Cowboy Enchantment

by Pamela Browning

  When they reached the place where the path divided, he stopped. “This is where I head to my own place. Thanks again, Erica.” That she had chosen to help him after so disastrous a first meeting bespoke a good heart and generous nature.

  There it was again, that sideways tilt of her head. And he liked the stillness that he sensed inside her, the quietness that few women exhibited. He much preferred it to the constant talk, talk, talk that most women found necessary when in his presence.

  “You’re welcome, Hank,” she said, and the words could have sounded stiff and uncomfortable if it hadn’t been for her voice, which was soft and warm and pleasant.

  He felt an improbable affinity with her, which seemed absurd after only two encounters.

  “Look,” he said uneasily, not knowing he was going to say anything but goodbye until the word was out of his mouth. “We got off on the wrong foot today. I hope it won’t affect the way you think of me.”

  She seemed to consider this. “Really, it’s okay.”

  He wasn’t entirely sure that it was, but he knew her smile meant that she’d forgiven him and that they were now on a new footing.

  “Well,” he said, his spirits lifting, “I’ll see you tomorrow for your lesson.”

  “Yes. For my lesson.” Behind her glasses, her eyes shone large and luminous in the darkness, and in that moment he saw how pretty she was.

  To hide his confusion, he spared her only a curt nod. He watched her as she went, his buoyant feeling fading as she disappeared around the corner of one of the buildings.

  He liked her. He found being around her easy, comfortable. He didn’t know why he felt that way, but he did.

  HER COWBOY had a baby.

  Erica had not considered the possibility that he would be encumbered. Oh, she’d thought he might be married, in which case she would have backed off in a hurry. She didn’t need the pain and anguish of being the Other Woman. But it had never occurred to her that he would have children.

  She smiled to herself at his determination to complete the task of sewing on the button. He had hunched over the tiny pink pinafore, her cowboy, looking sorely out of his element and all the more attractive for making the effort. Clearly he was raising his daughter alone, and that made him interesting to her. It took a real man to take on the burden of child-rearing all by himself.

  She booted up her laptop computer, which she hadn’t intended to bring along at first. Then Charmaine had insisted that Erica pack it.

  “How will we keep in touch if I’m in Aruba and you’re in California and you don’t have e-mail?” Charmaine had wailed, and seeing the sense of this, Erica had brought the laptop along.

  YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

  Hi Erica

  How’s it going? Tell, tell! I want to hear all about Rancho Encantado. There are mosquitoes in Aruba and the climate is muggy. Wish I could have come with you!

  Love, Char

  Char

  I met the perfect guy. He’s a cowboy who is going to teach me to ride. And it’s not muggy.

  Love, E.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Erica had her first makeover appointment. The hairdresser and makeup artist, Tico, was a small man, stocky and squat and sporting a waxed handlebar mustache. After an analysis of her skin type, he prescribed a foundation mixed for her exact skin tone and instructed her in the use of blush, eye shadow and concealer.

  “A darker lipstick is what you need! No pale tones for you,” he said busily as he set upon her with lip liner and tubes and gloss.

  Despite his admonition to be still, she got in a few words between the lip liner and gloss. “Are you sure this stuff isn’t too dark? I don’t want to look like a vampire.”

  This made him laugh heartily. “A vampire! Of course you will not look like a vampire. What a funny lady you are.”

  When he was finished, she had to admit that he was on the right track. Who would have guessed that lipstick the exact shade of red geraniums would bring out the color in her cheeks and make her lips look full and lush? Who would have known that a few dabs of concealer on the shadows under her eyes could perk up the sallowness of her skin?

  “Ah, but you have such wonderful hair,” Tico said, draping strands of it around his fingers and letting them fall into place.

  “I never did before,” Erica said.

  He winked. “But this is Rancho Encantado. Anything can happen here.”

  “Even a talking cat?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  His astonishment warned her not to pursue the subject. “Oh, nothing. Tell me, what changes would you recommend for me?” she replied cautiously.

  “A lighter hair color, of course. As for the eyebrows, we will dye them today!”

  “How about my eyelashes?” Hers were virtually colorless.

  “Dye! Dye!” He was startling in his intensity, and Erica hoped no one would mistake his meaning. Several clients peered around the door in alarm, withdrawing their heads when they realized that her situation was not dire.

  “Back to my hair—how light do you intend it to be?”

  “Only a little lightening here and there, we will give it a bit of a trim, and voilà! Rancho Encantado has worked its magic.”

  “I’ve never wanted to bleach my hair because it would be too hard to keep up.”

  Tico produced a sampler of pale hair colors and fanned them out before her. “Lowlights do not require so much maintenance, and I would do a lot of them. Look, we have so many shades to choose from—Butter Cream, Moonlight Madness, Winter Frost—”

  “Never mind,” Erica said hastily, dizzied by the possibilities. “Choose one. Whatever you think would look best.”

  “Perhaps I should tell you a blonde joke? It is the last time you will hear one as a brownette.”

  “I don’t think so. I’d rather get started.”

  “Oh, you will look fantastico!” Tico said, clapping his hands together, which brought two assistants running.

  As they attacked with hair color and foil, shears and razor, comb and curling iron, Erica hid her face in a magazine. She had no intention of looking in the mirror until Tico and company were through.

  BACK IN HER ROOM after her hair appointment, when she finally stopped admiring her reflection in the mirror, Erica booted up her laptop and found a message from Charmaine.

  YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

  Dear Sis

  You already know how to ride. What’s up?

  Love, Char

  Erica, still sneaking peeks at the mirror, immediately replied.

  Char

  My hair is streaked Palomino Blond. The manicurist gave me acrylic fingernails!!! My cowboy has a baby. And I’m letting him teach me to ride because I want to be with him as much as possible.

  Love, E.

  THAT AFTERNOON in preparation for Erica’s riding lesson, Hank saddled up Melba, the mare who was best suited to beginners. He had decided on this particular horse on the basis of the form that Justine had filled out at Erica’s behest. Some of their guests had been riding most of their lives, and others had a smidgen of experience. Erica had been identified as the latter.

  When he’d finished saddling Melba, he led her into the ring and leaned against the fence, waiting. Mrs. Gray appeared with her three latest offspring, and she supervised them from a relatively safe position outside the ring as they chased and pounced. The kittens would be okay as long as they stayed out from underfoot, he figured.

  Idly he watched a petite woman walking briskly along the lane, which was flanked by rows of eucalyptus trees. The sun picked out golden streaks in her hair, and she looked slightly familiar. He stood straighter, his attention drawn to her face, which was hidden behind big sunglasses.

  Melba whinnied and bumped his shoulder, and by the time he’d patted her on the neck and assured her that an apple was forthcoming soon, the woman had disappeared into the stable.

  “She must be going to see Paloma,” he said out loud, since the baby-sitter often asked friends to drop by; the
y were helping her to plan her wedding.

  Shows what you know, said Mrs. Gray, which caused Hank to wheel around in amazement. The cat’s unwavering gaze scalded him, and he reminded himself that cats don’t talk. Still, he narrowed his eyes at her, but all she did was cuff one of her kittens as it came too close to the gate.

  “Hank,” said Erica’s voice behind him, and he whirled around, expecting to see her approaching.

  But it wasn’t Erica who strode toward him, this woman with shiny hair rippling in the breeze, lips full and red. It was someone who looked very like his dream woman, the one he rescued from rattlesnakes, the one who warmed his lonely bed at night.

  The woman pulled off the sunglasses, and he was astonished to realize that it was indeed Erica. Her wide eyes, framed by long lashes, were a complex mix of brown and green, the arched brows brushed upward.

  “All ready for our lesson?” she asked.

  “I…well, I thought you were going to be late.”

  “I wouldn’t miss my lesson for the world,” she said. She raised both hands to fluff her hair back from her face, and he noted that her fingernails were long and lacquered shell-pink.

  He felt a line unreel somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. It seemed to flow out from him and twirl around her, lassoing her neatly and pulling her toward him. He blinked and it went away. If it had ever been there.

  He introduced Erica to Melba and handed her an apple to feed the mare. Erica grinned when Melba left a thread of slobber on her hands. He half expected her to go “Eeuuw!” but all she did was wipe her hand on her jeans. Too-big jeans, he saw now, remembering that she’d worn them last night. He wondered what they concealed. A derriere too large? Bony hips? No curves at all? He couldn’t tell, but he thought that the jeans were a sensible choice. Too many women showed up for their lessons wearing skin-tight pants that allowed no freedom of movement.

  He spent more than half an hour expounding on the basics, such as how to hold the reins, how to direct the horse, that sort of thing. Erica listened attentively, her eyes seldom leaving his face, her hands folded demurely in front of her.

  “Now you’re going to ride a horse. Come here to the left side of her,” he instructed, walking around. Erica followed him and stood looking at him quizzically, waiting.

  “The way you’ll do this,” Hank began, “is to stand by the horse’s left shoulder.” He handed her the reins. “Hold these in your left hand and grip her mane. Go ahead.”

  She took the reins from him, her brief touch engendering a little brrrrip! of sensation. The desert air, he thought. It’s dry, and static electricity will develop under such conditions, that was all it was.

  “In your right hand, grasp the cantle.” He pointed to it. “That’s what we call the back of the saddle.”

  Erica did that, too. “Now I’m going to give you a leg up,” he said. He formed his hands into a stirrup. “Your left foot goes here.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, those eyes wide and bright. He realized that she wasn’t wearing her usual glasses. As if she’d read his mind, she took her sunglasses out of her pocket and shoved them on. Then she placed her booted foot into his cupped hands and he lifted her up until she’d swung her other leg over the horse. He got a quick glimpse of the fabric pulled tightly over her derriere and realized that those baggy jeans didn’t hide any figure fault at all. In fact, she appeared nicely rounded and firm.

  “I think I’ll need a stirrup adjustment,” she said, and he realized that he had almost forgotten he was working.

  He notched the stirrups up on each side, noticing that her feet were in the correct stirrup position with the heels pointed down. Most beginners didn’t know to do that.

  “Good heel position,” he said, but she relaxed her feet so that the heels assumed their natural position. She looked guilty, then crooked the heels again until they were correctly placed.

  “Settle your weight backward,” he instructed, watching until her bottom slid backward to the dip in the saddle. “And now squeeze your legs against Melba’s sides to start her going.”

  He had a vision of Erica’s legs squeezing him, before he yanked himself back to the moment and to Erica. She followed his direction, causing Melba to begin walking sedately around the ring.

  “Keep your heels away from the horse’s sides,” he warned. “And look where you’re going, not down at the horse.”

  When Melba had made one circle of the ring, he called to Erica, “Take her around again. You’re looking good. Have you had lessons before?”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  He watched her as Melba, a sweet-natured hack who was accustomed to new riders, plodded patiently around the corral. He instructed Erica to shift her weight back in the saddle when she pulled on the reins to stop the horse, to move forward when the horse went forward.

  He liked the way Erica sat the saddle. She looked relaxed, her back straight but not stiff. He thought she had the bearing of a natural horsewoman, rare to see in beginners.

  After several more circuits of the ring, Erica reined Melba in. “Isn’t my hour up?”

  He glanced at his watch, and sure enough, it almost was. “You have a couple of minutes left on the clock.” He couldn’t believe how fast time had passed. He couldn’t believe he had enjoyed this basic lesson so much.

  Horse and rider made one more complete and very sedate circle before stopping beside him. He smiled up at Erica. “You look comfortable on horseback,” he said.

  “The lesson wasn’t very hard.” She reached forward and patted Melba on the neck.

  “Here, let me help you down.” As she prepared to dismount, he started to give her a hand, then abruptly changed his mind. Instead, as Erica swung down from the saddle, he wrapped his hands around her waist. She slid down against him, her body brushing his, so that he felt her breasts moving down his chest, her flat abdomen brushing his belt buckle. Her breasts weren’t as small as he’d thought, nor was she as heavy. In fact, she felt featherlight in his arms. She felt as if she could float to earth without any help from him.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice high and breathy. He looked down at her then, and her face was only inches from his. Her lips were slightly parted, looking ripe as strawberries and moist. He was mesmerized by those lips and was even more enchanted to see the pink tip of her tongue appear and enticingly lick her lower lip.

  He swallowed, hard. In that moment Melba, the stable, the riding ring disappeared, and all that was left was Erica and him and the sky, which was a wide delirious blue. He was peripherally aware of the cat and her kittens, and he thought the cat said, Kiss her!

  Or maybe Mrs. Gray was merely hissing at the kitten who had pounced on her tail. Whatever, he thought that the advice to kiss Erica was excellent. Why wouldn’t he, with her staring up at him out of those wide eyes, with her hands on his upper arms where she could feel muscles made strong from riding, with her hair a golden aureole around her bewitching face?

  He closed his eyes, opened them, half expecting Erica to disappear like the horse and the stable. She didn’t. She appeared as caught up in the spell of this as he was. Slowly he bent his head; slowly he angled it into position. As for Erica, he didn’t think she had breathed even once since she’d come down off the horse. Maybe he hadn’t, either. Maybe you didn’t need to breathe when you did this.

  His lips opened slightly, and he dipped them closer to hers. He was startled to find out that she was breathing, after all, and her breath fell like petals on his cheeks. He drifted along with the petals, smelling honeysuckle, his favorite scent, inhaling it, along with the fragrance of her sun-washed skin. She yearned toward him, her eyes closed, the lashes casting exquisitely curved shadows beneath. His lips closed in, touching hers, and he knew then that he would crush her in his arms, would overpower her with his strength until she—

  “Hank? Hank!”

  Startled out of the mood, surprised by the interruption, his head jerked backward. Erica pulled away i
n that instant, too, putting space between them.

  Paloma was waving from the door of a stable that had somehow reappeared. “Excuse me, Hank, but I really must leave Kaylie with you now. I have an appointment in town.”

  Melba, also restored to being, stamped her feet, probably eager to get to the feed trough. Erica brushed a fly away with apparent annoyance, and Hank became aware of the whine of a jet high above them. Responsibility settled heavily over him like a mantle of lead, pushing him into the ground, letting him know that pleasures such as other men might enjoy were not to be his.

  “I’ll be right there.” Hank turned back to Erica, but she had backed so far away that she was out of his reach.

  “I’ll be here for the lesson tomorrow,” she said in a rush, and then she was gone, walking swiftly out of the ring toward the guest quarters.

  He watched her go as he led Melba into the stable. Erica was gone, much like his fantasies, the ones that got him through all the lonely days and nights.

  But unlike those fantasies, he knew that Erica was real.

  More real than he was, probably. Because he wasn’t really a cowboy, but nobody knew that except his sister. And he wasn’t about to tell. At least not yet.

  IT WAS A GOOD THING she hadn’t been required to ride Melba anywhere but around the ring, Erica reflected as she hurried back to her room, because without her glasses she’d been as blind as a bat. After her delight over her new hair color and the cut that made her hair bouncy and the teasing on top that gave her some height, she had been way too vain to wear her glasses. She’d settled on the sunglasses, which were made to her prescription, but they were for distance, and they blurred things close up. When she was fortunate enough to get that close to Hank, she wanted to see everything she could—the little scar on his chin (maybe he’d gotten it when he was thrown from a bronco), the freckle next to his left eye (too much sun) and the bump on the bridge of his nose (another bronco, or maybe a roadhouse brawl). Cowboys often led rough lives, which led to their having imperfections, and Erica wanted to know every one of Hank’s.