A Cowboy To Keep: A Contemporary Western Romance Collection

by Hebby Roman

  She giggled. His lips tickled her tender flesh, and she wished she had an apple slice or carrot. Lacking that, she reached up and patted his muscular neck.

  She glanced at Pedro and asked, “Good ride? He’s a lot of horse.”

  The teenaged boy who worked for them after school, grinned. “Yep, a lot of horse, Miss.” The body patted the horse’s neck, too. “He loves to run.”

  She smiled. “Better get him back to the stables and rub him down. But don’t water him until he’s cooled.”

  Pedro tipped his baseball cap and urged Stormy into a trot down the dirt track. Then he pulled the horse up and glanced down. Shaking his head, he dismounted and lifted Stormy’s right back hoof.

  The boy looked up and lowered the gelding’s leg. “He’s thrown a shoe.” He scanned the hard-packed earth. “Here it is.” He grabbed the horseshoe and returned to them.

  With a bow, he offered the shoe to her. “For good luck, Miss.”

  Leticia took the dusty, semi-circular piece of iron. “Gracias, Pedro.”

  She hefted the object in her hand. Living on a horse ranch, horseshoes were a dime-a-dozen. She couldn’t see how this one was any different or would bring her good luck. But maybe it was a sign—a sign of what—she didn’t know? That she should race the horse or not?

  She turned to Chuy. “Be sure to call the farrier to come out tomorrow and replace his shoe. And please put additional straw in his stall, Pedro.”

  “Yes, Miss, I will take good care of him.” He stroked the gelding’s blaze and then turned him around, walking him back to the barn.

  She stuffed the horseshoe in her purse and fisted her hands, planting them on her hips. “Okay, Chuy, tell me what you expect me to do? Start racing horses?”

  Chuy crumpled the edges of his hat. “I don’t know, Señora, what I thought. For a two-year-old gelding, he was a bargain at ten thousand dollars with his breeding and speed. The top racing Quarter horse, a mare, fetched fifty thousand dollars at the Fort Worth Stock Show last month.”

  “Did she?”

  “Yes, Señora, I read about it.”

  “So, you want to work on his condition and then resale him for a profit?”

  He bowed his head. “If that’s what you want.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

  “I think we should race him. It would be very exciting, Señora.”

  “I thought breeding and taking care of Midnight Princess and Frosty Prince were enough excitement. Princess will foal soon.”

  “Sí, we all await the Princess’ foal, but it will be some time before we can start training the young one.”

  “But there are plenty of other horses to keep you and Señor Ramos busy.”

  “Of course, you are right, Señora, whatever you say.” He put his hat back on. “I’ll head back to the barn.”

  She dropped her arms and un-fisted her hands. She glanced at Ramos, surprised he hadn’t returned to the barn with Chuy.

  Instead, he took her arm again. “Let me help you back.”

  She wanted to pull free and tell him that she could navigate the rough track on her own, but she didn’t. Being taken care of by a man was a nice change.

  He escorted her to her SUV and asked, “Should I get your luggage out?”

  “Yes, please.” She fumbled in her purse for the smart key and hit the hatch button. The back hatch raised.

  Ramos pulled her bags out and came to stand beside her. “As Chuy agreed, we will do as you say. But I wish you would reconsider.” He set her bags down and touched her arm. “Would you come to dinner with me tomorrow night? I would be honored to take you out. We could talk about Stormy Knight and…” His voice trailed off but his soft, brown eyes held a note of appeal.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d asked her on a date. He’d been at the ranch for a little over eight months, and his attraction for her was obvious. Like Chuy, he was a widower.

  But unlike Chuy, who’d known her husband and was all business, Ramos went out of his way to touch her or join her on the porch after supper and talk for hours.

  Sometimes, she thought she was attracted to him. Her gaze rested on his broad shoulders, and then lowered to the corded strength of his forearms. He exuded masculinity and reminded her of Eduardo so often her heart felt sore and bruised, wanting … wanting … what she didn’t have any more.

  But she was his employer—he was her horse trainer.

  Not that she was a snob, far from it. But if they started a relationship, what would happen when … or if … things didn’t work out? She didn’t know if she was ready to face such a sticky situation or lose the best charro trainer she’d seen since her late husband.

  Stitching a smile on her face, she said, “Why don’t you come to supper tomorrow night and we’ll talk. But anything we decide, Chuy will need to agree to, as well. After all, it was his friend who alerted him to the horse.”

  He met her gaze, and she thought she detected the tiniest flicker of frustration in his eyes. “I would be more than honored to have supper with you, Señora. Do you want me to invite Chuy?”

  She hesitated, tempted. Her foreman’s presence would make things easier. But that would be like a slap to Ramos’ face, after he’d invited her to dinner. They’d spent time alone before, talking, and she didn’t mind being around him.

  She had to make up her mind about what she wanted … or didn’t want.

  “No, we’ll talk to him afterwards. Please, come around six-thirty. I’ll ask Maria to make something special.”

  * * *

  Franco patted Stormy Knight’s neck and whispered, “Don’t worry, fast one, we will convince la señora you need to run.”

  His cell phone jangled, and he reached into his hip pocket and pulled it out. The caller ID told him the call was from his eldest son, Franco Junior. Or Pancho as his family had nick-named him.

  “¿Pancho, cómo estás?”

  “I’m well, Papá. And you?”

  “I’m fine, mi hijo. Why are you calling? There’s not something wrong. Is there?”

  His son was also a horse trainer at Rancho El Nagolito near Guadalajara. Long distance cell calls from México had gotten cheaper, but his son didn’t make much money and he was saving every peso to get married.

  “Papá,” his son’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Can you talk?”

  A tendril of apprehension tugged at Franco, and he glanced around. Pedro had gone home, and Chuy had returned to his cabin. The barn was empty, but he moved to the tack room and shut the door. The room was stuffy and smelled strongly of leather.

  “Pancho, you are frightening your old man. What is it? Is Juana all right?” Juana was Pancho’s childhood sweetheart who his son planned on marrying.

  “Sí, but…” he hesitated. “I met another woman, Jesenia. She’s a cousin of the wife of my employer, Señor Iglesias. She is very beautiful and seemed so kind—”

  “Pancho, what are you saying? You’ve thrown over Juana for another woman? But you’ve loved each other—”

  “No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. I still love Juana, but this Jesenia, she noticed me one day and sent me to Guadalajara to fetch her purchases from a department store and gave me a very big tip.”

  “And?”

  “There were more trips to town, and more tips and—”

  “But you know this Jesenia is not for you. If she has money and is a cousin of the wife of Señor Iglesias, it will come to nothing. Those kinds of people do not indulge us campesinos for long.”

  “Papá, I know, but the money was good. And I needed it. Soon, I would have saved enough for Juana and I to be married this summer.”

  “Then if this is just about money and nothing personal passed between you two, what is the problem?”

  His son hesitated, making Franco’s heart stutter with dread. “The last few errands she had me run weren’t to department stores to pick up clothes or pharmacies to obtain her prescriptions.”

  “Pancho, I�
�m losing my patience.” He couldn’t keep the edge of irritation from his voice.

  His son exhaled. “I found out too late from one of the other men that Jesenia is the sister of Paloma Márquez.”

  “¿Quién? Who are you talking about?”

  “I forgot you don’t watch telenovelas. Paloma Márquez is a big television star, and she’s the third wife of El Lobo.”

  At the name of El Lobo, a splinter of shock slammed into Franco. His stomach scrunched, and he started to perspire, even though, the early spring evening was mild.

  “Not El Lobo, the drug—”

  “Sí, Papá, that’s the one. Por favor, don’t say anymore.”

  He puffed out his breath, hissing, “Did I not tell you before I left home to never get involved with the cartel. To stay at the ranch and Ciudad Granja, where Juana lives?”

  “Sí, but I didn’t know the connection until—”

  “You should have known the money was too easy.” He wanted to scream, but even this far from El Lobo’s territory, caution made him keep his voice low. “Money in México never comes easily.”

  “I know, but now they want me to deliver drugs. And Jesenia says I’ve already delivered for her. I just didn’t realize it. Now they won’t leave me alone.”

  Franco sank onto a work bench and cradled his head in hands. “Oh, mi hijo, what have you done? And why did you call me? What do you want me to do?”

  “Get me out of here, before it’s too late. Can your Señora Villarreal use another horse trainer? Will she get me a work visa, like she did for you?”

  He stood and thought for a moment. “She is always looking for good men to handle the horses, but now, I believe it’s harder to get a work visa for anyone from México.”

  “Could you ask her? I don’t need much pay.”

  “You will need to leave Juana, maybe for a year or more.”

  “I know. It’s not going to be easy, but I can’t stay here. Juana understands, and I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “You don’t think El Lobo will track you to the border?”

  “I don’t think I’m in deep enough for his men to follow me.”

  “Bueno. But I can’t help you with money. All my extra pay goes to Juan Pablo so he can finish engineering school.”

  “I understand, Papá. But will you ask your employer for me?”

  “I will see what I can do. But stay close to the ranch. I will call after I speak with Señora Villarreal tomorrow night.”

  * * *

  “Would you like another helping of the carne guisada or maybe some more rice and beans?” Leticia asked Ramos.

  Ramos blotted his mouth with the stiff linen napkin. “No, gracias, Señora. I’ve had more than enough to eat, and you must give Maria my compliments.”

  “Would you care for dessert? I can see what Maria has. I usually don’t eat sweets, but I’m sure we can find something.”

  The swinging door to the kitchen opened. Maria pushed through with a tray in her arms and began gathering the plates and silverware.

  “Ah, there you are, Maria. Señor Ramos has praised your cooking.”

  Maria cast a baleful glare at Ramos and said, “Gracias.”

  He inclined his head.

  For some reason, Maria didn’t approve of her new horse trainer. Leticia wondered why, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

  “Do we have anything for dessert?” Leticia asked.

  “I hadn’t planned, Señora, as you don’t usually have dessert.” Maria piled their plates on top of the serving dishes.

  “I know, but I wanted to offer our guest something.”

  Maria pursed her lips. “There is some left-over angel food cake and vanilla ice cream in the freezer.”

  “Thank you, Maria.” She turned to Ramos. “Would you care for some cake and ice cream?”

  “No, but I would like a cup of coffee. If it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “Of course, not.” Leticia glanced at Maria. “Could you bring us both coffees.”

  Maria bobbed her head and disappeared through the swinging door.

  A few minutes later when they were settled with their coffees, Ramos cleared his throat. “I need to ask you something, Señora.”

  She nodded. She’d been expecting him to ask during dinner about racing Stormy Knight, but so far, he’d talked about the other horses in his care.

  “Before you ask, Señor Ramos, I can tell you I’ve done some research about Quarter horse racing. Just online, of course. Though, I plan to ask around Eagle Pass to see if any of my neighbors have trained Quarter horses to race.”

  She took a sip of her coffee. “The association fees are quite reasonable but the entry fees, depending upon the class Stormy races in, can be expensive. And the races are held all over the Southwest and California at different times of the year.” She shook her head. “Based on what I’ve read, it makes no sense to race one horse, as I would have to send at least one man, full-time, with Stormy to the different tracks.”

  “I hadn’t thought of how the races would be held, and the coordination necessary.”

  “Precisely, so unless I’m going to get into Quarter horse racing in a big way, I think the easiest plan would be to train Stormy and maybe enter him in some trial races. Then if he wins, we could put him to be claimed in a race.”

  “What is this claiming?” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’m not familiar with what that would be.”

  “It’s where horse owners or trainers watch your horse race against other horses. They can bid on any of the horses, but there is a minimum bid set for all the horses in the race. If their bid is the only one or the highest, they claim your horse after the race and pay the bid price.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I’ve been to the horse races a few times, just for fun, but it was Thoroughbred racing. Not Quarter horses.” She sipped her coffee and peered over the rim at him. “Don’t you think before we try to train Stormy, we should see the races?”

  “Yes, I think that would be wise.”

  “Good. There is a meet in Houston weekend after next. Would you like to go with me?”

  He reached over and took her hand, brushing his mouth across her knuckles. “It would be my pleasure, Señora.” He smiled and his brown eyes gleamed.

  She pulled her hand free, realizing she’d given him the wrong impression. Here in the States, a male employee wouldn’t think twice about going on a business trip with his female employer. But obviously, to Señor Ramos’s sensibilities, it was as if she was inviting him for an illicit rendezvous.

  She glanced down and picked up her spoon, stirring her coffee again. “I’m going to ask my daughter and her fiancé to join us. College Station isn’t far from Houston, and Rusty, her fiancé, is part owner of the ranch.” She lifted her gaze and stared at him until he lowered his eyes. “I think it will be fun, and Rusty needs to know what we’re considering. In the meantime, I want you and Chuy to work Stormy on the vega.”

  She drained her coffee cup. “I learned that the four hundred and forty yards you and Chuy marked off is considered a long sprint for a Quarter horse. Some Quarter horses do better at shorter sprints of three hundred to four hundred yards. And I believe the trial runs for two-year-olds are only two hundred and twenty yards.” She waved her hand. “Chuy is experienced on the computer. Have him research it at the American Quarter Horse Association site.”

  “I will do my best, Señora.”

  “Good, because we should try Stormy at different distances.”

  “Sí, I will get with Chuy and work with Stormy Knight, as you request.” He paused and cleared his throat again. “But there was something else I wished to speak with you about.”

  Oh, no, she thought. He’s not going to get personal again, is he? As nice as he was, and as much as he reminded her of Eduardo, she wasn’t sure if they were a good match—being his employer made their circumstances complicated. She sighed and inclined her head, letting him know she was listening. Better
to get it over with.

  “Please, Señor Ramos, what do you want to ask?”

  “You often mention how difficult it is to obtain horse trainers. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, it is hard to find employees who are experienced with horses. That’s why I brought you here.”

  “I remembered you had mentioned your difficulty. I had a phone call from my eldest son, Franco Junior. He was wondering if you would like to employ him, too.”

  “But I thought he had a job at a ranch near Guadalajara.”

  “That is correct, but I trained my son. He’s excellent with the horses.”

  No false modesty there.

  But she was surprised his son wanted to come to the States, as she thought Ramos had mentioned something about his eldest boy being engaged to marry.

  “I thought you could use the extra help, especially if you’re considering a Quarter horse racing stable,” Ramos said.

  “I might only have you train Stormy, though.” She folded her hands. “I’m not sure of anything yet.”

  Perspiration coated his brow and upper lip, she noticed, despite the cool night breeze, blowing through the long, open windows in the dining room. For some reason, having his son join him, must mean a lot.

  Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, she could always use a good horseman on the ranch. And maybe her new foreman was getting homesick and wanted his son around. She’d wondered, when she’d hired him, with all of his family in México, how long he would be contented to work in Texas.

  Maybe it was the reason he kept trying to start a relationship with her—the poor man was lonely.

  Feeling a twinge of remorse for having spurned his attempts at romance, she reached out and patted his hand. “I’ll think about employing your son. I’m constantly on the lookout for accomplished horse handlers. And I’ll inquire as to how difficult it would be to get a work visa under the new administration. Will that help?”

  “That is very kind of you, Señora. I appreciate it.” He smiled a stiff smile, wiped his mouth again, and blotted his forehead.

  She nodded but her shoulders slumped. More paperwork. Getting work visas for Mexican nationals wasn’t easy. And she could see from his expression how much he wanted her to bring his son to the States.