“Charlie,” he said. “Wait. Sit down a minute. I…”
They both spun as the door creaked open and Doris’s face appeared in the opening.
“Hey, are you—oh. Damn. Sorry.”
Nate caught a quick glimpse of the woman’s grinning face as she ducked back outside.
“Oops,” Nate said. He couldn’t help grinning. He still hadn’t put his shirt on, so Doris had probably figured out what was going on. It was embarrassing, but somehow, he knew the old cowgirl would understand.
“It’s okay,” he said to Charlie.
“No, it’s not.” Her voice was shaky as she smoothed her shirt. “It’s not okay. I lost it, all right? You’re very—attractive. Very—I don’t know, persuasive or something.” She raked her fingers though her hair again. “It was just a once and done thing, okay? Forget about it.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not likely.” His voice had lost its light tone. He sounded stubborn. Determined.
Charlie turned away and started fooling with one of the pots of flowers she’d set around the bunkhouse. “I’ll finish up here,” she said, hunching her shoulders. “You’d better go.”
Chapter 14
Nate shut the barn door behind him and leaned against Junior’s stall, wiping his forehead. Something about Charlie had his hormones amped up into the red zone. He couldn’t believe he’d actually asked her to show him what she was wearing. To show him her—dang, he couldn’t even say the word to himself, but he’d said it right out loud to her. Your panties.
And she’d said yes. To everything. Said yes, and yes again, showed him just how miraculously right they were together, and then shut down the minute it was over as if she regretted what she’d done.
She seemed angry. He needed to fix things between them—but how? He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong. Maybe she felt used. Maybe he should have taken it slower.
What had she said? He was too persuasive. He’d have to watch that.
But he wouldn’t say he was sorry, that was for sure. He knew better than that. Apologies always revved Sandi up into a rage. Just saying he was sorry was bound to get him in trouble, and he wasn’t going to blow it with this girl like he had with Sandi. He might be a little slow on the uptake when it came to women, but he’d learned a few things. Don’t tell me—show me, Sandi always said. Words are easy.
He didn’t exactly agree with that, but he knew what she meant. Words were easy for her.
What worked for Sandi was jewelry, or a new pair of shoes. Sometimes she went for flowers if his offense wasn’t too bad, but they had to be real flowers, like roses. Bought flowers. He’d tried gathering wildflowers for her one time, and that hadn’t gone over well at all.
And this last time, nothing had worked. All Sandi had wanted was out.
He wondered what he should do for Charlie. Obviously, she was perfectly capable of gathering her own flowers. And it would hardly be appropriate to buy her jewelry.
So what would be appropriate? Shoes?
No—boots. He could get her some cowboy boots—real ones, to replace those ridiculous high-fashion wannabe boots she’d brought from Jersey. Boots would be perfect. Not only were they practical, but they’d show he wanted her to stay. Sure, boots were pretty expensive, even plain ones without a lot of tooling, but—
But nothing. He almost groaned aloud. He couldn’t buy Charlie boots. He couldn’t buy her anything. He was broke.
He froze. Broke.
He didn’t have any money at all. Sandi had cleaned him out.
Presents for Charlie were the least of his problems. He couldn’t even take her and Doris to the mustang auction. He’d need money to buy the horses.
His stomach balled itself up and clenched tight as a fist. What the hell was he going to do?
Breathe, he told himself. Breathe. Don’t panic. Slow down and think. It was the same ritual he used when a horse acted up—only now he was trying to tame his own crazy life, and it was tougher than any screwed-up stallion he’d ever faced.
The door opened and Doris strode into the barn.
“There you are,” she said. “Thought I’d spooked you, you took off so fast. What were you two up to in there?” She gestured toward the bunkhouse.
“Nothing.” He could feel a blush heating his face. Doris noticed.
It seemed like Doris noticed everything.
“Why, you’re blushing! You blush just as easy as Charlie,” she said, a wicked glint in her eye.
“Charlie blushes?”
“Sure.” Doris winked. “Mostly when we talk about you.”
Nate looked away, squinting toward the horizon. “That’s not blushing,” he said. “She’s just mad. I can’t do a thing right where she’s concerned.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Doris said. “I think you were doing something right back there in the bunkhouse.”
Nate shook his head. It had sure felt right. But judging from Charlie’s response, what they’d done was wrong in her eyes.
He’d moved too fast. Spooked her.
“Can you show me that stallion now?” Doris bounced on the balls of her feet like an eager ten-year-old.
“Sure.” Nate thought he might show her some other horses too. Maybe he could sell her on the notion of using one of his horses instead of a mustang. Kind of lead her into it, make her think it was her own idea. She had the walk of a real horsewoman, and a calm vibe about her that most likely served her well with animals. He could probably trust her with his horses. In fact, he had a feeling he’d have to be on his toes to teach her anything.
“Charlie says you can tame that stallion down ’til he’s sweet as a baby,” Doris said. “I can’t wait to see that.”
It wouldn’t be hard to distract Charlie from the mustang idea. All he’d have to do was let her work with Junior—but that was impossible. He’d pretty much staked the ranch on that horse, and he wasn’t about to let a greenhorn handle him, no matter how much he needed said greenhorn’s help. No, he’d have to hope he could steer Charlie toward one of the other horses. She’d probably like Boy, the handsome black gelding he was finishing for a rancher up in Story, but he couldn’t let a student handle a client’s horse either.
Maybe she’d like Razz. Yeah, that would do it. The flashy paint was saddle-broke and fully trained, but he had a few spunky mannerisms that might convince Charlie she was working with a genuine wild pony. He was a handsome devil too.
Yeah, she was bound to fall for Razz. He’d just tell her the horse was a mustang. He wasn’t much for lying, but sometimes you had to. Sometimes you didn’t have a choice.
***
A half hour later, Doris clomped up the steps to the bunkhouse and surveyed the accommodations, hands on hips.
“Not bad.”
Charlie started. She’d been staring out the window, lost in thought.
“Now that you’ve got our digs all fixed up, I think I’ll get myself a little shut-eye, if that’s okay with you,” Doris said. “I generally nap in the afternoons.” She cocked a thumb over her shoulder toward the house. “Your boyfriend’s in there dithering over supper. You know he was going to feed us TV dinners? I set him straight, though. With what he’s charging, the food oughta be better than that.”
“That’s all he knows how to cook,” Charlie said.
“I know. That’s why I told him it just wouldn’t do,” Doris said. “He’s a mess. Needs you to rescue him.” She grinned. “What’s the girl equivalent of a knight in shining armor?”
“A fairy-tale princess, I guess.” Charlie looked down at her clothes. She’d changed out of her jeans and T-shirt—they were dusty and dirty from cleaning the bunkhouse, and besides, those panties had to go—but she was still dressed like a farmhand. “I’m not sure that’s me.”
“I don’t know—I think you’re a damn good kick-ass princess.” Doris punched a fist in the air in a girl-power salute. “Go save his butt like a good princess should.”
“A kick-ass prince
ss,” Charlie said. “I like that.”
“He’ll figure it out,” Doris said, patting her shoulder. “It might take him a while, but he’ll get it.”
“Get what?”
“That you’re the girl for him.” Doris grinned. “You should have seen him blush when I talked about you.”
“He should blush,” Charlie said. “He’s done nothing but screw up since I got here.” She felt her own face heating. That wasn’t quite true. Nate had done something right back there in the bunkhouse.
Something very, very right. She shoved the memory out of her mind.
“He likes you,” Doris said. “I can tell.”
Uh-oh. Doris obviously had the matchmaking bug. Charlie had a sudden flashback to seventh grade, when an overzealous girlfriend had tried to fix her up with half the football team just because she’d made a comment about how hot they looked in their pads. Charlie didn’t like football players any better than she liked cowboys. She meant they looked warm. Overheated.
Kind of like her libido ever since she’d hit Latigo Ranch. She flushed, remembering what had happened with Nate. It would be easy to blame him for the incident if she hadn’t grabbed for that condom like it was the holy grail or something. What had she been thinking? He was a cowboy. A stupid cowboy.
And she was leaving.
“You don’t have to play matchmaker, Doris. I appreciate it, but Nate’s not my type.”
Doris smiled and shook her head.
“Really,” Charlie protested. “I don’t like cowboys. I’m no buckle bunny, you know.”
“And Nate’s no rodeo rider,” Doris retorted. “I saw how he handled the horses. He’s very good at what he does.” She tipped Charlie a sideways smile. “He’s got a nice, gentle way with him.”
Charlie thought of Nate’s hand stroking her hair, touching her skin. The tenderness of his touch had sent a tingling thrill through her body, but the way he’d looked at her afterwards had sparked an amber caution light in her subconscious. He thought he knew her now. He thought he’d seen through all her defenses, when really all he’d seen was her panties.
Well, not really. They’d gone way beyond the lingerie fashion show he’d requested. But what kind of guy wanted to look at a girl’s panties, anyway?
And besides, there was that locked attic. Who knew what was up there? Until she found out, she needed to stay away from the guy. For all she knew, he was a serial killer and it was full of severed body parts from his many victims.
Or panties.
Yeah, right. More likely, he kept the rest of his plastic horse collection up there and played Barbie Horse Show when no one was around.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, with a toss of her hair. “I’m going back to Jersey, soon as I get what I came for.”
As she said it, she knew that was what she needed to focus on. Get in, get the information she needed, and get out. She was on a mission, with a clearly defined goal: observe and report.
She’d deliver that paper and hopefully steer Sadie toward letting her do more research comparing animal and human behavior. Then she’d do her practicum, and after that, who knew? She’d find some kind of meaningful work—something with kids, maybe. Or, better yet, with animals.
Maybe both.
Long-term, she didn’t really know where she was headed. But she did know one thing: there was no man in the picture. Certainly no cowboy.
“We’ll see.” Doris kicked her shoes off and plumped up a pillow. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to get what you came for, Charlie Banks. I’m just not sure you realize what it is you want.”
Chapter 15
From the kitchen window, Charlie could survey the front of the barn, most of the outbuildings, and the long, winding driveway. She knew Nate was in the barn cleaning tack and Doris was napping in the bunkhouse, so she was the only person who saw a car sweep up the drive and deposit Nate’s newest client. The car was a genuine redneck taxi—a beat-up El Camino with a checkerboard paint job that had obviously involved a can of spray paint and a homemade stencil.
Charlie supposed you might call the apparition that stepped from the passenger’s seat a cowgirl—but she was definitely a cowgirl with a twist. The girl was a symphony in black—black leather cowboy boots, a black lace bustier revealing a swath of pale tummy flesh, black jeans, and a long black duster like the bad guy in a Kevin Costner Western. She wore plenty of black eyeliner too, and even black lipstick and black polished fingernails.
Charlie laughed aloud. This was going to be good. If there was such a thing as a Goth cowgirl, she was looking at it. She couldn’t wait to see Nate’s reaction.
The creature stood in the dust of the departing taxi, staring after it like it was her last chance for salvation. Then she squared her shoulders and turned toward the house.
Charlie recognized that gesture. She’d squared her shoulders exactly the same way half a million times. It was how she steeled herself to deal with a situation she didn’t want to face.
It was how she dealt with fear.
She stepped out onto the porch and waved at what appeared to be the Satanic Cowgirl of Doom. “Welcome to Latigo Ranch,” she said, as the new guest mounted the steps at a dirge-like pace.
Dead Cowgirl Walking, Charlie thought. She fought off an urge to giggle.
“Yeah.” The girl wasn’t much for talking, but then she’d apparently spent all her eloquence on her appearance. Besides the black clothing, her hair was the flat black of a bad dye job, and her skin was pasty pale, as if she’d lived out her life in a cave. The whole effect screamed misfit. There wasn’t much left the kid needed to say.
“Did you want to clean up? Stow your stuff in the bunkhouse? There’s another guest in there napping, but I’m sure she won’t mind. I mean, it’s your bunkhouse too.” Charlie stopped her jabbering, aware that the girl’s silence had unnerved her into babbling incoherence.
“By the way, I’m Charlie,” she said. “I’m—I’m sort of Nate’s assistant, I guess.”
The girl stared at her, the gray eyes expressionless.
“And your name is…?” Charlie lifted her eyebrows expectantly.
“Phaedra.”
“Phaedra…?”
“Just Phaedra.”
“Oh, I get it. Just one name. Like Madonna.”
“No, like Cher. Cher’s cool. Madonna’s a bitch.”
“Right. Like Cher.”
Stifling a chuckle, Charlie trotted down the steps and grabbed the girl’s duffel bag, wondering if everything inside was black.
Probably.
“Come on—I’ll show you where you’re staying.” She trotted off to the bunkhouse without looking back.
The girl traipsed behind her, stepping into the bunkhouse doorway a moment after Charlie had hoisted her bag onto a bed by the window. Doris lay sprawled on the next bed over, deep in slumber, a gentle but unmistakable snore issuing from her open mouth.
“I’d rather be over there.” Phaedra pointed toward the far corner of the room, toward the only bed and nightstand that lacked a jar of flowers.
“Oh, no you wouldn’t,” Charlie said. “It’s nicer here by the window. Plus it’ll be easier for our pajama parties.”
“I’m not into nice,” Phaedra said scornfully. “Or pajama parties. I want that one over there. Where I can be alone.”
Doris sat up, rubbing her fists into her eyes like a sleepy child.
“Alone?” She shook her head, then fluffed up her hair on the side where it had been flattened against her pillow and squinted at the new arrival. “You’ll be alone in the grave, child. Best take good company when you can find it.”
Phaedra shook her head and hauled her gear over to the corner bed.
“Or not.” Doris shrugged and turned to Charlie. “How’s that cowboy’s butt doing? You save it yet?”
“Well, dinner’s almost ready,” Charlie said. “You can come on in if you want. You too, Phaedra.”
The girl looked up from where she w
as arranging a pile of books on the nightstand. Sartre’s Nausea topped the stack.
“Not hungry,” she said.
“Come anyway.” Charlie gave her a look that had cowed many an underclassmen during her stint as a teaching assistant. “It’s part of the deal.”
“All right.” Phaedra rose, mumbling under her breath, and trailed behind the two women like a reluctant haunt.
“Smells good,” Doris said as they mounted the porch. “Terrific.”
“I probably can’t eat it, whatever it is,” Phaedra announced. “I’m a vegetarian.”
“No problem,” Charlie said. “It’s spaghetti and meatballs. Meatballs optional.”
The table was set with a blue gingham cloth and blue paper napkins Charlie had found in the pantry. A drinking glass filled with black-eyed Susans was flanked by an earthenware bowl of pasta, a saucepan filled with rich, red sauce, and a pyramid of plump meatballs stacked on a plate.
“Sit down and help yourselves,” Charlie said. “I’ll go get Nate.”
“No need.”
She turned to see the cowboy standing in the doorway, his hat in his hand.
“Well, dinner’s ready.” She gestured toward the table like a game-show hostess, waiting for his reaction to the homey atmosphere she’d managed to wring out of his bare-bones kitchen.
But Nate was staring across the table at their newest guest. He squinted, then put a hand to his forehead.
“Hello?” he said.
“That’s Phaedra,” Charlie said. “A new client.”
“Thought I was hallucinating,” he muttered. He stared down at the table, that muscle in his jaw working. “I’ll go wash up,” he said and strode out of the room.
Charlie watched him go with her hands on her hips. She’d cleaned the bunkhouse, cooked his dinner, played hostess to his spooky new student, even shown him her panties, and then some—but he had nothing to say. She was starting to think he couldn’t be much of a horse trainer. Didn’t animals need positive reinforcement?
One Fine Cowboy Page 10