How to Handle a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  “Wild?” Jeffrey asked.

  Ridge nodded. Jeffrey’s gaze was fixed on the horse. Ridge doubted he saw anything else—the house, the barn, the beautiful late autumn day. All the boy could see was the way the sun caught the buckskin’s yellow coat and turned it to gold as the horse trotted up and down the fence, up and down. The horse did that all day, no doubt missing his freedom.

  Ridge sympathized. He knew what it was like to be fenced in when you were used to traveling with a herd.

  “Yeah, he’s wild,” he told Jeffrey. “He needs to learn to be a ranch horse, but he’s got a long way to go.”

  Chapter 16

  Sierra had been as horrified as anyone when Sluefoot appeared, but even though she’d laughed at Ridge’s summation of the animal’s health, she couldn’t help being touched by the obvious affection between the man and his old horse. As they talked, Sluefoot shoved his long, homely face against Ridge’s chest. The cowboy staggered slightly under the weight of the animal’s affection, but he smiled tenderly while he scratched the old horse’s neck. Between that and Jeffrey finally talking, she had a lump in her throat that ached so hard it made her eyes water.

  Oblivious to his own charm, the cowboy was herding the kids toward the house with the help of Dum and Dee.

  “We’ve got boots in every size up here,” he said. “Try on a few and see if you can find something that fits.”

  When Sierra stepped into the house, she felt like she was stepping back in time to the Old West. The wooden floors, scarred by many bootheels, had mellowed to a rich honey color. The hallway was papered in a yellowed but surprisingly feminine ribbons-and-flowers design, in total contrast to the rough canvas jackets, leather horse tack, and cowboy hats hanging on the hooks by the door. Below was a row of boots, ranging in size from he-man to toddler. As the boys fell on the footwear like women at a shoe sale, Sierra’s stomach clenched.

  “You have kids?”

  Of course he did. He was probably married. Why hadn’t that possibility occurred to her before? Why had she assumed he was single? Sure, he’d acted single in the closet. But her mother would have assured her that lots of married men acted like that.

  “No. Irene and Bill used to teach riding lessons,” he said. “They always picked up boots at thrift stores, so the kids’ parents wouldn’t have to spend the money.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t help heaving a sigh of relief. It would have been awkward, that was all, what with all the accidental caressing and calf fondling in the closet the other day…

  She shut down that train of thought. This was all about the boys.

  Besides, the last thing she wanted was a relationship. The state had sent these boys out here to the boondocks partly so they wouldn’t run away, but the truth was, she sometimes felt like she was the one who’d run away from home. Out here in the country, she didn’t have to worry about anything but her work—and maybe her growing affection for Ridge. Sure, she was responsible for the boys, but there were other things—things that drained her—that she’d managed to leave far behind.

  A quick stab of guilt pierced her chest. She’d just shrugged it off when her cell phone rang. She glanced down at the screen.

  Speaking of things that drained her…

  ***

  Ridge just about jumped out of his skin when the pounding beat of a Led Zeppelin song suddenly filled the hallway. “Sorry. Gotta get this.” Sierra snatched up her phone and clicked it on.

  “Hello?” Her eyes widened. “Riley! Oh my gosh! Where are you?”

  She spun away from him, hunching her shoulders as if to protect the phone. Despite her lowered voice, he caught a few urgent words. It sounded like she was worried about the person she was talking to.

  She walked out, still hunched over the phone, and the screen door slammed behind her. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his toes, trying not to feel dismissed. He watched the boys fight over a pair of flashy black Noconas and make fun of a pair of pink girls’ Justins that unfortunately turned out to be the only pair that fit Jeffrey.

  Once every kid was matched to a pair of boots, he opened the screen door and gave Sierra a questioning look. She was leaning against the house, her shoulders still rounded, her posture tense.

  “I can’t talk right now, hon,” she said to the caller. “I have to go, okay?”

  Whoever was on the other end of the line apparently was not okay. Sierra straightened and cast him an apologetic look as a faint voice squawked from the phone.

  “Of course I’m glad you’re back! I’m just busy right now,” she said. “But I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.” Abruptly, she clicked the phone off and shoved it back in her pocket.

  Riley must not be a kid. Judging from how Sierra dealt with the boys, he doubted she’d hang up on a child.

  “Trouble?” he asked.

  She shook her head, but judging from her expression all was not running smoothly in Sierra land.

  “Who’s Riley?” It wasn’t any of his business, but she seemed really upset.

  “A—a friend.” She knelt to check the boys’ boots, pressing toes to make sure they fit then shooing them out to the porch. “I’m fine,” she told Ridge. “And I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  He shrugged. “Gotta do what you gotta do.”

  “I guess.” She sighed. “It’s my day for phone calls.”

  Normally he would have grunted and changed the subject, but for some reason, he hated to see Sierra so down. That laughter, that smile—he wanted them back. “What do you mean? Something wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Most people would say everything was right.” She stood and leaned against the wall. “I got a job offer yesterday. A job I applied for months ago opened up again. I guess the person they chose didn’t work out, so now it’s mine.”

  As she said the last words, she looked straight into his eyes. He could swear he felt the floor shift under his feet. What was that all about? It wouldn’t make any difference to him if Sierra went away. He hadn’t even expected to see her again. It was all Shane’s fault that she’d turned up at the ranch, messing up his mind with her tousled hair and pretty eyes.

  Resting one hand on the wall for balance, he returned her gaze. Half a dozen emotions flickered through her green eyes in the space of a few seconds.

  “Are you going to take it?” he asked.

  She smiled, staring down at the floor. “Of course I am. It’s a state job, in Colorado. I’d be setting policy for every foster child in the state, instead of taking care of just five. I’d be a fool not to take it.”

  “But…”

  “But I don’t want to.” She looked up and he saw a single teardrop balanced on her lashes. “I love these kids, you know?”

  “Then stay.”

  He couldn’t believe he’d said that. He should be glad she was leaving. He didn’t want her to stay. Adjusting to his new life was hard enough without her and her little band of brothers turning up every time he turned around.

  “It’s not that simple,” she said. “There’s money, for one thing. I can barely afford to live here. And my career—this would be a huge leap.”

  “But would you be happy?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, but then a wide smile spread across her face. She nudged him in the ribs with one very pointy elbow. “Since when are you Dr. Phil, anyway?”

  “Since never,” he said. “Don’t take my advice. You see where it got me.”

  He held up his hand for evidence, but they’d just stepped out the front door, and she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she was looking at the landscape surrounding the house—the long stretch of yellow prairie, the blue bowl of the sky overhead, and the sharp angles of the red barn standing in bold, sunny relief against the distant mountains.

  “Seems to me you did all right,” she said.

  He stood with her for a minute, taking it all in, seeing it through her eyes. He needed to do that more often—take the time to apprecia
te what he had.

  “Hey! Let’s get this show on the road!”

  Isaiah wasn’t about to let anyone waste time in contemplation.

  “You guys ready to ride?” Ridge asked.

  “Yeah!”

  Maybe the boots made the boys feel more at ease. They raced out to the corral ahead of Ridge and Sierra, and as the morning wore on, they started to relax. Most of them did well with the horses, though it was clear some of them were frightened—especially Isaiah. Ridge pretended not to notice and did what he could to make their experiences positive.

  The last rider was Jeffrey—the boy who wanted to ride Moonpie. Like the others, he sat stiffly in the saddle, gripping the reins too tightly, holding them too high.

  Usually, it was fear of the horse that made the boys tense. But Ridge sensed something different in Jeffrey. He’d flinched when Ridge boosted him up and again when he touched him to adjust his position. Once Ridge stepped away, the boy’s hands lowered and the furrows in his brow smoothed out.

  After a walk around the corral, Ridge unclipped the lead rope and stepped into the center of the ring, letting the boy ride on his own. It took Jeffrey a while to notice, but when he did, he grabbed the saddle horn and turned to stare at Ridge, eyes wide.

  “I didn’t get to do that,” Isaiah complained.

  “You talk a lot.” Ridge was careful to state it as a fact, without judgment. “Horses like quiet people.”

  “Well, they oughta love old Jeffrey, then. He never says a word.”

  “Then he’ll probably be good at this.” Ridge turned to Jeffrey, who had paused to stroke the horse’s neck. “You can do that after, Jeff. Right now it’s heels down, toes out, eyes ahead. Now tell him to walk.”

  The boy sat up and made the kissing sound Ridge had taught them. Faithful old Dusty eased back into the weary walk of the lifelong lesson horse.

  “Speed him up,” Ridge said. “A little nudge with your heels.”

  Dusty’s acceleration into a gentle jog threw Jeffrey backward in the saddle, and he clutched the horn for a moment before he caught himself and straightened up. Once he caught on to the rhythm, he rode with a dignity that reminded Ridge of pictures he’d seen of Indian riders in the old days. The breeze from the horse’s brisk gait swept back the tail of the boy’s shirt, and as he lifted his face to the wind, a slow smile spread across his face.

  At the fence rail, Sierra put a hand to her chest and closed her eyes as if struck with a sudden pain.

  Ridge crossed the soft dirt to stand beside her. “You okay?”

  She struck her chest with her fist and opened eyes wet with tears. “He never smiles,” she said. “Never. You’ve given him something—something so good.” She turned to him with a trembling, heartfelt smile of her own. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Ridge grunted and took a step away so she wouldn’t hug him or anything. Shelley would say he was being emotionally unavailable.

  Shelley was probably right.

  He watched Jeffrey, only Jeffrey, but he could feel Sierra staring at him. Staring through him.

  “You understand, don’t you?” she said. “You get these kids.”

  Just then, Jeffrey rose in the stirrups, making the horse swing into a smooth, steady lope. The boy leaned into the breeze created by the horse’s movement, his face a study in rapture.

  Ridge got him all right. He knew exactly what the boy was feeling—freedom and a sense of power, the feeling of being in control of some larger force as you were carried into the future. These kids had been moved from one home to another, their lives in constant flux. The feeling of control was a rare and precious thing.

  Sierra stepped away to settle some dispute between the other boys, and Ridge walked back to the center of the ring. As Jeffrey circled him, running clockwise in the sunlight, dust rose around them and time seemed to spin backward. Ridge turned, keeping the boy in view, then staggered a second, dizzied. When he caught his footing, something shifted and suddenly he was Bill, all those years ago, and the boy on the horse…

  The boy on the horse was him.

  As Jeffrey rocked with the motion of the running horse, Ridge could feel the bond forming, boy to horse to man. Generations of men taught generations of boys how to form the unspoken connection between horses and humans in this spinning, timeless circle. It was secret knowledge, shared in dusty riding rings like this one all over the West. Not everyone could learn it, but those who did held the key to true partnership with another species. That was where cowboys came from—real cowboys.

  Through the dust, he saw Sierra approaching the fence and had to shake his head to wake back into the everyday world—back to the dull ache in his arm, the doubts and fears that had plagued him since his accident.

  But when he flexed his fingers, they weren’t as stiff as before. The pain was somehow lessened—or at least different. It didn’t feel like the end of the world anymore.

  “The natives are getting restless,” Sierra said. “And thirsty.”

  “There’s lemonade.” Ridge thought about telling her he’d stay out here with Jeffrey, but that wouldn’t be fair to the others.

  “Know how to stop?” he asked the boy.

  “Whoa!” Jeffrey pulled the reins back and the horse walked a few beats then stopped. The boy leaned over and stroked the horse’s neck before reluctantly dismounting.

  “His name?” he asked. His voice was rough from disuse.

  Ridge didn’t dare look at Sierra. “Dusty.”

  Jeffrey put his arms around the horse’s neck and rested his cheek against the sun-warmed pelt. It was a picture Ridge had seen at a hundred junior rodeos, a boy thanking a horse for a good ride, a smooth catch, a quick run ’round the barrels.

  “Thanks, Dusty.”

  His face still shining with happiness, the kid handed the reins over to Ridge. Beside him, Sierra drew a shaky breath. As Jeffrey walked away, she put her hand on Ridge’s arm.

  “You have no idea what just happened, do you?”

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ridge rocked back on his heels. “He did pretty well.”

  “Pretty well? Ridge, he hugged the horse. Hugged it.” A tear formed at the corner of her eye and traced a slow path down her cheek. “He’s never shown affection. He barely speaks. Never smiles. That was a miracle.”

  Wrapping her other hand around his arm, she rested her forehead against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  He stood perfectly still, wondering what he was supposed to do now. A lump formed in his throat, a lump that ached for her, for Jeffrey, and for his old self, the boy who’d had his life forever changed by an old man and a horse.

  He brought one arm around her, slowly, cautiously, and stroked her hair, just once. Okay, twice.

  No matter what he did, this woman and her little band of misfits forced him to feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something that made his throat ache and his heart warm. Something that made his own problems seem petty and small.

  It was probably just as well she was going away. Otherwise, his life was about to get way too complicated.

  Chapter 17

  The sunlight slanting through the porch railings cast wavy blue shadows over Josh’s and Carter’s legs. The boys were sitting against the wall of the house while Isaiah and Frankie shared the porch swing. Jeffrey stood at the railing, staring across the yard at the horses.

  “You said you had lemonade?” Sierra asked. She was seated in Irene’s old rocking chair, looking as natural there as if she owned the place.

  “Yeah.” Ridge started to rise, but she motioned for him to stay. “I’m sure the boys have questions about cowboy stuff for you, right, guys?” She set her hands on the arms of the chair. “I’ll find my way to the kitchen.”

  Irene’s old chair rocked gently in her wake, slowing and finally stopping. A mourning dove cooed its spooky hoot from the slender branches of an aspen tree that shaded the far side of the porch. The faint breeze set the tree’s round leaves to sh
immering like sequins.

  “What’s it like to live here?” Josh asked.

  “It’s good.” Ridge wondered why he couldn’t put his feelings into words. He could hardly tell these boys the ranch was magical or healing. The broad plains, the scent of sage, the open sky—the world he lived in made him whole. But how could he explain that to a bunch of kids? “It’s really good.”

  “Isn’t it weird, being out here all alone?” Frankie asked. “With that weird horse around?” He shuddered dramatically. “I couldn’t sleep with old Sluefoot out there. That thing gives me the creeps.”

  “Sluefoot’s not a thing.” Josh’s brows lowered behind his glasses. “And he can’t help it he looks weird.” He started counting on his fingers. “He has eye cancer, and his hicks are spavined, and he had a stroke, and…” He looked at Ridge for help.

  “That covers most of it,” Ridge said. “Good job. But as far as being alone, my brothers are here a lot. Trust me, it’s never dull. I’ve got the horses to keep me busy.”

  He launched into an explanation of ranching duties so long-winded it surprised him. He told them how he got up when the world was hushed, how everything was muted blues and grays until the sun came up. How birds started singing, the different kinds chiming in one by one as the sun rose and the colors came alive, golden, russet, and green.

  He explained each horse’s feeding regimen, how Sluefoot needed special nutrition for his various health problems and Moonpie needed performance feed.

  “Is that the big yellow horse?” Isaiah asked.

  Ridge was about to explain the horse was a buckskin when Jeffrey interrupted.

  “He’s not yellow,” the boy said. “He’s golden.”

  Ridge decided to forgo a lesson on color terms and let the description stand. There was no reason to get technical.

  He explained how it felt when a young horse joined up for the first time and started following you around the ring. He talked about floating teeth and trimming hooves and wondered how long the boys would sit still, enraptured by what was, to him, an everyday routine. Maybe life after rodeo wasn’t so dull after all. They peppered him with questions about what horses did and why, and of course Isaiah wanted to know if they ever fought and if that yellow horse could lick the brown one. Jeffrey gave him a scornful sideways glance that showed he knew the answer.