by Vicki Tharp
“Heels down,” he said. He wasn’t satisfied. “More.”
“I don’t bend that way,” I complained.
“Stop, stop, stop.” He stepped up beside me, his movements as sharp as his temper as he eased my boot out of the stirrup a few inches so it ran across the balls of my feet, not beneath my arch. “Having your heels down helps anchor you in the saddle. If you balance on the balls of your feet, it’s easy for you to lose your balance and be thrown.”
He grabbed my knee. “Relax,” he said, pushing down on my knee and up on the bottom of my boot, bending my ankle into an acute angle. “The tighter you hold on with your knees, the more you’ll make the horse feel trapped and want to take off with you. Sierra will let you get away with it, but you do that on Angel or one of the other horses and you’ll be in the next county before you get them stopped.”
“I don’t ever plan on riding Angel.”
“You know what they say,” he said, with an infectious grin, “Never say never.”
I smiled back at him. I couldn’t help myself. “Angel would be an exception to the never rule.”
As if placating a small child without the intellect to understand, he cooed, “Sure he is, Army. Sure he is.”
Where was this Army crap coming from? The smile dropped from my face. “It’s Mac. My name,” I added when he quirked a brow.
He pointed and clucked and sent Sierra on around the rail. “I know your name.”
Moving to the middle of the pen, he watched me sit the trot for a round or two then had me bump up the speed and shift into a posting trot. I hissed as I moved up and down in rhythm to the trot, the temperature between my thighs rapidly approached nuclear levels. There would be smoke in a minute if he didn’t let me stop.
By that sly smile that creased his face, he knew. He knew that I knew that he knew. “Something wrong?”
What did that old deodorant commercial say? Never let them see you sweat? That’s right, call me Dry Idea. I stared straight ahead. “Nope. It’s all good.”
He chuckled. “Heels down,” he said as he eased toward the rail.
“They are down,” I grumbled.
Then three things happened in rapid succession. Hank stepped in front of Sierra. Sierra skidded to a halt and rudely introduced me to Newton’s first law of motion—something about how an object in motion stays in motion. I flew over her withers and landed on my back in the deep sand and glared up at Hank. What the fuck?
He turned and walked toward his horse. Over his shoulder he said, “That doesn’t happen when your heels are down.”
* * * *
The day was warming rapidly as the sun rose high overhead. We were riding the line of fence Jenna, Santos, and I hadn’t completed the day before. Hank estimated we had less than a mile of fence to check before we could meet up with the rest of the crew to prepare the pens in advance of rounding up the cattle.
The horses eased their way into a small valley between two hills, completely cutting off the breeze. Within minutes, sweat was pooling between my breasts and sliding down my sides and onto my bandage. I’d have preferred that the bandages didn’t become drenched with sweat so I hitched my reins over my saddle horn, removed my long sleeve shirt, and tied it around my waist as we rode. As soon as I was paid, I needed to buy more clothes. My one and only tank top was not going to cut it.
In this area, the brush was sparse, the ground rocky but not so rough we couldn’t ride side by side. “You could have killed me, you know,” I said, more to break the silence than to force an apology from Hank. He wasn’t stingy with words, but he also didn’t talk just to hear his own voice.
Hank glanced over at me. “A calculated risk.”
“With my life.”
He shrugged. “Worked out in the end.”
“How’s that?”
“You survived.” Then he glanced down at my leg in the stirrup, a smirk on his face that I tried to convince myself wasn’t really all that sexy. “And your heels are down.”
I glanced down. My feet and heels placed exactly as he had shown me this morning. “The ends justify the means, I guess.”
“You will thank me later.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I let it slide. After a couple hours of near-silence, it was nice to have a little conversation to take my mind off the never-ending line of fencing. “So you grew up around here?”
Hank lifted his hat off his forehead and wiped sweat from his brow. He typified the iconic, rugged cowboy with his hat wrenched low, a look I found more attractive on him than I cared to admit. However, even with his hair matted to his head from sweat, I liked him even better with it off. I could see his eyes and the way they danced when he teased me or dimmed when his thoughts turned inward. It was important to me to be able to read people.
“My folks had a place not too far, but they sold out when I was in high school. Worked for Dale all of my junior and senior years.”
I’d wondered how the two were connected. After overhearing them at the cafe, they clearly had a history. “Is that when you started the rodeo thing? After high school?”
“I was on the local circuit. Small-time rodeos mostly for about a year after graduation.”
“Stayed close for the family?” As soon as I said it, I knew I was wrong. His eyes lost their spark and he slumped in the saddle before pulling himself together. “Not family.” I guessed again. “A girl.”
He didn’t deny it so I figured I was correct.
“So you dated Farmer John’s daughter for a year. Then you found greener pastures with the rodeo groupies?”
I was shooting my mouth off. Trying to rib him a bit. He deserved it after making me eat sand this morning. Instead, I’d hit a nerve. His mood shifted and his gaze turned stark. I shivered. He reined his horse to a stop, his stare holding mine.
“I’m not that kind of man,” he said, his voice low and measured. “I don’t commit lightly or easily, but when I do, I’m all in.”
Somehow, his words came out sounding like a warning. I wasn’t sure why he told me that, but his story intrigued me. “But there was a girl,” I stated, convinced of at least that much.
He turned his horse away and pushed the gelding into a slow trot.
I nudged Sierra to keep up with him. “So, if it wasn’t you tapping all the rodeo queens, then it must have been her messing around.” Geez. Did I really say that?
“Tapping?” He flashed an expression that was part shock, part embarrassment, and part amusement. “Since when do you talk like a high schooler?”
“Try eight years in the military.” Again, he avoided my question, so I assumed I was right. “So then you left?”
“It got complicated.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but then he pushed his horse over the next ridge. I’d have run smack into the back of him if Sierra hadn’t been paying attention when he skidded to a stop. “What the—”
I followed his stare to the bottom of the hill where all four strands of barbed wire lay in a matted, tangled mess. The ground was churned up where the fence had been cut, and even from this distance, I could see the shallow tire ruts leading from the fence line to the dirt road about a quarter mile away.
“Christ,” Hank muttered in disbelief as he wiped his brow again. He pulled out his radio to notify Dale, but even with the advantage of height on the ridge, we were too far away for good radio reception.
He started toward the fence, his palomino picking his way down a rocky, stair-stepped incline. Sierra followed closely behind. The descent was so steep in places I had to push my legs forward and my body back to keep from rolling over the top of the mare’s head.
We got to the bottom a few minutes later. The ground on our side of the fence was so churned up it looked like someone had tilled it with a tractor. On the other side of the fence, there were only the tire tracks. Even a non-ranch
er like me could read these signs. Hank stared at the riot of wire and cattle tracks. His face turned red and his nostrils flared.
My heart sunk in my chest. “How many cows do you think they rustled?”
* * * *
“Hard to say exactly how many head we lost,” Hank told the other hands over the soft crackle of the evening’s campfire. “Looks like two trailers. Depending on how long they were, we could have lost twenty head or more. Since Dale has switched to ear tags for identification instead of branding, if the tags are removed, chances of being able to prove they belong to the ranch will be difficult.”
Everyone had gathered around. The heat from the fire kept the chill at bay. Even Dink was back, snuggled on Hank’s coat beside Jenna. The stars were out, blanketing the sky as if a mass of fireworks had exploded and hung up in the atmosphere. The camaraderie was something I’d missed over the last year and it was a surprisingly nice change of pace from living every moment in my head.
Hank and I had never met up with the rest of the crew. After fixing the fence, we had returned to the ranch to notify Dale about the theft. Dale had then called the sheriff, who had taken our statement, told Dale he would investigate, but from his tone of voice, I didn’t think the man expected to find the missing cattle.
In his camp chair, Dale swallowed a hefty swig of his beer. “Sheriff Tate said nobody else is missing stock in the area. Too early to tell if we’re the first in what is going to be a string of thefts or if we’re being targeted specifically.”
I had plopped my aching body down on the ground with one of the logs against my back. Dale and his wife, Lottie, were on my right. Santos and Alby perched on the end of my log to my left. Across the fire from me, Jenna lay curled around Dink, with Quinn and his guitar on the log on one side of her, Hank on the log on the other.
“Why would someone target your ranch?” I asked Dale.
Link answered. He’d been slowly pacing the edge of the group, clearly too agitated to sit down. “Who says they are?” Link’s tone was accusatory and carried enough heat that it had Hank sitting up straighter.
“Hey, now,” Hank growled at Link.
Stopping mid-stride, Link locked on to Hank’s stare. “Who does she think she is?” Then he turned the heat back on me. “Cattle rustling is nothing new, missy. Happens all the time. It doesn’t mean we have a target painted on our back.”
Hank jumped to his feet.
“Enough.” Dale stood. “Sit down, Hank.”
Dale kissed his wife on the cheek and handed her his half-empty beer. “Link, let me help you with night check.”
Link crossed his arms over his chest, chewing on bitter, unsaid words as he waited for Dale to accompany him to the barn. I hadn’t known Dale long, but I already knew he wasn’t the type of man to dress down his foreman publicly, but there was no doubt by Dale’s tone that Link would get one.
Awkward silence remained after they’d left. Quinn lightly fingered the strings on his guitar; the coals hissed as Alby flicked the remaining drops of his beer onto the fire.
“Whatcha do to piss ‘em off?” Quinn asked. A toothpick dangled at the corner of his mouth.
Jenna slapped him playfully on the leg and laughed. “That’s not very nice.”
“Wish I knew,” I said, to no one in particular. “He hasn’t liked me from day one.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Lottie chimed him. I loved her voice. It was smooth and sweet like butter blended with honey. A small woman, what she lacked in stature I could already tell she made up for with a quick mind and a mulish stubbornness. Probably served her well. “Link’s been going through a rough patch these last few months. Then with all the trouble on the ranch—he takes it all to heart. He grew up here. This place is as much his as mine.”
Alby stood and stretched, tossing his empty into a nearby trash can. “You can make excuses all ya want, Miss Lottie, but he’s just plain got it in for her.”
Lottie went to protest, but Hank cut her off. “Time you boys called it a night. You too, Jenna.”
She tried to give him the “you’re not the boss of me” stink eye, but Hank stared her down. Hank wasn’t the foreman, but age alone gave him seniority.
When she went to lift Dink, Hank said, “I’ll bring him up in a bit, he’s enjoying the fire.”
“I can—”
“Jenna,” Lottie admonished, her voice gentle.
Jenna’s eyes started to roll before she caught herself. “Thanks,” she said to Hank and her grandmother smiled at her.
Quinn jumped up, his guitar twanging on a sour note as he laid it on the ground. “I’ll walk ya to the house.”
Jenna smiled, all teeth and promise. Hank’s lips drew down. Jenna and Quinn walked away, so close together their shoulders bumped with every other step. Then Hank glanced at Santos over the fire and tossed his head in the teens’ direction, “Why don’t you go with them?”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Lottie said to Santos. To Hank, she said, “Leave the kids be, Hank. Give ’em a little privacy.”
“They’re kids. They don’t need privacy.” Hank glanced at them over his shoulder as if he expected them to drop on the ground and do the nasty right there in front of God and everybody. I for one was happy to see them take a shine to each other. Even though Quinn was older than Jenna, he was definitely more age-appropriate than Hank.
I was so confused about Hank’s and Jenna’s relationship. Sometimes Hank seemed jealous when Quinn was around Jenna. Other times, he seemed more protective of her.
Then I reminded myself it wasn’t any of my business.
Alby and Santos retreated to their cabin and Lottie said goodnight and headed up to bed herself. That left me, Hank, and Dink. Drained, I was ready for sleep myself.
Dink thumped his tail at me when I stood to leave. I stepped over to him and patted his soft head. He squinted and his lips slid back in a doggy grin. When I tried to leave, Hank lightly grabbed my wrist and sat me down on the log beside him.
“Don’t let Link get to you. It’s not personal.”
“I’m not. Not really.” I chewed on a frustrated sigh. Plenty of people in the world didn’t like me. Usually, it was because I’d given them a reason not to. Only I didn’t think I’d given Link much of a reason.
“Link and I aren’t very close, even though I’ve known him most of my life. Between you and me, Dale asked me to take this job to take the pressure off Link. Dale would deny that if you asked him directly. He doesn’t want Link thinking he’s lost confidence in him, but Dale has. Link lost his mother to cancer a few months ago. His wife left him soon after. From what Dale says, he hasn’t quite been as focused since then.”
“Now you’re trying to make me feel sorry for him.”
Ruffling his fingers through Dink’s scruff, Hank glanced up at me, his eyes soft and a faint smile on his lips. “Naw. Trying to give you a little perspective. Don’t let on I told ya, or Link’ll have me mucking stalls by myself for a week.”
His eyes held mine, the firelight reflecting back at me. Then his focus slipped down to my lips and desire flashed. He wanted to kiss me. Then he glanced away, shaking his head and shaking me off as easily as a dog shakes water from its coat.
I told myself it was for the best.
Chapter 5
The floor of the cabin vibrated as four exaggerated footsteps landed on the front porch. “Don’t shoot,” Hank called out moments before he opened the door.
“Very funny,” I replied. “Lucky for you my hands are occupied.”
I was sitting at the kitchen table, twisting like a pretzel and trying to doctor the scrape on my side and finding two hands were not nearly enough to get the job done right.
After dumping his coat and hat on his bunk, Hank sat beside me and placed a pink plastic bottle on the table. On the label was a cartoon monkey with his short
s pulled down exposing a painful, red monkey butt. “What’s this?”
“Jenna wanted me to give this to you. For your saddle rub. She said she can’t watch you walk around like your jeans are made of razor wire anymore.”
“Thank God” was all I could say as I set the medicated powder back down.
Hank leaned down for a closer inspection of my side, then whistled softly. “Pretty impressive. More shades of purple than a little girl’s wardrobe.”
“You should see the knot and bruise from where I landed on that rock.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my mouth.
He tipped his chin up, indicating for me to stand and show him. I rolled my eyes, but stood up anyway and tugged the waistband of my boxer shorts low enough to show the hard knot and purple-black bruising, but not so low I was indecent.
“Hurt?” he asked in all innocence, knowing full well it did.
I sat back down and dabbed more hydrogen peroxide onto a couple of cotton balls. “Like a bitch.”
“Maybe you should sit out a day or so. Dale would understand.”
“I’ll survive. It’s a long way from my heart. Besides, I don’t see you lying around on your bunk with your bum leg raised while the guys are out working all day.”
He sat back, ran a hand absently down the leg in question, and regarded me. I wasn’t sure if he was more surprised I’d noticed how much the leg bothered him or that I’d called him on it. Then a smile curved up one side of his lips. “Like you said, it’s a long way from the heart.”
I couldn’t help but smile back. There was something sexy and admirable about a man who did his work without complaint despite a painful injury. As I twisted my body to apply the disinfectant, Hank snagged my wrist. If he felt my pulse spike and thrum beneath his fingertips, he didn’t let on.