As she moved toward safety, Cowboy’s ears pricked. And then the horse reached out and gently butted her back, almost propelling her over the fence. She laughed and turned back toward him. And the horse who had trampled Joe into retirement buried his head in her chest while she crooned to him.
He held his breath and stood still, afraid that if anything set the horses off—particularly that horse—she could lose her balance and be crushed beneath all those panicked brutes.
The ache in his lower back and bad leg shrieked for him to move into a more comfortable position and he needed to wipe sweat and grit off his face. But the idiot woman on the corral fence had obviously lost all sense of time.
How did she know Cowboy?
He watched with relief when she finally dragged herself back over the fence and dropped to the ground. She took a few steps toward him, head down, still oblivious to his presence. She’d only gone a few feet when Cowboy’s head came up and he cut loose with the most heartbreaking whinny imaginable. The woman walking toward Joe stopped and lifted her head, but didn’t turn back to the corral.
Instead, her eyes suddenly focused on him and he saw her recoil slightly. “You heartless, worthless bastard!” She whispered, but the words slammed into him, stunning him. Before he could recover enough to answer, she hurled herself at him, pummeling, clawing and kicking.
“Hey, hold on!” She was lightning fast and clearly out of her mind. He made several futile attempts to grasp her arms and get her away from him, but missed every time. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are these your horses? I’m not here to steal them or anything else if that’s why you’re going off on me.”
She froze. Just stopped kicking, squirming, moving. He carefully dropped his own hands and took a step away from her. This crazy woman might think he had attacked her—or at least, she might say that. He flinched a little as he took in the dusty hair and clothing. Tight jeans that were more khaki than blue given the powdery dirt puffing up around them when the wind stirred, or the horses grew restless. And the white tank top that had been pulled to the side somehow, showing way more than cleavage.
She noticed at the same time he did and jerked the top back in place, turning red all the way up to her hairline. She took a deep breath. “So you don’t own these horses?”
“No. I thought you did.”
She tilted her head slightly and stared at him. “Then…why did you come?”
“To say goodbye to a horse. You?”
She dug her booted toe into the loose dirt and looked down. When she lifted her head again, her eyes glistened. “To save a horse. To save Cowboy.”
CHAPTER TWO
Jody wiped her face with the back of her hand and wished the stranger would quit staring at her as if she were crazy. She could understand why he thought that, but she wished he’d just quit. She felt the symptoms she dealt with daily that so few noticed or understood. The palms of her hands were sweaty and itched. Her stomach churned. Her stepfather Eric always scoffed at her discomfort around people; it was one of the many reasons she’d never been able to love him. In the final years before her death, her mother, too, had become less sympathetic, demanding she “go out in the real world.” Both were trying to reassure her, but being told that her fear of being around people was nonsense hadn’t helped. And this stranger—she’d attacked him. Then she’d shown him a boob for good measure.
Out of habit, she didn’t want to look directly at him, but she couldn’t bear to look back at the horses any longer. Besides, for some reason, he looked vaguely familiar, so she refocused on him, trying to remember.
“Which horse did you come to see? Was he yours?” she prodded, and he shook his head.
“I’d never do this to a horse.” He shifted his weight as if something hurt, then shrugged. “I guess I came to see the same horse you did, though I’m not sure how you know him.” He held out his hand. “I’m—”
“Joe Roberts. The bareback rider.”
He looked surprised that she recognized him. He’d won the bareback bronc title the year he’d ridden Cowboy. The year he’d been trampled. She didn’t know how to tell him that she only knew him because she’d watched the tape over and over, trying to figure out what had happened to the horse she loved—why Cowboy had turned and headed right for Joe when he’d missed his pickup and fallen.
“Don’t most people?” she countered.
He shook his head and smiled wryly. “No. Not most. Maybe a few diehard fans and a few of my compadres, but not most.”
She looked back toward the corral. Cowboy had maneuvered into the space along the fence closest to them. She started to turn away from the bronc rider and go back, but he shook his head.
“The place is posted,” he noted. “I’m not sure we’re ready to face the lowlife who owns these poor brutes.”
“You’re just going to leave? Leave them without food or water?”
“They must be fed or watered at some point. They wouldn’t make it—”
He stopped, but she knew what he’d been going to say. “To slaughter.” Her stomach twisted. She gulped in air and willed herself not to turn and walk away. “We have to do something.”
He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. “Ma’am—”
She forced her name out through dry lips. “Jody.”
“Jody, someone bought these horses. He bought them to ship off to Mexico for a quick buck. It’s hideous, but it’s legal. I told you. I read an article saying Cowboy was here. He was a good, honest bronc and he gave me the points that put me over the top. If I’d known someone was doing this to him sooner…but it’s too late. And I’m no hero.”
The sun burned down, sapping movement and hope. The horses had gone still in the corrals behind her. Usually she would have walked away from a stranger by now instead of pleading for a favor. For a miracle. She couldn’t move her feet, so she stood her ground.
“I need a hero, though,” she managed, struggling with the words, then shaking her head once emphatically. “Not me. They do.”
She held her breath as she watched him glance back at the corrals.
“He crippled you. Took you out of rodeo, when you were at the top. But you’re here, Mr. Roberts.”
“Just Joe. I said goodbye. I was leaving when I saw you. You can’t stay here. And you can’t save—what, sixty or more beat-up, tossed-away horses.”
She brushed aside the logic and returned to what she wanted to know. “Why would you waste the time and energy to come look at a horse and walk off? You’re not glad that he’s here? You might be bitter toward him.”
He plucked his hat off and fanned his face briefly, then held it out toward her. “You should have something on your head.” She shook her head and he shrugged. “As for Cowboy, I was doing my job. He was doing his. No reason to blame the horse.”
“Everyone said he went after you.” She had watched the event over and over, and couldn’t make up her mind. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe that the horse she’d raised and planned on keeping forever could have turned vicious. Lord knew her folks had predicted catastrophe when the colt’s high spirits were deemed dangerous. She shifted uncomfortably when he didn’t answer and massaged her hip with one of her itchy palms.
“I’ve looked at the films,” he said eventually. “I had a lot of time to dwell on mistakes. I rode him, but he turned unexpectedly, and the pickup horse bumped him just as I made the buzzer. I think that spooked him, and as for the rest—I doubt he even knew what was happening.”
Relief washed through her. She knew in her heart that Cowboy wasn’t a vicious animal. Before they sold him and lied about him dying, her stepfather and the hands at the ranch had bullied the colt, hadn’t had patience with him, and he’d picked up bad habits. But deliberately going after a fallen rider wasn’t one of them.
The sound of approaching cars startled them; she saw him flinch and glance at his truck before he turned to watch the approaching sheriff’s department cruiser and a dark luxury car sti
rring up the dry dirt as they parked near the first pen.
Her legs wobbled and she drew several deep breaths. She’d been thinking she needed to go to the police, she reminded herself. Well, here they were. It wasn’t like she couldn’t deal with strangers, after all. Just that she always felt on the verge of throwing up whenever she had to talk to people she didn’t know. Or like.
The sheriff was out first and stood by his car, glancing around through mirrored sunglasses. She had no idea what his expression was under those shades and the tilted brim of his hat.
“Hey, there, y’all,” he drawled.
“Hey, Sheriff.” Joe nodded and touched the brim of his own hat, then crossed over to stand beside her. Her attention was divided momentarily between Joe and the sheriff, so she didn’t see the second man until he was only feet away.
“Well. Looks like we got ‘em trespassing, Jim,” he said, leering at them.
The sheriff nodded and moved away from his car, stopping a short distance away, shoulder to shoulder with the other man. Beside her, she sensed Joe’s sudden unease and fought a wave of nausea as the newcomer’s sickeningly sweet cologne reached them.
“You two here together?” the sheriff asked.
“No,” she said, just as Joe answered “Yes.”
“Seems like one of you just lied,” the sheriff noted, glancing up at his companion, who nodded and fished a handkerchief out to wipe sweat off his face. “So, You want me to run ‘em in, Mr. Benton?”
“One of you want to give me a straight answer? You, sexy lady?” He turned his head as he added in the sheriff’s direction, “Think this is what they mean by a dirty girl? I’ve heard they’re good fun.”
Jody felt the color rage through her, but focused on getting words out. “We met up here. We’d decided we’d go into the sheriff’s office together. We were going to ask who the owner of these horses is.”
“Well, honey, that’d be me. What did you need with me?” The tall, heavyset man crossed his arms across his chest and tilted his head. She suppressed a shudder. Something about his demeanor was just…off. Dangerous, maybe, in a sick way.
“We just wanted to let you know that the horses were out of water,” Joe said easily, catching her hand and squeezing it as if they were really friends. Or lovers. “We saw the article in the paper and thought we recognized one of the horses, that’s all. But since we found you, Mr. Benton, I’m sure you’ll take care of it. And we do need to clean up.” He smiled down at her. “Don’t think your folks would want us to take them to dinner like this.”
The two men looked suspicious, but after a minute Benton shrugged and slapped the sheriff’s shoulder. “Well, they killed two birds with one stone, Jim. Spoke to you and me.” He moved away from the sheriff and his face hardened. “Just so you know, I usually have armed guards with dogs,” he warned. “The sensors and cameras got you, but you came by at a good time—for you. I won’t have any more of those damn bleeding-heart protesters around.” Then he nodded curtly. “You two go on. The sheriff and me will check the horses over and be sure they get watered.”
“Perfect,” Joe gave Jody another false smile. “Want me to follow you back in case the truck stalls on you again?”
Man, he’s good at lying, Jody thought. She didn’t say anything though, just nodded and headed for her truck. She climbed in and drove back toward the county road that would take them away from this nightmare, but the irony didn’t escape her. She’d come to save Cowboy, but a cowboy might just have saved her.
CHAPTER THREE
Joe sat straighter than usual as he followed the beat-up old truck in front of him. He had no clue where she was going, and now that he’d gotten her away from what he suspected could have been an ugly time for her, he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t start thinking about the horses—her horse—and turn right back around.
Crazy girl.
He regretted the thought instantly. She hadn’t struck him as unbalanced. Just vulnerable. And maybe a little desperate. Then again, why was he cataloguing anyone, let alone a woman he’d just met? Twelve years with Lorraine hadn’t taught him a damn thing. He thought he’d known his ex-wife from her ivory skin and raven hair to that black, black soul hidden under the surface beauty.
He snorted. Maybe before he decided what kind of woman he was chasing he should figure out her hair color. He hadn’t been able to tell if it had been blondish or brownish.
She braked and turned into a driveway without signaling and he managed to avoid hitting her, but not by much. She didn’t look back, just dashed the short distance to the tiny house and disappeared.
“Some manners,” he muttered, but followed anyway. The entrance to the house was almost hidden behind bougainvillea that climbed halfway to the overhanging tin porch roof. Fenced in on all sides by towering vegetation, the fading white paint and dark green trim gave the small building the air of a lost cottage more than of someone’s home.
The door let him into a miniscule living room, furnished sparsely with mismatched items—a small daybed piled with pillows, a worn recliner, a book case. No couch, but there was a small table with a flat screen TV. And on the wall, across from the limited seating area, above the TV, were pictures. Two were of the same woman, and a young girl with light brown hair caught at different ages in each, and two different men, each standing next to the woman and looking unsmilingly at the camera. The middle picture was larger than either of the family photos—a picture of Jody, her face alight with joy, sitting on a black horse. He blinked, but knew he wasn’t wrong—Jody had ridden Midnight Cowboy.
“He was mine,” she said softly behind him. “But I couldn’t save him.”
He glanced back at her. The tears on her cheeks didn’t surprise him, but they hurt him for her. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen. Cowboy had just turned three.” She stopped, looked down at her bare feet, then brought her head up enough to almost look at him. She’d brushed the dirt out of her hair and washed her face. She didn’t look much older than the kid in the picture. Except for the despair in the green eyes that had sparkled with happiness then.
He couldn’t think of the right thing to say.
She didn’t say anything for a long time either, just stared at him with those lost-soul eyes. “Oh,” she said eventually and turned beet red. “If you need to use the bathroom.” She waved at the only door he saw. “It’s through the bedroom.”
“Thanks.” He accepted the invitation eagerly. He really wasn’t desperate, but he needed space. She acted as if he made her uncomfortable. As if she’d never told anyone they could use her john.
The crystal and silver vanity items and an intricate wisp of lacy bra hanging on a doorknob probably meant that she lived alone. There couldn’t be another bedroom in this shoebox of a house. And he’d seen a stove and refrigerator beyond a bar that separated the living area from the kitchen.
Leaving the bathroom, he took a minute to look around the bedroom. The space seemed to be clearly divided into sleeping area—a tiny portion nearest the bathroom—and an efficient office area with a sleek desk, impressive-looking computer setup, and all kinds of gadgets. Sticky notes were all over the wall around the electronic equipment and photos duplicated the ones in the living room, scaled down to fit in scant space. Here, though, there were a few other photos, as well. Jody with her arms around a black foal, Jody’s mother holding a mare while Cowboy nursed, and one that brought back the encounter at the slaughter pens. The camera had caught young Jody about to topple over the top fence rail—with a little nudge from Cowboy. The colt, maybe a two-year old then, clearly once had a sense of humor.
Smiling a little, he went back out to find Jody.
“The chairs in here are more comfortable,” she said, turning from the refrigerator with a pitcher in one hand and a water bottle in the other.
She set them on the table. “Sweet tea. But I don’t know how long ago I made it. If you’d prefer that—”
“Water’s fine.” He reached
for the bottle and pulled it closer. “I’ll have to leave in a bit anyway.”
“Leave?” Jody set down the frying pan she’d pulled out of a cabinet. “But we haven’t decided what to do.” She pulled margarine and eggs out of the refrigerator and placed them on the counter. “I can feed you while we talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said gently. “I told you, all I went to do was say goodbye to Cowboy. Meeting you was an accident.”
That sounded harsh. “I didn’t expect to find anyone there,” he elaborated. “And you have to have seen that the sheriff and Benton are buddies. Jody—”
“Do you know how they kill horses?” Her words were wrenched out and tears streamed down her face. “Do you know that sometimes they start butchering them before they’re even dead?”
He drained the bottle and slammed it down, then stood. “I know all that, damn it. But what am I supposed to do? Get out a shotgun and block his drive? Ask him to pretty please not be a sick bastard? I told you, Jody, I’m no hero. I can’t help the horses. Or you.”
He watched her wipe the tears away with the back of her hand and give him a small, tight nod. “Thank you for earlier. For lying for me. For going to see Cowboy one last time.”
She stood there, waiting for him to leave. But he couldn’t.
CHAPTER FOUR
He got up to go, but stopped. Jody wished she could sink into the floor. He’d shown he was the protective type earlier, when he’d lied to two strangers about why they were there and who they were. In fact, he’d positioned himself right next to her. He’d been so close that his arm had brushed her and she’d felt his heat in spite of her own overheated skin. And now she’d hit him with tears, though she hadn’t meant to. He’d stopped because she was crying. She felt the well-known burning sensation that told her she was blushing.
Damn! Sometimes she hated her inability to be expressionless, to keep emotions from overwhelming her. “It’s been a long day and you have somewhere else to be. Don’t let me make you late.”
Cowboy Strong (Cowboy Up Book 5) Page 9