Piper grinned. "Sure. I'm all warmed up and ready to try my hand at cutting."
"Good. I picked up something for you at the farm and ranch store."
The amused look on his face had Piper wondering if this was a joke. "Let me guess. It's a saddle with a seat belt and a horn with a hand grip."
Ace laughed. "Close. Wait here." He left her sitting on a wooden bench in the shed row while he went into the tack room, and a few minutes later he returned with what looked like a roll of leather under his arm and a gunny sack stuffed with something angular inside. He was also wearing a pair of worn chaps that draped low on his hips, the leathers in front framing a pair of faded jeans that molded to his masculine male body, the quintessential Cajun cowboy, which sent a torrent of sensual awareness rippling through her.
After setting the sack down, Ace removed the bundle from under his arm and unrolled a pair of new western chaps. Piper eyed what had to be expensive gear. "You bought those for me?"
Ace nodded. "They're made of rough-out leather which sticks to a saddle better than jeans and helps keep you square on the horse."
"They look expensive," Piper said, uncertain if she should accept the gift since she was trying to discourage a relationship, though her efforts had been bipolar at best, switching between sticking to the business of exercising Rags, to fantasies about how it would be with Ace in every imaginable romantic situation. Although, what kept playing over and over in her head wasn't a fantasy. It was what took place in the shed row after her silly charade as Pearline, of reliving their lively dancing with her turning in and out of Ace's arms, and being held close as they two-stepped around the shed row, and her crazy rendition of Pearline doing a clog dance, all of which was followed by an unexpected hot and heavy session while reclined in a foot of straw in a vacant stall before she managed to put a stop to it, though with a great deal of effort…
"You're not paid enough as it is so consider the chaps a bonus," Ace cut into her musing.
Piper took the chaps and held them against her waist while visualizing herself looking like a seasoned cowgirl, strutting around with her thumbs hooked in her belt. She chuckled. Her family would croak if they knew what she was up to.
"What's so funny?" Ace asked.
"I was imagining myself swaggering into my house like Annie Oakley and seeing the mortified faces of my father and Nana."
Ace looked at her, eyes atwinkle. "Have you always been a rebel?"
"Well, yes, pretty much."
"Okay Annie Oakley, pick out whatever you want from this bag. Mary outgrew it all by the time she was twelve." Ace emptied the gunny sack and several pairs of scuffed western boots tumbled to the ground, along with a western hat. "The hat'll keep the sun out of your eyes and the boots are in different sizes so something should fit."
"Then Mary rides a lot?" Piper asked, while eyeing the boots.
"Oh yeah. She's a barrel racer when she's not runnin' the bait shop, herdin' cattle, and tryin' to start up a cricket flour business. She's ridin' in a rodeo in a few days and I'll take you to see it if you want to watch some fast action. She has a box crammed with champion buckles."
"Then are there buckle bucks who hit on cowgirls for their buckles?"
Ace laughed. "Probably but I doubt they'd hit on Mary. She grew up with a bunch of brothers so she's wise in the ways of guys. Meanwhile, put on the chaps and whatever else you want and swagger for me and you can put a notch in your belt for trappin' your first buckle buck."
"Ha ha! Yeah, right. If I start swaggering, the chaps will probably drop off. An hourglass figure I don't have."
"That's debatable."
"No, actually, it's a conformation flaw. I was born without hips and… the upper half of the hourglass."
Ace chuckled. "I haven't had the hands on but the visuals tell me otherwise."
Piper felt heat creeping up her face. "So, moving on."
She parked herself on the bench and after mulling over the boots, selected a pair about her size and pulled one on. Finding it surprisingly comfortable, she put on its mate and stood. Picking up the chaps, she held them against herself and said, "How do I get into these things."
"They lace in back and buckle in front, and the small straps on the wings fasten around your thighs. Here, I'll get you started." Ace took the chaps, and after passing the belt around behind Piper and buckling it at her waist, he rested his hands on her hips.
As Piper looked up at him while fighting the urge to glide her hands around him, he took the indecision from her by shoving her arms around his neck and kissing her the way she'd been fantasizing since their heated session in the stall, a slow, lingering kiss that sent her heart racing, and her mind whirling, and her mouth filling with the taste of him, something spicy, like cloves. But when the kiss ended, she said, "We need to put stuff like this on hold and get on with moving cattle. It's a new adventure and I need to pigeonhole things."
Ace looked at her, perplexed. "Pigeonhole?"
"Compartmentalize, like not mixing feelings with new undertakings."
"Okay, I'm tryin' to follow your logic. So you're tellin' me we can't kiss and move cattle?"
"Basically, yes."
"That doesn't make sense."
Piper released a long sigh. "Okay, I want to be with you, like all the time, but I don't want to want to be with you and the more I don't want it the more I want it and that session in the stall the other night… it made all the things I don't want more tempting. It's impossible to explain so let's just get going before I say things I can't take back."
Ace peered down at her, the serious expression on his face evoking feelings she didn't want to acknowledge and was on the verge of disclosing. Then his somber expression lifted, and he said, "Sweet cakes, you just dumped on me a bucket load of things I haven't a clue what to do with."
"Then you need to learn to compartmentalize too and you start by stuffing what I just said in a box in your mind and shut the lid and let's get to moving cattle."
"Yeah, movin' cattle'll get my mind off other things. Turn around and put the belt where you want the chaps to hang and I'll adjust the laces in back. I wear mine a little below my waist but that's just me."
Piper glanced over her shoulder, very much aware of Ace's warm breath against her neck and his knuckles brushing the small of her back as he adjusted the lacings. All the while her exhilaration with this whole western experience was beginning to mount, something she'd never imagined could happen, much as she'd never dreamed of having romantic fancies about one of the Broussard boys next door.
"Since I'm aiming for the seasoned cowgirl look I'll go for wearing low riders," she said.
After securing the chaps, Piper shoved the hat on her head, and as they walked down the shed row she ran her hand along the outer seam of one of the legs, and said, "How come there's no fringe on these chaps? All the cowgirls in the movies wear chaps with fringe."
Ace laughed. "That's for show, but workin' cowgirls go for toughness over flashiness, so ranch chaps are plain, and today you're gonna be a workin' cowgirl."
Piper looked askance at Ace. "Except I can't swagger without fringe,"
"After a few hours ridin' a cuttin' horse you'll be swaggerin' when you get off. Guaranteed. Meanwhile, I'll saddle up a couple of cow ponies and meet you at the corral and give you a few pointers before we start out."
Ten minutes later, Piper guided Smudgepot, a twelve-year-old cutter that Ace claimed had more cow sense than most people have common sense, into a big enclosure where a dozen or more cows huddled together at the far end.
Trotting close beside her, while riding a horse named Mudrunner, Ace said, "Smudge is the kinda horse that knows when he's got a novice on him and he'll sorta scale back his moves till you're stayin' with him. You gotta stay in the middle of your saddle and keep some space between your butt and the cantle. When you walk through the herd keep your shoulders square over your hips and your hips square over your ankles. The more balanced you are, the less you'l
l use your upper body when Smudge moves suddenly left or right or accelerates."
"So, am I getting ready to cut a cow from that pack?" Piper asked.
Ace looked at her in amusement. "Easier said than done. You gotta learn to stop with your horse or you'll find yourself eatin' dust. The thing is, when a cow horse stops short and your butt shifts positions dramatically, you want to be like a rag doll, sinkin' low into the saddle until you feel like your buckle's against your back bone. It's called the cutter's slump."
"And hope this rag doll doesn't fall off," Piper added.
"You shouldn't. You've got a big saddle around you and a tall horn to grip. But you can't work a cow while your muscles are tight, which means sittin' with your back rounded and your shoulders loose. Your first time out your goal is to stay on when he's trackin' a cow and try not to work against him, which means keepin' your balance and stayin' relaxed. Watch my hand and upper body when I walk into the herd. I'll be sittin' tall while moving forward and looking over the cows, but when I drop my hand on Mud's withers, it's my signal to him to go to work and for me to slouch down and act like a sack of potatoes."
With one hand on the saddle horn, and the other holding the reins high, Ace moved with Mudrunner into the herd. Singling out a cow, they drove it from the herd. Ace dropped his rein hand on Mud's withers and the horse squatted, eyes locked on the cow. When the cow attempted to return to the herd, the horse moved in a flash of zigzags, each move a mirror image of the cow, blocking the cow's escape. Crouched deep into his hocks, ears pinned back, Mud thrust his nose at a cow frantic to rejoin the herd, daring it to try. The cow streaked left and right, darting back and forth while trying desperately to get around a horse that lunged with lightning speed, cutting the cow off at every move.
Through it all Ace rode low in his saddle, seeming to be an appendage of the horse as it seesawed back and forth in a ground-hugging crouch, knees inches from the dirt, to head the cow off. Overawed, the cow gave up and stood puffing. Ace lifted the reins and his horse moved from his ground-hugging crouch and stood waiting, head alert, while the cow returned to the herd.
As Ace bent over Mud's withers and praised him while stroking his neck, Piper felt a combination awe and admiration on seeing Ace do something in an easy relaxed way that had to have taken years to master, and with it, she found her eagerness mounting to try her hand at it.
"Go ahead and pick your cow," Ace called out.
"Who does that? Me or Smudge?"
"You. Keep your reins high till you drive a cow from the herd, but as soon as Smudge locks on it get a death grip on the horn and lower your reins hand to his withers. After that he'll be movin' quicker than you could signal. Cutting's a test of intelligence. A good cutter's able to read a cow, anticipate its moves and mirror them with lightning speed. The main thing when he locks on the cow is to keep your body in a cutter's slump. So, go ahead."
Trying to keep in mind everything Ace said, Piper moved Smudge into the herd while sitting with her back straight, her left hand gripping the saddle horn, her reins hand high. Smudge seemed to be moving toward a brindle cow, which split off from the rest, whether it was a signal from Smudge, Piper couldn't tell, but the next instant Smudge and the cow seemed to be in a standoff...
When he locks on the cow lower your hand…
Which she did...
"Oh, my gosh!" she yelled, as Smudge darted left and right so fast she found herself gripping the horn with both hands. For some reason she'd expected Smudge to sashay back and forth in a kind of slow-motion two-step, but as soon as he zeroed in on his target, old Smudge, 'the horse that knows when he has a novice on his back,' decided to ignore the novice and forget scaling back because he was in full cutting mode.
Still, she managed to release her grip on the horn with her right hand and keep the reins loose while Smudge continued snapping back and forth in front of the cow, his forequarters near touching the ground as he tracked its movements in a mirror image so precise it seemed unfeasible that an old horse could have reflexes that quick.
And then the cow stopped and looked confused.
"That's it," Ace called out.
Piper lifted her reins hand high, as she'd seen Ace do, and Smudge moved out of his crouched position, raised his head, and stood quietly as the cow rejoined the herd.
Piper stroked the horse's neck. "Good boy, Smudge. And thanks for scaling back," she added with irony. Still, she couldn't wipe the grin from her face.
Ace trotted over. "So, how was your first cut?"
Piper chuckled. "Kinda like strapping a saddle onto a cat chasing a mouse."
"You did better than most beginners."
"I grabbed the horn with both hands."
"Not for long. And you maintained a cutter's slump."
"That part was easy. Smudgepot shook every vertebra in my back loose. And this thing about him scaling back for novices…"
Ace laughed. "Obviously he knew you were a pro."
"So am I a seasoned cattle-cutting cowgirl now?" Piper asked, seeming unable to pull in a wide grin that just kept coming.
"You will be by the time we get back."
Two hours later, after they'd finished moving the cattle and were almost back at the ranch, mud speckled Piper's hands and face, her boots were coated with the stuff, her legs were stiff from sitting in a western saddle, and her stomach and back muscles ached from the quick maneuvers of her horse, but the entire experience was like the dawn of a new day. And she couldn't deny another door into Ace's world had opened. Maybe a world that included her?
With that sudden and unexpected realization she had an urge to see the house Anne talked about. A house Ace started building for another woman, she reminded herself. That thought put a bit of a damper on her eagerness to see the kind of house Ace would build, but her curiosity still held. "Is the house you're building somewhere around here?" she asked.
Ace looked at her, questioning. "How did you know about my house?"
"Anne mentioned it."
Ace rode wordlessly for the stretch of a long silence, like he wasn't sure he wanted to share with her the house he'd started building for a woman he once loved and maybe still did, who left him to run around the country with a band. When he offered nothing more, Piper let him off the hook by saying, "Never mind if it's not around here. I was just curious."
"The turnoff's right ahead. The house is just a shell though, and it's built out of mostly used materials so it isn't much."
"That's not the way Anne described it. She said it was quaint."
"Piecemeal maybe. Quaint's stretchin' it."
Piecemeal. An odd way to tag his house, but it fit Anne's description of Ace hauling salvaged building materials out to the site in his truck. She immediately pictured a house constructed from a hodge-podge of retro windows and doors making up the walls, and an assortment of used lumber filling the space between. A tin roof, salvaged from an old pole barn, would be its backwater, swamp-people, crowning glory.
"Here's the driveway." Ace turned his horse onto a double-rutted road cutting between stands of tall pines intermingled with maple, magnolia and live oak draped in moss.
Piper's horse followed along the other rut. "It's pretty primitive," she said, while wondering if the fiancée called things off because she didn't want to live in a piecemeal house tucked away at the end of a double-rutted road, a place suggestive of the fish camp with its cricket-breeding hut and assortment of fishing poles, hip boots and crab nets on the porch.
"It's just an access road now but I've got gravel comin' next week," Ace explained.
Which made Piper feel petty and small minded for being critical, when Ace should be admired for his initiative in taking on the challenge of building his house with his own hands, however he chose to do it. "You've really picked a pretty spot to build," she commented.
His eyes scanning his surroundings, Ace said, "There's no place I'd rather live than in these woods and on the bayou, and since it's walkin' distance to the ran
ch, I'll be close to family."
"Then you plan to live here alone?" Piper asked, wondering if there was another woman in his life. The few kisses they'd shared didn't exactly make them an item.
"Not for long. When the house is done I'll take the next step."
The next step being to find a wife. There was no question he was feathering a nest for someone. Along with that disturbing thought, Anne's words emerged in her mind.
Then out of the blue he's started in again...
Which would have been shortly after the claiming race, when her life and Ace's became unexpectedly entangled around a filly they both loved. He'd also managed to get her to a couple of fais do-dos and clearly liked the way she looked in her dresses, and he'd wanted her to meet his family. And today he introduced her to the cowboy life he loved.
It came to her that maybe she was the reason he started working on the house again. The thought was troubling because she was slowly awakening to the notion that she was falling in love with him and wanted to be that woman, which would mean giving up being in a career that took her around the country. He'd gone through that once and would be a fool to rush into another relationship with the same possible outcome. So, maybe he had his eyes on yet another woman, a Cajun girl his folks would welcome into the family, an especially disturbing notion...
"It's just around this turn comin' up," Ace said, cutting into her unsettling thoughts.
As they came around the curve in the crude driveway, late afternoon sun streamed into a clearing in the woods like a giant spotlight, setting aglow a dwelling Piper could only describe as something out of a fairytale, drumming up images of gnomes, and sprites, and leprechauns. "It's… I don't know. Enchanted doesn't do it justice," she said as she took in a house that was a patchwork of stone, stucco, shingles, cyprus boards and timber-frame, with a mix of round, arched and square windows. Even the front door—which was actually two doors made with quarter-rounds at the top of each, that when closed formed a half circle—was sandwiched between a row of small windows on both sides.
The Final Turn (Cajun Cowboys Book 2) Page 15