Rocky Mountain Cowboy

by Tina Radcliffe

  Besides, she’d sign off on his certification and be gone again in a month or so. No, he’d continue to keep her at a distance. It was better for everyone.

  Joe checked the fit on his hook prosthesis. The myoelectric version wasn’t waterproof, and rain or no rain, he had work that couldn’t wait another day.

  When he opened the front door, once again, Becca stood outside. This time she wore a cheery yellow hooded rain slicker over blue jeans. Her head was turned up toward the sky like a kid, letting the drops kiss her face.

  “What are you doing?” he growled.

  “I like rain. Don’t you?” Drops of moisture clung to her long black lashes. She pushed a wayward lock of dark hair into the hood of the slicker, waiting for his response.

  Joe stared, entranced, as the rain moved leisurely down her face, landing on her lips.

  “Joe?”

  He blinked. “Yeah. I like rain, too. In moderation. I like everything in moderation,” he muttered. “I keep whispering that word into Mother Nature’s ear, except she’s deaf.” Slapping on his Stetson, he tucked his face into the collar of his coat and strode across the yard. Today he was headed to the equipment garage.

  “What will you do if it keeps raining?”

  “Watch and wait. Just another day in Paradise.” He dodged a puddle and turned to her. “What are you doing here so early, anyhow? Not much for you or your crew to do today.”

  “I need to talk to you about the photo shoot.”

  “What photo shoot? It’s raining.”

  She grimaced. “Yes. It’s been raining for twenty-four hours. This is Friday, and the crew is getting antsy. Rod suggested, um well, they, ah... They want to do some filming in the barn with the horses and the dogs and hay and such.”

  He pulled open the big door to the garage and held it for her.

  Becca nodded her thanks. “They’ve been very patient, and I...that is...I think they’ve acclimated to the ranch well, don’t you?”

  “You mean that guy who keeps complaining about a rash?”

  “Poison oak. Yes. That would be Julian. Even he’s adjusting well, since I got him some cortisone cream. I bet you hardly noticed them following you around the stalls yesterday morning, right?”

  Joe snickered. Unable to hold back, he began to belly laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Becca, it’s a little hard not to notice three city folks stumbling around in the dark at five in the morning, crinkling food wrappers and whispering. They spooked Blackie when the alarm clock on somebody’s cell phone went off, and then one of them stepped on Wishbone’s tail.”

  “That was an accident. It could have happened to anyone.”

  “It never happened to you.”

  “Be fair. I was raised on a ranch. These are people whose idea of roughing it would be coffee in a foam cup.”

  Joe offered only a snort to that. He flipped on the overhead lights. “I don’t even understand why they were there yesterday. Nothing for them to do when it’s raining.”

  “They need to get to know you and your routine. That’s what will make this project a success.” She paused. “Rod spent yesterday afternoon sketching plans for the shoot and checking lighting and set design with Julian.”

  Joe pulled back the riding lawn mower and unscrewed the oil cap. Today would be a fine day to check on the mowers and replace that part that came in on the baler, he thought. Pulling out the dipstick, he wiped it off on a clean rag.

  Becca stepped closer, her muddy boots inches away from his. He kept his focus on the dipstick measurement and inched back from her.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  He looked up. “Sure am. Hard not to when you’re in my face.”

  She ignored his remark and continued. “Abi’s fitting in pretty well, isn’t she?” she asked.

  “Yeah, okay, yes. Abi has been the least obnoxious of the group.” Joe released what he hoped was a long-suffering sigh. “What do you have in mind for the photo shoot?”

  “Rod asked for a couple of hours. Maybe this afternoon after lunch?”

  “I’ve got a few calls to make. How about two?”

  “Sure. He wants you to bring a few of your Western dress shirts. Pearl button. And maybe a bolo tie. Oh, and wear your Tony Llamas, not work boots. He’d like you to bring both your tan and your black Stetsons and your straw Resistol.”

  “How does he know I have a straw Resistol?” He crouched a bit lower to examine the blade on the mower.

  She cleared her throat. “I might have mentioned that I saw it on a coatrack at your house.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, Abi needs to do a one-on-one interview with you. This might be a good opportunity,” she said with a hopeful tone.

  “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Point me in the right direction at the right time, and I’ll do whatever we need to do to get them out of here quickly.”

  “Two it is. I’ll have them set up and meet you in the barn.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” He reached for a can of oil. “What are you going to do until then?”

  “I’ll drive back to town,” she said. “Unless you’d like to squeeze in a therapy session while you work on the equipment.”

  “What?” The wrench slipped from his fingers and clanged as it hit the mower and tumbled to the ground. He scowled, his gaze on the tool. “No. I really need to get some work done today.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll see you after lunch. Oh, and I appreciate your cheerful attitude, Mr. Gallagher. It makes my job so much easier.”

  Joe tipped his hat back, his gaze following her as she offered him a two-fingered salute and then turned on her heel, making it clear that her determination to get the job done would outlast his bad attitude.

  * * *

  “Rod, you’re amazing.” Rebecca glanced around the main area of the barn. Round bales of hay had been strategically stacked and placed in the center. A seating area had been created from single hay bundles. Lights hung from the ceiling on a rope of orange industrial extension cords, and reflector boards were propped and ready for use.

  “What time did you get here?” she asked.

  “Two hours ago,” Julian said. “He wouldn’t even let me order a second piece of caramel apple pie at Patti Jo’s.”

  Rod held a fancy camera in the air as he took an exaggerated bow in response to her compliment.

  “Too bad we can’t do something about that smell,” Julian commented.

  “What smell?” Rebecca asked.

  “That horse manure.” Julian shivered and shook his head. “Ugh, it’s thick today.”

  Rebecca laughed. “This is a barn. I should warn you two that there’s no guarantee the horses won’t decide to mess up your shoot, if you know what I mean.”

  “Terrific,” Rod said drily. He looked to Julian. “Let’s save the horses for our outdoor shoot. We’ll use the dogs instead.”

  Abi stepped into the barn, peeled off her wet jacket and evaluated the area. “Nice work, guys!” She leaned close to Rebecca. “I’m guessing your cowboy isn’t going to be real happy about doing this in the middle of his workday.”

  “He isn’t my cowboy.”

  The smiling journalist shrugged. “I call ’em as I see ’em. When you’re in the vicinity, Mr. Gallagher only has eyes for you.”

  “That’s because he’s looking for another opportunity to bite off my head.”

  “I don’t think so,” Abi said in a singsongy voice.

  From behind them, Joe Gallagher cleared his throat.

  Rebecca whirled around.

  Looking handsome enough to take her breath away, the rancher stood in the doorway of the barn, closing a huge black umbrella. He wore creased Levi’s and a crisp white pearl-butt
on Western shirt. His black hair was damp and curled slightly over his ears. And he’d shaved. Rebecca couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen the man clean shaven. She examined the smooth planes of his angular face and found no evidence that he’d nicked himself.

  “What are you looking at?” Joe asked.

  “You mentioned losing a pint of blood when you shave,” Rebecca murmured.

  “I’ve been practicing,” he returned.

  “So I see.”

  He held a white straw Resistol and his Stetsons stacked in one hand. A spare shirt on a hanger dangled from his prosthetic fingers as his gaze swept across the impromptu photography setup.

  “You certainly clean up nicely,” Abi drawled, as she took the shirt and hats from Joe.

  He responded with a wink and a wide, winning smile that made even the sassy journalist blush.

  It was clear to everyone in the room why this particular cowboy had been chosen for the advertising campaign. He was definitely the perfect poster boy for OrthoBorne, despite his numerous protests.

  It was also obvious that Abi had been plain wrong in her summation of where Joe’s interests were. It had been a good twelve years since Joe had offered a smile like that to Rebecca.

  “Julian,” Rod called out. “We’re ready for makeup.”

  “Makeup?” Joe stepped back and held up a palm. “Whoa.”

  “It’s a loose powder that absorbs oil. We apply it with a sponge to keep your skin from shining under the lights.”

  “Makeup.” Joe repeated the word on a sour note.

  Julian inched nervously toward his model. “Could you sit down?”

  Joe averted his gaze, as though wishing himself elsewhere, and eased down to a bale of hay.

  “Close your eyes, please.”

  The cowboy tightened his jaw when Julian dabbed the powder on his face.

  All Rebecca could do was cringe, praying Julian would finish quickly.

  “Now let’s get you comfortable,” Rod said. “Go ahead and lean back against the hay.” He moved in to position Joe’s arm.

  Not a thing about Joe looked comfortable. Rebecca started nibbling on her thumbnail.

  “Julian, get that light over here. Abi, do you mind holding the silver reflector board for me?” Rod nodded and pulled out a light meter. “Higher please.”

  “Chin up, Joe. Give us a smile, like the love of your life walked into the room.”

  Joe’s eyes widened and his gaze locked with Rebecca’s. His lips curled dangerously. She met his eyes, straight on and worked hard not to flinch. No, she wouldn’t back down.

  “Rebecca. Your phone,” Abi whispered.

  “I’m sorry. Excuse me. I’ll step outside.” She pulled up the hood on her slicker and ducked out to the yard to check the number. Unidentified.

  “Hello?”

  The call disconnected, and she stood staring at the device. Could it have been her mother from an outside number? She scrolled through and found the familiar number. “Hey, Mom. Just checking to be sure you weren’t trying to reach me... Okay, great. I’ll talk to you later. I should be done here early.” She stepped into the barn in time to hear Joe arguing with Julian.

  “Touch my hat, and I might have to relocate your fingers.”

  Julian jumped back. “But Rod said to adjust the brim.”

  “Do you have a mirror?” Rebecca asked, intervening.

  “Sure,” Rod said. He rummaged in a large duffel and passed a hand mirror to her.

  “Okay, Rod,” Rebecca said. “Can you tell Mr. Gallagher how you want the Resistol?”

  “Push back those curls in front and put the hat on the back of your head. Sort of rakish.”

  “Rakish?” Joe repeated.

  “Yeah. Like a bad boy.”

  “A bad boy,” Joe muttered the words and adjusted the hat.

  “Perfect. Now turn slightly to the left, chin up.”

  Joe stiffly complied.

  “You don’t happen to have a guitar, do you?” Rod asked.

  This time Joe’s brows rose.

  “I guess that’s a no.” Rod glanced around. “Becca, can you get that rope from the tack room? The one that was hanging from the horse.”

  She raced to grab the coiled lasso rope from the wall.

  “Perfect. Okay, try this. Hold that rope with your prosthesis. Let it rest against your leg.”

  Again Joe complied, his green eyes dark and annoyed.

  “Stretch your legs out in front of you and cross them at the ankles, so we get the boots in the picture.” Rod kept circling around Joe and the bales of hay, snapping dozens of pictures. Finally he paused to evaluate. “Nice.”

  “Does that mean we’re done?” Joe began to rise.

  “No. Sit. Head down. Turn right, and tip the brim of your hat over your face. Let your prosthesis rest on your bent knee.”

  The tension in the barn was palpable as Rod continued to call out orders and snap digital pictures.

  “Julian. He’s shiny on the right side.”

  Julian stepped hesitantly toward Joe with a powder sponge.

  “Rebecca,” Rod called out. “We need a saddle. And the dogs. Where are the dogs?”

  Joe whistled for Gil and Wishbone, while Rebecca strode back to the tack room and grabbed a saddle from the wall.

  “Toss it over that high bale of hay behind Mr. Gallagher.”

  She slung the saddle awkwardly and missed, nearly hitting the dogs. Joe stood and easily scooped the leather from her hands and lifted it into place.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m about two hands shy of fed up,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

  Startled, she met his gaze. “We’re almost done.”

  Joe dutifully returned to his position against the hay, and Rod began adjusting the reflector board.

  “Can you make the dogs sit still?” Rod asked.

  “Sit.” Joe bellowed the command. The dogs sat, as did Julian.

  “What’s that smell?” Abi whispered to Rebecca.

  Rebecca glanced around. “It does smell funny, doesn’t it?”

  Rod looked at Joe. “Do you mind changing into another shirt and grabbing the black Stetson?

  A cell phone began to ring.

  Joe pulled it from his back pocket. “Yeah, Jake. Sure. I’ll be there in a bit. Thanks.”

  “Everything okay?” Rebecca asked.

  “The other piece for the windrower is in. I’ll need to get to town.”

  “We’re almost done here,” Rod said.

  “Jake closes early on Friday,” Joe stated.

  Rod looked from Joe to Rebecca. She nodded her agreement with Joe.

  “Okay,” Rod said. “I’ll look over today’s shots. Hopefully we have something to work with.”

  “What about my interview?” Abi asked.

  “Talk to Becca,” Joe said. Pausing, he glanced around the barn. “Something is burning.”

  He strode to the wall and grabbed the fire extinguisher before searching the barn, stall by stall. Rebecca followed.

  Joe stopped suddenly at a wall outlet. His wide shoulders heaved, and he let out a frustrated breath before yanking out two heavy-duty extension cords piggybacked into the wall outlet.

  The overhead lights went dark.

  “They could have burned down my barn,” Joe fairly growled. He whipped around. Face thunderous, he pinned her with an icy glare. “They could have burned down my barn, Becca.”

  “I’m sorry, Joe. This is my fault. Rod and Julian got here before me and set up.”

  “You’re right, it is your fault. I’m trying to save my ranch, and this is the second time they’ve fouled things up.”

  “It won’t
happen again.”

  “It can’t happen again.” He took a deep breath as if willing himself to calm down. Then he met her gaze. “Becca, life as a one-armed rancher is more challenging than I’d ever admit to anyone. Except maybe you. All I want to do is move on. But that can’t happen until the prosthesis is paid for and life returns to normal. I’m willing to do whatever it takes, but my patience is running thin.”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “I’m sorry, Joe. It seems that all I can offer is another apology, and I realize that doesn’t cut it.”

  Joe massaged his forehead with his fingers. “When are you moving into the cottage?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Good. This isn’t going to work unless you can ride herd on this team.”

  “You have my word.”

  “I’m counting on you, Becca. Gallagher Ranch is counting on you.”

  Rebecca swallowed. The man certainly knew how to hit her right where her guilt was located. He was right. So far her attempts to get this project on track were failing miserably. If Joe failed, she failed, as well. It was time to step up her game. Both their futures were on the line.

  Chapter Six

  “Who’s that?” Casey asked.

  Rebecca pulled on the Honda’s parking brake. She looked from her daughter in the passenger seat, staring glumly out the car window, to Joe Gallagher, who stood in front of their new home. The cowboy’s arms were crossed, his prosthesis visible in a black short-sleeve T-shirt. His face was unreadable as he watched the packed Honda edge up the circular gravel drive.

  Why was Joe here? He should be off doing whatever it was he did on Saturday afternoons.

  “That’s Mr. Gallagher. Remember, I told you that this is his ranch.”

  “Why is he mad?”

  Rebecca sucked in a breath. “He’s not mad.”

  “He looks mad to me.”

  “No. He’s just frowning. Joe, I mean, Mr. Gallagher, does that when he’s nervous.”

  “Why is he nervous?”

  “You know what? I think he might be a little scared to meet you, sweetie.”

  Casey unbuckled her seat belt and turned, her gaze meeting her mother’s. Her brown eyes rounded beneath the fringe of chocolate-brown bangs. “Me?”