How the Cowboy Was Won

by Lori Wilde

  “Where do you think I learned the big words?” Her voice came out deep and respectful, which surprised her a bit. But it was true. Ranger had stretched her vocabulary far more than college had.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Zeke drawled.

  Ember tensed. Was he going to ask about her relationship with Ranger? “I guess it depends on how personal it is.”

  “It’s not personal at all. At least not about you. It’s about Chriss Anne.”

  “What about her?”

  “Is she seeing anyone?”

  Ember bit back a groan. What was it with people? Why did they always want what they shouldn’t have? I dunno, Ember, why do they? “I think maybe Palmer likes her.”

  “No,” Zeke replied. “He likes Fiona.”

  Good gravy. How was she ever going to sort this out?

  “Do you think Chriss Anne would go out with me if I asked her?” Zeke’s face was shiny in the sun.

  “She’s stuck on Palmer,” Ember said firmly.

  “Are you sure? ’Cause I could swear that she was playing footsie with me under the table last night.”

  Ugh. TMI. Then again, was anything TMI for a matchmaker when it came to affairs of the heart?

  More people were driving up. Everyone getting out of vehicles and coming over to watch the trailer full of camels bumping up and down over the sand in an ambling manner as the vehicle came toward them, surrounded by a dust cloud.

  No time to sort out Zeke and Chriss Anne; she had a film to direct.

  “I really like camels.” Zeke readjusted his Stetson to keep the windshield glint out of his eyes. “They’re witty, smart, and very sturdy, much like Chriss Anne.”

  “Word to the wise, Zeke, do not tell Chriss Anne that she reminds you of a camel,” Ember whispered as Chriss Anne drove up in her Ford Fiesta.

  Wearing red and white canvas platform espadrilles, Chriss Anne minced over to where Ember and Zeke were standing, tablet computer tucked underneath her arm. She looked cute as a candy cane in a red cap-sleeved top and white denim skirt, and quite inappropriately dressed for a day of filming camels in the desert. Was she trying to impress Palmer?

  Ember cast a glance at the suave cameraman who had his lens trained on the incoming camels. He hadn’t once glanced Chriss Anne’s way.

  Zeke, however, was eyeing her up one side and down the other like he was picking out a specialty cheesecake on his birthday at The Cheesecake Factory.

  The trailer full of camels halted right in front of them. The odor was immediate and deeply pungent.

  “Eew. Someone forgot to take a shower.” Chriss Anne gagged.

  “Oh, it’s not us,” Zeke said. “It’s the camels.”

  Ember murmured, “She’s joking.”

  Zeke looked chagrined. “I knew that.”

  Chriss Anne rolled her eyes. “Camels smell disgusting.”

  Zeke’s face lit up. “Camels may be stinky, but they are lovely creatures, and you’ll get used to the smell.”

  “Ain’t gonna happen.” Chriss Anne pinched her nose.

  The drivers got out of the truck, and Zeke surged toward them as if meeting a long-lost relative.

  “He really likes camels, huh?” Chriss Anne said.

  “Apparently.” Ember took care to breathe through her mouth.

  Chriss Anne’s gaze dropped to Zeke’s butt encased in well-worn Wranglers, and she mumbled, “He does have a nice ass, but he’s going to smell like camels.”

  “No doubt we’re all going to smell like camels before the day is done,” Ember said, willing herself not to gag along with Chriss Anne as the truck drivers let the trailer gate down.

  “The smell will get better,” Zeke promised cheerily. “Once they are out in the open.”

  “He’s an optimistic sort, isn’t he?” Fiona said, coming up on Ember’s right.

  “You do have to admire someone with so much zeal for camels,” Ember said.

  “And they called it camel love,” Palmer sang to the tune of “Puppy Love” and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  Chriss Anne giggled.

  Fiona scolded, “Don’t be a perv. Zeke is a nice guy.”

  Zeke was busy helping the drivers unload the eight camels and hopefully didn’t hear any of Palmer’s camel love nonsense.

  Ember glanced around and counted heads. Everyone from the cast and crew was there except Ranger. She pulled out her phone. No text. She texted him. Where R U????

  She waited a bit, watched the camels unloading. Despite Zeke’s obvious adoration for the animals, they stunk to high heaven, groaned thunderously, and rolled their eyes frequently. It had been fourteen years since there were camels at the Silver Feather, and Ember had forgotten about the reality of what they were like up close and personal.

  All eight camels were led out of the trailer, and the truck drivers helped Zeke tie them together, caravan style.

  No text from Ranger.

  Should she text again? It had been only five minutes. Give him some space. But not too much space. The drivers would be leaving soon, and eight camels were too much for Zeke to handle on his own.

  “Camels’ feet expand when bearing weight to keep them from sinking in the sand,” Zeke announced to the group at large, for no reason in particular it seemed, but he zeroed in on Chriss Anne, stepped closer to her.

  Chriss Anne waved away buzzing flies. “Good for them.”

  “Camels are one of the few mammals who make love sitting down,” Zeke went on as if he was Camel-wikipedia.

  “Huh? How does that work?” Chriss Anne asked.

  From behind his camera, Palmer sang again, “And they called it camel love.”

  “Has anyone seen Ranger this morning?” Ember asked.

  “Yeah,” said one of the grips. “I saw him and Dawn going into La Hacienda Grill when I was driving over this morning.”

  Oh really? Ember whipped out her phone again, took her sunglasses off. Texted: Put down the rancheros huevos and come to the set. Camels R here.

  Immediately her phone dinged, and she smiled. She had his attention at last.

  Right behind U.

  She turned and there he was. Grinning. Ember grinned back and then she saw . . .

  . . . Dawn.

  Looking even blonder, taller, and more goddessy than ever, her arm linked around Ranger’s elbow, the sun glinting off her golden cheekbones.

  Ember gritted her teeth, forced the corners of her mouth upward, and hoped she didn’t look like a shark. Quickly, she shot a glance at Fiona to see how she was taking this unfolding situation with Dawn, but Fiona was whispering in Palmer’s ear.

  Fudge rockets. Nothing was going according to plan.

  Time to gain control. Ember clapped her hands. “People, people, may I have your attention?”

  Every eye in the desert swung her way, including the camels’. One of them spit a stream of yuck that landed just short of Chriss Anne’s espadrilles.

  “Eew, eew! He spit a loogie at me!”

  “Actually,” Zeke said, “he’s a she and it’s not really a loogie. A loogie is phlegm coughed up from the lungs. Camels are ruminants. It’s basically vomit.”

  “Gross! Gross!” Chriss Anne trotted far away from the camels.

  “All in all, vomit is not any worse than phlegm.” Dawn shrugged pragmatically. “They both wash off.”

  “That’s a Kiwi for you,” Ranger said proudly. “Sensible as the day is long.”

  Oh yes, New Zealand was heaven and all those who lived there, saints.

  “Are you aware,” Fiona whispered in Ember’s ear, “that you’re grinding your teeth?”

  “Bullhorn.” Ember snapped her fingers at Chriss Anne, who hurried to her car as quickly as she could in the desert-inappropriate footwear to retrieve the bullhorn. Zeke watched her go with a smitten look on his face.

  Ranger and Dawn were talking about fellowships and the McDonald Observatory and the fast radio bursts. Palmer had swung his camera around to Fiona and was fil
ming her instead of the camels.

  Ember sighed. It was shaping up to be a very long day.

  And it only went downhill from there.

  The scene required eight of the actors to ride camels. Only Zeke, who wasn’t acting in the film, Ranger, and Ember had ridden camels before. Although Ember’s experience was limited. She’d ridden twice, many moons ago, when there had been camels at the Silver Feather—and both times, she’d gone tandem in the saddle with Ranger.

  History—and the script—called for Mary Beale, a.k.a. Fiona, to learn to ride a camel under the tutelage of her husband, Edward.

  Fiona, however, folded her arms over her chest, hardening her chin, as stubborn as a camel, shook her head and declared, “I am not riding that thing.”

  No amount of wheedling could change her mind.

  “I’ll do it,” Dawn said gamely. “I’ll be Fiona’s body double. I can wear a wig, and you can film me mostly from behind and at a distance.”

  Hey, hey! Who was the director here? Ember smiled like a razor blade. “Don’t you have a job at the observatory to get to?”

  “Pah.” Dawn waved a slender, beautiful hand. “Doesn’t start until next week. I’m game for camel riding.”

  Smile. Smile. Ember wasn’t going to let anyone know she was anything less than thrilled with Dawn’s suggestion. “Thank you for your generous offer, Dawn, but you are far too tall. You’re what? Six foot?”

  “Five-ten,” Dawn supplied.

  “Mary Beale was only five foot four, like Fiona and me.”

  “Does it really have to be that historically accurate?” Dawn asked.

  It was all Ember could do to lock down her temper and stay civil to Ranger’s research partner.

  “I’m sorry to be such a bother,” Fiona apologized. “But I’m just not a camel person.”

  “Who is?” Palmer asked, sidling over to Fiona. “No one is blaming you. Face it, you could get hurt climbing on one of those smelly things, and that would be terrible.”

  Fiona slid him a sunbeam smile and he inched closer.

  “You could play Mary Beale, Em,” Ranger said, looking snappy in his military period costume. “Wear a brunette wig. Be Fiona’s body double.”

  “I’m directing.”

  “You can do both. Palmer can handle setting up the shot.” Ranger was giving her a look that sent an inappropriate thrill through her.

  Was it her imagination, or was he feeling the heat too?

  She just about had herself convinced there was something different in his eyes when he watched her, but then he slipped his arm around Dawn’s waist and planted a kiss at her temple and whispered something in her ear.

  Dawn giggled. “Right,” she said to Ranger. To Ember she said, “I challenge you to a camel race. First one to reach that billboard . . .” She waved toward a large billboard, a quarter of a mile away, depicting a cowboy roping a giant armadillo and advertising a local western wear shop. “If you win, you’re Fiona’s stand-in. But if I win”—Dawn lowered her voice, all hot and whispery—“I play Ranger’s lover.”

  She should have said no. Should have pulled rank and ordered Dawn off her set. But the impulsive part of her, the competitive part of her, hell, the jealous part of her, said, “You’re on, Blondie.”

  And before anyone could protest, Ember threw herself atop one of the seated camels Zeke had just saddled and took off.

  Chapter 14

  “Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its fragrance on the desert air.”

  —Jane Austen, Emma

  Or at least that was her intention.

  The camel, who had been jostling in a trailer for days, crowded in close with her fellow dromedaries, was in no mood for an impromptu race.

  Quite out of sorts, the camel refused Ember’s bidding.

  Ember nudged the animal with her heels as if she were a horse, urging her to her feet, but the mulish creature turned her head and spit a stream of yuck that came perilously close to landing on Ember’s shoulder.

  “Watch out!” Chriss Anne cried and parroted Zeke. “Remember, camels have sex while sitting down.”

  “And they called it camel love,” Palmer crooned.

  “Shut up!” Ember yelled at him. Fudge rockets. The wheels were coming off the cart, and she was losing her cool. Not good.

  Palmer grinned, unoffended. He knew he was being obnoxious.

  “See you at the finish line, loser,” Dawn, who’d climbed aboard a camel of her own, called over her shoulder.

  “Zeke,” Ember commanded. “How do I get this old girl on her feet?”

  “Stop trying to control her,” Zeke instructed, rushing over to help.

  “Eat my dust!” Dawn said, and quite literally kicked dust over Zeke, Ember, and her lackadaisical beast of burden.

  Dammit! Ember hated to lose. Especially to the golden goddess.

  Sputtering against the gritty sand on her lips, Ember glowered at Dawn’s departing back.

  Suddenly, the camel decided she was going to get into the game, and she lurched up on her back legs.

  “Lean back in the saddle, lean back in the saddle!” Zeke hollered.

  The camel rocked forward as she rose to her front legs. It felt as if the entire world was shaking. Clutching the creature around the neck, Ember sucked in wind and slammed her eyes closed.

  “Lean forward, lean forward!” Zeke said.

  “Make up your mind!” Ember wailed.

  Ranger, the unhelpful sod, stood on the sidelines laughing his ass off.

  She blew a raspberry at him.

  The camel seemed to think the rude salute was intended for her. She let out a fierce noise, snorted, and shot across the sand like a jackrabbit.

  Ember shrieked.

  Zeke grabbed the bullhorn and started running after her, calling out technical instructions. “Adjust yourself so you’re sitting in the middle of the saddle. Try to cross your legs in front. It’ll distribute your weight more evenly.”

  Yeah, that was so not happening. It was all she could do to hang on. The camel seemed jet-propelled, clearly on a mission to kill Ember.

  Zeke was still following her but starting to lag. “Place one hand on the wooden handle in front of you. Put the other hand on the handle behind your seat.”

  What wooden handle? She didn’t see any wooden handle.

  Um, it would help, Alzate, if you opened your eyes. She tried it. Regretted the move when she saw the ground flying away beneath the crazy camel’s churning legs.

  Shit, shit, shit. She was going to fall. She was going to die. Okay, she was going to try not to land on her head and break her fool neck. This was what she got for being impulsive and competitive and jealous and stupid . . .

  “Sit comfortably and glide with the movements, don’t resist the sway . . . just relax,” Zeke broadcast over the bullhorn.

  Oh, she wanted to take that bullhorn and his advice and show him what he could do with it. Every muscle in her body tensed. Yep. Today was going to be the day someone died. Possibly Zeke for his ridiculous instructions. Could be Ranger for laughing at her. More likely it would be her for her moronic tendency to assume she could figure things out as she went.

  And oh look. She was gaining on Dawn.

  How had that happened?

  Her camel, once ignited, flamed like the sun, streaming along, not the least bit troubled by Ember screaming a terrified, “Ahheee” that rang out across the desert.

  Dawn whipped her head around, looked utterly surprised to see Ember pulling up beside her. The cowboy-roping-an-armadillo billboard was mere yards away. She could beat the Kiwi. She could win.

  “You!” Dawn exclaimed.

  “Me,” Ember confirmed through clenched teeth. Don’t mess with a determined redhead, Blondie.

  Ember’s camel flew past Dawn, but once she reached the billboard—winning, by the way—her camel just kept going.

  “Whoa, whoa,” she said, pulling back on the reins.

  The camel b
ulleting along at a healthy clip, suddenly plunged all four feet into the sand, coming to a complete, teeth-slamming stop.

  Sending Ember flying over her head and onto the hard desert earth. She ended up spread-eagle on her back in a patch of thorny vegetation, gasping like a landed guppy and staring blurrily at a drooling dromedary.

  “Ember! Ember!” Ranger knelt at her side.

  Her empty lungs could not respond.

  Eyes shooting wide open, face draining of color, Ranger grappled for her wrist, pressed two fingers to her pulse.

  Yes, dear friend, I’m alive. I have not died.

  “Em? Can you hear me?” He dragged her into his arms. Strong, safe, harbor-in-a-storm arms and gathered her close to his chest.

  If she could breathe, it would feel nice—really nice—resting here with her head cradled against his elbow.

  “Em?” His eyes searched her face.

  Okay, I’m okay. She nodded.

  “If I wasn’t so worried about you, I’d swat your fanny for that stunt,” he said, his voice heavy with kindness. He was the only person on the face of the earth who could get away with saying something like that to her.

  Her breath slowly came back to her and she turned her head to say something, but felt a prickling sting shoot down her back. Something was poking her in the neck.

  She groaned, winced.

  “Medic! Do we have a medic on-site?” Ranger yelled, uncharacteristic panic in his voice.

  He was the least panicky person she knew. She wanted to tell him she was perfectly fine if he’d just pluck the thorn out of her neck, but she couldn’t draw in air past the lung spasms.

  “Th . . . thor . . .” She wheezed, trying to reach around to pluck the thorn from her neck.

  “Don’t thrash, you could have a neck injury.”

  She did. A damn thorn. “Thor . . . thor . . .”

  Ranger held the back of her head in his palms, immobilizing her. “Thor? It felt like Thor struck you with a lightning bolt?”

  Sometimes it was annoying to have a friend who was too well-read. Who the hell else would think she was talking about Thor, the Norse god of thunder and lightning?