by Day Leclaire
The bright red yo-yo spun to within a hair of the longhorn's nose and jerked back, looping around and around one horn. Cami slipped the string off her finger and pulled Petunia up short. The cow bellowed a protest and skidded to an abrupt halt, inches shy of Holt. The yo-yo dipped and bobbed, dangling from one horn like a giant earring. Completely distracted, the longhorn stood, front legs spread wide, and shook its head, attempting to rid itself of this new annoyance.
A split second later, Holt cut between her and the irate cow, swiftly guiding her clear of harm's way.
"She was going to gore you. It was the only thing I could think of to stop her," Cami explained breathlessly. "I didn't dare use my rope. Not after this morning. Like as not, I'd have lassoed you or Loco instead of the longhorn. And I didn't want to hurt the poor thing, just get her attention off you."
"Fast thinking, Tex," he soothed. "I don't doubt for a minute that you saved my hide. Stay right here. Don't move from this spot. Understand?"
"Sure thing." Her confused gaze moved to the chaotic scene around them. "I don't understand. What's going on?"
"We need to finish corralling that bull and get him to his own pasture. Do not," he paused, holding her gaze with a severe expression, "do not help."
Her head bobbed up and down. "Yessir. No, sir. I'll wait here and not be a bit of help."
Pulling his neckerchief over the lower half of his face, he pivoted Loco around and disappeared into a thick cloud of cattle dust. She watched anxiously for Holt and Frank to reappear. Eventually they did, guiding a struggling bull into another pasture. Securing the gate, they rode toward her.
"Is everything all right now?" she asked, noting their grave expressions. "What happened?"
Holt took his time answering. He removed his hat and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his gloved hand. If she thought him dirty before, it didn't come close to comparing to the thick layer of dirt, dust, and muck covering him now. His eyes, angry and dust rimmed, finally turned in her direction. "You see that bull?" He gestured toward the animal ramming the stuffing out of a large aspen in the far pasture.
"I see him," Cami nodded.
"He's a Hereford bull. He's part of the herd raised for beef. See those longhorns?" He pointed to the cattle a short distance away.
"Yes, I see them," she repeated, more warily this time.
"Those are very expensive show cows. I culled them special and stuck them here because they're ready to be bred. Someone," he continued, "and I can't say for sure who that someone is. But someone left the gate open between the Hereford bull and longhorn cows. Do you realize how much money it'll cost me if that bull sires an offspring with one of my longhorn?"
She gulped. "No."
"Believe me when I tell you it's a lot." He leaned across his saddle horn, fixing her with a gimlet stare. "If I ever found out who left that gate open, I'd be tempted to shoot the varmint. Because only a varmint would be foolheaded enough to do such a thing. Especially in these parts."
"Why especially in these parts?" she whispered.
"Because in these parts the first lesson kids learn when they crawl out of their cradles is to keep the damn gates shut. First lesson. Shut the gate."
She bit down on her lip. "Got it. Shut the gate. Shoot the varmint."
"Perhaps Tex should call it a day," Frank suggested.
Holt inclined his head. "Good idea."
She glanced from one to the other. "But I'm all clean and ready to get dirty again. Besides, look what I brought you." She clambered off Petunia and flipped open a saddlebag. She pulled out the towel and washcloth. "I figured you'd be dirty and itchy from all that mud and could use the river to clean up. And see?" She yanked out his jeans and shirt. "I even brought a change of clothing and everything." She frowned at the empty saddlebag. "Well, maybe not everything. I sort of forgot the soap. But that dirt should come off with a spit and a polish."
"Tex," Holt began.
She clutched his clothes to her chest and peered up at him hopefully. "Yes?"
He cleared his throat. "Thanks. That was mighty thoughtful of you. There's one or two more chores I need to see to. It's a one man job, so consider the next few hours off as a... a sort of bonus."
Her gaze dropped to her toes. "A bonus," she murmured. "Right. Much obliged."
He reached down and tugged the shirt, jeans, and towel from her arms. "I appreciate your bringing these to me. I'll be along in a bit."
Without another word, she mounted and turned the horse toward the ranch house.
"Tex?"
She reined Petunia in. "Yes?"
"Don't forget to close the gates behind you," he said gently.
Cheeks burning, she gave a quick nod. A feather drifted from the hat brim and landed on the tip of her nose. "I won't forget," she assured, blowing irritably at the feather. "Shut the gate and shoot the varmint."
Keeping her spine ramrod stiff, she trotted Petunia across the pasture. She didn't even attempt to steal a backward glance as she passed through the gate and carefully and deliberately closed and latched it behind her.
* * *
Holt lay in bed and settled his arms behind his head. For some reason it felt cold and lonely. He stared out at the starry night, unable to sleep. A huge moon filled the narrow window, nearly blinding him.
Tex wasn't a wrangler, he reminded himself. She'd never be a wrangler. Sure, she was tough. She didn't give up, no matter how difficult it got. But she didn't belong here, at least not on his ranch. Even so, the memory of the kiss they shared stole over him, along with the feel and taste of her. She'd roused a powerful need within him, a desire to make her his in every sense of the word.
What would have happened if she'd been competent? If she'd been able to rope and ride and handle cattle? What excuse would he have found to get rid of her then?
Admit it, Winston. It's not just because she's a city slicker. You don't trust any women, not after Gwen.
Even a woman as open and guileless as Cami Greenbush. So what sort of man did that make him? What sort of man took a woman into his arms and possibly to his bed, all the while refusing to commit to her?
A man who didn't trust... no matter how deep the want.
* * *
Cami lay in bed in the cabin assigned to the female hands. So far, she had the place to herself and she didn't like it. It felt cold and lonely. She stared out at the starry night, unable to sleep. A huge moon filled the narrow window, nearly blinding her.
Some cowboy she'd turned out to be. Tears filled her eyes and she gritted her teeth, fighting with every ounce of determination to hold them at bay. Texans were tough, she reminded herself. Texans didn't give up, no matter how difficult it got. Her poppa had taught her that. She squeezed her eyes shut. If Poppa could only see her now. His pride and joy. His little cowboy. The phrase joggled a distant memory and slowly it surfaced.
She'd been tiny. Very tiny. And sitting astride her very own pony. She'd made a successful circuit around the corral and her father had held out his arms to her. "Come here, Camellia bush," he'd said with a laugh. "What a good little cowboy you're gonna make. Daddy's little cowboy."
Daddy's little cowboy. Oh, yeah. He'd be real proud if he could see her now. A tear spilled free, curving across her temple and soaking into her hair. With a muffled sob, she rolled over and buried her head in her pillow.
Real proud.
Chapter 5
Cami stood near the corral, practicing her roping. Twelve of her fourteen day trial period had passed and hers remained the only optimistic outlook regarding her future employment at the A-OK. Not that she couldn't change those other less-than-positive viewpoints. Unfortunately, it would take time, something in distressingly short supply.
On the plus side, she'd taken to grooming, riding, and mending fences just fine. She grimaced. Okay. If she were honest, she'd admit she could groom and saddle Petunia, keep mostly atop the horse when riding, and string barbed wire without getting stuck more than six or seven times. O
n the minus side, she couldn't for the life of her get the hang of roping. And that was a big minus. Because until she did, her job remained in jeopardy.
Not that it wasn't anyway.
Ever since the mud hole and gate incident, her days on the range had been few and far between. Even now, Holt and Gabby were off together taking care of various "one man" jobs. They never could adequately explain, if these were one man jobs, why it took two men to do them. And if it took two men, why she couldn't be one of the two, freeing up the other for the real one man jobs.
Oh, she'd asked, all right. And they'd hemmed and they'd hawed and they'd muttered beneath their breath a whole lot and shuffled in the dirt enough to raise a miniature dust storm. Gabby had turned a bit pink about the ears. And a frown as black as a thundercloud had darkened Holt's face. He'd slammed his hat low on his brow, and said "Just because, damn it," as if that ended the discussion. Then he'd wheeled Loco around and taken off before she'd had a chance to set him straight.
Agnes, Holt's housekeeper, acted even worse. She'd returned three days ago from vacation and made it clear "hands" weren't welcome in the ranch house, especially hands not worth their salt and citified to boot. Set on a course guaranteed to aggravate, she kept shaking her head and grumbling about "history repeating itself" and "there goes the ranch." That in particular stung.
But most frustrating of all, the first batch of guests was expected any time and, unlike all the other wranglers, she didn't know what to do when they arrived. Not that she hadn't been told.
"Keep out of the way," Agnes had sniffed. "I'll take care of the guests."
"Show 'em your yo-yo tricks," Gabby suggested. "Jes' don't bean nobody."
"Give me your rope," Holt ordered. "I can't have you dragging any of the guests through the mud."
"Aw, Holt," Cami replied in a mortified undertone. "Don't ask me to give up my rope. How am I going to meet your conditions of employment if I can't practice with it?"
He started to speak, then changed his mind. "Fine. Keep the rope. But stay away from anything that breathes. Got it?"
"Got it."
Now she stood, feet planted firmly in the dust, determined to practice until she collapsed. Not that it did much good. The closest she'd come to roping something happened when she'd dropped the blasted loop on top of herself. But she wouldn't give up. No, sir. Not her.
For the fiftieth time that day, she swung the lariat into the air and tossed it toward the corral. For the fiftieth time it spun out in front of her. To her utter amazement, this time it dropped neatly over the fence post. A quick tug and it pulled tight. Son of a gun! She stood for a moment, staring in disbelief. A slow, wide grin split her face and she whooped for joy, punching the air with her fists. She'd done it. She'd finally done it. She'd lassoed what she'd meant to lasso.
So what if it couldn't move, let alone moo. Once she got the hang of roping fence posts, she'd have no problem roping cattle. Holt would be impressed. Gabby would be amazed. Agnes would be speechless—finally. And Holt would sweep her up into those strong, powerful arms of his and twirl her around.
He'd say wonderful things like, "You're hired for the season. And by the way, this calls for another of those mind-splintering kisses." He'd duck down and capture her mouth with his. Romantic music would swell from speakers hidden in Gabby's mustache and she and Holt would ride off into the sunset searching for cows to rope. Life would be perfect again.
As if her success set off a predetermined signal, a car pulled into the drive. A man and woman climbed out and looked around. From the back seat tumbled a little girl no more than five. Agnes appeared on the porch and greeted the couple. The little girl gave the housekeeper the once over with a shrewd and discerning eye, abandoned her parents, and skipped over to Cami's side.
"Hi. My name's Tina. This is my first time on a ranch. We had to drive hours and hours to get here. I almost threw up three times. Mommy has a headache and Daddy said a bad word." She took a quick breath and clasped her hands behind her back. "What's your name?"
"Cami."
Tina stared, her shiny brown eyes filled with awe. "Are you a real cowboy?"
Cami stood a little straighter, tucked her thumbs into her belt and rocked back on her heels. "Sure am."
"Can you rope and ride and shoot and everything?"
"Well..." Cami strode over to the fence post to retrieve her rope. "To be honest, I can't shoot," she admitted.
The little girl appeared momentarily disappointed, but she made a quick recovery. "Will you show me how to rope?"
Another car pulled into the drive. Two boys and a girl crossed to Cami's side, their parents joining Agnes and the first couple on the porch.
"You gonna rope something?" one of the boys demanded.
She hesitated, recalling Holt's explicit instructions to keep her rope away from anything that breathed. She glanced from the eager faces gathered around her, to Agnes nattering on the porch with the adults. One little toss couldn't hurt, could it?
"Well, ah, I guess so," Cami said. She gathered up her rope and stood next to the children. Swinging the loop into the air, she peered down at them and grinned. "Now don't get in the way. And whatever you do, don't go off behind me."
She aimed for the corral fence and tossed. For the second time, the rope dropped dead center over the post. It took every ounce of self-control not to jump up and down for joy and execute a very uncowboylike happy dance. She'd done it. She'd actually done it. Twice! Over the hill beyond the corral she caught a glimpse of Holt and Gabby riding toward the ranch. Guilt stabbed her. Had they seen? She shook the rope loose and reeled it in, wrapping it around her arm as she did so. With any luck, they hadn't.
"Do it again! Do it again!" the children clamored.
"I don't know," Cami said, reluctant to borrow trouble. Obeying Holt warred with her desire to show him how much she'd improved. If he could see her actually lasso something, maybe he'd keep her on as his wrangler.
"Please!" they begged. "Once more?"
"One more time and that's it for now," she said, twirling the lariat.
She peeked Holt's way. She could tell by the sudden jerk of his head and the way he straightened in the saddle that she'd caught his eye. And he'd taken note of the children at her side. To her dismay, Loco's pace picked up significantly. Did he really consider her such a hazard? Well, she'd show him. She'd prove herself. Boy howdy, would she prove herself. She twirled the rope for all she was worth.
"Oh, look!" Tina exclaimed the exact instant Cami started into her throw. "A sheepdog."
It proved just enough of a distraction. Reacting without thought, Cami snapped her head to watch Git slink by. The rope, acquiring a mind of its own, snaked through the air. It landed clean again. Only this time it landed clean over Git. The sheepdog, literally at the end of his rope, howled in anguish and took off at a dead run.
Horror made her reactions a shade too slow. Before she had time to drop the rope, it twisted around her arm and yanked tight. This can't be happening, she had a split second to think, before Git's momentum jerked her off her feet and onto her belly. She yelped at the unexpected and painful meeting of rock against rib.
"Whoa, Git!" she shrieked. "Stop!" To her everlasting relief, he obeyed. He skidded to a halt and turned to face her. Cami gulped.
This was one pissed off animal.
She stripped the rope from her wrist before he could take it into his head to run again. "Now, Git," she began, slowly backing away and holding up her hands. "It was an accident. I swear." He was having none of it. With a furious bark, he stalked her. "I'm sorry," she tried to placate him. "Truly sorry."
He didn't look convinced. In fact, he appeared determined to explain the full extent of his pissdom. A rapid retreat seemed in order. With a quick "Excuse me, folks," she spun on her heel and ran. She darted around the hay wagon and into the barn, a barking Git at her heels. She raced past the stanchions, manure gutters, and troughs to the ladder at the far end. Dogs couldn't climb l
adders, right? Lordy, she hoped not. She climbed. Fast. Git stood, paws planted on the bottom rung and howled.
Gaining the top of the ladder, she flopped onto the bales of hay, gasping for air. Whew! That was a close one. Not that she blamed the poor dog. Goodness, no. She'd be the first to admit she'd proved a bit of a trial for him. And until today, he'd been very patient. But all critters had their breaking point. She understood completely. She also understood Git had reached his.
She nibbled on a fingertip. Now to explain why she'd taken to hiding in the hayloft to Holt. Somehow she suspected that wouldn't be too easy. A low warning growl brought her head up and she shot to her feet. So much for dogs not climbing ladders. This one had managed just fine. She retreated.
"Now, Git. I'm sure we can work a deal. Let's be reasonable. How about a doggy biscuit?" He kept coming and she kept retreating. "Okay. How about two? Three? You're really serious about this, aren't you?"
He stopped and sat, scratching furiously. Cami relaxed. "Good boy. Good Git." She offered her hand. "Wanna be friends again?"
He seemed to consider. It didn't take long. Giving in, his tail twitched into a wag and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. With an enthusiastic bark, he bounded toward her. Relieved, she took a final, unthinking step backward to brace herself against the arrival of sixty pounds of playful dog.
Bad move.
Empty air greeted her booted foot. She teetered on the edge of the open loft door, scrambling for purchase, her arms pinwheeling madly. Git bounced up and gave her a forgiving lick. Gravity didn't require any extra help. With a shriek, she tumbled in a general down-and-out direction. This is it. I'm dead, came her final, wild thought. Her last sight was of Git standing at the loft door, staring at her, his head cocked to one side and a wide grin spread across his doggy mouth.
With a loud poof, she hit something reasonably cushy, something that broke her fall and closed around her, burying her in a bristly embrace. Cami opened her eyes, realizing she couldn't see a blessed thing. A strange thundering sounded in her ears, growing louder and louder. Then silence, an eerie, waiting sort of silence.