by Stephy Smith
Cheyenne admitted the ease of the work softened her day. The first-day-on-the-job jitters faded with the warm welcome she received from the work crew.
Emory stood on the ground and leaned against the fence holding his side. She reined the horse in the direction of his boisterous laughter and he swung the gate open for her to gather and follow the cattle to the sale ring. With a hushed ease, Cheyenne rode behind the cattle.
She didn’t rush or upset the slow movement of the bovines. All seemed to be content until they reached the doors to the ring. A wily-eyed calf changed its mind and tried to cut back on the herd. Cheyenne sat back in the saddle, relaxed and ready for action, and guided the horse with her knees from side to side until the calf relented and snorted into the small arena.
The auctioneer’s voice boomed his chant. The bids started with the waving card of a cattle buyer from the raised stands. All the buyers could get a look from their seats as they peered down on the pen of well-fed bovines on display.
Cheyenne reined the horse around and rode to Mason and Emory who stood slack jawed with their eyebrows raised. She slid from the horse, handed the reins to Mason. “How was that?”
“Good enough.” Emory nodded his approval.
“Good enough, my left ear. Emory, you know it was more than good enough. Hot flames of fire, that was the best ride either one of us will ever see without going to the cutting horse finals, which I think you should enter Cheyenne and your grumpy bag of bones here in.” Mason rested his thumbs in his belt loops and twisted his body to Emory.
“Give the horse some credit. He has a good handle on him. I wouldn’t mind owning a horse of that caliber, if I could afford him.” Cheyenne reached up and stroked the neck of the bay.
“Tell me, Cheyenne, how does a one hundred, twenty-five pound woman blend to the back of a two thousand pound frame with no sign at all? It was as if the two of you were one entity. The twirl, the sharpness, the awesome power and respect between woman and animal was magnificent. Mercy me, honey, you’re better than the men we have out here. That includes Emory and me.” Mason hooked his arm in Cheyenne’s and listened intently as he pulled her down the alley.
Cheyenne shrugged her shoulders and rattled on about the way her father taught her and Shawnee how to sit a horse before they could walk. Furthermore, she wasn’t sure she even had an answer for his question since her lessons to ride and cut cattle began before she could remember.
The dreamy-eyed Mason probably didn’t pay attention to a word she said the way he was looking at her. She flashed a sweet smile and swiped a strand of hair from her face.
Cool air wrapped around her as she entered the sale barn with Mason. Boot heels and jingles from spurs clicked the marble floor and tuned into the low hum of the men mingling during the break. The cowboys rushed in for a tall paper cup of Coke and then slowly sipped on the drinks on their way back out the door to finish bringing the cattle in for the auction to resume.
Cheyenne placed herself at the loading docks. She directed a truck backing in and raised the door to release the cattle from the bounce and sway of the trailer. One by one, the cattle formed a line and exited down the ramp. Some snorted while others walked about the holding pen below.
Mason rode up on the bay and handed the reins to Cheyenne. “We’re switching for the day. My butt’s sore and my legs are raw. Would you like to grab a tall glass of iced tea or bite to eat when we get done tonight?”
Cheyenne cast a glance at Mason. “You’re putting me to ride pens? I thought my job was to log the cattle in.”
“I got some complaints on the tickets. You ride better than me, but your handwriting has a long way to go to make mine look bad,” he nudged her with his elbow and showed his dimples. “No, I’m sore today and I need a rest. Do you wanna ride pens or not?”
“Yeah, of course I want to.” Cheyenne yanked the reins from his hands, mounted the horse, and pivoted to ride away. She called over her shoulder, “That’s to both of your questions. Be back in awhile.”
There was nothing more refreshing than being on the back of a horse. The breeze on her face warmed her; the view and the sound of bawling cattle caged in the pens sent forth a sense of accomplishment. The smell of cow manure and horse sweat rose in the air. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the sun on her face. A flock of birds fluttered overhead and she peered for a moment, taking in the freedom of flight. Her world seemed to have sprouted wings with the flock up above.
She marveled at the creatures. The way they suspended their tiny feet to make a perfect landing on the fence. She gazed into the tiny golden eyes and continued to the pen down the last alley to take her stance as other cowboys headed their pens of cattle to the ring. She stepped from the horse and loosened the cinch.
Five alleys would sell before hers. She took a seat on the fence and watched the men head their herds down the long aisles, one pen at a time until it was her turn. Only then did she slide down the top rail to the cool sloppy surface below, tighten the cinch and step into the stirrup to hoist herself to the back of the bay. Both horse and rider were silent until their time came.
The rambunctious yearlings rushed from the pen. Some kicked up their heels as if they’d escaped some kind of permanent prison. The crazy critters ran full force halfway down the alley before slamming to a full stop. One of the calves jumped to the side and the others followed. The barn cat decided to put a halt to the noisy hooves pounding the mud slush ground and crossed in front of the bovine stampede.
Cheyenne’s joy faded. What would she wear on her date with Mason tonight? She prayed they’d get off early enough so she could hit the local department store and clean up before it was time for him to pick her up.
Pick her up? She forgot to ask what time he was going to come get her. She was in total surprise at both riding pens and his interest in her. What about her mud-encrusted hair? She couldn’t go without cleaning herself up. She should have begged off before she gave her answer.
****
Shawnee’s eyes blurred from hours of trying to decipher the tiny numbers scrawled on pages. None of the books balanced. She rubbed her eyes. A slight knock on the door gave her a reason to look up from the unreadable pages.
Carla poked her head around the frame. “Shawnee, this man needs to talk to you about his paycheck. Here’s his file.” She crossed the floor and handed the folder to Shawnee.
“Send him in.” Shawnee set her work aside and welcomed the intrusion. She opened his file.
“Emory, come on in.” Carla stood to the side and motioned the man to enter.
Shawnee glanced up at the tall cowboy. A deafening boom roared from somewhere inside. Heat rose from her chest to spread across her face. In front of her was the man she fell in lust with at the Lonely Steer Bar and Grill. An attempt to clear her throat failed.
His clear blue eyes burned with fury. Tingled fingers of terror slithered down her spine. The sausage biscuit she’d eaten crept up her throat.
On shaky legs, she stood and motioned for the man to take a seat. First thing I get is a ticked off cowboy. This isn’t going the way it should. She flipped through the file and tried to keep her eyes on the paperwork.
Don’t say something stupid, Shawnee. Breathe, stay calm. She took a deep breath and looked up at the well-constructed man. Muscles bulged beneath shirtsleeves. Fire darts shot from his eyes, and his broad chest heaved with every breath.
Emory stood before the desk. “What’s going on with my paycheck?” His words chilled the air.
Shawnee searched his file. She quelled shivers and shakes along with the sense of being cornered. Her desire to stay strong pulsed and she straightened her shoulders. “Do you have your check stub?”
Emory pulled it free of his wallet and threw it on the desk. Shawnee glared a moment and snatched it from the flat surface. “If you would sit down, Mr. Creek, I’ll check the numbers real quick.”
“I don’t have time to sit in an office. I got work to do. Just get on with it
, lady.”
Shawnee resisted the urge to slap the feathers out of his butt. She reminded herself not to let this rude, inconsiderate man ruin her day.
With a toss of the wrist, she threw the check stub on the desk and stood up. Her teeth and fist clenched, she said, “Then go do your job and check back with me at lunch.”
Emory gripped the brim of his Stetson. He sneered and stomped from the office. The rowels of his spurs scraped the floor. Shawnee sank to her chair at the unbelievable weakness in her legs. She twirled it around to will tears of anger to go away.
I will not cry the first day on the job. I don’t care what the egotistical cowboy does; he will not make me cry. Anger burned a searing path down her spine. She hated to display emotions when she knew she shouldn’t let his words dictate her.
Carla entered the doorway. “Don’t give him a second thought, Shawnee. He’s usually a sweetheart.”
Shawnee swirled back around and looked to the outer office. “Does he always think he’s hot manure on a silver platter? Well, I got news for him, he’s nothing but cold diarrhea on a paper plate!” She turned back to his file and the check stub.
The numbers and hours on the check didn’t match with the hours on the time card. She didn’t blame the man for being mad. She would be, too, if she’d worked eighty hours and been paid for only twenty. She made the appropriate changes and dwelled on the attitude of the intimidating, ruthless, and downright irresistible man.
“Sweetheart, my rear-end, humph.” Shawnee glared at Carla through the open door. “Only to a dead frog smashed on the highway.”
“Did you say something?” Carla called from her desk.
“No, just talking to myself.” Shawnee slammed the folder shut and placed it on the bottom of the pile. Her hands shook with anger and she needed to calm her nerves. The thought of shredding the file entered her mind, but quickly vanished.
****
Just before lunch, Shawnee sat at her desk and sipped another cup of coffee. Cheyenne stuck her head through the door. “Hey, Shaw, how’s it going in here?”
“Not bad. I’m about done with the stack of paperwork that greeted me this morning. How are things going out back?” Shawnee cocked her head at her sister. A new gleam in Cheyenne’s eyes surprised and thrilled her. It had been a long time since she had seen true happiness on her sister’s face.
“I love it. Couldn’t ask for a better group of people. The men are great and love to help me out. You know, the new girl on the block sort of thing. I’m sure they’ll calm down in a few days. Today the sale will take longer, so we’re stuck here awhile. I best get back to the crew. Talk to you later.” Cheyenne disappeared in a whirl.
Shawnee’s spirits rose. Cheyenne’s depression had kicked their world around for months on end. Even though she felt the strains of the death of their family, she had to stay strong for her sister. She let the weight lift from her shoulders and prayed Cheyenne was on her way to recovering. She breathed a little easier and turned back to the paperwork.
“It’s time to eat. Would you like to grab something from the restaurant with me? They’re pretty fast and delicious to boot.” Carla called from the outer office.
Shawnee tried to put the rowdy cowboy from her mind. Her determination wouldn’t tolerate being busted up by Emory what’s-his-name. Whoever had done the payroll should be horsewhipped. It wasn’t fair she caught all the blame.
Mason walked to the table. “How are things going for you, Shawnee?”
“Fine, I’m getting caught up anyway. Emory came in with his check. He was shorted sixty hours. I have the check ready for your signature.” She kept her eyes on her food.
“Sign it and give it to him. Your name has already been cleared at the bank.” Mason turned and walked away with a to-go bag of food.
She turned to Carla. “I’ll sign it and put it on your desk. I don’t want to deal with Emory anymore today or any other day. Once was enough for me.”
“No can do. I have a doctor’s appointment. I leave in about ten minutes. You’ll have to give it to him.” Shawnee couldn’t prevent her mind from falling into a pit beneath the outhouse. She rolled her eyes and shook with hopelessness.
Carla covered her mouth when she giggled. “Sorry.” Carla grabbed her purse and keys. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good luck. Hope everything checks out okay for you.” Shawnee waved to Carla and walked to her office.
How much worse can it get? The man is only a man, and he has no business treating me or anyone else the way he did. She shook her head and moved toward her desk.
Halfway to the chair, a slight knock stopped her steps. She took a deep breath and called over her shoulder, “Come in.”
“Where’s my check? It better be right this time.” His icy voice sent chills to her soul. She clamped her jaw shut.
“Whoever made out the paychecks made a mistake. I’ve corrected that mistake, Mr. Creek,” Shawnee’s voice was low and cool. She turned and glared at him.
“Better not happen again, lady.”
Shawnee scrawled her name on the check and turned to face Emory. She strolled past him to the door and shut it quietly. “Let’s get a few things straight, Mr. Creek. I won’t tolerate your rudeness in my office. The next time you walk through my door, you had better check your attitude. If you don’t, I assure you, we will have a problem or two. I can, and I will, make your life a living nightmare− sweetheart.”
Emory’s eyes flickered with amusement and then turned back to cold, hard steel. “And you, sweetheart, won’t dictate to me how my attitude should or shouldn’t be.” He stomped from the office, leaving the door open. His tight jeans stretched across a well-defined posterior. The smell of cow manure, horse and sweat mixed with the faint odor of his sweet spicy aftershave.
“Great, Shawnee, that went well,” she whispered to the empty walls. She set back to work, still thinking of Emory. The more work she finished, the more she thought about him. A stapler upside his head was just what she needed to stop his blue eyes from interfering.
Chapter Four
Shawnee loved her new job. For the rest of the day, things fell into place. She grew tired and looked forward to the end of her shift. Yet, the time rushed by with the business of the sale. The echo of the auctioneer’s voice was loud but, thankfully, not blaring.
A low roar came across the hall from the café as the buyers and sellers mingled and greeted each other through the day. The cattle merchants collected their beverages of choice, slugged them down, and hurried back to the ring. The sellers lingered in the hall and café until their cattle sold. Once the bids closed, the men formed a line to wait for the checks to be processed, and Shawnee signed and handed them out.
Her mind became occupied with the preparation of the tickets. A lull came around supper. Shawnee worked on a few back files. One more folder to go. She looked at the name, Emory Creek. She flicked the edge a few seconds, took a deep breath, and opened the file she’d placed on the bottom earlier. The need to know and not wanting to know warred in her mind. Want won the battle and she peeked inside the folder.
Ah, so you’re single, twenty-five and a jerk, Mr. Creek, no surprise there. You have no dependents, ex-wives, or children. You obviously can’t get a job anywhere else since you’ve been here for seven years now. Yard boss, humph. Is that why you have the ‘I can walk on water’ attitude? I really don’t like you. Shawnee slammed the file shut and returned it to the personnel drawer in the storage room.
Her discovery of Emory’s life coaxed severe thoughts in her mind. He’s wild and free. His spirit needs taming. She was just the one to do it if she could find it within herself to like the man. His eyes could be so dreamy if they weren’t sending out messages of hate and discontent. She could get used to looking at his body. She rested her chin in her hand. Who in the world am I trying to fool? I know nothing about men. She turned back to her work.
One envelope remained in the box. If the seller didn’t pick it up in a fe
w minutes, he’d have to wait for a check in the mail. Shawnee didn’t want to linger any longer than necessary. She walked through the door to her office and looked around, picking up a pen and paper. She made a list of things to personalize her office, ripped the paper from the legal pad, and stuffed the list in a back pocket of her jeans.
Cheyenne stuck her head in the office door. “I’m done for the day. How about you?”
Shawnee nodded her head yes, locked her door, and followed Cheyenne’s chattering voice all the way to the pickup. Cheyenne skipped ahead and twisted around to glance back a time or two. She waited for Shawnee to catch up with her.
Shawnee unlocked the doors, they slid in, and she drove home. Cheyenne raised the garage door. The two entered the house where Shawnee popped a couple of frozen dinners in the microwave. They ate amid Cheyenne’s constant stories. Shawnee nodded her head occasionally in acknowledgement.
However, her mind kept focusing on Emory. Something about the way he held himself when he strolled away sent warmth she had never known. His low voice, deep and sultry when he wasn’t angry spread goose bumps across her skin. There was more to Mr. Creek than he let on and she aimed to find out what it was.
“Cheyenne, how did you like working with Emory Creek?” Shawnee stood and carried the plastic tray to the trash.
“He’s the best cowboy out there. Been there the longest, and he’s a fair man. I wouldn’t want to tick him off, though. Heard he has a raunchy temper.” Cheyenne met Shawnee’s eyes. “What did you do, Shawnee?”
“We had a small run-in.” Shawnee waved Cheyenne off. She squeezed a tad of dish soap on her fork, washed it, and put it away.
“Is his temper as bad as they say?” Cheyenne’s eyes widened.
“Like a bull with his tail on fire.” Shawnee smiled. She tried to erase Emory’s piercing blue eyes from her mind.