Cowboy Tough

by Joanne Kennedy

  Lying with him later, she remembered the way the embers in the fire pit glowed in the cool night. She felt that same soft heat in her own heart, and wondered if she was falling for him too.

  It didn’t matter. She’d just enjoy it while it lasted. He pulled her closer and she rested her head on his chest. They listened to the music, a slow song sung by the band’s raspy tenor.

  I’m crazy.

  Crazy for feeling so lonely…

  “Crazy,” he muttered, echoing the song. His voice rumbled in her ear and that was all she wanted—just to hear him talk. She was learning that cowboys didn’t have much to say, so she plumbed her mind for a question to get him going.

  “Which is better—rodeo or ranching?” she asked.

  Moving his hand in lazy circles on her back, he thought a moment and then the rumble started up again.

  “Rodeo’s a blast,” he said. “Every ride’s different. And you win or lose—it’s one way or the other. You’ve got your answer in eight seconds, and it’s not that hard to win. You just have to figure out which way the horse is going to buck. Long as you know what you’re dealing with, you can ride it out. Ranching’s a lot harder because there are so many ways to lose.”

  He paused and she knew he was thinking about his conversation with Ollie—and the fact that he might have lost without even getting a chance to try.

  When he continued, she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or just thinking things through. “But you can always win somehow. There are always setbacks—droughts and heat waves, hard winters, money troubles—but the Boyds have always managed to hold on.”

  She let herself relax, breathing slow and deep with the rhythm of his heart. In spite of all the turmoil he’d had today, it still pounded with a slow, steady beat. She had a feeling his heart was as unchangeable as the land he lived on, and she wondered what would happen when she was gone.

  She’d just be one of those setbacks. He’d struggle a while, but he’d find a way to win. And life on the ranch would go on.

  She pictured herself months from now, sitting in her tiny apartment studio, staring at the brick wall outside her back window, listening to the chaotic sounds of the city. It would be a comfort to know that he was still here, his heart still beating steady.

  She wasn’t staying. Her life wasn’t here. But lying there beside him, breathing in the comforting scents of leather and hay, she understood what it must be like to have a home like this and lose it. What had Ollie said back there in the firelight? This place is done. It’ll take a miracle to save it.

  Maybe she could be a part of that miracle.

  Chapter 34

  Mack lay in his dark bedroom, wishing he was back in the barn with Cat. The party had wound down, and they’d risen reluctantly. Cat needed to check on Dora, and he didn’t want Viv sleeping in the house without him there. He’d watched Trevor Maines drive away, but you never knew what a guy like that would do. Sure, his mother was in the house, but she had a lot going on.

  So did he. The depth of his feelings for Cat had surprised him, and Ollie’s warning had been a sharp and sudden blow. He needed to spend some time in the office tomorrow, go over the books. Find out just how bad things were.

  The good news was that all this trouble put his priorities in perspective. He’d find a way to save the ranch, and he’d find a way to make Cat stay. Those were the two things that mattered, and he wasn’t about to lose either one. He might have wasted his life on the backs of a hundred bucking broncs, but he’d learned one thing from rodeo: He was good at hanging on.

  Closing his eyes, he ran through a half-dozen possible solutions in his head. He was pretty sure he had enough in his rodeo account to stave off the bank for a month or two and keep the cows in feed and veterinary care over the winter. Meanwhile, he’d study the books and find a way to make that side of the operation pay. And he’d encourage his mother to work at the dude ranch side of the business. That was the key.

  Job one, though, was still to take care of the bird in the hand, and that was Cat and her students. If their experience worked out, he’d have some success to build on—and maybe he’d have Cat, too.

  He was probably crazy to think she’d stay. She was a city girl who needed coffee shop lattes and art galleries. He couldn’t offer her any of that. He couldn’t offer her much of anything, given the ranch’s precarious financial status. But he’d give her everything he had. Surely that counted for something.

  He drifted off into a half sleep, thoughts of numbers and ranching plans giving way to memories of Cat lying in the moonlight. He heard the crunch of tires on gravel and figured a late-partying guest must just be leaving.

  When a sharp noise snapped him awake, he shot upright. He had no idea what time it was, but the moonlight had dimmed and the crickets had hushed.

  A slit of light edged the door. As he watched, it grew wider, and a crouching figure crept into the room.

  Cat. He smiled in the darkness. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, and he’d tried to talk her into coming back to the house with him. But she’d insisted that being together in the morning would look bad to her students. In reality, Emma and Abby would probably applaud if the two of them showed up to breakfast hot and disheveled with matching cases of bed-head.

  He edged over, making room for her, as the door eased shut with a faint click. In the darkness that followed, he could only sense her presence by sound and scent. He could hear her shuffling cautiously forward, feeling her way. As she drew closer, he expected the sweet smell of violets, but she must have doused herself in some new perfume.

  It wasn’t good. He almost gagged at the combined assault of spices. It was some artificial scent, blended with something suspiciously like whiskey. He’d have to find a way to tell her this didn’t work for him. Tomorrow, not tonight. He was doing his best to prove he could make it twenty-four hours without having to apologize.

  He’d keep it positive. Tell her how much he loved her natural, flowery scent, and tell her not to cover it up. That was the way to do it.

  He was getting good at this girl stuff.

  The side of the bed sagged under her weight and he reached out to caress her. Making love in full dark was kind of a thrill. He didn’t know if he’d be touching her breast, her hip, her belly…

  His hand landed on something hairy and a low male scream shredded the silence, followed by a series of thumps and crashes as someone floundered across the room, desperate and graceless as a lobster on dry land. The overhead light flashed on.

  Mack blinked in the bright light, then wished he hadn’t.

  Trevor Maines stood by the door with his hand on the switch, gaping at Mack with his mouth half-open. His normally sleek hair was standing up like a cock’s comb, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

  “What the hell?” Mack scrambled out of the bed, wishing he’d worn something more than boxers.

  “Well.” Trevor blinked owlishly a few times, then seemed to find his bearings and drew himself up to his usual erect posture. He always looked a little absurd with his flowing hair and oddly military bearing, but in his current condition the combination was ridiculous. “I shee you didn’t washte any time moving into my room.”

  “News flash. Not your room.”

  Mack grabbed his jeans and sat back down to step into them. He zipped up fast, prepared for a fight. But the man before him looked more pitiful than evil. You couldn’t hit a man when he was down, and Trevor had obviously had a rough night.

  “I deshided to give you another shance.” Trevor shook his head, as if repositioning his addled brains would help his muddled speech. “Nuther shlance. Nuther—nuther opportunisy. To redleem yourshelf.”

  Obviously, he’d chosen a bar over the police station and drowned his defeat in whiskey. Judging from the smell emanating from his pores, it hadn’t been good whiskey, either. Mack wondered how the aristoc
ratic Trevor had stooped low enough to drink Jeremiah Weed.

  He stood a moment, swaying.

  “Gotta shleep.” He waved Mack away. “Move over.”

  “I’ll do you one better. I’ll move out.” Mack gathered the few items he’d left on the nightstand, shoving them in his pockets while Trevor tipped over, landing with a solid thunk that nearly broke the box spring.

  It was funny. With his shirt untucked and his hair in disarray, his speech slurred, and his aristocratic demeanor exchanged for a drunken stumble, the guy looked like any other bum off the street.

  In fact, his new state fit him a little too well. The Richie Rich pretensions had always rung false to Mack, and he’d suspected the guy was exaggerating his wealth. But now his bullshit-ometer was clanging even more loudly.

  He needed to get with Cat in the morning and find out what they really knew about this guy. But right now, he needed to find a place where he could keep an eye on things. Trevor was out cold, and there was nothing to do but let him sleep it off.

  Closing the door behind himself, Mack glanced down the hallway. If Dora wasn’t staying in the house, he could sleep in the extra bed in Viv’s room. He looked over at his mother’s door, wondering if he should wake her up and let her know the situation too. You couldn’t be too careful.

  But her door was wide open, and from his vantage point in the hallway, it was clear the bed was empty and hadn’t been slept in. The old-fashioned chenille spread was as smooth and unlined as a newly groomed arena.

  He winced. Hopefully Ollie hadn’t returned to do whatever “business” he’d intended. Mack found it hard to believe his mother would fall for the guy’s lines again, but if she’d done it once, she might do it again. He’d once taken Maddie’s good sense for granted, but Ollie had changed all that.

  He sighed. He wasn’t about to chase after her. He was too afraid of what he might find. He might as well catch a few winks here, where he could still keep an eye on Trevor. If his mother turned up, he’d just get up and start the day early.

  Standing at the window, he brushed the curtain aside and checked the parking lot beside the barn. Most of the vehicles were gone, as the guests had all gone home. There were a few scattered pickups remaining—probably guests who had been too drunk to drive.

  He didn’t see Ollie’s Silverado. He’d have been able to spot it, because the light in Hank’s tiny apartment above the barn was on, beaming a square of light right where the vehicle had stood. As Mack watched, a shadow moved across the lighted square on the bare ground. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but somebody—or somebodies—was awake in Hank’s room.

  Maybe his mother wasn’t with Ollie. Maybe she and Hank…

  He didn’t want to think about that. Collapsing onto the bed, he closed his eyes and wished to God he was on the back of a bronc. Then at least there’d be pickup men to haul him to his feet and rodeo docs to dust him off and patch him up. Here at the ranch, he could feel his grip slipping, and there was nobody to catch him if he fell.

  Chapter 35

  Cat felt like all eyes were on her as she emerged from the Heifer House in the morning. She wasn’t sure anyone had seen her and Mack sneak off to the barn the night before, but she suspected Emma and Abby had been watching like a pair of matchmaking hawks.

  And no wonder. She and Mack were better than a soap opera, fighting one minute and making love the next. She’d never had such a tumultuous relationship.

  And she’d never felt more alive.

  She slowed self-consciously, realizing she’d put a schoolgirl skip in her step. Hank and Maddie were bustling around the chuckwagon, finishing up breakfast preparations. Maddie handed her a tin plate loaded with fluffy scrambled eggs, home fries with onions and peppers, and two slabs of heaven-scented bacon. Hank gave her a nod and a smile. Funny, she’d never noticed that he was actually kind of a nice-looking man. Normally he just blended into the woodwork, but this morning he seemed more normal somehow.

  She settled down on a bench and stretched her legs out while she tucked into her breakfast. It was a typical Wyoming summer morning, with a limitless blue sky and a faint breeze carrying the scent of sage and bits of birdsong. There was nothing to spoil her happiness; even Dora’s issues seemed like a lighter load now that she knew what caused them.

  She’d settled on a plan of action. A single, serious talk wasn’t going to work with Dora. She simply needed to remind her niece, gently and continually, of all the ways her mother had loved her, all the things she’d done to prove it. Dora would heal. Cat would make sure of that.

  She glanced around the circle, running a quick roll call in her mind. The three seniors were present and accounted for. Charles slouched on the far side of the fire, staring into the flames and shoveling food into his mouth as if he was afraid someone would take it away. Watching the lizard tattoo writhe as he lifted his fork to his mouth, Cat wondered again if he was an ex-con.

  Mack was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in the barn, getting the horses ready for today’s expedition. Cat was a little disappointed he hadn’t joined her for breakfast, but that was all right. There were no strings attached to what had happened between them. There couldn’t be.

  Dora and Viv weren’t around either, but Dora was probably helping Mack in the barn. And since the two girls had become inseparable, maybe Viv was helping too—or, more likely, standing around looking cute and talking a mile a minute. Cat smiled, thinking of how the girls had hit it off. Maybe she’d suggest that Art Treks do a camp for teenagers. She could see herself leading a summer painting excursion to Europe for high school students. Or one to Wyoming.

  Actually, she wasn’t sure she needed Art Treks backing her up. There were probably concerns she hadn’t thought of yet—insurance, waivers, legal mumbo-jumbo—but she was also sure she could arrange a trip herself. As a freelance workshop facilitator and tour guide, she’d be able to pick her own locations and write her own lessons. And she might make enough to quit Trainer and Crock.

  Scraping up the last of her potatoes, she brushed a few crumbs from her shirt as she rose. She’d worn one of her thrift shop painting shirts today, a pink Etienne Aigner that came nearly to her knees. It was already decorated with a few wayward paint stains and hung open over a gray long-sleeved jersey she’d layered with a fitted navy MoMA T-shirt. It looked like the day would be a cool one, but riding could get warm and layers could easily be shed.

  She thought about all the layers she’d shed the night before and shivered. She’d never given as much to a man as she’d given to Mack—not in all her life.

  She was going to have to be more careful.

  “I’m going to go check on the horses,” she said.

  “Make sure you check that cowboy too,” Emma said. “Check him out.” She gave Cat an exaggerated wink.

  “She already did that,” Abby said. “But if I was her, I’d do it again.”

  Cat did her best to smile past her embarrassment and set out for the barn. It was a beautiful morning, with a faint breeze stroking the grass and the sky the impossible blue of a robin’s egg. Three of the horses were already lined up at the hitching rail, and Mack was leading another from the barn.

  “Need help?” she asked. “Or do you have all you need?”

  “Nope, I’m fine.” He draped the horse’s reins over the rail and swung an arm around her, pulling her close for a kiss. It felt good, like they were a couple. She decided to let herself enjoy that feeling for a while.

  “Tired, though,” he said. “I was up all night keeping an eye on Trevor.”

  She whirled. “Trevor?”

  “Came back last night. Damn near crawled into bed with me. Said he was going to give us another chance. Generous of him, but he was drunk as a skunk.”

  Cat stood at the rail, unsure what to say or even what to feel. She’d been worried about what would happen if Trevor
went to the police. His return should be good news. But having him back made her uneasy.

  “Don’t worry,” Mack said. “He left early this morning. Stumbled out of here around dawn.”

  She glanced around the barn. “Isn’t Dora helping you this morning?”

  “Not yet.” He shrugged. “You know how teenagers are about mornings.”

  She felt a slight stab of worry—or was it defensiveness? “Dora’s always been an early riser.”

  “Well, maybe my daughter’s giving her a crash course in teenage vices, like sleeping in till noon,” he said. “She was an early riser too, until she hit fourteen or so.”

  Cat watched him load cases and supplies onto the patient Spanky. He looked like he had everything under control, but Dora had promised to help. Cat had come to terms with the idea that her niece didn’t want to paint, but she wasn’t going to let the girl snooze the day away.

  “I’ll get her.”

  She jogged up the stairs to Viv’s bedroom and rapped on the door.

  No answer.

  “Dora? Viv?”

  Still no answer.

  She cracked open the door and peered inside. The bed by the window was in total disarray, with covers flung over the footboard and a pillow on the floor. But the other bed was neatly made, with pillows plumped at the head and placed at artistic angles.

  Cat couldn’t picture Dora getting up and making the bed. She’d never angle the pillows with that kind of care—especially not when her friend had simply flung the covers off. Maybe she’d slept in the Heifer House.

  She felt a twinge of unease. She should know, shouldn’t she? She’d been thinking Ross wasn’t taking proper care of Dora, but was she doing any better?

  ***