The Cowboy Who Broke the Mold

by Cathleen Galitz

  What harm could possibly come from a simple com- munity get-together? she asked herself, immediately blocking the frightening array of answers to that very question.

  Judson’s gaze was pinned directly on her, and Car- rie’s pulse bounded. So graceful and fluid was this man in the simple movements of everyday life, she couldn’t help but wonder if he wouldn’t prove to be a wonderful dancer, as well. Clearly Judson Horn was the type of man who would do everything to perfection—including making love…

  Cursing herself for the blush that rose to her face, Carrie told herself that Judson’s apology had set the tone for nothing more than a strictly professional rela- tionship. She couldn’t afford to blow that. She needed this job almost as much as she needed to believe she was in complete control of the romantic nature that she kept neatly tucked out of sight. Remembering how the past had so painfully enlightened her on the fact that romance was highly overrated, Carrie told herself she was far too old to believe in childish fairy tales. She may be going to a country-western ball, but she cer- tainly didn’t fancy herself as Cinderella.

  And even though Judson Horn’s incredible know- everything-tell-nothing blue eyes could melt icebergs, that didn’t necessarily make him Prince Charming.

  Chapter Five

  Though Snuffy had told her that dress was informal, Carrie felt self-conscious in the Western clothing she had bought especially for the occasion. Cowboy boots clicking on hardwood floors, she felt like a fraud as she presented her invitation for the Harvest Ball at the his- toric Gold Diggers’ Inn. It was accepted with a flourish by an older man in nautical garb who told her to “Just call me Captain.” A woman with jet-black hair swept dramatically back from her face presented her with a room key. The proprietors, both New York City trans- plants, were deliciously eccentric. Feeling at home among misfits, Carrie felt suddenly glad that Snuffy had convinced her to splurge on an all-night “wingding.” Renting a room for the night would save her from driv- ing long, treacherous miles over mountain passes at night.

  A familiar sound rose above the polite mingling of conversations in the room, vibrating deep inside her. Low and sexy, Judson Horn’s voice alone was enough to raise her temperature to “simmering.” As green eyes met blue across the crowded room, Carrie felt a band cinch tight around her chest, cutting off her air supply. It should be illegal for a man to have eyes such a captivating shade of blue, Carrie thought to herself, keenly aware of the frisson of tension that made her skin tingle all over. In the few long strides it took him to cross the distance between them, she upbraided her- self for her involuntary reaction, sternly reminded her- self that their relationship was not of a romantic nature but rather one of rattlesnakes and bad practical jokes…and shared looks so devastating as to strip away her mask of cool indifference and leave her feeling na- ked in his presence.

  Judson almost spilled his drink when Carrie entered the room. What had become of the stuffy Ms. Raben he had approached such a short time ago at the airport? Who was this sensual woman in tight-fitting black Wrangler jeans and a red silk blouse that clung to her like the subtle, suggestive fragrance of her perfume? Whoever she was, she made his head spin. As Judson noted that she turned every other head in the room, as well, a surge of sudden possessiveness jolted him. He was quick to note that he was the only Indian adrift in a sea of cowboy hats. The last time he’d stepped into an interracial relationship, it had almost cost him his life.

  Purposely running a callused finger along the scar on his jaw, Judson reminded himself just how much trouble a pretty white woman could be. Unfortunately that re- minder was of little use against the response that rose unwillingly deep inside his belly.

  “Looking the way you do tonight, I’d say you should’ve brought Mother along to protect you.”

  His voice was as velvety as his gaze, caressing Carrie like a lover’s experienced hand. In open appreciation he perused her at length, starting with her legs, hesitating at her breasts, and lingering thoughtfully on her mouth for what seemed a lifetime. In actuality it was but a few seconds, but in that brief length of time, it took an act of supreme self-control for Carrie to refrain from nib- bling nervously at the pink lipstick she had so carefully applied earlier.

  “I gave the dear old goose the night off,” she replied more coolly than she thought possible.

  Judson’s unexpected compliment caused a burgeon- ing warmth to envelop her heart. Feeling her knees turn to the texture of warm rubber, Carrie sat upon an old- fashioned, red velvet settee. How could she possibly hope to retain any semblance of professionalism when he was looking at her like she was the main course for the evening?

  Judson took a seat beside her, his nearness empha- sizing the narrow span of the furniture and reminding Carrie of why it had traditionally been dubbed a love seat. In the process of making himself comfortable by stretching his long legs out in front of him, Judson ac- cidentally brushed against her thigh. Even through lay- ers of clothing the contact was searing. Carrie flinched as if she had been touched by a branding iron. Every brain cell screamed that she should jump up and run while there was still time to save herself.

  “Jud!”

  A breathy, feminine voice rang out like the crack of a rifle. And, like a shot, it found the center of the target imprinted squarely on Carrie’s heart. A striking woman of Native American descent, wearing a filmy yellow dress and as much turquoise jewelry as her lean frame could support, swept gracefully across the room. Com- ing to a stop in front of the settee, she held a jeweled hand out to Judson and pulled him to his feet.

  The smile that he gave her as he took her hand made something wrench painfully inside Carrie’s chest. It was the kind of indulgent smile reserved for beautiful, ac- complished playthings, not for modest, inexperienced types such as herself. Gruffly, Carrie reminded herself that she was not the type of woman who wanted to be valued solely for her outward beauty. A good mind, a clear conscience and a kind heart—those were the stan- dards by which she preferred to be judged. Unfortu- nately such noble thoughts did little to fill the gnawing hole inside her.

  “I’d like you to meet Carrie Raben,” Judson said. “Carrie, Estelle Hanway, an old friend of mine.”

  Rising on unsteady legs, she reminded herself that it came as no surprise that Judson was involved with other women. Hadn’t he, after all, made of point of telling her as much the first day they had met? And hadn’t she herself already decided that nothing good could come of anything other than a professional relationship with the chairman of the school board? Just because lately he had thawed toward her didn’t mean she should read anything more into it.

  “So you’re the new schoolmarm?” the dark beauty queried, arching a pencil-thin eyebrow in her direction.

  Carrie grimaced at the antiquated term. “‘Marm’? Why that makes me sound ancient!”

  Estelle’s big, brown eyes radiated hostility. A huge silver belt buckle cinched about her waist showed her trim figure off to its best advantage while attesting to her status as a one-time rodeo queen. Carrie sensed in- tuitively that this particular woman wouldn’t hesitate to rope any female competition like a calf at branding time.

  If she could have, she would have put Estelle’s mind at ease. If anything, the woman’s obvious infatuation with Judson only served to deepen Carrie’s steadfast resolve to keep things between them strictly profes- sional. Her heart was still under repair—for the next fifty or sixty years or so.

  “Would ya mind gettin’ me a drink, babe?” Estelle asked, her voice as warm as dripping honey.

  Noting with disgust how very like a puppy Judson jumped to do her bidding, Carrie stiffened as the stat- uesque woman eased herself into his vacant seat.

  “Isn’t that the best-lookin’ rear you’ve ever seen on a man?” she commented to his receding backside.

  Carrie’s only response was an awkward sputter.

  “I see you’ve already noticed,” Estelle commented dryly.

  Embarrassment stained Carrie’s che
eks. This woman so brazenly oozed sexuality that she felt drab and prud- ish by comparison. Discreetly dropping her gaze from the topic of conversation, she was glad when they were called to the dining room.

  Throughout the first course, she tried not to focus on how Estelle managed to eat everything on her plate with one arm draped possessively over Judson’s shoulder. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to take another bite of the delicious food set in front of her. She picked up her glass of wine and took a gulp of the clear liquid. Feeling a delicious warmth spread through her, she took another sip. The pleasant, muzzy feeling slowly spreading through her helped dull that sharp pain in her ab- domen that she was loathe to recognize as jealousy.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I kicked Jud’s fine-lookin’ butt in a game of strip poker?” Estelle asked the people seated at their table.

  Despite the fact that Judson vehemently protested, she refused to be quieted.

  “And then there was the time in high school when Jud fastened a yellow bow tie on a fat, old sow, tied a banner to its tail with Principal Irmscher’s name on it and staked it out in the middle of the football field. Oh, I suppose you being a teacher and all wouldn’t find that particularly funny, but…”

  On and on she regaled everyone with Judson’s past exploits. Enjoying his discomfiture immensely, Carrie was delighted to see that he had no more control over Estelle Hanway than he did of the wind. His persistent attempts at shushing her were to no avail. As the an- ecdotes became wilder and more embarrassing for Jud- son, Carrie began to actually enjoy herself. Her laughter was contagious, and before long everyone was making a point of introducing themselves to the lovely, new schoolteacher who had so quickly won their children’s hearts.

  “No wonder Jake hasn’t been complaining about his schoolwork this year,” said one leathered patron. “Heck, if I’da had such a pretty, young thing as your- self for a teacher, I’da stayed in school a whole longer myself.”

  His wife good-naturedly rolled her eyes. “Hank’s had a little too much to drink, but I do want to thank you for taking extra time with Jake. He’s a little slow but he’s a good boy. It was a daily battle last year just getting him on that school bus every day. I know you’re the reason for his sudden change in attitude.”

  Another, stopping by to shake her hand, congratu- lated Carrie on bringing life back into an educational system too long dominated by “crochety old-timers.”

  Each one thanked her for her willingness to treat their child as an individual and expressed appreciation for her willingness to help any who lagged behind by extending her own work hours. Eager to welcome her into the community, most made a point of mentioning their ap- proval to the local board members in their midst. Their warm handshakes and heartfelt praise filled her with the first genuine sense of belonging since the day she’d blown into Wyoming on that fateful, dusty wind.

  Anxious to work off some of the calories they had just consumed, everyone was eager to follow up dessert with dancing. While famous for its cuisine, the Gold Diggers’ Inn was not equipped with a dance floor, so a band was awaiting them next door at the mercantile. Though she had little desire to watch Estelle fawn all over Judson on the dance floor, Carrie could find no gracious way to excuse herself from the festivities. She certainly didn’t want to seem uppity to these people who had so graciously invited her into their tight-woven circle.

  The pocked face of the moon illuminated the board- walk for the sated group that threaded their way toward the bar where a country band by the name of Prairie Heat awaited the young-at-heart. Stopping on a narrow bridge to admire the brook that looped the old ghost town like a silver ribbon, Carrie lingered to drink in the silent beauty of the night. The gentle babbling of the creek was a welcome respite from dinner’s loud and often bawdy conversation. Dazzled by the stars over- head, she could scarcely believe that she was so very far removed from the hustle and bustle of the big city. In her silent revery it almost seemed as if she had truly stepped back to a more innocent time in history. A time when women allowed men to open doors for them with- out worrying that anyone would consider them weak, when falling in love didn’t automatically mean falling into bed, and when an engagement ring meant your fi- delity was pledged to another for life….

  Seeing her bathed in moonlight, Judson stopped up short. Cold and perfect in her beauty, Carrie appeared to him a marble statue. All night long he had been as unable to take his eyes off of her as he was to shake off Estelle’s suffocating nearness. For the life of him, Judson couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t attracted to Estelle the way she wanted him to be. The way he wanted to be. It would be such an easy remedy to the sexual dearth in his life—an occasional roll in the hay with a beautiful woman whose skin color and expecta- tions were like his own, at least on the surface. Behind Estelle’s easygoing attitude toward sex, Judson sus- pected she nurtured the hope that once lured into her bed, he would someday marry her. And that just wasn’t going to happen. With anyone.

  His life was devoted to his children. Well aware of the teasing they had endured because of his “half-breed ways” and unusual appointment to the school board, Judson wasn’t about to subject them to the lewd con- jectures of neighbors and classmates regarding their daddy’s love life. He remembered how it felt to defend his own mother’s honor on the playground day after day. How painful it had been for him to watch her stumble drunkenly from one man to another in the vain hope of erasing Arthur Christianson from her heart. How hurtful to have it thrown in his face by his schoolmates.

  Not the kind of man who would settle for what he could get rather than what he really wanted, he wouldn’t repeat his mother’s mistakes. And what he wanted, Judson reminded himself, was freedom, complete and in- violate.

  No matter how often he told Estelle that nothing more could come of their relationship than friendship, he seemed unable to convince her of that irrefutable fact. After his disastrous, short-lived marriage, he had never again been tempted to give his heart to another.

  Snatches of the past flashed through his mind: a se- cret elopement, the bright lights of Reno, a week of sheer heaven and a descent into hell. Their marriage certificate meant nothing to Cheryl’s brothers who’d proceeded to lay him open with a whip as if he were nothing more than a side of beef. And though they never laid a hand on their sister, they broke her spirit just the same that fateful day. Nine months later, McLeashe sold his ranch and moved his family back East. Back where respectable white girls who had fallen astray were dec- orously wrapped in high society and allowed to main- tain that the mistakes of the past never happened.

  “There’s no place for these breeds where we’re go- ing,” read the note attached to the twin bundles Judson found upon his doorstep one crisp, bud-tight spring morning. The first time those babies looked into his eyes they captured his heart. Cradling them gently in his arms as he sat on the steps, he vowed that day to provide them with the kind of safe, carefree childhood of which he himself had been deprived.

  Standing in the moonlight contemplating Carrie’s lithe silhouette, Judson would have liked nothing better than to have been left alone with his thoughts. But Es- telle, yanking hard on his arm, pulled him toward the country music blaring through the ancient, swinging doors of the mercantile.

  Stepping into the smoky bar, it seemed to Carrie that the jackalope on the wall was actually smirking at her. So who needs you to tell me I’m an idiot? That fact was already assured by the way her heart lodged in her throat as she watched Estelle drag Judson onto the dance floor. It was impossible not to notice what a truly striking couple they made, both so natural and at ease in their movements.

  Luckily, Carrie was given little time to brood. How she became the center of attention was beyond her, but it seemed as if suddenly every unattached man in the room was lined up to ask her to dance. It occurred to her that these tongue-tied, stoic Western men used danc- ing as a means of expression. Letting the lyrics and the rhythm of a song speak for them, they danced a
s wildly and as eloquently as the music allowed.

  By the time the last strains of “Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys” had faded, a bevy of eligible, young fellows was gallantly offering to teach her how to swing dance. A particularly gre- garious bronc rider by the name of Cody Trent finally succeeded in coaxing her to her feet. With a victorious smile, he placed his black felt cowboy hat upon her head.

  Judson, who had been watching Carrie move from one dance partner to the next, gritted his teeth at the intimacy of Cody’s gesture. God, but she’s a beautiful woman. Something utterly sensual in the swish of her light brown hair held him a distant captive. He noticed every minute detail about her: how her smile lit up the room, how Cody’s hat framed her heart-shaped face, how his hand rested suggestively on the small of her back….

  Openly scowling at them from the bar, he devoured Carrie with his dark, smoldering gaze. As Cody led her toward the dance floor and into a lively two-step, jeal- ousy and anger sprouted a split vine inside Judson’s battered heart.

  As keenly aware of the sawdust beneath her feet as of Cody’s hand placed snugly on the small of her back, Carrie considered exactly what it was about cowboys that held such worldwide allure. Perhaps in this time of confusion as to whether a man should be a warrior or a poet, both sexes were drawn to the clearly defined image of the cowboy swaggering in the certainty of his own masculine identity.

  As Cody swung her gracefully along beside him, Car- rie laughed aloud with the sheer exuberance of just be- ing alive. Bestowing a dazzling smile upon her partner, she solemnly vowed to kick up her heels more often.

  When the band switched to a slower melody, Carrie slipped from Cody’s arms. Turning to seek out her chair, she ran smack-dab into Judson’s broad chest.

  “Would you do me the honor of this dance?” he asked, sweeping the hat from his head. The seductive timber of his voice shifted Carrie’s pulse into double time. She had never met a more appealingly dangerous man in her life.