Cowgirl, Unexpectedly

by Vicki Tharp

  The frying pan banged on the stove, and Hank and I were both startled, more because of Lottie’s spit of anger than the noise itself. “You’re telling me that as if it was something I didn’t know. That I hadn’t lived with it almost every day for the past sixteen years. You weren’t much younger than Quinn at the time either, if memory serves.”

  Hank stiffened and his air rushed out as if he’d taken a blow to his solar plexus. Then the fight left his eyes, and he scrubbed his hands down his face and leaned back in the chair. “That’s what worries me. How many times can I tell ya I’m sorry?”

  Lottie pelted him in the back with the wet dishrag. He turned toward her. “I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry, Hank. I’m not sorry she’s here and her grandfather wouldn’t want it any other way. The last thing that child needs to think is that she was a mistake.”

  He swallowed around something hard and jagged in his throat, his voice rough but adamant when he spoke. “She’s not a mistake.”

  “We know that. I’m not certain she does.” Lottie ran hot water into the sink and tossed in the dirty utensils. “She needs you now more than ever, Hank, and glowering and posturing over Quinn will only make her want to be with him more.”

  Hank muttered an oath. “Yeah, yeah,” he said more to himself than Lottie or me. His shoulders slumped as he fiddled with his fork. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him it would be okay. I didn’t know that it would, and though he’d asked me to stay, it didn’t mean he’d welcome the gesture. He withdrew within himself. I wasn’t convinced he even knew I was still here.

  Reaching across the table, I placed my hand over his restless one. He stilled, then scratched along his jawline and met my gaze. I didn’t know what to say so I gave his hand a squeeze. He nodded once, appreciation in his eyes.

  When he stood to leave, I followed.

  “I’ll be down in two shakes,” Lottie said as Hank stepped outside.

  I waited a few beats to give him space to collect himself and help clear a few more items off the table for Lottie. I would have offered to help her clean up, but my attempts earlier in the week had been gently rebuffed. Lottie protected her kitchen like a grizzly protects her den. She considered it her contribution to the running of the ranch and she took her job seriously.

  I found Hank on the porch, leaning back against the railing instead of halfway to the range as I’d expected. He snagged my wrist in a light grip when I hit the top of the porch stairs.

  “Come ’ere,” he said, his voice a hair’s breadth above a whisper. A wrinkle furrowed the space between his brows and his lips lay in a thin, tight line.

  We were alone and I allowed him to guide me between his legs. He settled his hands on my hips and tugged me gently against him, the contact more platonic than sexual as he rested his forehead on mine. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he relaxed into the embrace, the tension slipping from his face.

  “You and Jenna will figure it all out,” I told him.

  He nodded and my forehead moved with his. He gave my hips a light squeeze, before pulling back and meeting my eyes. “Thanks. I needed to hear that. My head agrees, but sometimes my heart is skeptical.”

  As I stepped back, he threaded his fingers through mine. I half-heartedly tried to tug my hand free, not entirely comfortable with advertising our budding…attraction? Lust? Infatuation? Relationship? I didn’t have a clue what to call whatever this was starting between us. Until I was more certain, I’d prefer to classify it as “eyes only” instead of Hank’s version of “non-classified.”

  At the crunch of tires on gravel, and the rattling of an exhaust pipe, a white pickup drove up. Hank winked and gave me a light pat on the side of my ass as he straightened. “Let’s go see what the sheriff wants.”

  * * * *

  The pickup lurched to a stop as Sheriff Tate threw the gear selector into park and shouldered his door open. Except for the bar of emergency lights on top of the truck’s cab, the vehicle was indistinguishable from every other farm truck I’d seen since I’d arrived in town.

  “Hank,” the man acknowledged, as he gave me a disinterested chin bob in greeting. I caught the barest of hesitations in his step when he noticed Hank’s hand in mine. I let go, feeling like a kid caught doing something she shouldn’t. I wasn’t. Hank gripped my hand tighter.

  The sun broke over the horizon, the shadows highlighting the sheriff’s pinched expression. He glanced from us to the barn, to the house and back again. “Link around?”

  “Should be at the range behind the barn. We’re headed down now,” Hank said. “There a problem?”

  “Nah,” Sheriff Tate answered, in the same way people do when someone asks if their pants make their asses look fat.

  He fell into step beside us as we walked on down. He threw in the occasional jog step as if he had to choke back on the throttle to keep from running down to the range ahead of us. Maybe he’d had a touch too much coffee this morning, or maybe the nervousness wafting off him was part of his normal demeanor.

  All I know is behavior like that in my previous profession would have raised a few red flags or be cause for a thorough pat-down at the guard shack. I glanced at Hank to see if he’d noticed the same, but his mind must have still been on Jenna.

  As we rounded the corner of the barn, Hank came back to himself and released my hand, since the rest of the ranch employees now had a direct line of sight. Relieved, I slid my hands into the back pocket of my jeans. I was in no mood for crooked glances or even good-natured ribbing.

  Seeing Link, Sheriff Tate rushed ahead and pulled him aside out of earshot as Jenna and Quinn emerged from the back side of the barn, Quinn’s arm angled around Jenna’s waist in such a way that his hand was no doubt resting on her butt.

  We were still thirty yards from the top of the range and Hank’s eyes followed their progress the way a sniper draws a bead. The pulse at his temple drummed as Quinn leaned over and gave her a glancing kiss under the corner of her jaw.

  “Deep breath,” I instructed Hank. He stopped walking and turned toward me, hands on his hips. He stared at the ground and bobbed his head a couple times as he worked to throw a leash, or heavy chain, around his emotions.

  Looking up, he met my gaze. “It’s taking everything I have right now not to grab the little turd by the scruff of the neck and send him packin.’ He’s flauntin’ their relationship. Disrespectin’ me, her grandparents, and more importantly, Jenna. That isn’t how you treat a woman you care about.”

  “So says the man who almost took me in the pond last night?”

  He chuffed out a short laugh that contained about as much humor as a case of the clap. “Not the same thing and you know it. I’m not grabbing your ass, actin’ as if I want to take you right here. God and Hell’s Angels be damned.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply then slowly blew it back out through his mouth. The tension remained, but he swallowed a heavy dose of anger, his eyes the same dark gray-blue of the sky when a winter storm rolls in.

  The pulse pounded at the base of his neck and I wondered what he would taste like there. When I glanced back up at his face that damned raised single brow questioned me. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes reappeared and mischievousness lifted his lips.

  I refocused my attention on the range and continued down to join the rest of the group. Hank kept stride and bumped my shoulder with his. “Hold that thought.”

  “What thought is that exactly?” I didn’t want to put any ideas into his head that weren’t already there.

  “The one where you start at my throat and work your way down from there.”

  So maybe his imagination wasn’t so far off the mark, though he wouldn’t hear it from me. “In your dreams.”

  He stopped walking and because he grabbed my arm, I did too. “You were the one staring at me like a starved vampire.”

  Th
e flush of truth pinked my cheeks. I couldn’t deny his words, so I turned and walked the last ten yards to the range. His low chuckle reached deep, tugging on an interested part of me I’d rather not acknowledge. A part of me that wanted to forget I was here for a job, for enough money get my bike down the next road, to the next town, to the next state.

  I wasn’t the staying type. I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish. Hank, and especially Jenna, deserved someone in their lives who would stick.

  “All right, everybody,” I said, as I laid my rifle on the folding table we’d used the other day. Santos, Quinn, and Jenna stood in a small cluster to my left. Hank a few feet behind them. If I had to guess, I’d say he assumed that position to make sure Quinn kept his hands out of the back pockets of Jenna’s jeans. If Quinn had the sense God gave a goose, he’d think twice about pissing off a protective father who always had a rifle within arm’s reach.

  Sheriff Tate and Link broke apart. The scowl on Link’s face had dug even deeper into his features. Whatever Tate’s news, it appeared unwelcome. Link headed our way and the sheriff intercepted Lottie as she bounded around the corner of the barn. Not knowing how long they’d be, I started without her. “To speed things up, I think we can line up and shoot together. I’m sure Dale is anxious for us to meet him and Alby back at the cow camp.”

  I scooted the table off to the side to make room, then proceeded to demonstrate the four basic rifle shooting positions: standing, kneeling, sitting, and prone. I’d finished my prone demonstration when Lottie joined us. I decided I would take her off to the side when the others started shooting to bring her up to speed.

  “Any questions?” I asked the group.

  When nobody spoke up, Lottie came forward. “Before we get started, I wanted to pass on the update from Sheriff Tate. As far as Dink goes, they’ve hit a dead end. None of the old hands he questioned would admit to setting it, and without any viable prints off the trap, he’d need a witness to come forward or a confession for the case to move forward.”

  “What about alibis?” Jenna asked, frustration puckering up her face.

  “There’s no way to know when the trap was set, so there isn’t even a date or time in question.”

  “That sucks,” Jenna mumbled. Santos had distracted Quinn, but Hank, tuned to Jenna’s distress, hooked an arm around her shoulder and tugged her against his side. She melted into him, absorbing his strength as he ran a soothing hand over her shoulder and arm. I guess no matter how old you are, sometimes what you need can only be found in your father’s arms. He planted a kiss on the side of her head and sent me a wink.

  Lottie forgot what she was saying at the sight of Hank holding Jenna and I blinked back the sting behind my eyes. The two of them had a ways to go, but Hank was determined to reconnect.

  “As for the cut fencing and stolen cattle. Turns out a few of our cattle may have been auctioned at a small lot near Casper. The sheriff’s department is currently reviewing the auction records to see who sold them. We don’t know yet if this was an attempt to sell a few to see if they could sneak them under the radar a little at a time, or if they piecemealed them out to auction lots across the state.”

  “Gonna get yer money back from the auction house?” Santos asked.

  “Not likely,” Lottie said. “Anyway, enough of that. Let’s get to shooting.”

  Tough as shoe leather, Lottie didn’t dwell on the bad, taking the hits in stride. Losing those cattle was a financial blow to the ranch, especially now that cattle prices were so high. Even though the ranch was well kept, the equipment hadn’t been new when I’d hit elementary school. Dale and Lottie’s financial situation appeared outwardly stable; they also didn’t seem to waste so much as a nickel.

  As everyone came forward with their rifles, Lottie stood beside them. I had them start from the standing position. There were not enough targets for each to have their own, but I was more concerned with their form than anything else.

  After they’d each put about twenty rounds downrange I had them change to the kneeling position and then to the prone. I walked up and down the line, changing a hand position here and body alignment there. Then I’d scan the targets with the binoculars. Telling one person’s shot from the next proved difficult, but since most of the holes were grouping within the two rings closest to the center, I could tell they were all improving.

  At the far end of the group, Link lay next to Lottie, his concentration fierce as a five-year-old trying to keep his colors between the lines. Despite his dislike of me, I admired the fact he’d put whatever qualms he had against me aside and took my instruction well. Or perhaps he didn’t dislike me as much as he’d led me to believe.

  I had him and Lottie take turns shooting their shared target and watched the results through the binoculars. Link used controlled pressure on the trigger; however, he invariably cleared his throat a fraction of a second before the bullet left the barrel, causing his grouping to be inconsistent. Lottie, for someone without any formal lessons, could probably hold her own at the closer ranges.

  I worked my way down the line until I came to Hank on the opposite end. He had his own target so it was easier to see his grouping. “Not bad,” I said, allowing my appreciation for his shooting skills to show in my voice.

  “Damn straight. Don’t forget I almost beat you last time.”

  “Almost winning is like saying you almost didn’t get killed.”

  He eyed me for several beats, accepting the humor as well as the truth in the statement. “Touché.”

  * * * *

  Later that night, every muscle in my body either ached or burned. The fire of saddle rub had reignited between my thighs. We probably could have navigated home by its light if the moon hadn’t provided enough. We’d gotten lucky earlier in the day, finding a large portion of the herd bedded down by one of the ponds, which allowed us to finish the last of the tagging and castrating as the sun dipped behind the mountains.

  We’d worked hard all day. Ate our lunches in the saddle. The calories burned through us as fast as a grass fire in August. To celebrate, after releasing the cattle back onto the range, Lottie cooked a simple meal of beans and potatoes over the campfire. It was the best meal I’ve ever eaten.

  Our own beds trumped bedrolls on the rock-strewn ground, so we headed home as the three-quarter moon rose in the sky, our bellies full and our horses tired. Even Santos’s horse rode on a loose rein.

  Santos and Alby were about fifty yards ahead. Link off to my left, taking the trail alone as usual for him. Hank was on my right keeping Quinn and Jenna ahead of him and in his direct line of sight. Lottie and Dale brought up the rear.

  About two miles from the ranch, Sierra blew out a great snort, her nostrils flapping. Not unusual on a dusty trail, I’d learned. Then Hank’s horse did the same, as well as Santos’s horse Taco, followed by Dink’s high-pitched bark, a spine-tingling combination of welcome and warning.

  Dread staggered around in my belly, churning the beans and tossing them up the back of my throat.

  “Something’s wrong!” Hank hollered, at the same time it hit me we’d left Dink at the ranch to recuperate.

  Up ahead, and on top of a ridge, Alby yelled, “Fire!” before he disappeared over the rise at a gallop with Santos hot on his heels. Link gathered his reins and sprinted after them without a word. Sierra skittered sideways, breaking into a high-stepping trot. Somehow, I managed to keep it from turning into a full-on, Secretariat-worthy gallop. My riding ability had definitely improved, but I wasn’t delusional enough to think I’d survive an all-out gallop in the dark over rough terrain.

  Dink limped into view and Jenna and Quinn jumped out of their stirrups to meet him. From ten yards away, the acrid smoke in his fur tickled my nose.

  In a blur of hooves and shouts, Dale left Lottie with us, then he, Hank, and Quinn loped off after the others. Lottie kept glancing at the ridge, wo
rry in her eyes at the unknown.

  I didn’t know how much help I’d be back at the ranch, but I could see to Jenna and Dink’s safety and free up Lottie to go help. “You go ahead,” I told her. “I’ll see Jenna and Dink get back okay.”

  After swift consideration, she pressed her heels into her horse’s side and melted into the darkness. Jenna hung on tight as Angel whinnied and danced at the end of his reins. I called Dink back to us to keep him from running back with Lottie. Not that he could run. In fact, I didn’t even know how he’d made it this far. Stubborn old cuss.

  “Come ’ere,” I called to him again to get him out from beneath Angel’s sharp hooves.

  In the moonlight, the damage to Dink’s cast was evident and I bent down for a closer examination. The bottom was worn through and he’d actually broken it two-thirds of the way down. He must have stopped somewhere for a drink out of a pond because the cast dripped water and weighed a ton. After a few minutes, Angel settled, but he was unpredictable and could become unmanageable for Jenna if she piggybacked Dink.

  “Want me to take Dink with me?” I asked her.

  “Sure.” She let the slack out of her reins and led Angel over to me as I remounted. Jenna handed Dink up to me. He settled in the saddle in front of me and leaned against my chest. Jenna hopped on the blue dragon before he could skitter away and we pointed the horses toward home at a ground-eating walk, both horses eager to get back to the barn and their herd mates.

  I just hoped we had something to come home to.

  Chapter 8

  Chaos.

  A mass of flames swirling and dancing in the breeze blew waves of heat at Jenna and me as we came over the last rise. Emergency lights flashed blue and red from the fire trucks and sheriff’s vehicles. The deafening whine of a pumper truck as it supplied the fire hoses with water assaulted our ears. Men swarmed the nearby hay barn, shouting orders and aiming the hoses on the roof, attempting to save thousands of dollars of hay.