How to Train a Cowboy

by Caro Carson

  She hadn’t made a plan for the wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to be around to help. Three months too soon.

  His Marine Corps jacket was too big for her, making her seem as fragile as she’d claimed she wouldn’t be if they had sex before he drove away at dawn. His first instinct had been right; he couldn’t be her lover and leave, and he couldn’t be her lover and stay. The better word would have been shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have been her lover, but he had been, and there was no going back on that now.

  She barely let any sadness show through her smile as she gestured to her truck. “My jacket’s in there. No problem, so here’s yours.” She started to unzip his jacket.

  “Keep it.”

  “I can’t. Everyone will wonder who gave me a Marine uniform. The inquisition will begin immediately.”

  “Lie and tell them you bought it at an Army-Navy store in Austin.”

  She hesitated.

  He zipped the jacket up halfway. “It’ll keep them guessing next time you go to Keller’s. They might behave if they think a Marine is about to come out of that bathroom looking for you. Or maybe they’ll think you’re the Marine.”

  Her smile was directed at the gravel. “I’ll really be okay. I can handle myself and most anyone else, when there’s no handsome man around to swoop in and save me.” She kicked a rock with the toe of her boot, then she stuffed her hands in the pockets of his jacket and lifted her chin. “Well, I guess this is it. That sun is coming up. You don’t want to be late—”

  Graham pulled her close and gave her mouth something better to do than tell him goodbye.

  She melted into him like she was a part of him, as she’d been so many times in the dark. By the time they stopped kissing, he had her up against the truck. She had him up against her body, pulling him closer with one hand under his shirt, warm on his skin, and one tucked under his waistband, as if her hand was the back pocket of his Levi’s. They spoke against each other’s lips at the same time.

  “If your parents come to get you at your cousin’s house—”

  “I know you have to go—”

  They both fell silent.

  Emily slipped her hands out from under his clothes, letting him go. “Don’t worry about me. Go and lose yourself in your work, or find yourself. This isn’t goodbye forever. You’re going to remember this night, and you’re going to want to see me again.” She kissed him then, a sexy taste of her tongue, an unmistakable invitation to take her to bed. “You’re coming back for more of this.”

  “You’re right.”

  She sucked in a little breath, sharp and short, like his words were a needle that had pricked her finger. “Say that again.”

  “You’re right, Emily. I’m coming back for you.”

  “Oh—that’s such a better answer than silence.” Her tears caught them both by surprise.

  Graham tucked her head onto his shoulder. “You’ve been telling me all night I was going to come and find you when my contract was up. You sure sounded certain. Did you doubt it?”

  “No, I know I’ll see you again. It would kill you to spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been. But you were pretty stubborn about admitting you even wanted to kiss me at first. Who knows how long you could be stubborn about more? I could imagine you wasting at least a year, telling yourself you were too old for me or those eight years in the Marines were too much for me to handle. I was afraid you’d wait until the ‘might have been’ was killing you.”

  “I’d be insulted if that wasn’t so damned accurate.” He breathed her in, then let her go.

  “We value our accuracy, don’t we?”

  “Ah, Emily. The day my contract is up, I’m coming for you.”

  She leaned back against her truck and tugged him toward her, fingers hooked in his belt loops like she owned him. “One more minute. The sun hasn’t cracked that horizon yet. Where exactly are you going to be? Where is off the grid?”

  “Not this county. Not the next, either. I have to find it by GPS. There aren’t any buildings or crossroads nearby, but my uncle called me yesterday morning, so he must get a cell phone signal now and then. I won’t be totally out of touch. You have my number. I have yours. I’ll find you.”

  She’d pulled him to her so he was pressing her into the side of the truck as if he were pressing her into a mattress. He leaned in a little harder, pinning her in place so she’d listen to him, this woman he’d met before he was ready.

  Not ready? Too bad. Adjust fire, Marine.

  “I’m not going to bother with the scary military voice, but listen this time. If your plan goes sour, you call me. If I don’t answer, leave a message, because I’ll be doing everything I can to get a signal as often as I can. I don’t want you sleeping in your truck tonight.”

  “What are you going to do at the end of your first day on your new job? Come driving all the way back here from two counties over? You can’t go another twenty-four hours without sleep.”

  “Yes, I can. I’ve done it for worse reasons. You call me when you need me.”

  As he was looking at her, the first rays of the sun touched her face. The world was coming into vivid, full color. He had to let her go.

  “I’m worried about you.” He kissed her forehead tenderly, a benediction. “Stay safe, Emily Davis.”

  “It’s Dawn.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean my middle name is Dawn. If you’re going to get all paternal on me, then you might as well use my whole name. Go all out.” She imitated his gruff voice. “Emily Dawn Davis, you be a good little girl now. Play nice with the other kids.”

  He took a step back.

  “Seriously, do you realize you just kissed me on the forehead? You should be giving me a ‘yee-haw’ or an ‘oo-rah’ or something. Today is the day. I’m off to do my own thing and listen to my own instincts. I’m stirring things up and living life, and you should be saying ‘Go kick some ass, girlfriend.’”

  For one speechless second, Graham stared at her. Then he looked up at the colorful sky and started to laugh. Man, he was in love. There was no way not to be.

  “All right, Emily Dawn Davis.” He grabbed her in a bear hug and spun her around once in the gravel parking lot for good measure. “Give ’em hell.”

  He set her down and opened her door, but before she could sit, he smacked her on one butt cheek, hard.

  She yipped. “What was that for?”

  “That’s how an Airborne School jumpmaster tells you and your parachute it’s time to get the hell out of his nice, safe airplane.”

  “They spank soldiers on the butt?”

  “It’s an Army school. You can’t expect advanced communication. Now go jump out of your nice, safe plane. Before you hit the ground running, don’t forget to look at the horizon and enjoy the view.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emily had no reason to be sad.

  She was driving toward her favorite place in the world, the James Hill Ranch, after having the best night of her life. She’d gone into that night with her eyes wide open. She’d known she’d be alone today.

  I’m coming back for you. Her tears at those words had taken her by surprise. She’d already known he’d be back, someday. She really had. Still, hearing him say it this morning had touched something inside her, something that made her want to cry.

  But she was fine now.

  Schumer’s convenience store was up ahead, on the right. Emily craved some caffeine, but stopping in for a cup while she wore the same dress she’d had on before midnight? That was not going to happen, no matter how badly she needed coffee. Mr. Schumer might expire of excitement as he jumped to all the right conclusions. Yup, she and Chicago had indeed had sex, just as he’d predicted.

  Hours of it. Great sex—it had been the best sex of her life. At th
irty, Graham was the oldest man she’d ever dated, with a man’s body and a man’s experience. He knew what he was doing. But when she was with him, so did she. Her touches, her kisses, the way she moved, the way she sighed, everything she did had pleased Graham. He’d told her, he’d shown her, he’d wanted her over and over. She could do no wrong. Addicted, he’d murmured more than once.

  Her throat felt tight, her eyes burned. These memories ought to make her feel confident, not make her cry.

  She wanted to go back and drive real slow past the spot where they’d first kissed. She’d remember how confident she’d been then, making the first move for that first kiss. Then she could keep driving, all the way back to Austin, and put her confidence to use. The first step really ought to be sitting down with her mother and stepfather and talking about that master’s degree. But her mom thought she’d spent the night at her aunt and uncle’s house at the ranch. Mom would be shocked if Emily walked in the door with a wet braid and a party dress on. It would be tough to steer the conversation toward MBAs and bachelor’s degrees.

  Emily tightened her grip on her steering wheel. She was twenty-two and ready to move out and start her own life, her own career. She shouldn’t have to answer to anyone about wet hair and party dresses—but she wasn’t there yet.

  She would be. But this morning, maybe she should start at the James Hill, get everything lined up there, and then tackle that conversation with her mother later—like on Sunday, when she wouldn’t be driving back to Oklahoma, after all.

  The gate for the James Hill Ranch, like most ranch gates in Texas, was simply made out of two tall poles and a crossbeam. The brand for the ranch was a straightforward JHR, so those initials marked the entrance. Her truck rattled pleasantly over a cattle guard—it was a sound she missed all semester, every semester—and then she drove through the more formal wrought iron and limestone pillars of the second gate. There, spread before her across a bit of a rise—the hill in the James Hill—were the main buildings of the ranch. Three barns, the cow sheds, the garages, the bunkhouse.

  After she was officially hired, she’d start living in the bunkhouse. Cowboys got lodging there as part of their compensation, and she was going to need that, a private bedroom and a shared kitchen, because her mother and stepfather were not going to be speaking to her for a while. Instead of making her feel angry, the reality of their ultimatums made her sad.

  The road curved a little to the left, and the main house was straight ahead. A sense of homesickness blended with gratitude that it was still there, her aunt and uncle’s house, her vacation paradise as a child, her sanctuary as a teenager. Her aunt and uncle were traveling to the bottom of the globe to see penguins or something right now. Trey lived out of state and had for a decade. Luke was on his honeymoon, but the house was here, the one house that had stayed constant for twenty-two years.

  She needed it now—but not to spend the night. She’d settle the job this morning and move into the bunkhouse tonight. She was looking forward to that, a real place of her own where real adults lived instead of student housing, but she could hardly go and talk to the foreman about the job while she was in last night’s mini dress. She needed to go into the house and get showered and get some working clothes on.

  She parked around the back, next to a shiny new hybrid sedan. Maybe it belonged to Luke’s new wife, although he’d married into an oil baron’s family, and Emily couldn’t imagine his elegant bride driving such a practical little vehicle.

  Emily tried the door to the mudroom. It was unlocked, but that wasn’t unusual. She used the boot jack to take off her fancy boots, then she dropped her real boots, her working cowboy boots, by the door as well, so she could put them on as she was leaving the house for the barn.

  It wasn’t until she saw the cereal bowl and coffee cup in the kitchen sink that she realized someone else was living in the house. “Hello? Anybody home?”

  She hoped not. She didn’t feel like being sociable after her night with Graham. She just needed to take a shower and change into work clothes, then go to the foreman’s office and tell Gus she was ready to take the position—

  A woman her own age walked briskly into the black-and-white kitchen and came to a sudden stop. “Emily? You’re back.”

  “Rebecca? You’re still here?” Oh, my gosh. What a rude thing to say. “Wait, let me try that again. Rebecca, you’re still here. It’s nice to see you again.”

  Rebecca smiled, still as sweet as Emily remembered from Luke’s wedding. She was the sister of the bride, which made her Luke’s new sister-in-law. Emily supposed it wasn’t that unusual for Luke’s sister-in-law to be at his house, except for the fact that Rebecca lived in Massachusetts and the wedding had been weeks ago, before Christmas. She must have decided to extend her visit to Texas instead of returning right away to snowy Boston.

  Yes, Rebecca was perfectly sweet and friendly—so Emily hoped she’d forgive her bad manners now. Emily just couldn’t keep up a normal conversation. She just couldn’t. She’d been banking on the house being empty.

  Emily had a death grip on the jeans and fresh clothes she was carrying. “Are you using Trey’s bedroom?”

  Rebecca seemed startled by that question. “Um—”

  “I mean the guest bedroom with the big trophy shelf. That used to be Trey’s room.” Emily held up the clothes. “I was just going to dump these there and take a quick shower and change before I go to the barn, because I’m, uh, not dressed for the barn. Not really.”

  Not even close. Please don’t ask me why I’m standing here barefoot in a mini dress with a wet braid, wearing a Marine Corps track jacket. She was blanking out on a reason she might be dressed like this, besides I met a man at a bar, and we went skinny-dipping in Cooper’s pond and had sex until we were worn out, and I guess this jacket is kind of a souvenir, which made something really wonderful sound really, really terrible. Emily inched her way toward the doorway to the rest of the house, longing for escape.

  Rebecca kind of inched her way toward the mudroom door. “I’m so happy to see you again, and I really want to catch up, but I have to go to a job interview in Austin.”

  “You’re moving to Texas? That’s great. Really great.” I can’t do this, I can’t make small talk when I can still taste Graham on my lips. She missed him. She wanted to be with him right now.

  Rebecca and Emily continued circling each other gingerly as they talked, until Rebecca was closest to the mudroom and Emily was ready to bolt into the living room.

  “We’ll catch up later, then? I’ve got to...” Rebecca looked at the wall clock apologetically.

  “Yes. Good luck.” And then Rebecca was out the door and Emily was all but running through the house to Trey’s old room. She dumped the fresh clothes on the bed and backed far away from them. They smelled like fresh laundry, and holding them was making her arm smell like fresh laundry. She wanted to smell like a fresh lake and moonlight and Graham’s warm skin.

  She walked into the bathroom, took one look at the shower stall and started to cry. She didn’t want to jump out of that airplane and jump into the shower. Her skin smelled like Graham’s skin, and she didn’t want to lose that. Not yet.

  But she was going to lose it. She’d done such a good job acting confident, telling Graham not to worry about her, telling him not to act like he was her parent. She didn’t want to be a burden he’d carry for three months, and she’d made sure his last impression of her was a fearless woman who was going to be so busy, he might as well take his whole three months to work with his uncle and focus on whatever issues had driven him from Chicago to a new life.

  She’d pulled the charade off and left him laughing. The only reason she’d been able to pull it off was because she loved Graham.

  Otherwise, she would have crumpled like that ribbon at his feet and begged him to stay. She was just a fragile girl, she’d wanted to say. He cou
ldn’t dump Jane back in the jungle without him; she had no defenses. He needed to hold her for hours and reassure her that he’d never leave her.

  But he might leave her. He’d acknowledged the truth behind her theory that he might talk himself into believing she was better off without him. He’d called her an addiction. Didn’t men try to break addictions?

  What if she never, ever smelled like Graham again?

  Emily left the bathroom. She just needed a little longer, just a little longer, to remember the taste and feel of Ben Graham before she washed it all away.

  She curled up on the bed and cried herself to sleep, wrapped in an olive drab track jacket.

  * * *

  The best night of his life was being followed by the worst morning of his life.

  No, he couldn’t say that. The morning his convoy had been hit had been the worst morning. Men had died. Good men.

  Graham wanted to punch something. One of the frustrating things about being a combat veteran was that he couldn’t ever complain that any day, no matter how awful, was really the worst day. Watching Emily Davis drive away from a bar’s empty parking lot—blowing him a kiss and smiling at him—tore his heart out, but nobody was literally dead. The standard had been set as low as it could get: no day could be the worst if there were no corpses lying around. Combat had stolen his ability to complain.

  He hit the steering wheel. Screw Afghanistan. It wasn’t going to deny him the right to say this morning was painful. He missed Emily the way he’d miss a part of his body—something essential, like his heart. He’d known there was something special about Em from the first minute. He’d known he was risking what heart he had left when he’d held her on that bar patio. Knowing heartbreak was coming didn’t make it less painful when it came.

  And now he was lost. Lost and late.

  If there was one thing a Marine was not, it was late. To be fifteen minutes early was on time. To be on time was to be late. To be late was to be dead.