The Trouble With Cowboys

by Denise Hunter

  “He leads her on,” she said. “She’s looking to settle down and he’s not. It seems obvious she should look elsewhere, right?”

  “That’ll be hard since they work together.”

  “Well, maybe she should quit. There’s a lot at stake here.” Annie squirmed in the chair.

  There was a lot at stake. Not for Brokenhearted but for him; he wasn’t oblivious to the undertones of this conversation. Last thing he wanted was Annie running for the hills when Braveheart still needed her.

  Besides, Dylan enjoyed her company. Got a kick out of getting her riled, seeing those blue eyes freeze over. And he hadn’t minded the way she’d felt in his arms either. All those sparks had triggered some pleasant daydreams in the saddle this week.

  Back to the letter, Taylor. He hooked his thumb around the cool metal of the chain. “Okay . . . since he’s been lying to her, I agree she should look for greener pastures. And if she can’t move on while working together, she should probably find another job.”

  Annie’s brows shot up. “So we agree.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “If you say so.” Annie made some notes. Her hands were small, as was the rest of her. Sometimes it amazed him that she worked with horses that weighed hundreds of pounds. He admired her skill and competence. Even with all the responsibilities riding on her slight shoulders, she’d managed to find her passion.

  “I heard your sister got a job at the Tin Roof.” Travis McCoy had seen her waiting tables the day before.

  “Just for tourist season, but I’m grateful. It’s good of Mabel and Roy to give her a chance. Sierra doesn’t have the best track record.”

  “She’ll go back to school in the fall?”

  Annie nodded. “Last semester. We’re almost there.”

  “What’s her major?”

  “Journalism. She’s got this great creative streak. You should see what she writes. I’m hoping she can take over this column when she graduates. Or write something else for Montana Living. At least we have a foot in the door, and in this economy, that’s critical.”

  Ahh, that was why the column meant so much to her. “She’ll get there.”

  “I won’t rest easy till she does.” The corner of her lip tucked in. “She has a way of turning all your expectations upside down. Like, she used to be so passionate about God, and now she never talks about Him, and she’s practically dropped out of church. I feel like I’m failing her most of the time.”

  “You’re like a second mother.”

  Annie shrugged. “That’s a big sister for you.”

  “I wouldn’t know. It was just me and Luke. Well, and Wade. We were close as brothers.”

  “That’s right. You rodeoed with him in Texas.”

  “Wade rodeoed. I was just along for the ride.”

  “I’ve seen you in a trophy buckle or two.”

  “Wade was in a league all his own.”

  “Now he’s up to his eyeballs in dirty diapers.” Annie smiled. “He must be missing his rodeo days about now.”

  He’d never seen her prettier than right now, with the porch light casting a golden glow on her porcelain skin.

  “Actually, I’ve never seen him happier.”

  “True love will do that, I suppose.”

  It had made him happy once upon a time. Just before it smashed his heart to smithereens.

  “I guess his first marriage wasn’t so happy.”

  He shook his head. Wade’s wife, Abigail, had written an article about it in Viewpoint Magazine just before they’d married. “After his first wife had Maddy, she wasn’t the same. Depression, I guess. You probably know she took her own life.”

  Annie nodded. “So sad.”

  “But God brought Abigail into their lives, gave them the Codemeister, and now they’re a family. If anyone deserves a slice of happiness, it’s Wade.”

  Annie began gathering her things.

  He frowned. “Where you going? Don’t you have another letter?”

  “Not this week. My answer to Brokenhearted will be on the long side.”

  He’d just bet she had plenty to say about Casanova Cowboy. He was suddenly loath to see her go. “Stay for supper.”

  “No, thank you.”

  He thought about what kind of food he could tempt her with and came up empty. Bologna sandwiches wouldn’t do it. “Come check on Braveheart again before you go?”

  “I have to pick up Ryder from the sitter’s.”

  He’d never had so much trouble getting a woman to stick around. Next time he’d have a plan in place. Maybe he’d offer to show her the cabin her grandfather was raised in. It was on his property, set way back in the hills. Not tonight though, with darkness closing in fast.

  She stood, placing her bag on her shoulder. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be by as much as I can next week to work with Braveheart.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night.” He watched her slide into her cab and turn the truck around. He recalled seeing her and Oakley on Sunday, in the third pew, her hair brushing his shoulder when she turned. He bet Oakley didn’t have to work so hard to get a few minutes of her time, and he doubted the man had any idea how lucky he was.

  As the red taillights of her truck disappeared into the darkness, an unwelcome feeling swept over him. He turned around and headed into his big, empty house.

  Dear Fretful,

  Expect the unexpected.

  16

  The next Thursday Annie decided to stop by home to shower before she went to Dylan’s. She smelled like horseflesh. She’d spent the bulk of her afternoon with the twelve-year-old gelding Tina from Mocha Moose had bought her daughter. The horse, otherwise a sweet thing, kept kicking from behind and had put a nasty bruise on Rachel’s thigh.

  Annie suspected the previous owner had mistreated the horse. They’d found a couple spots he liked rubbed, and Annie encouraged Rachel to love on him often. Once Rachel established trust, Annie would teach her about pole gentling so she could safely approach him from behind.

  Annie’s phone rang on the way home, and her heart skittered when she saw Midge’s name on the screen. Please, God. Not bad news.

  She answered the phone, and after trading greetings, Midge got right to the point.

  “Well, we’re a little over halfway through your ninety-day probation . . . I’m afraid we’re still getting letters.”

  Annie winced. “I’m sorry, Midge. I’ve lightened the tone, and I assure you I give careful thought to my answers. You know there are going to be differing opinions on this kind of thing. It’s love— hardly as cut-and-dried as a horse advice column.”

  “I see your point, Annie, I do. But something has to change. Some of your responses don’t receive the negative feedback. I’ll e-mail you the ones that readers favor. Maybe that’ll help guide you.”

  After agreeing, Annie hung up the phone. If she didn’t turn this around quickly, she was going to lose her job.

  Annie pulled up to the house and spotted Sierra’s car. Her sister was supposed to be at work, but she must’ve gotten off early. Weeknights at the diner were often slow.

  Annie went to greet Pepper, who was grazing happily in the meadow. When he ambled to the fence, she stroked his speckled nose and rubbed behind his ear where he liked. “Go for a ride tomorrow, big fella? . . . Yeah, I miss you too.” She kissed his nose, gave him a final rub, and headed toward the house.

  Inside, a cartoon was blaring from the TV, but Ryder was nowhere to be seen. The smell of garlic filled the house, and she heard something sizzling in the kitchen. Maybe she’d have time for a bite or two before she took off again.

  “I’m home for a quick shower,” she called as she went down the hallway.

  “Okay,” Sierra called back.

  Annie spotted new photos of her and Ryder hanging in the hallway and paused. She recognized them from the Fourth of July, several of Ryder in his new cowboy hat, and a few shots of Annie. A
couple of the photos were professional quality.

  “Hey, your pictures turned out nice!” she called.

  “Thanks. I’ll show you the ones of Sawyer later.”

  Annie showered away the day’s dirt and grime and slipped into a comfy pair of jeans and a button-up. She blow dried her hair and slid into the kitchen with a few minutes to spare.

  Sierra was standing over the stove when she entered the room. Her sister lifted a full ladle, blew on it, and tasted.

  “You’re home early,” Annie said.

  Sierra drained the pasta, her movements quick and proficient. “I tried to call, but you were out of range, I guess.”

  “Thanks for starting supper. Was the diner slow again?”

  Sierra dumped the macaroni into the sauce and stirred. “Um, sort of.”

  Sierra hadn’t looked at her yet. A series of warning signals went off inside Annie.

  “What happened?”

  Sierra grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, still avoiding eye contact.

  “Please tell me you didn’t get fired.” Not after Mabel and Roy had so graciously taken a chance on her. Not when her own job hung in the balance.

  Sierra set the food on the table, looking everywhere but at Annie. “No, I didn’t get fired. I—I quit.”

  “Quit! Sierra, how could you?” Did her sister think jobs grew on trees like pinecones?

  “It couldn’t be helped. It was—it was the wrong job for me. I’ll get a job someplace else, I promise.” She folded her arms, more guarded than defiant.

  “I don’t understand you. We need the money, and the Franklins went out on a limb to offer you that job!”

  “I know, but—” Sierra’s eyes glossed over. “I just couldn’t stay there anymore.”

  No, not this time. Annie wasn’t softening at the first sign of emotion. Her sister needed to learn responsibility. She wasn’t a child anymore. She had a child, for heaven’s sake.

  “You barely worked there a week.” She crossed the kitchen and looked out the patio door, thinking. Maybe Mabel and Roy would take her back. The diner had been her only job opportunity since she’d been fired from the Mocha Moose.

  “Okay.” Annie took a deep breath as she turned. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll go to the Tin Roof in the morning and sit down with the Franklins. We’ll explain that you made a rash decision and that you realize now it was a—”

  “No.”

  “—bad idea, and we’ll beg for your job back.”

  “No!”

  “Yes, Sierra! You have to take responsibility for your decisions—”

  “You can’t tell me what to do!” Sierra whirled from the room.

  Annie followed into the living room where a commercial blared. “There’s not another job waiting in the wings! It took weeks to find this, and you can’t throw away opportunities like old, holey socks!”

  “Leave me alone!” Sierra kept going right out the door.

  Annie followed. “I’m working two jobs to keep our heads above water. Don’t you think you could at least hold down one? Is that asking too much?”

  Sierra spun in the dirt, her auburn hair flying around her shoulders. “I’m sorry we’re such a burden!” She turned toward her clunky car. “Ryder! We’re leaving!”

  “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

  Ryder came trotting around the house, cowboy hat firmly in place. “Where we going?”

  Sierra’s shoulders still heaved, but her voice was calm. “Get in, puddin’, we’re going for a ride.”

  “Don’t, Sierra.”

  She buckled Ryder’s seat belt, then got in and started the car.

  “We’ll be out of your way now,” she said through the cracked window. “And don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be home by curfew.” Her tires spun, spewing dirt and gravel.

  Annie spun and marched into the house. She passed the television, flipping it off, and kicked Ryder’s rope out of her way.

  The pasta sat in the center of the table, steam rising toward the ceiling. She wasn’t the least bit hungry now. She felt like jumping in her truck and running off too. Must be nice to just pick up and go on a whim, never mind the supper cooling on the table. She glanced across the kitchen. Or the stovetop—still on!

  She turned it off and dished the pasta into a Tupperware container, then cleaned the skillet and pot and put them away.

  Why did Sierra have to be so flighty, so stubborn! Surely she could understand they needed the money. Couldn’t she see how hard Annie was working to keep them on their feet?

  Where had she failed? She looked heavenward, envisioning the look on her grandfather’s face when he’d begged Annie to look after Sierra, and feeling a familiar stab of guilt.

  I’m trying, Gramps. Is this what you went through with Mom? She thought of how distant her mom and grandfather had been with each other during her childhood. Is that where she and Sierra were headed?

  Well, she couldn’t let that stand in her way. First and foremost was getting the girl on her feet before some cowboy came along and swept her off them. There was time enough to worry about their relationship later.

  After refrigerating the pasta Annie hopped in the truck and made the short drive to Dylan’s. She looked futilely for Sierra’s car on her way through town. Hopefully she’d gone to Bridgett’s and not some guy’s since she had Ryder in tow.

  At the Circle D Annie found Braveheart in his stall, stomping his hooves. He must be so tired. She soothed him with soft words as she approached, making a concerted effort to clear away all thoughts of Sierra.

  He raised his head and neighed, looking for her.

  “Right here, baby. Annie’s right here.” She held her fist to his nose, and he tensed up and moved back until he hit the stall.

  Annie continued talking. She didn’t dare put the horse in the pasture just yet. He was too skittish and distrustful, and now that his sight was completely gone, she was afraid he’d stumble in a rut or run headlong into the fence.

  She’d finally gotten him to approach the stall door and was scratching his neck when Dylan entered, leading the bay quarter horse she’d seen in the pasture before.

  Dylan’s smile lit up the barn. “Evening.”

  He wore tan chaps, a plaid shirt, and a hat that had been put through the paces.

  “Hey.”

  She worked quietly with Braveheart, aware of Dylan nearby. He moved with efficient motions, unsaddling the bay and brushing him down.

  When he was finished, he joined her. “Hey, buddy.”

  Braveheart tossed his head and neighed.

  She felt Dylan’s appraisal and put a few inches between them.

  “You smell like flowers and sunshine.”

  She started to say she’d stopped home for a shower, but heaven forbid he think she’d gone to extra measures on his account.

  “You smell like horseflesh and sweat.”

  He laughed. “That’s my Annie, always putting me in my place.”

  Too bad it only seemed to amuse him. “Someone has to.”

  He stroked Braveheart’s neck, his attention still on her. “If you knew how much I enjoyed it, I bet you’d stop.” His deep, quiet drawl caused a visceral reaction in her.

  She shifted farther away and cleared her throat, willing the heat in her stomach to stay put and not flood into her cheeks.

  Braveheart snorted.

  “Easy, fellow,” Dylan said.

  The horse wasn’t responding well tonight. No doubt he sensed the leftover tension from her quarrel with Sierra. And it hadn’t dissipated since Dylan’s arrival.

  “He’s restless,” Dylan said.

  Annie was glad to have the focus on the horse. “He’s letting us touch him at least. How’s he eating? He looks thinner.”

  “His appetite’s down. I’m getting worried. What more can I do for him?” He leaned on the stall door, and his arm brushed hers as he reached out to rub Braveheart’s neck.

  The horse nickered.
>
  “Just keep loving on him as often as you can. Try not to worry. Time will take care of it. It’s like with any sudden loss. You just keep breathing and eventually everything settles into a new normal. He’s depended on his sight all his life, but his other senses will pick up the slack. Be patient.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “Not my forte.”

  She thought of Sierra and sighed. “I know what you mean.”

  He rubbed and scratched Braveheart while she talked to the horse in soothing tones.

  After a few minutes Dylan gave Braveheart a final pat and withdrew his hand. “I need to grab a shower.”

  “Meet you on the porch in a bit.”

  “Actually . . . I thought you might be interested in a field trip.” He flashed his dimple.

  Annie looked away. He was at it again. “The porch suits me fine.”

  “Did you know your grandpa’s childhood home is on my property?”

  She met his eyes. Her grandpa had told countless stories about growing up in a cabin, but she’d thought it long gone. “It’s not still standing . . . ?”

  “It is. Road’s kinda rough getting back to it, but my truck can handle it. My grandpa bought up the property way back and used the cabin as a bunk for his cowhands. But the creek floods over the road leading back there, so he stopped using it.”

  She weighed the exciting proposition of seeing her grandpa’s home with the daunting one of extra time with Dylan.

  “Whaddaya say? We have enough daylight if we go there first.”

  She remembered the tales her grandfather had told her. About falling into the creek when he was just a wee thing, about jumping off the roof on a dare from his big brother and breaking his ankle. And he’d told her about the view from his mama’s kitchen window.

  “I’d love to see it.”

  “I’ll grab a shower and we’ll be on our way then.”

  He was out of the barn before the second thoughts could swarm over her like bees over a honeycomb. She was going with Dylan to some remote cabin in the woods? What was she thinking? What would John think?

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s Grandpa’s cabin. She was being ridiculous. It was daylight, after all, and it wasn’t a date. Just a . . . field trip, like he’d said.