The Cowboy

by Joan Johnston

  “Not necessarily,” the vet said. “Cowboys come and go around here. The work’s hot and dusty, and we don’t pay much.”

  “Are you done interrogating me?” Billy demanded.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Yes. I appreciate your cooperation,” Callie said.

  Billy took another long, lazy look at her, then met her gaze with suggestive eyes and said, “Anytime, ma’am.” He tugged his hat brim low over his eyes and sauntered away.

  “That kid is pure-D trouble,” the vet muttered.

  Callie agreed, but she didn’t think Bad Billy Coburn had anything to do with the positive test results. “How many of my cows tested positive?” she asked.

  “Just one,” the vet replied.

  “One. Just one.” Callie laughed with relief. “So the rest of the herd—”

  “Is quarantined,” the vet said.

  “But you can’t do that!” Callie protested. “One suspicious test—”

  “There’s nothing suspicious about the results on this card,” the vet said, holding it out to her. He pointed with his finger. “That result is positive.”

  “What if that missing cowboy substituted a vial of blood for one Billy gave him?” Callie said. “What if the test was fixed!”

  The vet’s face reddened. “Are you suggesting I’d do such a thing? Because I can assure you—”

  Callie could see she was losing ground. “No, no. Of course you wouldn’t. But don’t you see? What do we know about that missing cowboy? Couldn’t you retest my cows?”

  “Wouldn’t do any good. Have to quarantine them for a bit to see if any bangers show up.”

  “But—”

  “What’s the problem here?”

  Callie turned to find the local field inspector, Harvey Miller, standing with his hands perched on his hips beneath a burgeoning belly. He wore a TSCRA badge framed in leather—a Longhorn etched on a star within a silver circle—that hung from his breast pocket. The field inspector carried a Colt .45 on his hip and had the power to arrest wrongdoers. Callie wondered if Blackjack had sent him over to intimidate her.

  “I came to see whether you want to sell your cows for slaughter or load them back onto your trucks,” Harvey said.

  “I want my cows tested again. I don’t believe you’ll find any bangers, because my cows all recently dropped calves!”

  “That doesn’t mean they can’t—or won’t—abort next time,” Harvey said reasonably. “What’s it gonna be?”

  “I can’t afford to have my cows butchered,” Callie said, her voice rising sharply.

  “Then I’ll have the boys load ’em back up,” Harvey said.

  “This is insane!” Callie said. “My cows are perfectly healthy.”

  “Well, you can always have the Texas Animal Health Commissioner come down from Austin and certify—”

  “It could take months— And by then the prices— I need this situation straightened out now!” Callie cried.

  “There’s nothing you can do, Callie,” Trace said.

  She turned on him, her eyes flashing with anger. “Your father made this happen! I know he did! At first, I didn’t think he had my father killed, but now I’m starting to wonder just how far he’s willing to go to get Three Oaks!”

  “You know that’s crazy talk,” Trace said.

  “Is it?” She turned to the field inspector and said, “Load up my cows. I’m taking them home. I’ll be in touch with the Animal Health Commissioner, and believe me, I’m going to report what happened here today.” She turned to glare at the vet. “When I’m done, you’ll be lucky if you still have your job!”

  Callie made the threat even though she knew, as the vet must also have known, that Jackson Blackthorne and the Texas Animal Health Commissioner were most likely good pals, and that if she could compel the commissioner to come and reinspect her cattle at all, it wouldn’t be anytime soon—and certainly not before she was forced to sell Three Oaks to Jackson Blackthorne or lose it to the government for failure to pay her father’s estate taxes.

  Callie gave instructions to the cowboys who were working with her cattle about where to drop them off, then headed toward the stands where Blackjack still sat waiting for his bull to be auctioned. She was nearly there when she realized Trace was beside her, matching her stride for stride.

  “What are you planning to do, Callie?” he asked.

  “Tell your father exactly what I think of him.”

  “What purpose will that serve? Listen, Callie. I have a proposition.”

  She stopped and whirled to face him. “What could you possibly offer me that would be of any help now, Trace?”

  “I can loan you the money to pay the first installment of taxes.”

  She stared at him, unblinking, for a full thirty seconds, then laughed. The laughter bubbled out of her, the force of it bending her in half. “That is rich. That is so funny.”

  “I’m not joking, Callie.”

  “Where would you get that kind of money—that didn’t come out of your father’s pocket?”

  “I have money of my own,” he said quietly.

  Her laughter stopped abruptly. “You’re serious.”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t understand. What do you get out of this?”

  “You.”

  She should have known there would be a fly in the ointment. She didn’t ask what he meant. She could guess what he had in mind. “That makes me a pretty expensive whore.”

  “If that’s the way you want to look at it.”

  “There isn’t any other way of looking at it,” Callie said bluntly. “You’re asking me to have sex with you for money.”

  His expression hardened as he waited for her answer.

  “How much will I be paid for my services? How many times—”

  “Till I’m tired of you,” he said brusquely.

  “How am I supposed to explain this ‘business arrangement’ to my family?”

  “There’s no reason they have to know about it.”

  She laughed again, only this time it was an ugly sound. “My brothers aren’t stupid. They’ll want to know where I got the money to pay the taxes. I’ll have to tell them something.”

  “Tell them you talked the bank into giving you a loan—based on the future sale of your cattle. They’ll believe it, because they’ll want to believe it.”

  Callie knew he was right.

  “One more thing,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I want you to train my stud for the Futurity—with the understanding you’ll be paid the share of winnings I promised you if my horse finishes in the top ten.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. That’s all.”

  Callie began walking again, and Trace kept pace with her. She really had no choice. Where else was she going to find the money to save Three Oaks? She opened her mouth to agree, but what came out was, “I won’t do it.”

  “Fine.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “Is that all you have to say?”

  “You’ve made your decision. What else can I say?”

  Callie had expected him to cajole, to bargain and plead. She was taken aback by his willingness to abandon the whole idea. She was right back where she’d started—woefully short of funds to pay the first installment of her father’s estate taxes.

  She started walking again. “I’m not saying I’d ever agree to such an outrageous proposal, but if I did, where would these interludes take place?”

  “My father has a hunting cabin. We can go there.”

  “Oh, God.” Callie laughed. “This is absurd. I can’t believe I’m even discussing this with you.”

  “It’s a fair trade,” Trace said.

  Callie stopped and stared at him. “I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought. The Trace I knew wouldn’t have tried to buy love with money.”

  “I’m not interested in love. Just sex.”

  “Oh, and that makes it okay?”

  He shrugged. “I
was only trying to help you out.”

  “Thanks for nothing.” Callie shook her head, sighed, then said, “I need time to think about your offer.”

  “You’ve got until sundown tonight.”

  “What’s the rush?” she asked, eyeing him sideways.

  “I’m not going to be in Texas much longer. I want to get full value for my investment.”

  “How soon are you leaving?”

  “Soon enough,” he answered evasively.

  Part of Callie’s unwillingness to sell herself to Trace was the fact that she had no idea how long she’d have to surrender herself to his sexual whims before she’d have paid him back for the loan. But if Trace was leaving Texas in the near future, that problem would solve itself.

  She couldn’t believe she was even considering his proposal. He wanted the use of her body, but he’d be buying her soul. She hadn’t believed she could stoop so low. But when she thought of the alternative—losing Three Oaks to Blackjack—she didn’t see where she had much choice.

  She felt sick to her stomach.

  “I need more time to think about it,” she said.

  “No.”

  Callie made a growling sound of frustration in her throat. She was certain if she just had a little more time, she could figure out a way to save both herself and the ranch.

  Suddenly, Callie realized how she could take Trace’s money and still keep her self-respect. If he wanted sex, that’s what he would get, without the warmth and affection that normally accompanied such an intimate joining. He couldn’t say she hadn’t kept her part of the bargain. And the first installment on her father’s estate taxes would be paid before he realized how little he’d gotten for his money.

  “I don’t need to wait until sundown,” she said at last.

  He raised a brow, but said nothing.

  “I agree to the deal.”

  “What changed your mind?” he asked.

  She shrugged nonchalantly. “I need the money. Shall we shake on it?” She held out her hand, and it was swallowed by his. Her skin tingled, and her blood began to race in her veins.

  “Do you still want to talk to my father?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t think there’s anything further that needs to be said.”

  “Then I’ll bring my stud over tomorrow after church.”

  She looked down at the hand she’d used to make a devil’s bargain and pulled herself free. “What will you tell your father?” she said. “He’ll know I didn’t borrow the money from the bank.”

  “I’ll tell him I’m courting you.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Trace sighed. “My father’s wanted me to marry you for a long time. It’ll please him to think he’ll be getting Three Oaks without having to do more than pay inheritance taxes.”

  “I see.” He’d hinted as much to her on the plane, then told her they’d met at UT entirely by accident. What if they hadn’t? It would be punishment enough to open her body to a man who no longer wanted her love. It would be a nightmare to make love to someone who’d never seen her as anything other than a means to an end.

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Callie forced herself to walk away. You never ran from a predator. It only made him hungrier for the kill.

  Chapter 10

  “WHAT’S HE DOING HERE, MOM?”

  Callie glanced at the horse trailer pulling up to the barn. He’s here to lay claim to what he bought yesterday.

  She cupped a reassuring—and restraining—hand around Eli’s nape and said, “I’m going to be training Mr. Blackthorne’s horse for the Futurity.”

  “Sheesh. You gotta be kidding! Why?”

  “Because we need the money. I expect you to be nice,” she said, as Trace stepped down from the cab of the pickup hauling the top-of-the-line Sooner two-horse trailer.

  “Do I hafta?” Eli said.

  Callie felt the muscles in her son’s shoulders tense. “Please, Eli. Do this for me.”

  He made a face, then gave a curt nod.

  “Where do you want him?” Trace asked as he headed for the back of the horse trailer to let down the ramp.

  “Put him in the corral for now. I still need to fix the door on his stall. It’s not hanging properly.”

  As Trace backed the bay stallion out of the trailer, Callie couldn’t help admiring Smart Little Doc. The intelligent look in the horse’s eyes, and the dance in his step, suggested he was something special. She already knew he was exciting to watch at work. She’d seen him move with a cow like the two of them were puppets attached to the same string.

  At the same time, Callie couldn’t help being aware of Trace. His powerful body moved with lithe grace over the ground, and his commands to the horse were quiet and sure. She felt her insides squeeze as his large, callused hand moved over the horse, down its arched neck, up across its withers and then down its back, the proud owner of an excellent piece of horseflesh.

  Trace owned her body too. He’d bought the right to handle her as thoroughly as he was now handling Smart Little Doc. Callie realized, to her dismay, that she wouldn’t mind being touched by Trace as much as she should, under the circumstances.

  “Get the corral gate please, Eli,” Callie said.

  The boy hurried to do her bidding, but Callie should have known better than to think Eli would behave himself. An instant before Smart Little Doc was inside and clear of the gate, Eli let go, and it swung closed on the horse’s rear end. Smart Little Doc leapt forward, hitting Trace in the shoulder and sending him spinning. Trace let go of the halter rope, rather than jerk the horse’s head, and landed on his rear end in the sand.

  Eli climbed onto the corral gate and hung over the top rail, a smirk of deviltry on his face. “Oops. Guess I let it go a little too soon.”

  Trace was so slow to rise, Callie thought he might be injured. He wasn’t hurt. He was angry. Once he was on his feet and had ensured his horse was all right, he headed straight for the gate—and Eli.

  “Trace, wait!” Callie cried, heading toward her son to protect him.

  Callie could see Trace was going to reach Eli first. Eli saw the same thing, and came down off the gate and headed in her direction on the run. Trace was too fast. He vaulted the corral as though it wasn’t there and caught Eli by the scruff of his shirt.

  “Hold up there, son.”

  “I’m not your son!” Eli said, wriggling and kicking.

  Trace held the boy away from him, so Eli’s kicking feet couldn’t reach his shins, and said, “That animal never did a thing to you. It wasn’t fair to punish him because you don’t like me.”

  “I hate you!” Eli shouted.

  “It doesn’t matter a bucket of spit what you think of me. If I ever see you mistreat another animal, I’ll put you over my knee and wallop your backside till you can’t sit down for a week.”

  “Mom, help! He says he’s gonna beat me! Mom!”

  Callie met Trace’s furious gaze and said in a voice she might use to calm an excitable horse, “I can handle my son. You can let him go now.”

  “Let me go, you murdering Blackthorne!” Eli ranted.

  A muscle in Trace’s jaw jerked. For a moment, Callie thought he would follow through with his threat right then and there. But he released his hold on Eli’s shirt, took a step back, and said to her, “Keep that boy away from me.”

  That was fine with Callie. The less Trace saw of his son, the better for everyone. “Eli, I think you’d better take some time out to think about what you’ve done. You can go help Henry finish mucking out stalls.”

  “Aw, Mom—”

  Callie caught her son’s chin as he slipped past her and turned his face up to hers. “We don’t take out our troubles on animals that depend on us to care for them, Eli. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Eli made a sound in his throat.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the boy croaked.

  A moment later Callie and Trac
e were alone. She turned to him and said, “I’m sorry. Eli’s been upset—”

  “Don’t make excuses for the boy. What he did was wrong. End of story.”

  “Granted, but—”

  “No buts.”

  Callie bit her lip. Had she been too tolerant of Eli’s behavior? Should she have been punishing him for his outrageous antics, rather than trying so hard to understand his pain?

  “You’ve got to set some limits, Callie, or the kid’s going to turn into a bully.”

  Callie was stung by Trace’s criticism. She might agree with him, but he had no rights where Eli was concerned. He’d given them up when he’d walked out of her life eleven years ago. “You’re here to drop off your horse,” she said in an icy voice. “I’ll take care of my son.”

  “Fine. Just make sure your kid doesn’t do anything to hurt my horse.”

  “Smart Little Doc will be perfectly safe.”

  “When can I see you?”

  Callie stared at him, disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject. “What do you mean?”

  “What time can I pick you up?”

  “You mean today? I can’t spend any time with you today,” she said, aghast at how quickly Trace apparently intended to claim his right to her body. “I have too much work to do.”

  “Name a time, Callie.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Mommy! Mommy!”

  Callie turned to see why she was being called and discovered her four-year-old daughter lying on her belly, hanging halfway out of the open door of the barn loft-twenty feet off the ground. “Hannah! Don’t move, baby! Stay right where you are!”

  Callie ran for the door to the barn, but was forced to stop just inside to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. Trace ran into her from behind.

  He grabbed her shoulders to keep them both from falling and asked, “Where’s the ladder to the loft?”

  She pointed toward the north end of the barn and he was on his way again. She followed after him, but he was all the way up the ladder when she was still on the bottom rungs. “Be careful!” she cried. “Don’t frighten her. She might fall.”

  When Callie got to the top of the ladder, her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst from her chest. She gave a garbled cry of relief when she saw Trace holding Hannah in his arms. She hurried across the width of the loft and took Hannah from him, clutching her so tightly Hannah protested.