Jake grimaced and slowly shook her head as she watched Ben miss again. After an hour’s worth of practice, he still couldn’t get the loop to stay open over the horns she’d nailed to a log. “Maybe you oughtta just practice twirling the loop over your head.”
“Nope,” he grunted as he tossed the rope again and missed. “I can twirl the rope over my head all day for the next two weeks if I have to. You go on to your chores--I’ll keep practicing.”
Sounded like a damned good idea to her, considering how frustrated she’d been while watching him. She set the cowhands to repairing the holding pens, then went to the bucking pen to check out Slim and Crip. Crip sat on a paint that stood stiff-legged, ears back, ready to explode.
“How many we got?” she asked Slim.
“About a dozen ready to ride by all the hands except that greenhorn. We’ve got a couple dozen greenbroke. There’s about thirty head to buck out, yet.”
Not good. They had to have ten horses apiece for the roundup, with twenty men to outfit. “We’ll have to go catch some more, then.”
“Naw, I figger each man’s already got a dozen mounts. If these work out, we got enough.”
Jake took his word for it. Times like these, she sure wished she’d had a chance to learn to sum and cipher. Maybe this winter. She could use Homer’s schoolbook. Last winter, the boy had taught her to write her name along with all the letters and, with some effort, she could figure out a word here and there. This year, she’d learn her numbers.
“I’ll send Crazy Jim to help buck out the rest. Have Crip work with the greenbroke stock--his hip seems to be paining him some.”
Whip ambled up and leaned on the top rail of the fence. “That paint gonna stand there all day, or, are we gonna have a show?”
Crip smiled, then dug his spurs into the horse’s side. The beast erupted, rearing, then sunfishing all around the arena. The old broncbuster sat tight while the paint did everything in his power to throw the man off.
After quite a show, the horse finally came to a stop, lathered and panting. Jake and Slim jumped into the corral and ran to the horse. Jake grabbed the halter and Slim pinched the horse’s ear so Crip could get off without fearing the animal would start up again.
The old broncbuster crawled through the fence and stood by Whip. Jake joined them while Slim put a bridle on the paint, ready to ride him out.
“Damn, Whip. Many more rides like that and you’ll be getting yourself a cook’s helper.” He held his lower back with both hands and grimaced.
Jake cuffed him on the arm. “I hope not anytime soon. That ride was one helluva beautiful sight.” The three of them watched Slim work with the tuckered out horse.
“He’s gonna be a good one,” Whip remarked. “Full of spirit, lots of heart.”
“Prob’ly a one-man horse,” Crip said, nodding. “Big sucker, too. I believe he’s even bigger than Old Man Lawrence’s horse.”
“I’m sending Crazy Jim to help Slim ride the buck out of the rest of these,” Jake said to Crip. “I want you working with the greenbroke stock. And don’t you go getting your bloomers in a bunch, either. We’re running out of time, and I want them horses trained as good as you can get ‘em.”
“Yes, sir.” Crip saluted, then smiled. “Them greenbroke horses are worse than the rough stock, though. At least you know the rough stock’s gonna buck.”
Ben ambled to the fence, coiling his rope. “I’ll help you.” He flung the rope over his shoulder and took a wistful gander at the paint. “Especially if I can have that one.”
After watching Ben ride the last few days, Jake considered it. He had a good seat--at least when he was paying attention. Still, Mrs. Lawrence would never forgive her if she set her son to doing something dangerous. “Nope, you keep practicing your roping.” She backed away from the fence. “You fellers get back to work now. I’ll have Crazy Jim and another hand over here shortly.”
After looking over the crew, she decided that the other hand would be herself. None of the rest could be trusted to do a decent job of training, and they didn’t need any trouble with horses during the roundup. Enough could go wrong as it was. “Any of you know where Crazy Jim is?”
Every man in the place shook his head. She checked all the outbuildings without success, ready to fire the damned shirker on the spot if she did see him. As she stalked back to the corrals, she saw Suzanne behind the cottonwood tree--with Crazy Jim. Smokin’ horse apples! If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was sparking the girl.
Jake made a beeline for the two of them. “Crazy Jim, haul your sorry ass to the bucking pen. You’re broncbusting today, and I don’t want to see one more minute of shirking.”
“Yes, sir!” He took off at a trot.
Suzanne spun on her heel, chin in the air, and headed for the house.
“Suzanne, I thought you was waiting for Petey Blacker.”
She stopped dead in her tracks. “Jimmy’s a nice young man.”
“Jimmy’s hurting for a poke, and don’t you forget it.” Jake turned to go back to the corrals to make sure Crazy Jim did as he was told. She’d have to have a talk with Suzanne, much as she hated to, because she doubted the girl had any idea how men thought. Jake knew--she’d heard it all since the time she could walk.
“Maybe I want a poke, too.”
Jake froze, then whirled toward Suzanne. “Don’t you talk like that. It ain’t ladylike.”
“You said it first.”
“I ain’t no lady.” She strode to the girl and took her by the arm. “Go on in the house, now. I won’t tell your mama.”
Jake took her time walking back to the corrals, wondering if females did want pokes the same as men. She knew for sure it wasn’t right for a woman to lay with a man unless she hogtied herself to him beforehand, but then, why was it all right for the men to consort with sporting women? Men must want it more than women, was all she could figure. And if they wanted it more than she’d wanted Ben the night they spent together, then she felt sorry for every damned one of them.
By the time she got back, Ben’s lasso hung neatly coiled from the gatepost, and he had mounted the big paint even though she’d told him to keep practicing his roping.
“Open the gate,” he said, reins in one hand and pulling leather with the other.
Jake rolled her eyes. Not only had he disobeyed a direct order, he was a damned fool take that horse out. A wild one like the paint could take off and dump Ben five miles from nowhere. But Ben might as well learn the lesson now as latter. She nodded at Crip, who swung the gate open.
* * * * *
Ben could only take so much high-handedness from Jake. She wasn’t always right, no matter what Teddy and Homer thought. He wasn’t a roper and never would be, but dammit all, he could ride. In his college days, he’d made a few extra dollars training greenbroke polo horses.
Slim held the halter and Crazy Jim held the paint’s ear in his teeth. Ben could feel the power building in the horse’s muscles so he didn’t want to wait any longer. As soon as the gate opened, he hollered, “Let’s go!”
The paint jumped straight in the air on all fours. He’d definitely got his second wind. He bucked around the corral, then, seeing the open gate, took off full tilt. Ben yanked on the reins, trying to get the horse directed to the road, but the beast took off past the cottonwood tree, barely missing the lowest branch, ran through the lawn, around the house, down a draw and up the other side.
Ben’s legs tired from gripping the horse’s sides and his arm ached from the jerking and jolting. The huge, muscular beast ran like the wind and then ran some more--the sagebrush blurred past. He galloped around the pile of boulders where he’d seen Fred a few days before, then the wild but exhausted paint skidded to a stop and bucked and bucked. Finally, the lathered horse stood stiff-legged, ears pinned back, just like he’d started. Ben nudged him with his spurs to get him to walk, but the old boy sunfished so violently, Ben nearly lost his seat. Pulling leather, he finally regained his balance.
&nbs
p; The horse stood, sides heaving. Ben mused that he’d finally found a horse as stubborn as the woman who called herself “Jake.” He looked around for landmarks to figure out where he was, then pressed his right spur in the horse’s side and pulled hard on the left rein. The horse turned. Now he was getting somewhere.
It took at least an hour to coax the big paint to walk back to the ranch. Ben smiled, feeling pretty good about himself. This horse would be ready to go after a few more rides. He patted the paint’s sweat-drenched neck, savoring the moment when Jake would have to eat her words.
Crip saw him and waved. Ben waved back, looking for Jake. He could hardly wait to see the look in her eye when he handed her the reins of a tamed horse.
“You did it!” Teddy said, running toward Ben, arms flailing as he jumped over imaginary barriers.
The paint shied and took off at a dead run. Ben’s thoughts turned to dread as he saw the cottonwood--and the blasted horse was running directly toward it. If he stayed on course, Ben would be all right, but if he veered to the other side of the tree, well, that branch was awfully low.
But if Teddy kept running and the horse didn’t change directions, the boy would be smashed flat. Ben spurred the left side and hauled back on the right rein. The horse spun in a complete circle, then took off again. Before Ben could get a good grip, he looked up and saw nothing but brown bark, and a helluva lot of it.
The horse raced under the tree and the limb caught Ben right in the chest, raking him from the horse’s back. He fell with a thud, flat on his back, then Teddy tripped over him and kicked him in the teeth.
Ben spit the dirt and rocks out of his mouth, moved his arms and legs to see if they were still there, then gently shoved the boy aside. “You all right?”
“Sure. I’m a cowhand. Cowhands don’t get hurt.”
With great effort, Ben sat up, stifling a groan. Ben was no cowhand and he hurt like hell, but Teddy didn’t need to know that. Jake jumped on her blue roan with no saddle or bridle and took out after the paint. She roped him and brought him back in short order.
She tossed the lasso on Ben’s shoulder, reminding him of his assigned duty. He wiped the blood from his mouth where Teddy had kicked him. “You better wash up, Boston. You look like something that passed through the south end of a dog.”
* * * * *
Whip pulled Mabel to his chest and caressed her back as he nuzzled her neck. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Ben’s not a boy anymore.”
She lifted her teary face to him and whispered, “He could have been seriously hurt.”
“Could’ve,” Whip agreed with a nod, “but he’s fine. Your little boy is a man now. He’ll do what he needs to do.”
Mabel pulled a hankie from her sleeve and dabbed at her pert little nose. No matter what she ever did, from blowing her nose to chasing the lawyer out the door with a broom, she was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen, and the only one he’d ever want. He’d loved her for nearly thirty years, but this would be the best year yet--because some way, some how, he’d find a way around that will and marry the woman of his heart.
“He’s a lawyer,” she protested, “used to city ways. It’s not fair to expect him to work the ranch.”
“No, it ain’t. But that’s the way of it, and Ben’s up to the challenge. He’s smart and he’s strong. Ain’t no way that Ezra’s gonna beat him down again--I seen it in the boy’s eyes.” He hugged her close again. “You’ll see, too.”
She wiped her tears on his shirt. “Suzanne’s gone for the night--when can we be together?”
“Tonight’s our night, angel. I heard the crew cooking up a party to celebrate Ben riding that horse. They’ll all be at the bunkhouse. So where did Suzanne go?”
“She’s staying in town with Mrs. Hiatt. I think she’s angry with me.”
Kissing her cheek, he lifted her chin with his forefinger and gazed into her eyes. She was sweet as candy and twice as tasty. “Naw, ain’t no one could ever be mad at you, angel. The girl’s just mixed up some over man problems. I heard her talking with Jake just the other day. Plans to marry Petey Blacker, ‘cept he ain’t due back until spring.” He chuckled and added, “I ain’t so sure poor Petey has any idea what sort of trap he’s riding into.”
Mabel sniffed and smiled through her tears. “Peter’s a nice boy. He’d be a good son-in-law. Of course, I can’t say so much for his father. You know that if we don’t comply with all the stipulations of the will, Harley Blacker gets the ranch and everything on it.”
Whip nodded. “Everyone knows it. Funny thing is, the way Blacker talks, I don't think he knows it.” He kissed her again and escorted her to the barn door. “I’ll be at the kitchen door in an hour or so.”
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then turned and ran for the house. He shook his head and smiled. That woman had more movement in her sweet hips than a gunnysack filled with two skunks and a rattlesnake.
* * * * *
Ben dunked his head in the washtub that his mother had filled for him. Just as he got the worst of the blood and dirt washed off, Jake’s strays came running around the corner of the house and stopped in front of him.
“Me’n Teddy’s gonna teach you how to sweep out the barn.” Homer said, bright-eyed and barely able to contain his excitement.
Sweep the damned barn? Frankly, all Ben wanted to do was sip a good stiff shot of brandy--or several--while sitting in his father’s easy chair the rest of the evening. Sweeping barns held no allure whatsoever, especially since the chore required movement, and movement wasn’t real high on his agenda after getting knocked of the horse and kicked in the teeth. Hell, even his eyebrows hurt.
“Yeah,” Teddy added. “Jake said that’d keep you out of trouble for a while.”
Homer elbowed the younger boy in the ribs. “You wasn’t s’posed to say that!”
Looking at his worn boots contritely, Teddy muttered, “Oops.” Then he pulled on Ben’s shirtsleeve. “But you gotta come with us, ‘cause when Jake gives you a chore to do, you better not shirk. She can get real mean with shirkers. She’ll fire your ass ‘fore you can look at her twice.”
“She can’t fire Ben,” the older boy explained. “He owns the place.”
“Not yet. And anyhows, she’d bust his chops all the way back to where he come from. She don’t allow no shirking.” He shook his head and crossed his arms across his chest to emphasize the point.
Ben dried his face and arms. “Boys, I’d be happy to sweep the barn.” He stifled a few choice curse words and threw the towel on the porch rail. “Lead the way.”
Chapter 6
“No.” Jake took the rope and showed Ben how to swing a loop one more time, wondering if he’d ever get the hang of it. At the moment, she felt like hanging him. “Don’t move your arm so damned much. Use your wrist.” She handed him the lasso. “I told you that before.”
That a man could ride as well as he did but not be able to throw a decent loop hornswoggled her, but she was determined to teach this greenhorn how to be a cowhand.
Much as she groused about it, she had to admit she kind of liked showing Ben how to rope, especially when she stood behind him, her hand guiding his wrist. Sometimes he leaned back against her breasts, and when he did her insides went all jiggly like calf jelly. But mostly, she liked his smile when he did manage to throw a pretty loop, then would glance at her for approval.
“This better?” he said, twirling the loop over his head in a nice, easy circle.
“Your loop ain’t big enough.” She stood behind him and held his wrist, correcting his wrist movement. “Now keep it twirling like this.”
Hell, he was almost as much fun to be around as the strays, only he made her feel things that she wanted more of--but at the same time she’d be just as happy if she never again felt that aggravating need for him to touch her. Her lustful urges would be her ruination, of that she was sure.
“Now toss the loop at the horns.”
He did, and he missed. Again. “I’ll tr
y again.” He leaned back against her. “You better show me again.”
Against her better judgment, she held Ben’s wrist and helped him with his motion. She could feel his hard muscles in his arm with her other hand, and his back brushing her breasts. “Twirl it three times, then let ‘er fly.”
Instead, he turned around and the loop settled neatly around the two of them. He pulled the loop tight and grinned. “I finally hit what I was aiming for.”
She wanted nothing more than to be tied up in that rope with him, but if one of the cowhands saw, she’d never hear the end of it. Grabbing the loop, she flipped it over their heads and let if fall to the ground.
“Your roping lesson is over, Boston.” She sucker-punched him and backed away. “Practice by yourself.”
He stood tall when any other man would’ve been laid low. “Jake, some things a man just doesn’t want to do alone.”
She stomped off, not nearly as mad as she’d told him. But why he’d not want to rope alone, she’d never know. Hell, most folks learned to toss a loop by themselves.
“Jake, Jake!” Homer came galloping in on his Welsh pony. “Our mare’s foaling!” He drew the horse to a skidding stop beside her.
“Mares foal at night. She’s just settling in.”
“No, sir. There’s a hoof poking out of her butt. C’mon!”
“Only one?”
“Yup. One.” He rode the horse around her. “You gotta come now.”
She whistled for Blue. He jumped the fence and trotted up to her. “Where’s Teddy?”
“He’s at the Circle J with Brownie.”
“Outside the corral?”
“He was when I left.”
Grabbing Blue’s mane, she swung onto his back. “Race you back.” She just hoped to hell Teddy stayed away from that mare. A five-year-old wouldn’t stand a chance against a foaling mare’s hooves.
* * * * *
Convinced that Jake needed help whether she knew it or not, Ben coiled the rope and slung it over his shoulder as he ran to the corral. Somehow, he had to catch the big bay gelding without benefit of a rope. He climbed the fence and jumped in. The horses shied and milled to the other side.
Much Ado About Mavericks Page 8