Dude Ranch Bride

by Madeline Baker

  As though feeling her gaze, he looked over at her. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  He grunted softly. “What are you doing here?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “At the ranch.”

  She hesitated a moment. “I’m on vacation.”

  “Alone?” He lifted one brow. “Boyfriend change his mind at the last minute?”

  “I don’t see as how that’s any of your business, but no, he didn’t. I . . . I came here on . . . on a whim.”

  “In a wedding dress?”

  “If you must know, I changed my mind about getting married.”

  Amusement danced in his dark eyes. “Nothing like waiting till the last minute.”

  She felt a flush climb up her neck to her cheeks. Ethan had once accused her of being nothing but a spoiled rich girl. She looked out the window again. He was right, she thought. She was spoiled. And her parents were rich. But what difference did it make, anyway? There was no crime against being spoiled. And her father had worked hard to get where he was today. And why was she suddenly feeling so defensive?

  Startled when Ethan touched her shoulder, she glanced over at him. “Look,” he said. Slowing the truck, he pointed out the window on his side.

  She leaned forward and looked past him to see a doe and two fawns standing in the dappled shade of a tree. “Oh, aren’t they beautiful!”

  “Yeah.”

  “I could never understand why anyone would want to kill something so beautiful just for a trophy.”

  “Well, lots of people do it.”

  “I know, although why anyone would want a deer’s head on their wall is beyond me. I mean, what is there to brag about? It’s not like killing a mountain lion with your bare hands, or anything.”

  “I always did like your way of thinking.” He almost smiled at her; instead, he turned his attention back to the road. He should have got someone else to drive her into town, he thought. This trip had disaster written all over it.

  “I need to pick up some supplies for the ranch,” he said as he pulled into a parking place near the center of town. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

  “I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “Two hours?”

  He grimaced. “All right. I’ll meet you back here at noon.”

  “Okay.”

  She got out of the truck, closed the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, conscious of his gaze on her back. She heard the truck pull away from the curb as she ducked into the first store she saw. When she was sure he was gone, she went back outside and started walking.

  She had always loved shopping. It had been her way of celebrating the good times, or escaping the bad ones. Good grades, a fight with her mother, making the cheerleading team, a bad day on the tennis court, being picked as captain of the debate team, a bad haircut, or an argument with a boyfriend—whatever the occasion, Cindy had grabbed her dad’s credit card and headed for the mall. Which probably explained why she had closets bulging with more clothes and shoes than any one woman could ever wear.

  She bypassed one gift shop after another until she came to a large department store. Once inside, she quickly lost track of the time as she wandered through the aisles. She tried on whatever caught her eye, and in the end, bought three sundresses—one a bright yellow polka-dot, one a dark rose color with delicate white flowers embroidered along the hem, the third a dressier dark blue and lavender print with a matching jacket. She picked out a pair of white sandals, three pairs of jeans—blue, black and red—a half-dozen T-shirts in a variety of colors, four Western-style shirts, a pair of low-heeled cowboy boots, socks, underwear, a cotton nightgown, a terry-cloth robe and a pair of Ray Bans.

  She was on her way to meet Ethan when she passed a shop filled with cowboy hats. She was standing in front of a mirror, her packages scattered at her feet, trying to decide between a white hat with a rolled brim or a tan hat with a flat brim when Ethan came up behind her.

  He held up his arm and tapped his forefinger on his watch. “You’re late,” he said brusquely.

  “Oh. Sorry. Which hat to do you like the best?”

  “The tan one. White’s impractical out here.”

  “All right. The tan one it is.”

  She picked up her packages and carried them, along with the hat, to the counter, aware of Ethan trailing at her heels like a dark cloud.

  She paid for the hat and put it on, then followed him out to the boardwalk.

  “So, how do I look?” she asked.

  “Like a city girl in a cowboy hat,” he drawled. He hesitated a moment, then said, “Do you want to grab some lunch before we head back to the ranch?”

  “Do you?”

  “I could eat. Let’s put your packages in the truck.”

  She did as he suggested, noting that the back of the truck was loaded with boxes and bags. She shut and locked the door, then hurried after Ethan, who was walking slowly down the sidewalk.

  At the end of the block, they crossed the street and entered the Cowboy Café. It was a small restaurant, not particularly crowded at this time of the day. There was a counter across from the door, booths along three of the walls.

  Admiring the way his jeans fit his lean hips, she followed Ethan to a booth in the back near the window and slid in across from him.

  Pushing his hat back on his head, he handed her a menu and took one for himself.

  Cindy stared at the menu, wondering how she could possibly eat a bite with Ethan sitting across from her. All the memories she had tried so hard to banish from her mind came thundering back, as crystal clear as if they had happened yesterday.

  She had been sixteen the first time she had seen him dance. It had been at a powwow, and she’d been there with her best friend. They had gone to the fairgrounds on a lark, thinking it would be fun to see some “real live Indians.” Sherry had soon grown bored, but Cindy had been mesmerized by the low, throbbing beat of the drums, the dancing, the brightly colored costumes. The Indians had been friendly yet aloof. She had stayed long after Sherry’s mother came to pick her up. During a break in the dancing, Cindy had wandered around the grounds, looking at dream catchers and rattles, gourds and pipes, bows and arrows. She had bought a small white horse with black spots adorned with turquoise feathers, a dream catcher, some fry bread. She had been leaving the fairgrounds when she’d bumped into Ethan. Literally. He had knocked her on her rump and she had sat in the dirt staring up at him, too tongue-tied to speak. He had been gorgeous. Tall, dark, handsome as sin, and a little mysterious, clad in his dance costume, his face streaked with black paint.

  “Sorry,” he’d said. He’d picked up her packages, then, offering her his hand, had helped her to her feet.

  She’d muttered her thanks, then stared after him as he moved on down the fairway toward the dance area. He’d stood head and shoulders above most of the crowd, making it easy for her to follow him. She didn’t know if he was going to dance, but there was no way she was leaving, she decided. Not until she found out.

  She’d located a seat on the end of a bench near the entrance to the dance area and sat down, wincing a little. A dozen or so dancers entered the arena, and he had been one of them. Her discomfort had been quickly forgotten when he began to dance, his steps light yet powerful. He wore a brightly colored costume and had long strands of what looked like ribbon hanging from his arms and waist. She had never seen anything so beautiful, so utterly mesmerizing. Why hadn’t she brought her camera? She was wondering what the dance was about when she overheard a Native American woman explaining it to a white man and his wife.

  “This is the grass dance,” the woman said. “According to legend, there was once a young man who was lame. Even so, he longed to dance with the other warriors and so he went out onto the prairie to pray for guidance. He made his way up a small hill and when he reached the top, it came to him that he should create a dance of his own. As he was pondering this, he looked at the prairie spread out below him and noticed how the tall grasses swayed. That
would be his dance. That is why men wear yarn or ribbons hanging from their arms and their waists while they dance, their steps making it flow like prairie grass rippling in the wind.”

  Cindy had applauded wildly when Ethan finished dancing. He had looked in her direction and smiled. It was the first time she had seen him smile, and it hit her like a thunderbolt. Lethal. Devastating. Utterly irresistible.

  While waiting to see if he was going to dance again, she glanced at one of the pamphlets she had picked up from a booth. It was titled “Notes for Powwow Fans.” Among other things, it advised watchers to rise when the eagle staff was brought into the arena during the grand entry, or if an eagle feather fell during the dancing. It mentioned that pointing was considered impolite, that the taking of pictures was allowed but flashes were not, and that one should ask permission before taking an individual’s photograph. Costumes and ornaments were not to be touched, as some costumes cost many thousands of dollars, and bothering the performers or standing in front of those preparing to dance or sing would not be tolerated. A small note at the bottom added that the tribes did not dance for mindless amusement. Dancing was a form of worship. The drum, with its round shape, represented the shape of the universe.

  Cindy had stayed until the last dance and then headed for the parking lot, only then remembering that she didn’t have a ride. With a sigh, she’d turned and headed back to the fairgrounds to look for a phone.

  And bumped into Ethan a second time.

  “It must be fate,” he had said, grabbing her arm to steady her.

  “It must be.” He looked as sexy in black jeans and a T-shirt as he had in paint and feathers. “Do you know where I can find a phone?” she’d asked him.

  “Over there, by the rest rooms.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I was about to go and get something to eat,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me?”

  He was inviting her out. She couldn’t believe it! “I’d love to, but I need to call my dad to come and pick me up.”

  “I’m through here for the day. I can drive you home afterward.”

  Ordinarily, she would never have gotten in a car with a stranger, but, to her surprise, she had said, “That would be great. Thanks.”

  “Hey!” Ethan reached across the table and tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her back to the present. “You ready to order?”

  “What? Oh, yes. I’d like a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich on sourdough bread, lightly toasted. And onion rings and a chocolate shake.”

  “And I’ll have a cheeseburger, fries and coffee,” Ethan told the waitress.

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them when the’ waitress left to turn in their order. Cindy stared out the window, wondering why she hadn’t jumped out of the truck the minute she saw him behind the wheel.

  Sitting back in his seat, Ethan studied her profile. He had known from the beginning that getting mixed up with her would be a mistake. Young white girls were always trouble, but there had been something about her, about the way she looked at him, the way it made him feel, that he had been unable to resist. He had taken her out to dinner that first night, and everything she had told him only proved his first instinct had been right. She was going to be trouble. He had guessed her to be eighteen, and almost choked on his coffee when she told him she had just turned sixteen. The words jail bait had drifted through his mind, but the three years separating them didn’t seem so great. The fact that she was rich had been another strike against her. Rich white girls were poison. He had taken her home, walked her to the door, told her good-night and left her there, never intending to see her again.

  A week later, she had turned up at a powwow in a neighboring city. He had danced his heart out that afternoon, always aware that she was watching him and only him. It had been his best day on the circuit; he had won every competition he entered. He hadn’t planned on talking to her, but when a dance break came, he found himself asking her if she wanted to go get something to eat when he was through, and next thing he knew, they were sitting in his truck tangled up in each other’s arms. He had tried to remind himself that she was only a kid, but she hadn’t kissed like a kid.

  “Cheeseburger and fries?”

  As the waitress brought their order, Ethan shook off his memories, glad for the distraction.

  He picked up his coffee cup and took a drink. “So,” he said, how long are you staying at the ranch?”

  “I don’t know.” She poured ketchup on her plate. “Until I’m ready to go home.”

  He grunted softly, wondering what her folks thought of their runaway daughter.

  “How long have you been working at the ranch?” she asked.

  “About four years.”

  “I guess you must like it.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a job.” And better than jail.

  She glanced surreptitiously at his left hand. “Are you married?”

  “Hell, no.”

  She lifted one brow, puzzled by his curt reply. “I heard. . . that is, I thought . . . never mind.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “That you were engaged.”

  “Yeah? Who’d you hear that from?”

  “Sally Whitefeather.”

  He looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know you and Sally kept in touch.”

  Cindy felt a wave of heat climb up her neck and into her cheeks. “We still talk now and then,” she admitted reluctantly.

  Ethan had introduced her to Sally at a powwow. Sally and Ethan had grown up together back on the rez. Sally had been Ethan’s best friend. She had seemed the logical one to call when Cindy wanted to know what was going on in Ethan’s life.

  “So, are you?” she asked.

  “Am I what?”

  “Engaged,” she said petulantly.

  “No.”

  “Were you?”

  “I was,” he said, sounding as irritable as she did. The breakup had been Cindy’s fault, though there was no way for her to know that. “What else did she tell you?”

  Cindy took a bite of her sandwich, wishing they had never started this conversation. “She told me that you’d had a run-in with the law a while back.”

  Ethan swore under his breath. Cindy had been the cause of that, too, he thought.

  “It’s true, then?”

  “So what?” He looked at her, his eyes as cold as his voice.

  “Nothing.” She pushed her plate away, her appetite gone.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He finished his coffee, put down enough money to cover the check, and slid out of the booth.

  Feeling miserable, Cindy followed him outside. She had wanted to ask him why he had never returned her call, but she hadn’t been able to summon the nerve to bring up the past.

  It was a long, quiet ride back to the ranch.

  Chapter Five

  Ethan dropped her off at her cabin when they returned to the ranch, then drove to the back of the lodge to unload the supplies. Of all the miserable luck, he thought, his had to be the worst. Why had she shown up here, of all places? She had been just a kid when he’d known her before, sixteen to his nineteen. But she was all grown up now.

  When he finished unloading the truck, he drove to his place. He parked the truck beside the house, switched off the engine, grabbed his hat. Wolf met him as he stepped out, and Ethan spent a few moments scratching the dog’s ears before going into the house to change his shirt and put on a pair of boots. He checked the clock, noting he had about twenty minutes before he was scheduled to take a group out on a trail ride.

  Going into the kitchen, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, then went out onto the porch and sat on the steps. Wolf stretched out beside him.

  Pushing his hat back on his head, Ethan took a long drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why’d she have to come here?” he muttered.

  Wolf growled in response.

  “Damn.” Draining the bo
ttle, Ethan tossed it on the porch and stood up. His only hope was that she would soon get bored and go home where she belonged, back to her rich father and her big house and her fancy car.

  He had driven by her house late one night soon after they first met. House? It was a mansion three stories high, surrounded by a wrought-iron fence with a uniformed guard at the gate. Ethan hadn’t really paid much attention to the place the first time he’d seen it. But looking at it that night, he had known then and there that they had no future together. He couldn’t begin to imagine what her parents would say if she brought him home to Sunday dinner. And when it happened a month later, it had been a worse disaster than even he had imagined. Jordan Wagner had looked at him as if his daughter had brought home a stray mutt and intended to keep it in the house; Claire Wagner had nervously touched her hair from time to time, as if checking to make sure he hadn’t taken her scalp when she wasn’t looking. At the dinner table, her father and mother had talked politely of the weather, inquired about his family, been openly shocked when he told them he earned a living dancing on the powwow circuit. When he’d departed, he was not invited back. Jordan Wagner had bid him a firm goodbye, his tone and expression clearly stating that Ethan would not be welcome in his home again.

  With a shake of his head, Ethan went down the steps and followed the dirt path that led to the lodge. He couldn’t think of anything worse than that meeting with Claire and Jordan Wagner, until he reached the stable and found Cindy waiting there with a half a dozen of the other guests. Rudy had already rounded up the horses. They were hitched to the corral fence, tails swishing lazily.

  Cindy’s eyes widened when she saw him, and he knew she wasn’t there because she was eager to see him.

  “Afternoon, ladies and gents.” He nodded at the riders. This was an adults-only ride. The youngest couple looked to be in their early twenties, the oldest in their sixties. Cindy was the only one without a partner. “Any of you here already know how to ride? No? Well, that’s okay, by the end of the day, you’ll all be old hands. First thing we’re gonna learn how to do is saddle up. Don’t worry about these broomtails. They’re all seasoned trail horses.”