Dare to Kiss a Cowboy

by Renee Roszel

  After only a few paces, she spotted Dusty Dare making his way through the benches where a crowd had gathered to congratulate the finalists. As she watched, he paused and accepted a paper cup from a long-haired boy in jeans and a Garth Brooks T-shirt. Dusty drank, patted the boy’s shoulder and handed him back the cup. He walked on, only to be stopped by several more well-wishers.

  Anna didn’t want to interrupt, so she stood apart from the group, hoping he’d see her. It was dark where she was, since Dusty and his little band of admirers were well outside the halo of the lighted arena. The master of ceremonies announced the Eagle Dance. She heard drums begin again and glanced over to see it getting under way. It looked interesting, but this wasn’t really the time to sightsee. She’d come to find her boss, and now that she had, she’d speak to him and leave. He laughed, a rich sound that warmed something deep inside her.

  From time to time he spoke in a language she didn’t understand but she assumed it was Cherokee. Screwing up her nerve, she started forward, and her movement caught his attention. He was in midsentence when their gazes met, and he didn’t finish. The silence was so sudden and so long that everybody turned toward her.

  “Uh, Mr. Dare?” she asked hesitantly. “May I talk to you—in, uh, private?”

  His expression a mix of surprise and wariness, he excused himself to his admirers and sauntered toward her, accompanied by the jingling of bells. “I thought you were going to bed early,” he said once they were alone beside a crooked old oak. A lighted hot-dog stand ten feet away gave off enough illumination for Anna to see that he was curious.

  He seemed somehow taller, broader. And at close range, the explosion of ceremonial plumage that fluttered about him in the evening breeze was even more impressive—like some rare bird of prey.

  “If you say ‘how’ to me, you’re fired,” Dusty warned, pulling her from her thoughts.

  She frowned in confusion. “How, what?”

  “Just how! Most non-Indians I meet say that when I’m dressed like this. But real Indians don’t greet each other that way.”

  She was irked by his assumption that she would be so insensitive. “I’m from Oklahoma, remember? I grew up with Indians. I never said ‘how’ to any of them, except in chemistry when I asked Roger Young Thunder how to make an electromagnet.” She lifted her chin. “I liked Roger, but then, he didn’t constantly think the worst about me.”

  The yellow light was bright enough to reveal the amusement in his eyes. “Okay,” he said, relenting, his expression almost pleasant. “So, you’re politically correct. Congratulations.”

  Though he’d spoken casually, she heard a touch of pain in his statement and felt her anger dissipate. “I forgot. Max told me about all the fights you got into because of—”

  “Max is an old man who talks too much,” he interrupted, his tone making it clear he didn’t intend to discuss his youth. “Why are you here, Miss Andrews?”

  He was too near, and the breeze was plaguing her with his scent. Deciding to just get on with things, she said hurriedly, “When I called Thad tonight he had great news.”

  At the mention of Thad’s name, all pleasantness left his face, but she continued, “He said Steven had been in Dallas with an old girlfriend, and she gave him your message about not prosecuting.”

  He inclined his head. “And?”

  She shrugged, embarrassed, wishing she had more concrete news. “Well, he left her house, but I’m sure he’s on his way back here.”

  Dusty pursed his lips and said, “That is good news.” The remark held little inflection. Their eyes met, and Anna felt an odd mix of emotions. “Did you watch me dance?” he asked, suddenly.

  Her cheeks went hot and she was glad for the cover of darkness. “Yes. You were... colorful.”

  “I was supposed to look bloodthirsty,” he said, sounding vaguely amused.

  “You always look bloodthirsty.”

  “Wasn’t I worse with all this war paint?” He pretended disappointment.

  She heard the laughter in his tone, but somehow she didn’t mind. She shook her head, fighting an urge to smile. “Nope. I was no more terrified than usual.”

  He flashed a quick grin and teased, “Well, as long as you were terrified. Are you staying to watch the rest of the contests?”

  She stuffed her hands into her pockets, wanting badly to ask if he would perform again. She’d love to see that. His war dance was almost as exciting as his kiss. But she decided that spending too much time in the dark with Dusty wasn’t going to do her peace of mind any good. He was simply too dangerous. “I don’t think so,” she murmured, hoping her reluctance wasn’t evident in her voice. “Five o’clock comes early.” She couldn’t help but ask, “What time will this all end?”

  “Two. Four.” He shrugged, his face unreadable. “We don’t run powwows by a clock.” Anna’s attention was diverted when a wayward breeze rippled his loincloth. All of a sudden she was too preoccupied to come up with a single sensible reply. It took her several seconds to realize Dusty was chuckling. “Would you like me to turn around, or can you see enough?”

  His humor-filled question woke her from her reverie. Dismayed, she realized she’d been staring at his bare hip, which had been exposed by the wind.

  Her gaze flew to his, and she could see that he was entirely too pleased with himself. Drat! He probably had the mistaken idea she thought he was sexy or something!

  She opened her mouth but was unable to form any words—which was probably just as well, because anything she might have said in her defense would have been a lie.

  FOR DUSTY DARE, cutting cattle was a diversion, a rich man’s hobby that could net millions of dollars if invested in the right horses. For Anna, it was a dust-eating way of life. Cutting was a ranch chore, necessary to sort individual animals from the herd for various reasons. Cattle had a natural herding instinct that caused them to bunch together and avoid being singled out.

  But not every horse was up to the task. A cutting horse had to be lightning quick, turn on a button and smart enough to predict a cow’s escape plan.

  Anna patted her horse’s neck fondly. Lady Freckle Handy had all those talents, and with the right training Anna thought the three-year-old could become a world champion. But first she had to win some small competitions, such as this one. Anna’s insides twisted at the reminder of her own test.

  From atop Freckle’s back, she anxiously scanned the sunny arena for a tall man in a black straw Stetson. He’d come by earlier to check on the horses and had introduced her to his two older cousins, Lou and Ed, and Lou’s son, Jerry. He hadn’t lingered, though. Instead, he’d gone off to watch the other competitions. She’d seen him occasionally mingling with the crowd, but couldn’t locate him right now in the undulating sea of cowboy hats.

  The woods to the right of the arena were as green and rich as velvet on this bright June day. Oak and cottonwood leaves rustled and wagged in the warm afternoon breeze. Pulling her own tan Stetson lower on her brow, she swung her gaze to the parking lot on hef left, still not finding Dusty. Beyond the parking lot stood the little motel where she’d spent a restless night, bothered by unwelcome dreams of a powerful man and his hot kisses.

  Squelching the memory, she watched the arena before her as a buzzer sounded to end another cutting. There was moderate applause being offered for a moderate success. The contestant’s passable score was called out, and Anna gulped, trying not to think about what she was about to do. One more contestant, then it would be her turn.

  She could hear drums in the distance. Apparently the powwow was continuing today. She wondered how Dusty had done. He hadn’t mentioned the competition, and in her nervousness, she’d forgotten to ask.

  Trying to quell a new bout of nerves, she inhaled deeply. Along with the scent of dust in the warm air, she could detect the spicy smell of burritos and barbecue drifting across from the concession wagon. The odor made her feel nauseated. She shifted in the saddle, trying to calm herself. Transferring her nerv
ousness to Freckle could be disastrous. A fretful horse was likely to make mistakes, and Anna couldn’t afford that, not if she was to prove her worth as a trainer.

  She had warmed up her mare, so Freckle was ready, and in about a minute, their test would begin.

  “Go for the white heifer with the dark forelegs.”

  Anna almost fell out of the saddle from the shock of hearing Dusty’s voice so close by. She twisted to look at him. “What?”

  Squinting up at her, he adjusted his hat to block out the blinding sun that was directly above Anna’s head. He was dressed in a red, starched, button-down shirt, black jeans with a knife-sharp crease, custom-fitted black chaps, boots and silver spurs. And he looked wonderful.

  “I’ve been watching, and the milky heifer with the black forelegs hasn’t been worked,” he said. “She’ll be fresh, which will give Freckle a good challenge. For your second cut, corral that black-eyed white-face standing in the center. Let Freckle move in close. You know she’s chargey, so she’ll want to, anyway.”

  Anna nodded, but didn’t have time to say anything before he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Good luck,” he murmured. Then he left to mount his turnback horse. He would be in the ring with her, keeping the cow being worked from escaping to the far end of the arena.

  His relatives would be helping, too. Ed would be another turnback rider, while Lou and Jerry worked as herd holders. As herd holders, their job was to keep the other cattle bunched at the back of the arena after one cow had been separated.

  As the buzzer sounded for the cutter just ahead of her, Anna swallowed nervous bile, flexing the hand Dusty had squeezed. It seemed unusually warm. She forced herself to focus. This was it—she couldn’t fall apart now.

  The other cutter’s score was announced, and the applause was loud. Good score. Not unbeatable, but good. Anna felt in her heart that Freckle could top any horse here. There was no reason for the mare to lose. Unless Anna did something to mess things up—like stiffen in the saddle, or take her eye off the cow, or lose her balance and fall. No. She never fell. Well, not in years. Not since she was nine. It was just that she wanted so badly to show Dusty that she was a good trainer. She wanted to see him proud of her. Just once.

  Concentrating, she relaxed her shoulders and legs and eased back in the saddle until she was in a classic cutter’s slump. She could do this. It was no different than any other working day for her. She’d spent most of her life training cutting horses. If only she could forget that more than her pride was at stake.

  Twenty cows were herded to the far end of the arena, as Anna was signaled to enter. Dusty and his cousins were mounted and in place—Lou and Jerry in front of the bunched cattle, Ed closer on her right, Dusty on her left. Anna walked Freckle along the center of the ring toward the herd. When she crossed a line about thirty feet from the herd, the clock started running. She now had two and a half minutes to showcase Freckle.

  She scanned the cows until she saw the white heifer with the dark forelegs. Slowly, gently, she led Freckle deep into the herd. The whole arena had gone still, with only the occasional bawl of a cow, murmur from the bleachers or squeak of saddle leather breaking the stillness. Cutting was quiet work. It had to be, otherwise the cows could be spooked. She could almost hear her own heart beating as she began to drive the white heifer and six others out of the herd.

  The separated cows milled about, trying to stay together despite their agitation. Anna maneuvered Freckle through the smaller herd until the milky heifer Dusty had suggested she work was in front of her. With a final silent prayer, she lowered her rein hand, the signal for Freckle to start. The mare instantly dropped her head and took charge.

  Wanting desperately to get back to the herd, the little cow darted left and right, and Freckle anticipated the movements, blocking with a rapid two-step to one side and then the other.

  Not easily thwarted, the heifer dodged left again, but Freckle matched her. As the cow lurched the other way, Freckle swung around to stop her, again stepping from side to side. Warming to the game like a puppy with a new ball, the mare sank low to the ground, her hooves dancing to and fro, backward and forward to keep the cow contained.

  It was Anna’s job to stay in her seat and be loose enough to flow with the horse’s sudden moves. She could feel her cutting saddle beneath her floating left and right, forward and backward, as the horse continued her sambalike moves around the center of the ring, preventing the cow’s escape at every turn.

  Anna’s rein hand was low and loose, while her other hand gripped the saddle horn to help her keep her balance. She thought Freckle had done a good job so far and wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t. She had to remain focused—this ride wasn’t over yet.

  The heifer bolted left, and Anna had to concentrate to stay in the saddle while applying slight pressure in the right stirrup. The cow stopped and launched herself in the opposite direction. Anna maintained her deep seat as Freckle rose in the air and shifted right. Automatically Anna applied pressure in the left stirrup, her eyes never leaving the cow.

  She told herself to stay glued to the saddle, no matter how sharp a turn her horse might make. That was her job, and she wasn’t about to screw it up. Not with Dusty Dare watching for the slightest mistake. She hunkered low, focusing totally as the horse zigged and zagged and lurched beneath her, anticipating and frustrating the heifer.

  Then the cow simply gave up and turned away, going completely still. Anna lifted her rein hand to signal Freckle off the cow. She heard someone shout, “Twenty-five seconds,” and knew it was Dusty telling her how much time she had left.

  It was always better to be working a cow when the buzzer went off than to “die in the herd,” so she headed back toward the bunched cattle, trying to remain calm. She covertly checked her reins to be sure they hadn’t tangled. Seeing that everything was fine, she took a deep breath, inhaling dust. She could feel the sweaty heat rising off her horse, and somehow the familiarity of it all relaxed her. Reaching the herd, she separated two calves. There was little time left.

  The heifer with the black eye turned and stared at her, and Anna knew that Dusty had been right to suggest she work this one, too. With her free hand on the saddle horn, she signaled Freckle to separate the heifer further from the herd. The second calf slipped away and melted back to join the rest of the cattle.

  Just as she lowered her rein hand, the heifer started to bolt toward Dusty. But Freckle was ready, and she bolted, too, blocking the cow’s escape. Anna heard, “Ten seconds,” but she didn’t take her eyes from the cow.

  Freckle was eager and fairly quivered with excitement. They moved back and forth, she and her horse, like one fluid being. The experience was exhilarating. Anna had never ridden such a wonderful cutter. Her movements were efficient and economical; there was no chargeyness in her now. Not a speck. Freckle was perfect, reacting like a champion. In the two weeks since Anna had taken over her training, the horse had improved a hundred percent. Anna wanted to cry with joy. Being on this horse was an adventure she’d never tire of. She knew in her heart that one day Freckle would win cutting’s Triple Crown. Another million-dollar champion for Bent River.

  The buzzer sounded just as the black-eyed cow gave up, and there was a loud burst of applause that lasted until Freckle’s score was announced. It was a great score. Possibly a winning score! Anna rode the mare from the arena amid wild cheers from the crowd. They knew a champion in the making when they saw one.

  When Anna dismounted, she hugged Freckle’s neck, murmuring endearments. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of red coming toward her, and her heart went to her throat. She turned, but her vision was blurry so she couldn’t see Dusty clearly. Then she realized that she was crying. Joy surging through her, she leapt into his arms. “Dusty! Dusty! What a wonderful horse!”

  Then with no thought to the consequences, she kissed him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  FOR A SECOND, Anna hung in midair, clinging to his neck. His l
ack of reaction made it plain that her kiss had caught him by surprise. But he recovered quickly, wrapping his arms about her waist and returning the kiss.

  Indescribable sensations sizzled through her as he held her against him, and the delight of victory over Freckle’s performance became a delight of a very different kind. Fiery heat radiated from his lips and caressing hands. The low guttural sound that came from his throat as he moved his lips across hers told her he was affected in a way that had nothing to do with contests or horses.

  All too soon the kiss was over, and she was set firmly down on her feet, although Dusty’s hands lingered at her waist. She stared into his eyes, his features swimming before her as she tried to refocus on a world devoid of the dazzling stimulation of his kiss.

  It was only when she became aware of the snickering around them that she realized the full implication of what she’d done.

  She knew she must be blushing fiercely, because her face burned. “Oh! I’m...” Clutching her hands together, she made a brave effort to smile despite her embarrassment. “It’s just that I was so excited about Freckle I lost my head,” she explained in a breathy voice, trying to convince herself that it was the whole truth.

  His smile made her heart ache for the touch of his lips on hers. She resisted the urge to stroke his rugged cheek. Her momentary rashness could be explained, but there was no excuse for any further physical contact.

  He bent to retrieve something, and Anna realized her hat had fallen to the dirt when she’d so inelegantly pounced on him.

  He held the hat in her direction. “Congratulations,” he said, as if nothing had happened.

  Swallowing to ease the tenseness in her throat, she asked weakly, “Did I pass?”

  His gaze lingered on her face, where tendrils of hair had fallen from her braid. “I’d say you passed all right, sugar.”