. A hard, thorough kiss followed. "Your timing stinks, you know that?”

  She refused to back down. “Name a better time and I’ll be there.”

  He closed his eyes, but the instant he opened them again, Cami knew she’d won. “Tonight.” He set her from him. “Now, I've got to shake a leg or I’ll miss my appointment."

  “I plan to hold you to your word about tonight,” she warned.

  He turned, his gaze practically eating her alive. “A cowboy, a real cowboy is always true to his horse, true to his woman, and true to his word,” he quoted softly. “Until tonight, Tex.”