The Cowboy Who Broke the Mold

by Cathleen Galitz

  “A little early for school to be out, isn’t it?” he drawled.

  “Daddy!” squealed Brandy, leaping up in delight, her artwork crumpled and forgotten in the grass. Ado- ration was clearly reflected in the girl’s lovely features.

  Looking up at Judson from ground level, Carrie had a positively erotic view of his tight jeans. Over the weekend she had begun to doubt whether this man was truly as mouthwateringly sexy as she had remembered him or if her imagination had merely run away with her. The immediate fluttering of her senses reassured Carrie that it was not her imagination.

  Taking a deep breath she forced herself to address him coolly as “Mr. Horn.” Still smarting from their last encounter, Carrie wished she could afford the lux- ury of ignoring him altogether. But since he was a pa- tron of the district, not to mention the chairman of the duly elected school board, that would be impossible.

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. School is not yet out, and that means you’re interrupting my class,” she added pointedly.

  “We’re helping Miss Raben learn all about Wyo- ming,” Cowboy volunteered. “See!”

  Proudly he thrust his drawing at his father, where- upon the rest of the children held their creations up for his inspection, as well. There were drawings of lupines and dandelions and meadowlarks and aspen, and a re- markably fat bumblebee crayoned by a cherubic kin- dergartner.

  Judson pushed his hat back in that damnable sensual way of his and wiped the sweat away with the sleeve of his plaid Western shirt.

  “Now ain’t those pretty?” he said, rolling his sylla- bles over in a slow, rough-hewn manner that gave a whole new nuance to the word “drawl.”

  “Aren’t,” corrected Cowboy, clearly embarrassed by his father’s grammatical shortcomings.

  Carrie bestowed upon the boy a smile so sweet as to cause his father’s certain displeasure to fade into the distant horizon.

  “Mr. Horn,” Carrie said, firmly taking hold of the situation, “would you please remain after school for a moment?”

  Judson bore the children’s snickers humbly. Still, as he waited for them all to leave, fondly swatting his own two on the bottoms and telling them to wait for him in the truck, he felt his neck grow prickly at the thought of being held after school.

  Positioning herself behind the fortress of her old oak desk, Carrie addressed him as she would any errant stu- dent. “I will not tolerate you undermining my author- ity,” she began in a quiet yet commanding tone.

  Judson met the cold anger reflected in those sham- rock green eyes with the same defiance that had marked his own turbulent schooldays.

  “How was I to know I was interrupting? What I walked into sure didn’t look anything like school the way I remember it.”

  The remark only added fuel to the fire smoldering within the schoolteacher’s eyes.

  “I suppose not,” Carrie countered in a tone that in- dicated she rather expected him to have been educated in a cave somewhere, possibly with a pack of wolves. “Apparently,” she continued without missing a beat, “it was not enough for you to humiliate me in front of the entire school board, you had to make certain that every child in the entire school district was informed of how I fell for that ridiculous jackalope story.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Judson interrupted. “It’s not fair for you to hold me entirely accountable for—”

  Carrie did not give him the opportunity to finish.

  “Evidently you feel I owe you an apology for being born in Chicago, for being born a woman, and for hav- ing the audacity to accept this job. Well, Mr. Horn…” She paused, letting him feel the full effect of her eyes as they bore into him like emerald drill bits. “Like it or not, I am here and I intend to stay!”

  “I never said—”

  “And despite your opinion to the contrary, teaching is damned hard work. I would greatly appreciate it if in the future you would refrain from undermining my au- thority. That means not bad-mouthing me in front of your children or any of my other students, thank you very much. As well as curtailing that ‘you ain’t never gonna need none of this here book-learnin’ anyhows’ illiterate attitude of yours!”

  Judson visibly bristled. “Now wait just a damn—”

  “All I’m asking you, Mr. Horn,” Carrie interrupted, her voice rising to match her anger, “is that you get out of my way and let me teach!”

  Pointing her red pen at him like a weapon, she dis- missed him. “You may go now.”

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  Judson was too stunned by the curt dismissal he had received and the tongue-lashing he had endured to know exactly what had hit him. The last time he’d felt like this was when a bull by the name of Hell’s Belle had tossed him into the air like a tiddledywink, knocking the wind out of him.

  Ears burning, he spun on the heels of his cowboy boots and slammed the door behind him, thinking wryly to himself that this was definitely more like school as he remembered it.

  Judson Horn had spent his entire second grade at the back of the room, his desk turned away from the rest of the class because his teacher believed “Indians” didn’t have the mental capacity to keep up with their white classmates. Left with a demeaning set of building blocks, he had been abandoned to his own devices. An- gry, rebellious and innately clever, it was little wonder he turned his teacher’s hair prematurely gray. Bitter memories of his alienated youth served to reinforce his determination that his own children be accorded the best education possible—despite any innate prejudices some damned Eastern transplant may harbor about their her- itage.

  And so it was with the same sense of rebellion that characterized his own difficult adolescence that Judson Horn turned his horse in the direction of the school— the very day after the new teacher’s volatile warning to stay away. Though there were miles and miles of fences to inspect before bringing the summer herd down to winter pasture, it was the particular stretch bordering school property that Judson decided to check first. By God, nobody was going to keep him from becoming involved in his children’s education.

  Nobody.

  Washakie, the big black stallion that Arthur Chris- tianson had left to him, pranced high-handedly through the tall, yellowing grass. Thoughts of his father caused Judson’s chest to tighten as old conflicts blew across the open plains of his heart. How many times had he wished the man who had sired him had given him the thing he had desired most—his name.

  Accepted as neither white nor native, Judson had plowed his way through a difficult childhood with both fists ready for action. His mother was of little help, al- lowing her son to shoulder the burden of his mixed parentage and her drinking problem as best he could. It wasn’t that she hadn’t loved her son; she’d simply wal- lowed her life away waiting for the man of her dreams to return, reclaim his family, and live happily ever after.

  Judson had remained the old man’s shameful secret well past his mother’s death, unacknowledged until ter- minal illness compelled Arthur Christianson to make swift recourse with his past. A cruel smile curled Jud- son’s lip at the thought of Harmony’s founding father explaining to God from the depths of hell how leaving all his worldly goods to his blue-eyed half-breed bastard should, by all rights, procure his way into heaven.

  Though Judson knew money couldn’t buy the way to heaven, it had damn sure bought him a measure of po- lite respectability that had been absent in his life since the day his birth certificate had been stamped “father unknown.” Judson not only inherited one of the finest ranches in the county but also dear old dad’s seat on the school board. And while it was true that he had initially been appointed to his position upon Arthur Christianson’s death, he had taken that responsibility so seriously that he had later been elected by his colleagues as chairman of the board. That the very- first issue on which they had sided against him was the hiring of some wet-behind-the-ears, sassy Easterner certainly stuck in his craw.

  Looking over a strand of sagging barbed wire, he caught a glimpse of
Ms. Raben surrounded by a gaggle of happy children. It was near the close of the school- day, and they were hanging Popsicle-stick birdhouses from every low limb in the surrounding vicinity. Aspen leaves rustled softly like forgotten dreams, and a gentle breeze carried the sound of a woman’s tinkling laughter.

  Judson was keenly aware of the subtle changes taking place in the new schoolteacher. For one thing she had abandoned her fine dresses for jeans and tennis shoes. Observing the tight fit of demin over feminine curves, he felt the sudden stir of desire. It made it damned hard to remember just how much he disliked his children’s teacher. In fact, the warm pressure pushing against his jeans was almost enough to make him forget the sting of a whip across his back.

  Seeing the smile fade from Carrie’s face the moment she spotted him, Judson felt the sharp prick of rejection. Clearly Ms. Raben hadn’t softened any toward him. Well, how could he expect such a pretty, pampered An- glo princess to understand the forces that motivated him? Besides, he thought, swinging his long legs over the sagging barbed-wire fence, he didn’t give a damn what she thought of him. Not a damn.

  Certain that everything she did, including her choice of attire, fell well out of the range of “school as Judson Horn remembered it,” Carrie wasn’t particularly sur- prised when the man interrupted her lessons a second day in a row. Assuming that he would gleefully report back to the rest of the board scandalous accounts of her creative approach to education, she greeted his presence with cool indifference. On the outside, that is. On the inside, every molecule in her being was on fire. She found Judson’s presence more than just a little unset- tling.

  On horseback, he looked the part of an old-fashioned Western hero. As he swung himself gracefully off the biggest horse she had ever seen and tethered it to the fence, Carrie reminded herself that she should be look- ing at him through the eyes of an employee, not a hot- blooded woman. One smooth move placed him on her side of the fence and in dangerous proximity. As he strode purposefully across the expanse of the play- ground, a devilish fist tightened around her heart.

  What exactly was there about this man that caused her pulse to quicken so maddeningly? Her mother had warned her to stay away from such men. Men whose eyes could undress you and possess you in the selfsame glance. Men whose toughness in word and manner cov- ered their feelings. Men whose rough hands conjured up unladylike images of silken bodies entwined. Men who could break your heart just as surely as they could break a wild mustang and abandon you the instant you were tamed—

  “What lesson are we learning here today?” Judson asked the class in a most cavalier manner.

  Carrie was in the midst of deciding whether she should make him the focal point of a lesson in social skills or simply answer truthfully that this was part of a science unit on birds when the sound of angry honking interrupted her.

  A fat goose with a pink bow tied around its neck rushed out from beneath the steps of the old school- house. Flapping its wings in consternation, the animal charged at Judson with malice in her yellow eyes.

  The children exploded into gales of riotous laughter.

  Raising a boot in self-defense, Judson looked at Car- rie as warily as at the goose that held him at bay.

  “Meet Mother,” she said with the first genuine gig- gle he had heard from her lips.

  The sound chased away the dark thunderclouds from his rugged features, and Judson crooked one eyebrow in her direction.

  “Mother Goose?”

  Nodding her head, Carrie smiled. “Your daughter had the honor of naming our watch goose.”

  “Your what?”

  “I got to thinking about what you said—that I should buy a weapon to protect my students, but since I don’t like the idea of guns being anywhere near children…”

  “You bought a goose?” he finished for her.

  Despite the fact that Judson was looking at her like she had temporarily misplaced her straitjacket, Carrie continued as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.

  “Like I tell my students, when confronted with a problem the best place to look for answers is in the library. In my research I discovered that geese are mor- tal enemies of snakes, and I’m happy to report that since Mother has been on the job, she’s killed at least two snakes that I know of.”

  Carrie simply could not resist adding with a self- satisfied smirk, “It appears she’s just as adept at han- dling the two-legged variety, as well…”

  Judson suffered the indignation of the remark by em- ploying his trademark grin.

  “And the pink bow?” he inquired. “Does research show that color causes less emotional stress to snakes?”

  “No, it’s just to make sure no trigger-happy hunter mistakes Mother for wild game.”

  Judson’s smile deepened to reveal matching dimples at the corners of his mouth. His voice dropped to a huskier tone, and he tossed her a wink. “Here I was going to offer my services in teaching you how to use a gun and you’ve gone and eliminated the need.”

  That wink was Carrie’s undoing. How could such an innocent gesture twist her insides into knots that would baffle the most experienced Girl Scout? A jab of dis- appointment sliced through her at the thought of losing an opportunity to let this incredible hunk wrap his arms around her again. If teaching her how to use a gun was anywhere as sensual as showing her how to set a snare, she’d gladly fire Mother and start packing a pistol.

  Roughly Carrie reminded herself how truly astound- ing her reaction was. Had she forgotten that this man had made her the laughing stock of the county? A frown creased her brow.

  “Honk! Honk!”

  Mother apparently had picked up on Carrie’s negative vibes. With wings outspread, the goose arched her slen- der neck and advanced upon her prey with the obvious intention of taking a series of well-aimed pecks at his leg.

  Judson backed up a step. “Call her off!”

  “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, eh, Mr. Horn?” Carrie smiled wickedly.

  Now that the shoe was on the other foot, she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Dismissing her guardian with a slightly regal air, she reassured her, “You can run along now, Mother. I’ve got things under control here.”

  Mother hesitated.

  It was galling to Carrie that even the goose seemed to recognize the obvious lie—that she was far from be- ing under control whenever Judson Horn was around.

  “Go on,” she shooed sternly.

  Mother waddled off a little ways, and Judson cleared his throat. He looked at the faces of the children gath- ered around them, all expectantly watching him. For a man who could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had ever apologized, this was not going to be easy.

  Sweeping his hat from his head, Judson assumed a contrite position. “I’d like to publicly set the record straight. It was wrong of me to lead you on the way I did about those jackalopes and…” He filled his lungs with a cleansing breath of fresh air. “I’m sorry.”

  The words came out in a rush. As his own children’s mouths fell open, he silently dared them to say a single word.

  Cowboy’s face split into a wide grin. He sharply el- bowed his sister, who seemed to be in shock.

  Carrie knew exactly how Brandy was feeling. She hadn’t thought it in this particular man’s nature to admit to any personal wrongdoing. A public apology was more than she had ever expected. Clearly such an ad- mission in front of his own children was not an easy thing for him. She scrutinized his face to ascertain his sincerity.

  “I accept your apology, Mr. Horn.”

  Had he expected her to say anything else with her entire class looking on?

  As a flicker of relief registered in those eyes of pure blue, the realization that this rough-and-ready cowboy had actually been nervous softened Carrie’s heart. His vulnerability touched her.

  The rest of the world faded away as green eyes smiled into blue, and the animosity between them was replaced with a tentative feeling of friendship—and something
more. Call it chemistry. Call it lust. Call it downright stupidity. Whatever it was, it crackled be- tween them like electricity arching across a night sky.

  And it was obvious to even the youngest in the group. Dismay illuminated Brandy’s fine features as she moved to her father’s side and possessively slipped her little hand into his.

  The sound of a bus rattling down the dirt road re- minded Carrie and Judson of where they were. Snuffy waved broadly in their direction as she brought the bus to halt in front of the schoolhouse.

  “Class is dismissed,” Carrie announced in a voice too shaky to convince Judson that she hadn’t been af- fected by the moment.

  She had stared into his eyes in hazy anticipation, and something inside him had gone completely still. Had the circumstances not been so damnably wrong, he surely would have covered those tempting lips with his own and sampled their promised sweetness. If only to get her out of my system once and for all, he lamely added as an afterthought.

  “Come on, Daddy,” Brandy entreated earnestly, pulling hard on his hand. “It’s time to go.”

  Despite the warning lights flashing inside his head, he heard himself ask Carrie, “Will I see you at the Harvest Ball on Friday?”

  The tiny pulse beating in Carrie’s throat belied the emotions she was trying so desperately to fight. If she wasn’t careful, she knew that small ache in her heart would explode into yearnings that she could not allow herself to feel. Yearnings that stubbornly refused to be ignored.

  Despite her vow to keep her distance from any em- ployer who made her so very aware of herself as a woman, Carrie found herself nodding her head in affir- mation.

  “I’ll be there.”

  She had already received an invitation in the mail and had been informed that, as the newest member of this small community, her presence was expected in Atlantic City. Though reluctant to return to “Jackalope City,” as she’d affectionately dubbed it, it was a perfect op- portunity to get to know her students’ parents in a social atmosphere.