Wrangler (Star Valley Book 2)

by Dahlia West

  Inside, he gestured to Dakota, who was in an indoor training ring with a horse on a long line and a whip in her hand. She wasn’t using it or even waving it around, but Cassidy assumed the woman probably wanted to use it on her.

  Dakota spotted her and gave her a sharp look. “What now?” she demanded. “No, I don’t have any accessories for you. Or a tiara.”

  “I wondered if there was anything I could do.”

  Dakota stared at her. “Like what? Stand there and wave?”

  The mention of her hands made Cassidy press her palms to her thighs. “Like chores.”

  “Like chores,” Dakota repeated slowly.

  Cassidy was beginning to get a little irritated. She was sorry for the misunderstanding earlier, but eating crow now was leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “I can say it for you in Spanish,” she snapped.

  “Oh, is that so?”

  Cassidy sighed. “No quiero estar aquí y comer la mierda todo el día,” she muttered.

  To her surprise, Dakota laughed. “Okay, so you don’t want to eat shit but can you shovel it?”

  Her hands twitched, and the true answer was probably closer to no, but she’d already made a fool of herself, and there was no backing out of it now.

  Dakota took her hesitation for reluctance, apparently. “Look, if you’re afraid to get your hands dirty…”

  Cassidy already knew what this woman thought of her and had no intention of confirming any of Dakota’s suspicions that she was just a useless beauty queen who couldn’t lift a finger for fear of breaking a nail. Which she kind of was, of course, but Dakota didn’t need to know it. After hearing Palmer call her useless, Cassidy was more determined than ever to be anything but.

  “I’m not,” she insisted, keeping her palms hidden from view. “I’ll do it.”

  After the disaster of the clothes, Cassidy was willing to do just about anything to get back on Dakota’s good side, or at least not remain on the bad one.

  “There are stall forks and muck buckets in the storage room at the end of the hallway,” Dakota told her with a sharp nod in the direction Cassidy had just come. “Clean the empty stalls. Dump the bucket in the wagon outside the bay doors. We make a run to the fertilizer heap at the end of each day.”

  “Okay,” Cassidy replied, understanding about half of those instructions. She could assume a stall fork was like a pitchfork and a muck bucket seemed…self-explanatory. She was wearing Dakota’s own shoes, so if they got dirty, well, whose fault was that, really?

  She turned and headed back down the hall, passing stall after stall, some empty, some full of curious-eyed occupants peering out at her. Cassidy was comfortable around large animals, having grown up on a ranch herself, even if she didn’t know how to ride. She smiled at them and imagined them to be the only few people who might not actually object to her presence here at Snake River. Locating the muck bucket and rake was simple enough, and she pulled them out into the aisle.

  The darkest horse poked his head out—or maybe it was a her; Cassidy didn’t know enough about horse anatomy to tell.

  “Hey,” she said, waving to it.

  The horse snuffed at her, which seemed like greeting enough.

  Cassidy put down the stall fork and stepped across the hallway. “Hi, there,” she said, rubbing the horse’s nose. Its lips twitched at her shirt, checking the pocket. She or he eyed her with disdain upon discovery that it was empty. “Sorry. I don’t have anything.”

  The horse seemed genuinely miffed about it, and though it was silly, Cassidy actually felt bad. No one wanted her here, except Sawyer, and she knew why that was. The idea of climbing into bed with him tonight was awfully appealing, but she had to make it through the day first. If Dakota didn’t stab her with a stall fork. Thank God the thing was plastic.

  She reached out and slid back the steel bolt that held the stall’s gate closed. “I really am sorry,” she said. “Maybe I could get something from the house and—”

  The horse lunged forward, knocking Cassidy clean on her ass. She landed with a whump on her bruised hip and cried out loudly. The clomp of hooves overpowered her surprised shout as the horse took off down the concrete hallway, toward the indoor ring. It wasn’t until Cassidy hauled herself up and began to chase after him that she remembered that the large bay doors leading outside were open.

  “Dakota!” she cried while scrambling after the horse.

  The horse burst into the indoor ring, took a sharp left turn, and disappeared outside.

  “Goddamn it!” Dakota shouted, running while the horse she was training trotted along behind her. “You let Dash out?!”

  “Sorry!” Cassidy told her.

  “Why’d you open the gate?” Dakota demanded as she threw down the whip and reached for a lead rope tied to the fence.

  Good question. Because your horse is pretty didn’t seem like the right answer, though.

  “I was cleaning the stalls,” Cassidy reminded her.

  “I said the empty ones!” Dakota reminded her.

  Cassidy watched in disbelief as the woman snapped the lead rope to one side of the horse’s halter and tied the other end in a quick knot on the opposite side. She unclipped the long line and let it drop into the dirt, then she took a giant step backward and swung herself up onto the horse, which wasn’t even saddled. She gave the horse a kick, and both dashed off after Dash.

  In her whole life, Cassidy had never seen anything like that. Dakota’s braid swung wildly as they headed across the field after the wayward horse. Not knowing what to do, Cassidy ran straight for the hay barn, where she found Sawyer and Gabe stacking bales. “I lost a horse!” she said breathlessly.

  Both men turned to her. “What?” Sawyer asked.

  “I…lost a horse. I opened a stall, and one ran out and—”

  “Which horse?” Sawyer asked.

  “Um. Dash?”

  “Mierda,” Gabe muttered. “That’s Dakota’s own horse. She’s gonna be pissed at you.”

  “She’s riding after him now!”

  “Oh, it’s fine then,” Sawyer told her, turning back to his stack.

  “What do you mean it’s fine? There’s a horse loose!” Cassidy cried.

  Sawyer shrugged. “Dakota’ll get her back. Might take a while. She’s called Dash for a reason.” He grimaced. “Gabe’s right, though. Dakota’s gonna be sore at you. You should steer clear of her when she gets back.”

  Cassidy bit her lip. “Well…what do I do?”

  He turned to her. “You can’t lift a hay bale. They weigh more than you do.” He stacked the one in his hands on top of the pile and dusted off his jeans. “Come on, then. We’ll try something else.” He led her to the house through the side door.

  The Barlows’ kitchen was massive yet somehow cozy. The table and chairs were tucked up against a brick wall with a fireplace, and the walls were painted a cheery yellow. Cassidy recognized Sofia Vazquez, though they didn’t really know each other beyond Mass.

  “Cassidy’s going to help you with dinner,” Sawyer declared.

  The older woman smiled at them, and Cassidy thought maybe she had a better chance of getting Dakota’s mom to like her than the girl herself. “Wash your hands,” she told Cassidy, gesturing to the sink with a chopping knife.

  Sawyer clapped Cassidy on the shoulder. “The chicken’s dead,” he remarked. “So you can’t possibly run it off.” He turned and left her.

  Cassidy washed her hands and dried them on the towel. “So…what should I do?”

  “Biscuits,” the woman told her. “Make the dough for me.”

  Cassidy nodded but didn’t move.

  Sofia peered at her. “You need a recipe?”

  That. And a working knowledge of baking. “I do.”

  Mrs. Vasquez rifled through the Saint Joseph’s cookbook and laid it out for her on the countertop. Cassidy studied it thoroughly.

  “You triple it,” Sofia added.

  Cassidy lifted her gaze to the woman. “Triple it?”

/>   Sofia nodded. “You just need to add—”

  “No, I’m good at math,” Cassidy told her. “But triple? They can eat that much?”

  Sofia laughed. “If you make more, they eat more, but the chickens can’t keep up with the eggs.” The woman looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re good at math?”

  Cassidy nodded.

  “So is my Dakota,” the woman said proudly.

  Cassidy felt guilty at the mere mention of her name. “I lost her horse,” she admitted.

  To her surprise, Sofia waved her hand and shrugged. “She’ll get it back.”

  What must it be like to have everyone around you so confident in your abilities? Neither Gabe nor Sawyer had seemed worried, either. Neither had gone out to help.

  “She’ll be mad, though,” Sofia warned. “Those horses are her babies.” A concerned look passed over her face. “You didn’t work in the kitchen with your mother? Before she passed?” Sofia asked.

  Cassidy shook her head. “No. We have a housekeeper.”

  Sofia smiled. “Ah. Yes. It was Maria Hernandez then. I remember.”

  “It’s Consuela Abrigo now. She’s nice.”

  The woman nodded. “She is. So, you don’t cook?”

  Cassidy wrinkled her nose and shook her head again.

  “Hmm. The boys cook,” Sofia told her. “Most of them, but mostly potatoes and biscuits, trail dinners. A few of my own dishes, too.”

  “Sawyer cooks?”

  “Si. I can’t feed six boys by myself, plus hands…when we had them. And I need a day off, too.”

  Cassidy frowned. She hadn’t seen anyone else since she’d been here. “You don’t have ranch hands?”

  Sofia shook her head.

  “But…this place is huge.” Indeed, it was bigger than the Conroys’ spread. “How can you not have help?”

  Sofia shrugged. “Seasons change,” she said enigmatically.

  The mention of seasons reminded Cassidy of Manny Vasquez suddenly. And Mr. Barlow. “I…I heard about your husband,” she told Sofia. “I’m sorry for his passing.”

  Sofia reached out and patted her hand. “He waits for me,” she said. “I’ll see him again.”

  “You think that’s true?” Cassidy asked before she could stop herself.

  The old woman looked at her from across the island. “You will see your mother again, Cassidy. I remember when she died. So young. So beautiful. God takes an angel like that into Heaven to be near Him. But you will see her again.”

  Cassidy bit her lip and nodded even though she didn’t believe it. She was short on faith these days.

  She made the dough for the biscuits according to Sofia’s recipe. The fractions were simple enough even if the ingredients were foreign. She was washing the measuring cups when Sawyer came through the kitchen’s side door.

  “Better luck in the kitchen?” he asked, eyeing the spread.

  “Don’t touch!” Sofia warned.

  Sawyer held up his hands then moved toward Cassidy. He rested a hip against the counter. “Do you dye your hair?” he asked suddenly.

  Cassidy dropped a cup back into the soapy water. “What? No.”

  “Huh. ’Cause you’ve got streaks of light brown in it sometimes. When the sunlight hits it. That’s natural?”

  She smirked at him.

  He snorted. “So you do dye it?”

  “Highlights. They’re highlights.”

  Sawyer grinned at her. “Right. Can you use anything other than hair dye to dye hair?” he asked.

  Cassidy peered at him. “Why?”

  “Just curious. Doesn’t it cost a lot to go to the salon in town?”

  She shrugged.

  “Then again,” he mused, “you don’t pay the bill, do you? So, can you use anything else? Like, say, food coloring?”

  She gaped at him. “Food coloring? Um, no, Sawyer. You can’t use food coloring to dye your hair.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, no reason, actually, unless you want green hair. Or purple. Or blue.”

  “It washes out though after a while, right?”

  “I guess. I’ve never done it.”

  He picked a mug up off the counter and filled it with ice water from the fridge. His shirt was soaked in sweat, and his muscles strained the sleeves. He caught her looking and wagged his eyebrows at her over the rim.

  She rolled her eyes at him and looked away.

  He tossed the drained mug into her dishwater and opened a cabinet beside her. “Okay,” he said, plucking out a plastic vial of food coloring. “Let’s take a break.”

  Cassidy dried her hands and followed him outside. He led them back to the horse barn.

  “I shouldn’t go in there,” she told him. “Dakota will have my head.”

  “You’re right. And we’re not going in.”

  True to his word, he veered around the northeast corner and headed toward an adjacent paddock.

  “Oh, thank God!” Cassidy breathed as she recognized the horse she’d allowed to escape.

  “Yeah, she’s back,” Sawyer told her, picking up a bucket that was hanging from a water pump. He filled it, squirted in the entire bottle of food coloring, and handed her the empty vial.

  “Hold on to that for me,” he ordered.

  He hefted the bucket and carried it over to the fence before ducking underneath it and stepping into the pasture.

  “Come on, Nero,” Sawyer coaxed. “Come here, boy.” He snapped his fingers, and Cassidy watched as a large white horse broke off from the group and moved toward him. He was beautiful, with long, flowing hair.

  Sawyer picked up a waterproof blanket that had been laid on the fence and draped it across the horse’s back. He buckled it securely. Cassidy had seen those before, at Conroy Cattle. The ranch hands used them on their horses sometimes after bathing them or when it rained. She looked up at the clear blue sky and blinked at the shimmering sun for a moment. There wasn’t a cloud for miles. It sure didn’t look like rain.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Hmm,” he mused. “Therapy.”

  She frowned. “Physical therapy?” She eyed the horse. “Is he hurt?” She didn’t see any injuries.

  “No. And it’s not for him.” He pulled the plastic vial of food coloring out of his pocket and twisted off the cap.

  “Wait,” she said. “You’re dyeing his hair?”

  “Not hair. His mane, Princess. I’m dying his mane.”

  “You’re dyeing your horse’s mane?” she asked, incredulous.

  He lifted the bucket and sunk the horse’s beautiful white hair—mane—into the bucket. He swirled it around then lifted it out. Pink-tinged water trickled down, over the waterproof blanket and onto the soil. What was left of the long white strands was now shocking pink.

  “Are you insane?!” she cried. “He’s so beautiful, and now he looks like a circus horse! Is this what you do in your spare time? Give bad dye jobs to pretty horses?”

  Sawyer ignored her and moved to the horse’s rear. He gathered up the entire tail and dunked it into the bucket, too.

  “This is crazy,” Cassidy muttered. “You’re crazy. I thought you were weird, but—”

  He looked up at her. “You thought I was weird?”

  She bit her lip. She thought the way he treated her was weird. No one she’d ever met had treated her the way Sawyer Barlow did, but she didn’t want to tell him that. No one had ever been as nice to her. Either he was special or she wasn’t quite special enough, and she had a secret fear that it was the latter.

  Behind her, she heard a truck door slam loudly and turned to see that Walker had pulled up in front of the house. He’d missed their presence entirely, apparently, heading up the wooden steps of the front porch.

  Sawyer whistled sharply, and the large man turned.

  Walker paused a moment, and Cassidy could see his white cowboy hat tilt curiously to one side. He abandoned the porch and headed their way. As he walked, Cassidy got a sinking feeling. If she h
ad a glass of water, it would’ve shimmered with the man’s every step until a reptilian eye pinned her with its predatory gaze.

  Walker Barlow stopped, looked at the horse, then at Sawyer, then at Cassidy, who shrank away and tried to disappear entirely simply by standing still.

  “DAKOTA!”

  The sound of Walker’s booming voice caused a small flock of birds to scatter to the winds from a nearby tree.

  “Oh, no,” Cassidy whispered to herself.

  Walker’s gaze turned on her, and she dared not move a single muscle.

  Dakota appeared in the bay doors. “What on Earth are you—”

  “Get out here!” Walker shouted. “And bring your horsewhip!”

  The woman didn’t get the whip, but she did venture outside. She came up to the fence line and gasped. “Oh. My. God,” she breathed, hand fluttering to her mouth.

  “This is you?” Walker snarled. “This is you taking care of my horse?! You let him,” he jabbed a finger at Sawyer, “get at him?”

  Dakota’s shocked expression turned sharp. “I didn’t let him!” she countered. “I didn’t know!”

  “The horses are your responsibility!” Walker shot back.

  The young woman crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, he’s not hurt, Walker. Is he? No! He’s just…sparkly!”

  “I don’t want a sparkly horse!”

  Cassidy herself nearly jumped out of her borrowed shoes, but Dakota, impressively, didn’t seem all that bothered by the huge man shouting at her. In fact, she looked almost bored. From the corner of her eye, Cassidy saw Seth and Gabe round the corner of the barn. “What the hell is all the yelling?” Seth asked but stopped short when he caught sight of what was apparently not Sawyer’s horse, but Walker’s.

  “Dash and Rainbow Dash,” said Sawyer, gesturing between Dakota’s horse and Walker’s.

  Seth stared at the animal. “No…that’s Pinkie Pie,” he finally declared.

  Everyone turned to look at him. “What?” he said, throwing up his hands. “I have a four-year-old stepdaughter! Rainbow Dash is blue, with a rainbow-colored tail. And Rarity is white with a purple tail.”

  “We didn’t have purple,” Sawyer declared. “Or any blue to mix it.”

  Walker turned on him abruptly. “I am going to kill you.”