How to Train a Cowboy

by Caro Carson

  He glanced at Emily for the tenth time. She was buckled in, but she still gave him the impression that she was sitting on the edge of her seat. She seemed ready to take on life, even when things were turning bad in bars and parking lots.

  He was not. Too much had happened in his life. After the grim truth he’d witnessed firsthand overseas—desperate men had the capacity to cut up a man, to kick a woman, to starve a child—he’d thought the brotherhood with his fellow Marines would balance it out. It hadn’t, not quite. He’d thought civilian life would be easier, but it hadn’t been, and so he knew he was simply used up. Some human beings made it to old age before they’d used up their reserves. Some humans were old at age ten. Benjamin Graham was old at thirty, but he’d taken that risk when he’d joined the military. He was fine with it.

  He wasn’t fine with dragging a bright and beautiful woman down before her time, though. In every way, he was wrong for her, and he knew it even when he’d given in and kissed her.

  He’d tried to stop before things got too hot. I need to take you home now, he’d said, for her sake as well as his. Before they did anything they’d regret, it was best to drive her to her house and then get back on the road to start putting miles between them. She surely had family or friends who would drive her to that bar to get her truck tomorrow.

  But she’d misunderstood. She’d thought he needed to take her home to make love to her.

  She’d agreed.

  I wish you could. Since pretty much every cell of his body—except one tiny, rational corner of his brain—had agreed that taking her home to make love was pretty much the best damned idea in the world, he hadn’t corrected her mistake.

  She thought the only reason they weren’t headed to bed was the fact that she was staying with relatives; he wasn’t sure she was wrong. It was humbling to find out his resolve could be so easily overpowered by a young woman from Oklahoma Tech University. But since the red and blue police lights were still visible at the horizon, and since he couldn’t keep kissing her in the dark, they were driving somewhere to get a drink. Then he’d see her back to her truck safely and be on his way.

  He breathed in deeply.

  “It’ll be up here on the right after we go around this curve,” Emily said, looking out the window with the enthusiasm of someone approaching Disney World.

  He hit his turn signal out of habit, although there was no one to signal. They were the only vehicle as far as the eye could see. He was already farther from any semblance of a town than he’d been since—since Afghanistan, to be honest, and he still had a long way to go before he reached Uncle Gus’s ranch. The map had shown another sixty miles or so, somewhere in another county, but he wasn’t certain without being able to get a signal for his cell phone. He’d craved solitude on a ranch, and he was going to get it.

  But not yet. Not tonight.

  Around the curve, a building lit up the dark. Schumer’s 24/7 Grocery, the sign said, glowing yellow above a pair of gas pumps. Closed Christmas.

  “A gas station?” he asked, glancing at Emily. Any excuse to glance at Emily.

  “It’s the only other place to go without driving all the way back to Austin. Come on. I’ll buy you a drink like the real locals do.” Her seat belt was off before he’d pulled into the parking spot in front of the convenience store’s door. His tires had barely stopped moving when she opened the door and hopped down in a flutter of blue ruffles, the edges of his coat flapping behind as she wore it like a cape. Apparently, this convenience store was a great place to be.

  He followed her through the glass double doors. The smell of beef and wood smoke hit him, so unexpected that he almost looked for the barbecue when he should have been scanning the location for trouble. Habits formed in the Middle East died hard; he scanned. Left to right, check the corners, clear the room.

  Clear. This place was safe. The only threat was a white-haired man who glowered at them from behind the cash register.

  Emily headed straight for the wall of glass-fronted refrigerators. “That brisket smells amazing, Mr. Schumer. Got any left?”

  The man made a scoffing sound. “Sure. Ten pounds, at least. Maybe more.”

  Emily kept heading down the chips aisle toward the cooler, but she turned around and walked backward as she filled Graham in. “That means no, and he’s insulted that I asked. He only makes so much brisket every day. Once it’s gone, that’s it until tomorrow. People around here have been known to race each other to get here for the last pound.”

  “I can believe it.” It smelled damn good; Emily looked damn good. They’d have to come much earlier next time—

  Next time.

  There’d be no next time. There shouldn’t even be a now.

  But there was. He watched Emily open a cooler door. Most of her body was engulfed by his coat, but a few rows of blue ruffles peeked out below the bottom edge, looking as erotic as a forbidden glimpse of black lace. She reached for a six-pack from a lower shelf, and the hem of her short dress rode up the backs of her bare thighs as she bent over. She stood up slowly. When she shook that long, loose hair back, he knew she’d been doing it deliberately—and for his pleasure.

  To have a woman like Emily doing anything strictly for his pleasure...

  She looked over her shoulder at him with a come-and-get-me smile.

  He almost did. Every fiber of his being wanted to walk down that aisle and pull her close again. Her body had felt like heaven under his hands on the highway.

  He leaned an elbow on the shelf of pretzels and rubbed his forehead, trying to keep his thoughts in the right order. The tasks required were simple. Alpha: see Emily safely back to her own truck. Bravo: say goodbye, firmly and forever. Charlie: get his sorry ass to Uncle Gus’s ranch by sunrise.

  An alternate plan was vying for precedence in his mind. Alpha: spend the night with Emily, because she wanted to spend the night with him. Bravo:

  There was no second task. It all started and ended with Emily. This last cigarette was all-consuming.

  Relax, Graham. You’ll be able to live without it. You’re not addicted to anything.

  He sighed and met her by the register.

  The owner didn’t ring them up. “I need to see some ID.”

  She’s not that young. Please don’t be that young.

  “Are you serious?” Emily asked. “I graduated from high school with your granddaughter.”

  “Hmpf.”

  “You were there.”

  The man didn’t move.

  “Nicole and I are the same age. Twenty-two.”

  Thank God.

  “You know that, Mr. Schumer,” she said, clearly offended. Maybe she was embarrassed to be carded. Graham could remember hating that, also. He couldn’t remember now why he’d been so impatient to be older than twenty-two.

  “I need to see some ID.” The angry grandpa was just being stubborn now.

  “Fine.” Emily bent over again, slipping her hand into her boot. That mini dress was short, but not quite short enough. It never rode up to a point that would be indecent, but damn, it got close.

  She straightened with a driver’s license in her hand, along with a credit card she’d stashed in her boot. He already knew there was nowhere for her to stash it in that dress, thanks to a long and hot kiss on the side of a dark and cold highway.

  He looked away from her hemline. Angry Grandpa was glowering at him.

  Damn it.

  Mr. Schumer was right. Graham was too busy checking out Emily to realize she was trying to pay for the six-pack. He pulled out his wallet. “Here, I’ve got this.”

  Emily frowned. “But it was my idea—”

  Mr. Schumer thrust her license and credit card at her. Then he looked Graham right in the eye. “I’m gonna need to see some ID.”

  “You’re kidding me.�
��

  The old man tried to stare him down.

  Graham tried not to show his amusement as he took out his driver’s license. “You really think I’m younger than she is? Two years younger than she is?”

  “We got laws. No ID, no alcohol.”

  Graham tossed his driver’s license on the counter.

  “Illinois, is it?” Mr. Schumer held it up, comparing the photo to Graham’s face like it was a wanted poster, not a driver’s license. Then he blatantly started reading everything on the license, not just the birth year. “Six-one, green eyes.” He stopped to scrutinize Graham’s eyes, as if he’d lie about such a thing. “Chicago. Seems like a long ways from here. Tell me, son. You came all the way from Chicago just to buy some beer?”

  Graham flicked the credit card in his hand like it was a playing card, then held it out between two fingers for the man to take. “Yes, I did.”

  The way Emily smothered her laughter nearly made Graham lose his poker face, but after another brief stare down, Mr. Schumer conceded and slid the six-pack over the bar code scanner. He turned his attention back to Emily. “How’s your mama?”

  “She’s fine, thank you for asking.”

  “She sure is proud of your schooling. Told me you’re getting honors at Oklahoma Tech. She says you’re going straight through to get a master’s degree. Not this June but next, you’ll have your MBA. How about that? Your mama’s gonna throw a party like you’ve never seen when you graduate, you wait and see. If she doesn’t, I’ll be as surprised as a pup with his first porcupine.”

  Graham was amused, until he realized Emily was not.

  Mr. Schumer talked on. “You’ll be running Wall Street in no time. Don’t forget us little people when you’re living in your penthouse apartment.”

  “Yessir.”

  The country version of Yes, sir was the shortest answer he’d heard Emily give all night. Clearly, she did not want to discuss this. Graham signed his name on the credit card machine’s screen so he could get her out of here.

  “I don’t know what your plans are for the rest of the night, young lady, but stay away from Keller’s Bar. My police scanner’s been blowing up with all the goings-on over there.”

  “Have they called any ambulances out?” Emily asked, suddenly alert and interested. “Was anyone shot?”

  “Nobody’s shot anybody, and don’t you think for one second about running over there like you’re some kind of Texas Rescue hero. A pretty young thing like you has no business being around a crime scene at this hour of the night. Not at any hour of the day, neither.”

  “Actually, I’m certified in first aid by Texas Rescue.” Her teacher voice was back, patient but firm. “If I was closer than the ambulances, what kind of person would I be if I didn’t try to help until they showed up?”

  Graham thought she made an excellent point, but it wasn’t in Mr. Schumer to concede.

  “Hmpf. It’s after dark. There’s men who know first aid, too. You let them handle things.”

  Emily kept her chin up, her voice calm, but her eyes narrowed as she took aim. “You know my family. Don’t you think my mama raised me not to turn my back when someone needs help?”

  She shoots; she scores.

  Mr. Schumer shifted on his stool, uncomfortable. “Like I said, no one got shot. They’re not calling in the medevac helicopters. If the men who were fighting can’t handle their own black eyes and broken ribs, then it’s past time they learned how. You and Benjamin go enjoy the rest of your evening somewhere else.”

  Benjamin startled Emily for a second, Graham could tell. She took the six-pack and said good-night as she headed for the door. Graham took his credit card back.

  “I mean it now,” Mr. Schumer said to him, looking ready for a man-to-man chat now that Emily had walked away. “That’s not a situation fit for any girl, no matter what she thinks. Nothing but trouble.”

  Poor Emily. Mr. Schumer wasn’t ever going to see her as anything but a little girl. Graham suspected she knew it, with her yessir and the way she’d walked away. She stood with her hand on the glass door, waiting for him.

  “I don’t want to see Emily in any kind of trouble,” Mr. Schumer persisted.

  It was kind of sweet, the way the old man looked out for his granddaughter’s friend. Very small town. Graham slid the credit card into his wallet. “We’ll steer clear of the bar. Good night.”

  “Any kind of trouble, son. You catch my meaning?”

  Graham hesitated in the middle of putting his wallet in his pocket and turned back to the glowering grandpa.

  “I see the way you’re looking at her, Chicago. I know what it’s like to be young, but there’s no reason to get a young lady in trouble. If you need something, I’ve got it right here behind the counter.”

  He couldn’t be—but yes, he was. The old man was offering him condoms.

  “I don’t ask questions,” the old man said, deadly serious, “and I won’t tell your parents a thing about it. Ever.”

  Graham drew a blank. He couldn’t even picture his father getting a phone call informing him that his thirty-year-old military-veteran son had purchased a box of condoms.

  “I know folks say wait, wait, wait, but there hasn’t been a generation yet that does that. Not back in my day. Not back in my grandfather’s day. There’s always been babies born six or seven months after the wedding. Everyone’s family Bible has one of those. Instead of giving you a lecture that you aren’t going to listen to anyway, I’d rather see you young people just buy what you need to buy in order to stay out of trouble.”

  Graham would have thought he was in some 1950s television show, except the world was in color instead of black and white. “I understand.” That seemed neutral enough.

  “Good.” The old man started to reach under the counter.

  “No.” Graham held out his hand to stop him, exasperated. “No, thanks.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Which, of course, made Graham pause to consider whether or not he really had a condom at hand. He had two seabags in his SUV, all the clothes he’d need for three months of hay and horses. He’d stopped at a big box store on his way through Dallas to buy a comforter and some towels when Uncle Gus had belatedly mentioned that the bunkhouse provided the bed and mattress but only the bed and mattress. But somewhere in his shaving kit, Graham had condoms. He was pretty sure.

  “Because a girl like Emily, she’s not sticking around here. Her mama’s got plans for her. She doesn’t need to get saddled down with housework and a husband and a baby.”

  Never would Graham have guessed that tonight would be the night he got a lecture on safe sex from a gas station owner. If he wasn’t so surprised, he’d laugh. He glanced over to Emily. Judging by the look on her face, if she couldn’t hear every word, she could hear enough.

  Emily was not amused.

  This might be a small-town novelty to him, something he could laugh about from a distance, but Emily lived here. Having this store owner make assumptions about her sex life—about her entire life—was intrusive. Having someone else’s grandfather decide for her that she needed birth control, then deciding what kind she needed...

  Yeah, Graham was not amused, either. Not anymore.

  Mr. Schumer pulled out a little black box and tapped it on the counter. “I’d hate to see her—”

  “I get that.” Graham knew the old-timer thought he was being helpful, but he was also being a patronizing son of a brick, and he’d already been told no once. It was time for a different type of man-to-man conversation. Graham kept his voice low, his words meant for Schumer, not Emily. “I also get that you’re helping yourself to a whole lot of assumptions about me and more about Emily. You may have read my mind—”

  “Hmpf.”

  “But you haven’t read hers. She knows her own m
ind. She calls her own shots. You’re assuming she can’t control herself if she’s alone with me, and that is an insult. Back in your day and back in your grandfather’s day, a man wouldn’t put up with another man insulting his date like that.” Where that old-fashioned notion had come from, Graham couldn’t say, but it seemed to strike a chord with Mr. Schumer.

  Mr. Schumer glanced toward the door and immediately away, not quite able to look at Emily, but Graham he scrutinized for a moment longer. “I guess you two aren’t kids.”

  Graham said nothing.

  Mr. Schumer finally nodded to himself, and he put the box back under the counter. “You come back at lunch one day, when there’s brisket.”

  Graham accepted that concession with a nod of his own. “I’ll do that.”

  As he walked toward Emily, she leaned back against the door, opening it so he could walk right through, but he slipped his arm under the coat and around her waist, and he left with her by his side, ruffles tickling the inside of his wrist.

  He couldn’t decipher the way she was looking at him as he took the six-pack from her and opened the passenger door. She was thoughtful, or maybe amused. Bemused, he decided.

  He nearly dropped a kiss on her lips. “Is Mr. Schumer watching us?”

  “Every move.”

  “Tell me getting a drink like the locals doesn’t involve sitting in this parking lot and having a beer while Mr. Schumer chaperones.”

  “Not with an SUV like yours, it doesn’t. We can go somewhere much nicer. It’s just a little farther down the road.”

  Graham got behind the wheel, and when she pointed him west, deeper into ranch country, neither one of them looked back at the horizon to see if the red and blue lights were still keeping them together.