Cowgirl Crazy (#2, Cowboy Way)

by Becky McGraw

  Definitely a turning point for her.

  The night he told her to get a life was another. Her eyes burned and she rolled them and sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly. She needed to remember that night over the other one so she could keep her resolve. And she would do that.

  Ryan Easter needed to leave her the hell alone.

  Twyla straightened her shoulders, grabbed her keys off of the dresser, then opened the bedroom door. Ryan stood there with his hand raised to knock. At least he had on his jeans now.

  “What do you want?” she asked gruffly as she brushed past him, and strode across the living room to the door.

  “I wanted to see if you wanted to do something tonight. Go somewhere so we can talk?”

  Twyla stopped with her hand on the front doorknob and looked back at him. “What part of done don’t you understand, Ryan? I have nothing to say to you.” Twyla twisted the door knob, and swung it open. “You’re the one who needs to get a life. I suggest you get to it,” she growled as she walked out and slammed it behind her.

  Walking to the top of the stairs, Twyla paused moment to get control of her breathing. Her heart was beating so hard against her ribs, it felt like it would splinter in her chest. Twyla double-timed her steps down the stairs and jogged to her truck. She got inside and fumbled to get the keys into the ignition.

  The faster she could get out of here, the better. The emotion building in her chest, and forcing its way up to her throat was never a good sign. It meant she might become a girl at any moment. Something Twyla hated, and refused to give into. Crying was something weak women did. Not rough-and-ready cowgirls. At least not in public. There had been an occasion or two when she had given in, like the night of the almost kiss, but that had been from frustration. She was frustrated right now too, but it was not happening.

  Twyla was going out to the barn and she knew riding would soothe her. She threw the truck in reverse, and backed out, then slammed the old truck into drive, before shoving her foot down on the accelerator hard. Tango had always been there for her, she knew he would be today too. Waiting for her, loving her, ready to do whatever she asked him to do. That was the kind of man she needed.

  And so was the handsome mounted shooting instructor she’d hired to help her. Randy had been very nice and patient with their lessons so far, and she was making progress. Tango was getting used to the sound of the gunfire, and she was getting used to shifting her focus from Tango to the targets. Once she got pistols of her own, her aim would probably get better. Twyla was a good shot, had always been with a shotgun, but shooting targets while moving at barrel-racer speed was tough. Her first run, she’d missed every target.

  Randy hadn’t laughed at her, or given up. He’d patiently given her corrections, and told her he had a similar run his first time too. Anticipation at working with him again built inside of her washing away her anger and frustration. She was secretly glad she would get to spend a little time with the man too, even if it was only an hour. Every lesson she had, she was finding more to like about the man. At her last lesson, she had found out he wasn’t attached, so that was a plus.

  So far there hadn’t been any indication that he’d be interested in a gangly, tomboy cowgirl, though. Randy had been totally professional with her, but who knew.

  Stranger things had happened.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Without thinking, Ryan scrubbed his hand over his face. Pain shot up his nasal passages to his brain, and he groaned. “Fuck!” he shouted to the empty apartment.

  Jerking his shirt off of the sofa, he picked up his boots and hat then ran out of the apartment to find Twyla’s old truck was stopped at the exit of the apartment complex, waiting for traffic to clear so she could pull out. Ryan sprinted down the stairs and hopped into his truck. He tossed his boots and shirt on the floor board then cranked the truck.

  He needed to know what other kind of trouble Twyla had gotten herself into. He would have to follow her to find that out, because it was clear she wasn’t going to talk to him or listen to anything he had to say. Hopefully, the bar was the worst of it.

  If it wasn’t, Zack was going to have a stroke.

  He saw her turn left out of the driveway and tried to follow, but couldn’t make it through the break in the stream of traffic. He watched her turn right as the next intersection, as he sat there waiting for another break.

  “Please don’t let me lose her,” he mumbled as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

  Finally the light at the intersection changed, and he had his chance. Ryan gunned the truck and fishtailed on the loose gravel, before he straightened up and merged to the right lane just in time to hang a left where he’d seen Twyla turn. He didn’t see her rattletrap of a truck, so he weaved in and out of traffic, keeping his eyes ahead for any sign of her. About a mile ahead he finally saw her, as she merged onto the interstate. He changed lanes to do the same.

  Rush hour traffic had cleared, so Ryan sped up when he merged onto the freeway. He saw Twyla about a mile ahead of him, and decided to hang back a little so she didn’t see him. That crazy cowgirl would probably run him off the road, and kick his ass if she saw him. He wouldn’t put it past her right now.

  Twyla just wasn’t in her right mind.

  That’s all that could explain her attitude and actions, since he’d been there. Maybe after he talked her into coming back with him, or barring that he threw a burlap sack over her head and kidnapped her to take her back home, he’d suggest to her family that they get her some counseling. Lord knew she needed some kind of help. Help that none of them, including her mother, brother or daddy could give her.

  Hopefully, they would never hear about what she had been doing since she’d been gone. It would forever damage her family’s opinion of her. Hell, he knew it had been an eye opener for him. He had to get her away from Heather as soon as possible. He blamed that woman for most of Twyla’s sudden wild behavior.

  Ryan followed her for what seemed like forever, but was only about twenty miles outside of town, before Twyla finally turned on her blinker signaling a right turn. Her truck disappeared down the off-ramp, and Ryan hoped he got off in time to see which direction she turned from there. If not, he’d spend hours trying to locate her.

  When he got to the bottom of the ramp, she’d already turned, and he was two cars back from the light at the intersection, blocked by the concrete pylons on either side. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change. The two cars in front finally moved, but took their sweet time turning. He’d bet on the left turning lane, and when he eased into the intersection, he saw he lost. He spotted her truck in backed up traffic to the right.

  An annoying three minutes later, he made a U-turn and zoomed down the rough road. The traffic from earlier had cleared, so he thought maybe he had a chance of catching up to her. He rounded a curve five minutes later, and saw her truck in the distance, making a left. When he got there, he realized it was a gravel driveway that led up to a horse facility of some kind. That must be where she had Tango boarded, he thought, as he turned. The large parking lot in front of the huge barn in the distance was almost full. Ryan wondered what the heck they did here.

  There hadn’t been a sign at the gate that told him, and he didn’t see any signs by the barn other than the huge one on the side that labeled the ranch as the Rough Cut Ranch. He didn’t recognize the two smaller signs that looked like an organization of some kind on either side of the name. He was way too far out. Horses grazed in the pastures flanking the gravel drive, but it wasn’t a rough stock herd. These were prissy, expensive horses that English riders rode. Thoroughbreds and Arabians mixed with a few high dollar quarter horses.

  In a far off pasture jumps were set up, and several riders practiced out there. Definitely an English Pleasure facility. And he didn’t see a barrel in sight. Twyla was definitely not suited to riding English Pleasure. She had about as much grace and finesse as a wrecking ball. He wonde
red then why she was out here.

  Ryan didn’t see any sign of Twyla when he hit the parking lot. He slowly passed each row of vehicles, and looked for her truck. When he reached the last row, Ryan was about to believe he’d followed the wrong truck here, but then he saw her. She walked out from between two jacked up trucks with a tall cowboy. The man had his hand on her back while they walked. She was smiling up at him as she talked animatedly with her hands. She turned and the bright sun glinted off of something at her hip.

  Ryan leaned across the truck and squinted to make out that Twyla wore a gunbelt that held two shiny silver revolvers. One at each hip. The guy wore a similar rig on his hips too.

  What the hell was she up to? A shootout at high noon?

  That’s sure what it looked like to him. Twyla had rabbit, squirrel and deer hunted with him and Zack plenty of times, but that was with a shotgun. He’d never seen her use a handgun before. The fact that she had not one, but two in her possession now scared the shit out of him.

  Finding an open spot, Ryan pulled in and killed the truck. For a moment, he sat there surveying the area, wondering how he was going to follow her now without being seen. He’d just have to duck and hide, he thought reaching for the door handle. That was total bullshit, but he had to do it if he wanted to find out what she was up to, and who she was with.

  That was what Ryan wanted to know, almost more than what she was doing out here at this ranch. They looked awfully familiar with each other, and Ryan needed to know who he was and what he wanted with Twyla. Because of Zack’s overprotectiveness, Ryan knew she wasn’t all that savvy about men. Zack wasn’t here, so it was up to Ryan to make sure that guy wasn’t playing her. Or worse, that he wasn’t a slimy, abusing bastard like Clarence.

  Ryan opened his truck door and slid to the ground, almost crumpling when a sharp piece of gravel dug into his foot. It was only then he realized he wasn’t wearing his boots, or shirt. He’d left the apartment half-naked. But he’d been in such a damned hurry to run after Twyla, he was lucky to have on his jeans.

  “Damn that woman is gonna be the death of me,” he grumbled leaning against the truck to massage his foot.

  He reached back into the truck to get his boots and stomped his feet into them, then pulled the shirt over his head, before slapping his dusty hat on his head with purpose. Screw hiding. He had every right to be here. Zack sent him to find her and drag her ass back with him. That is exactly what he was going to do, he thought, as he strode out into the open aisle between the rows of cars.

  Why then did he duck like a goose behind a Mazda pickup when he suddenly caught a flash of blonde hair, and an all too familiar red horse?

  Because he was too beat up to get his ass kicked again, and that guy she was with was not small. Stealth would probably be a better plan. He could probably find out more that way anyway. Then he would call her on whatever mischief she was into here, or with that man.

  “Twyla, let’s just work on the ground with your aim for a little bit,” Randy said, as she tied off the lead rope on Tango’s halter to the split rail fence near the practice range.

  He sat her saddle down by the fence, and laid her bridle gently on top. He’d insisted on carrying her tack for her, even though she told him she had lugged it around herself for years, and could handle it. Randy Hartwell was a gentleman. An added bonus, she rarely found with men on the rodeo circuit. Those guys treated her just like one of the guys. That’s what she was used to, not this. It was a welcome change for sure.

  “Sounds good,” she said turning back to him with a smile. She was surprised when her face slammed into his broad chest and she bounced back. She hadn’t realized he was standing that close. Any other man, she’d have probably bowled over. But Randy was tall. Solid.

  His hands closed on her shoulders to steady her. “Whoa there, cowgirl,” he said with a laugh. Her eyes met his and there was interest there. Something like a swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and a warm sensation floated through her.

  Twyla was so tall, she rarely found a man as tall as he was. One who she felt small next to, not quite so gangly. She felt like that around Randy and liked it. Ryan was like that too, but not nearly as broad across the chest as Randy.

  Randy didn’t say anything, he just stared at her for a full second. His lips twitched then he swallowed hard. “Twyla, I’ve, ah, been meaning to ask you something…’

  “Yeah?” she replied dumbly, unable to pull her eyes from his mesmerizing green stare. The air became thick between them and a strange energy buzzed over her shoulders to zip down her spine. Her heart took a couple of strange leaps, then resumed an uneven rhythm.

  Was this it? Would this man be her first real date?

  “Um, have you ever tried a different saddle on Tango?”

  The fog in her mind cleared. “Huh?”

  His hands fell from her shoulders to his sides, and he stepped back. “I have a saddle that’s lighter than the one you’re using. Your saddle doesn’t fit just right across his withers. I’d bet it’s pinching him. You could probably get more speed out of him, and he’d have more flex, if you used a different saddle.”

  Twyla was a little stunned. Her breath came out in a whoosh, and she felt her face heat. Disappointment filled her that she had misinterpreted his signals. She just didn’t have the experience to read men, thanks to her brother, her father and Ryan.

  Her shoulders slumped. “No, I haven’t tried a different saddle. I won that saddle in the only barrel race I ever won, and it’s my lucky saddle.”

  “Not so lucky if you weren’t winning,” Randy countered with a grin, putting his hands on his trim hips. “It’s bulky, and if the damned thing doesn’t fit right that could be why you weren’t winning. There’s nothing wrong with your riding, that’s for sure.”

  Pleasure floated through her at his compliment. “Thank you.”

  Twyla had always blamed her riding for the reason why she wasn’t winning, why Tango wasn’t performing up to his potential. This man had given her something else to think about, and more confidence in her riding. Maybe it was her tack. It didn’t matter though, she was never going back to the grind of the rodeo. Back to the circus that was her life before, which included the two clowns Zack and Ryan. But that tip might definitely help her with the Cowboy Mounted Shooting competitions.

  It also meant more money, if she had to buy a new saddle. Twyla couldn’t use a borrowed saddle forever, or the guns she’d borrowed from Randy. She was going to eventually have to figure out another way to make extra money if she wanted to do this. Ammunition and entry fees, clothing to dress appropriately for the events, wasn’t cheap either.

  “Okay, let’s get started. Tango is pretty set on being gun broken now, so it’s time for us to work on your aim. Your run the last time we met told me we need to run the course on foot to get you used to the positioning of the targets. Muscle memory is going to get you where you need to be. Pulling the hammer like it’s second nature to you. You need to get comfortable shooting with one hand, crossing over for the targets on the left, and knowing where they are in your mind without thinking. You need to study those configurations for the courses I gave you and know them like the back of your hand. You never know which one you’ll draw at the competitions.”

  She and Randy walked to the beginning of the course, and got into position at the start/finish line. Colored balloons, red and blue, were already tied to the end of flexible poles that marked her path. Randy turned in a slow circle to survey the course, then looked down at her. “Okay we’re clear. You have both pistols loaded?”

  Twyla nodded, but pulled out the first pistol and checked the loads and repeated an inspection of the second revolver. “Good to go,” she said stuffing it back into her gunbelt.

  “Okay then…I want you to run this course in the way you would on your horse. Make sure you hit the targets, Twyla. That’s your main focus. If you miss targets in a competition, you lose points. Get used to holstering the first gun
as you turn the barrel, and pulling the second. In a level one competition that’s not a big deal, but when you move up, if you miss one, drop your pistol or fail to reholster properly you lose. You have to do all those things without thinking. But the first and foremost thing you need to remember is to break the balloons.”

  Twyla nodded then got set. At his signal, she took off running through the targets. She tried not to hesitate as she took aim and nailed the first three targets perfectly. On the fourth, her arm dropped and she missed which broke her concentration on the fifth blue balloon. Her feet got tripped up, so she stopped and holstered her gun, because she knew she’d just lost if she were actually competing.

  “Dammit,” she cursed under her breath, staring at the fifth balloon, wondering how in the hell she could be so incompetent at everything.

  This was a lot harder than she thought it would be. Maybe she should go to the gun range more. Once she had her own pistols she probably would. She almost had enough money saved up to do that. But that wasn’t going to simulate shooting from a horse at breakneck speed. It wasn’t her aim that was off, it was her focus. The gun range wasn’t going to improve that.

  Randy walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder to lead her back to the fourth target. He had her face forward with the balloon at her right. The fifth was catty-corner to her left, on a post a little shorter than the others. He moved behind her and his heat surrounded her, as did the piney scent of his cologne. He put his left hand on her belly and funny flutters danced there. He took her right hand, and his fingers curled around hers to hold her arm out straight, aiming it at the balloon.

  She heard him inhale deeply when he leaned close to her ear. His words came out with a slow exhale. “Keep your body square on the horse, Twyla. Keep your balance. Move your eyes and your arm, not your body. You can lean forward and back, but don’t turn your body. The best advice I can give you though is to relax.”