Best of Cowboys Bundle

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Barbara White Daille, Judy Christenberry, Christine Wenger, Shirley Rogers, Crystal Green, Nina Bruhns, Candance Schuler, Carole Mortimer

  “She’s a celebrity chef. She’s on TV and has written several cookbooks,” Karen had told him. “She’ll bring in a lot of good publicity. Besides, she’s my best friend, and I haven’t seen her in a long time. We can do some catching up.”

  Buck didn’t want any part of turning Rattlesnake Ranch into a dude ranch. He liked it just the way it was. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much choice. He’d been outvoted by his two sisters and brother, who, along with him, each owned one-fourth of the Rattlesnake, left to them by their parents.

  “Whoa, Bandit,” he yelled, leaning back even more. “Easy, big guy.”

  Finally, Bandit hit level ground and stopped dead in his tracks. Shaking his head, the big black stallion pawed at the ground with a hoof.

  “Yeah, I know. I know. The city gal probably didn’t know any better.”

  He heard a sound like the wailing of a coyote and looked up. There she was, hanging over the guardrail.

  “Do you need help?” she yelled.

  She’d made a megaphone over her mouth with her hands. If he did need help, what would she do? Make blueberry scones?

  “No,” he shouted back.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She was scaring every bird, animal and lizard within a fifty-mile radius. Bandit was fidgeting like he was going to jump out of his skin.

  “I’m fine,” he yelled. “Get in your car and go.”

  “But I don’t know where to go.”

  “Go back to Boston,” he mumbled, then shouted, “Follow the road until the end. Turn left, then right, then your second left. Rattlesnake Ranch will be on the right.”

  “Any of these streets have colorful Western names? You know, something I can remember?”

  “Like Beacon Hill?” he said.

  “Wha-a-at?”

  “No. No names.” No one ever bothered naming the dusty paths that ran through Rattlesnake Ranch, least of all him.

  “Right. Left, left. Then turn right. Or did you say two rights? I should write this down. Right? Stay there until I get a pen and paper from my purse, will you?”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. He had chores to do, and leading a city gal around by the nose wasn’t one of them.

  A scream cut through the air, startling the buzzards and vultures right out of the trees. Her again.

  He released his grip from the saddle horn and catapulted off Bandit. Grabbing his rifle and rope, he ascended the same path he’d just ridden down.

  “Meredith? Hey, Meredith Something Turner, are you okay?”

  Silence.

  “Answer me, dammit,” he shouted, struggling up the steep incline.

  The gravel crumbled under his feet, but he was making progress. Cactus needles stabbed his arms through his duster, through his shirt. Sweat poured down his face as he scrambled higher…higher.

  He set the rifle down, shook loose some rope, twirled it over his head several times and let it fly. It hit his target—a post of the guardrail. He tugged to test it and took up the slack. With his rifle tucked under his arm, he climbed up the rope hand over hand as quickly as he could.

  “Meredith?”

  Another scream split the air.

  In one smooth motion, Buck vaulted over the guardrail, rolled to the ground and took aim….

  What the hell?

  Two wild burros were eating the contents of Meredith Something Turner’s purse. Papers and cosmetics were spread out on the road, and the burros were busy grazing on them. She was pressed against her car, wide-eyed as another burro nibbled on the lapel of her pink suit.

  He could tell she was ready to let loose another granddaddy of a scream, and he didn’t think his ears could take any more.

  But she surprised him. Instead of screaming, she croaked out, “Don’t shoot them. Just get them away from me.”

  He lowered his head, so she wouldn’t see his grin. Securing his rifle, he got up from the ground and took off his hat.

  “Shoo,” he said, waving the air with his hat as he walked across the road. “Scat. Go on. Get on. You’re scaring the lady and she’s scaring half the state of Arizona.”

  They eyed him, then trotted off down the road.

  Buck turned toward her. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You scared me half to death.”

  “You? You were scared? What about me?” She walked over to the mess on the road, picked up a pack of tissues and, after careful inspection, blew her nose into one. “What were those things?”

  “Wild burros.”

  “W-why aren’t they in a zoo?”

  “This isn’t Boston, lady.”

  She sniffed and brushed off her lapels. “No kidding.”

  Bending back down, she picked up her purse and began to toss items in it. “My purse has a hoof print on it. They chewed on my cell phone. And they ate my makeup.” She stopped to looked at him. “There are stores around here, aren’t there?”

  Buck didn’t think she needed any makeup. In spite of how she irritated him, he had to admit that she was one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen. And he didn’t know much about fashion, but that pink suit she had on looked expensive. So did her gold jewelry.

  Everything about the woman looked expensive.

  He sure hoped she didn’t expect to be waited on. Karen wasn’t feeling well, and he had a ranch to run. In his experience, women who were on Meredith Bingham Turner’s level were too high-maintenance.

  “Yeah, we have stores around here. We have a feed store over in Lizard Rock. Oh, and there’s a John Deere store in Cactus Flats, too.”

  She stared up at him with big green eyes, probably trying to figure out if she could get makeup shipped from Boston via overnight mail. Then she glanced down the road at the burros, which had stopped to graze. “You will stand guard, won’t you? In case they come back.”

  He choked back a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll stand guard.”

  “Thank you.” She sniffed. “But don’t shoot them.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She bent over to pick up more items from the road, and he couldn’t help noticing how the fabric of her skirt molded against her perfect butt.

  “Mr. Porter, where is your horse?” She stood straight and focused her eyes on his rifle. “You didn’t have to shoot it, did you?”

  “Lady, I don’t shoot everything that moves out here. If I did I’d have to carry all my ammo on a packhorse,” he snapped, then realized she was dead serious. She’d probably seen too many westerns on TV where animals were put down. Remembering she was from Boston, he softened his voice. “Bandit’s fine. He’s probably back in his stall and eating dinner by now.”

  “Bandit?”

  “My horse.”

  “How are you going to get home?”

  “I thought I’d ride with you.”

  “You cowboys ride in cars?”

  She really was a slicker, unless she was pulling his leg, as he’d pulled hers. He couldn’t tell.

  “I’ll give it a try.”

  Speaking of legs, hers were blue-ribbon winners. Her hair was the color of corn silk and probably just as smooth to touch.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He was waxing as romantic as a cowboy poet. If he didn’t stop himself, he might break into song and start yodeling.

  She had to go. She was going to be nothing but trouble. He could feel it right down to his bones.

  But one thing he knew for sure, he wasn’t going to spend half his born days bailing a tenderfoot like Meredith Turner out of trouble. He had a ranch to run.

  Or what was left of it.

  “Would you like to drive, Mr. Porter? You do know how to drive a car, do you not?” She held out a key with a yellow paper tag hanging from it. Her voice held a bit of sarcasm. She was pulling his leg.

  He slapped his thigh and added a dumb grin. “Gee, shucks, ma’am. Ya mean I can drive a real car like this?” He went over the top with a Texas accent. “How about if I drive you back to the airport? This place isn’t for you.”

  She was sile
nt for a dozen heartbeats, and Buck immediately regretted his words. He was being a knothead. If Meredith was as big of a celebrity as Karen said she was, the new Rattlesnake Dude Ranch would be a success.

  He supposed he should be happy about the plans for the ranch. It would be the answer to his financial problems, but he just needed more time to come up with the money himself. He had a plan, but the clock was ticking and the bank foreclosure was looming.

  His plan was to sell the furniture he’d been making. An old Army buddy owned a fancy gallery in Scottsdale and had scheduled a show and sale for him. Whether or not his sale would be a success was a crap-shoot, but he was keeping his fingers crossed.

  Meredith met his gaze. “Your sister said she needed me. Therefore, I intend on helping her in any way I can. So if you don’t want to drive, point me in the right direction and I’ll find my own way.”

  Loyalty. Buck admired that, but he still didn’t want a bunch of dudes on the ranch he loved, wandering around, playing cowboy and sleeping and eating inside his parents’ house. He had Caitlin to think of, too. His daughter had retreated so deep into her own world since her mother left that he just couldn’t reach her. A bunch of strangers might make her withdraw even more.

  His siblings disagreed, particularly Karen. She felt that Cait needed people around her, especially kids her own age to encourage her to open up more. He reluctantly agreed to give it a try. He’d cut off his arms if it’d help his daughter.

  He tried to point out that even if the ranch did turn a profit, it wouldn’t be that significant. The ranch was in the red almost two hundred thousand bucks, give or take, and the bank said he had to pay that off before he could borrow another penny to diversify into stock contracting for rodeos.

  He wished he had the money to buy them all out, but that was spitting in the wind.

  He let his eyes skim over the generous curves of his sister’s friend. Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad having her at the ranch. If nothing else, she was fun to tease and easy on the eyes. He could use some fun in his life.

  Cait seemed to be looking forward to Meredith’s visit, or at least that’s what Karen assumed. Every Tuesday when Meredith’s cooking show was on, Karen would microwave some popcorn and the two of them would watch it together.

  He should be used to Cait’s silence toward him by now, but he wasn’t. He kept hoping that someday she’d say something—anything. He wanted to hear his little girl’s voice again, to hear her call him Daddy.

  Meredith Something Turner tossed him the keys and mumbled a question about whether or not Lizard Rock or Hanging Tree Junction, Arizona had a dry cleaner.

  He was willing to bet she wouldn’t last a week here before he’d be driving her back to the airport and his home would be safe from change.

  Then he hoped like hell that people would like his furniture and buy it. If they did, he could get out of the red a lot faster and his home would still be safe.

  But by then it might not be his.

  Chapter Two

  B uck skillfully guided the rental car down the narrow mountain road, but Meredith still found herself holding her breath on every twist and turn. The craggy rocks were so close to the car, she could reach out and touch them. Every fallen tree branch looked like a snake or a lizard, and every other stone or twig was either a tarantula or a scorpion.

  Swallowing hard, she adjusted the air-conditioning vents until the cold air blew right on her face. As she took a couple of gulps of the air, she decided that she was being ridiculous by scaring herself like a teenager at a summer camp bonfire.

  But still, there was no sign of civilization as far as she could see. No hotels. No stores. No banks. No fast food places. Arizona was as foreign to her as Jupiter.

  She stole a glance at Buck. He was so tall that he had to take his hat off to sit in the car. His hair was jet-black and tied back in a ponytail with a piece of leather. It made him look more masculine than some of the men back home with their neat Boston haircuts.

  Merry remembered the day that Karen had called her, sobbing about Caitlin, and how devastated her brother was when his wife had walked out. Apparently, Buck’s wife, Debbie, had left for Nashville to pursue a singing career more than two years ago, and Cait had stopped talking from that moment on. Buck was having a hard time dealing with his daughter’s silence.

  Buck had found a psychiatrist for the child to see, but based on Karen’s last call, the little girl was still withdrawn and still not talking to anyone.

  Merry stole another glance at Buck. How awful for him to have gone through so much pain. In a way, he’d lost his wife and his little girl on that same day two years ago. Karen had said that he’d barely left the barn for a year or so, and was there all hours of the day and night, barely sleeping.

  His siblings, Karen, Louise and Ty, had told Buck he needed to snap out of his funk, for his daughter’s sake. He finally had, and tried to make things up to Cait, but she still wouldn’t talk.

  Sighing, Merry concentrated on remembering the road, the road that would take her back to the airport when she was done with her business here. But there were no landmarks, no side streets and still no signs. They just kept climbing, twisting, then descending.

  Buck must have heard her sigh. “It’s not much longer,” he said. “About twenty more minutes.”

  “Thank you.” She racked her brain for more conversation, but for a woman who made a good chunk of her income as a TV personality, she couldn’t think of a thing to say to this man with broad shoulders and dark stubble that made him look more than a little dangerous.

  The weather was always a safe subject, so she dove in. “Have you had much rain lately?”

  “It’s the desert.”

  “Oh…I guess not, then.” So much for conversation with the cowboy. She twisted her fingers together and checked her manicure, remembering how Karen had gotten her to stop biting her nails. Seeing her good friend again would be wonderful.

  She looked out the window. Every so often, she was surprised by the flash of color from a patch of fragile-looking wildflowers, or daunted by a lethal-looking cactus, both co-existing in a strange type of harmony.

  All right, so this wasn’t Boston. It was…tolerable. And she told herself that there weren’t acres of poisonous reptiles out to get her, just wild burros.

  She resolved to concentrate on helping Karen just like she’d promised. The sooner she did that, the sooner she’d be back home in familiar territory.

  With that decided, she relaxed her grip on what was left of her purse.

  “Over there.” Buck pointed off in the distance, to his left. “Rattlesnake Ranch.”

  She craned her neck and squinted. “Where?”

  “Over there.”

  “Over there” got closer, then disappeared again, as they turned another bend and descended until the mountain road turned into packed dirt barely wide enough for a car. They were on flat land now, up close and personal with the desert.

  Buck turned right and before them was a bleached sign proclaiming Rattlesnake Ranch. She shuddered involuntarily and immediately her eyes scanned the road for anything slithering.

  “Um…Buck?”

  “Yeah?”

  “About snakes…”

  “What about them?”

  “Do you have a lot of them out here?”

  His blue eyes glanced at her briefly, and then returned to the road. “It’s the desert.”

  “Of course there are snakes” was what he didn’t say.

  Quit obsessing, she told herself.

  They rolled to a stop in front of a sprawling ranch house.

  “Here we are,” he said.

  Merry heard the obvious pride in his voice. She took out a notebook and leafed through it for a clean page, free from burro slime, and found a pen at the bottom of her purse. Brainstorming time had arrived.

  At first sight, the ranch house was welcoming. Designed in traditional Santa Fe architecture, it had a big porch that ran the lengt
h of the house. Bright flowers spilled out of terra-cotta pots of every size and shape along the brick walkway. More colorful flowers cascaded from hanging baskets.

  Beautiful.

  She knew that the flowers were Karen’s doing. She’d always had a green thumb and went into the business program and floral arranging curriculum at Johnson & Wales with the hope of opening her own florist shop.

  The car door opened, startling her. Buck held out a hand to help her out, and she placed her hand in his. She wasn’t a small woman, but when his rough, callused hand covered hers, she felt very feminine and protected.

  She tried to analyze why she was having a cowboy fantasy, when a small hurricane descended down the thick wood stairs.

  “Merry! It’s been so long.”

  Buck dropped her hand, and Merry found herself in Karen’s bear hug.

  “I see my lug of a brother found you, or did you find him?”

  Merry laughed. “He found me. I was lost.”

  “I knew it,” Karen said, turning toward her brother. “Buck, thank goodness you’re okay. When Bandit came home without you, I got worried and sent Juan and Frank out looking for you. What happened?”

  “It’s a long story,” Buck said, carrying Merry’s suitcases up the stairs, as easily as if they contained feathers instead of a closet’s worth of clothes.

  Merry scribbled in her notebook. That would make a perfect picture for Karen’s brochure—a rough-and-rugged cowboy bringing luggage up the stairs of the dude ranch.

  Perfect.

  Buck stopped on the porch and looked down. “Karen, where do you want this stuff?”

  “In your bedroom, Buck.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, you haven’t been using it,” Karen snapped, and then turned her attention back to Merry.

  At just the thought that she’d be staying in Buck’s room and sleeping in his bed, Merry’s heart flip-flopped in her chest, and her face heated as if she were a teenager.

  Jet lag. It must be jet lag. Or the low elevation.