Inside, the stable showed well, as impeccably clean as ever.
Curious horses bent their heads over stall doors.
Emory Blake and the other man, who introduced himself as Peter Force with less antagonism than Blake had, walked the aisles checking the horses.
Dusty knew they were well tended. He’d watched Max baby them enough. He understood why, now that he knew her and her situation better. She couldn’t afford to replace them.
Peter nodded. “Their care is above reproach.”
At that moment, a whack of straw cascaded from the hayloft.
Max, tone low and displeased, called up, “Josh? What are you doing up there?”
Dusty heard the concern in her voice. She needed to make a good impression. Her rodeo had to come off without a hitch. Despite her reaction to these two men, she had to please them.
“I’m looking at the ponies in our yard, Mom. They’re pretty! Can I ride one?”
“No. They aren’t ours. Come down from there. Now.”
“’Kay.”
He climbed down, but jumped when still halfway up. Dusty caught him around the waist so the kid wouldn’t land and break an ankle. That would be just what Max needed. More stress.
“Come see my pony.” Josh grabbed Emory’s hand and dragged him to the end of the aisle. The guy looked distinctly uncomfortable and not at all a kid kind of person. Dusty hid a grin.
“Look!” Josh said. “His name’s Cookie, ’cause he really likes oatmeal cookies.”
In the presence of Josh’s cuteness factor, Emory eased up a bit on the poker face.
“He’s a fine specimen.”
“He’s not a spaceman.”
Peter Force, at least a decade younger than Emory and patently more comfortable with children, said, “Emory means he’s a great pony. You like to ride?”
“I love it. Mom’s going to buy me a horse soon. A big one.” Josh peered up between Emory and Peter. “Can I ride one of your ponies?”
“No!” Emory’s harsh ejaculation had everyone staring. “I mean, they’re expensive.”
At Josh’s stricken expression, Emory waved a hand in Cookie’s general direction. “Not...um...as cute as yours, but...pricey.”
Peter placed his fingers on Josh’s shoulder. “I’ll let you up on one of mine in the corral, but only when I’m present. Okay?”
“’Kay. Thanks.”
“Let’s get the ponies into their temporary homes,” Max said.
Peter moved to accommodate her request, but Emory turned to Dusty. “Where do mine go?”
Dusty needed to nip Emory’s arrogance in the bud, and set matters straight.
“Max owns the ranch. I’m merely her employee. She’ll take care of you and your ponies.” To Sam Carmichael he said, “Can I see you outside for a minute?”
Sam followed him out. “What’s up?”
Out of earshot of Emory and Peter, Dusty said, “Nothing. I just needed an excuse to remove myself from the situation in there so Emory will be forced to deal with Max.”
“Smart.”
“What’s his problem? That chauvinism might have passed muster four decades ago, but now?”
“Emory has three ex-wives. They’ve all taken him to the cleaners. Not that the arrogant SOB didn’t deserve it. The bottom line is that he has a real problem with strong, independent women.”
They watched handlers walk the horses around the yard. “What do you think of them?” Sam asked.
“They came here in style. They look like pampered babies.”
“Pampered, yes, but don’t underestimate them. They’re spectacular in motion. They can turn on a dime.” He pointed to one of them. “Reba there is the fastest pony you’ll ever see run.”
“How are we going to work out the logistics of our practice sessions? We’ll get to know each other’s flaws and strengths.”
“Good question. You have any ideas?”
“I’m thinking we’ll have to use the fairgrounds at different times and be on our Scout’s honor to not spy.”
“I can totally trust the cowboys to do that.”
“But not the city boys?”
“Not a chance.” Sam smirked. “I’ll see what I can do with them and what kind of promises I can wring out of them.”
“Either that or keep them busy.”
“That’s a possibility.”
“They need to practice barrel racing anyway.”
Max led the two men and her son out of the stable to begin the process of getting the ponies settled in.
“Who owns Reba?” Dusty asked.
“Emory.”
“How is he as a rider?”
“Not as good as he thinks, but a force to be reckoned with nonetheless once he’s on her.”
“And Peter?”
“Good. Damned good.”
Dusty stared at Sam. “And you?”
Sam lowered his lashes and said, with a show of modesty, “Pretty good.”
“Meaning damned good, like Peter.”
Sam burst out laughing. “I’m better than Peter.”
Dusty grinned. “Glad we got that settled.”
He checked out his competition, guessing Peter to be in his early thirties and Emory in his midforties.
Peter had a lean, fit physique that looked strong. Emory, on the other hand, had arrogance and force of personality on his side, neither of which Dusty would underestimate, but he looked soft around the middle.
If Emory didn’t stand a chance of winning, he wouldn’t be here. Dusty didn’t know the man, but he sensed that Emory didn’t put himself into situations in which he might experience the possibility of failure.
Except marriages, apparently.
It looked like Dusty had his work cut out for him.
Both men had a combative streak that emanated from them in the way they walked and how they handled their ponies.
Sam was right. They liked to win.
“We might be an amateur league,” Sam said, “but we mean business.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.”
Dusty entered the stable to help Marvin and Max with pony chores.
A welling of ambitious spirit arose in him upon seeing the animals in person.
He wanted to ride one of these ponies, he wanted that match and he wanted to win.
Chapter 10
The following afternoon, Dusty entered the stable to check on the ponies.
All morning, he’d been on the phone to the rodeo riders who’d agreed to try polo riding. He’d been raving about the ponies.
These people knew Dusty wouldn’t rave unless he meant it.
Most of them were arriving on the weekend to start practicing polo. That would give them two weeks until the match at the end of the month to whip the rodeo team into shape.
Dusty wanted a closer look at the horses.
He knew the stable was empty. Emory and Peter were at the diner having lunch with Sam.
Max was out somewhere doing chores on the ranch.
Dusty had already plowed through the polo book Sam had given him, and he now knew more about goals and chukkas and mallets and polo ponies and referees than he ever needed to know.
Apparently, the city boys were flying a couple of highly qualified referees out the night before the match.
He felt more confident that he and his buddies stood at least a chance of showing well, if not winning.
Winning might be unrealistic, but entertaining the crowd could be done.
Peter’s pony was a fine beauty, if a bit skittish.
He moved to Emory’s pony, Reba, and found her every bit as full of herself as her owner.
Dusty heard something, a hint of sound from the loft.
Josh?
He started climbing the
ladder. “Hey, buddy, I thought you were out with Marvin. What are you doing up here?”
It wasn’t Josh.
Max sat with her back to him, swiping her fingers across her cheeks.
He realized what he’d heard. A sob and sniffling.
He’d invaded her privacy.
Awkward.
He should leave.
He didn’t want to.
Rather, he wanted to delve, to dig deeper as his mother had urged. True, she’d meant that he should be looking more deeply into himself and what he wanted in life, but at the moment he would say Max needed a friend.
Scrambling across the straw, he sat down behind her. The loft looked like a young boy’s dream. Max kept it clean for him. A big clear plastic bin in the corner held blankets that Josh could use with his sleeping bag when he ran away once a month, along with bags of potato chips and cans of ginger ale.
If ever he’d wanted proof of Max’s love and abilities as a mother, it was this safe haven for her son.
But why was Max crying?
It seemed to Dusty that she’d been under tremendous stress since the day he’d arrived on her ranch. What more could have happened that was the straw that broke her back?
He reached out a hand to touch her, but thought better of it.
“Talk to me,” he said, as soothingly as he thought Max might talk to Josh if he was upset.
“I ca-a-an’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m being silly. I’m being emotiona-a-al. I’m weak.”
“And?”
“And I need to be strong.”
“Always?”
“Yes. Josh needs me. Marvin needs me. I’ve taken a huge chance on the polo match.” She spun around, sending straw flying, and threw herself into Dusty’s arms.
He wasn’t expecting it and barely caught her, but once he did, once he had her wrapped in his arms, he liked her there.
He rubbed a hand along her spine.
“Oh, Dusty, I’ve been arrogant and foolish. That stupid snotty Emory makes me feel so awkward and...and...awkward. We’ve spent a year and a half pulling this revived fair together and I might ruin the whole thing by deviating from the standard rodeo.”
“You might,” Dusty said.
“Ohhh. You...” She tried to pull away, but Dusty wouldn’t let her. She was strong. He was stronger.
“On the other hand,” he said, “you might have a smashing success on your hands. I’m starting to lean toward success.”
She pushed away from his chest with closed fists, her nose so bright red, she must have been crying for a while. Poor thing.
Her vulnerability, her softening, made her more attractive, which was nothing he wanted, but Dusty sensed about Max what he should have seen from the start.
Fundamentally, she lived a solitary life, alone and separate. She gave and gave and gave, supported and supported, while she took nothing for herself.
She would hurt herself if she kept on this way and didn’t start to take back to refill her well.
Today, she’d hit empty on the gas gauge of her emotions.
She stared at him with wide eyes made luminous by tears. Again, the colors captivated him.
He leaned close, closer, and kissed her, softening his lips over hers to persuade her to open up to him. He breathed warmth into her, putting as much of his affection and confidence into her as he could.
Her lips relaxed and he deepened the kiss.
When she wasn’t scowling or unhappy, she had the prettiest mouth.
She might be unskilled in how she kissed, but her sweet enthusiasm and wonder thrilled him.
He pulled back and ran a finger along her jaw. His hand shook. Max’s freshness, that very lack of skill, packed a powerful punch.
Wide-eyed, she stared at him.
“You’ll be okay,” he said. “I promise.”
“Do you really think it can be a success?” she asked, glancing down and ignoring what he’d just done, clearly out of her depth.
Dusty didn’t mind. He kinda felt the same way. His hands shook. Him. A guy who felt confident with any woman, but Max Porter... Well, she was unique.
“Yeah, I do.” Like her, he stepped away from the impact of that kiss and struggled for an even keel. “The more I look at the ponies, the more I think we can do this. Mainly, though, I want to rub Emory’s nose in defeat.”
Max emitted a watery laugh, as he’d hoped she might. She curled against him with her head on his shoulder.
Without further sentiments or encouragement, he held her, because it seemed to be all she needed. Just to be held.
He longed to do more to help her, and to make her happy.
He started to form a half-baked, unbelievable idea. A weird idea. She might like it. She might not.
Max had known too little fun in her life. Thanks to her creep of a stepfather, a normal carefree adolescence had been denied her. Then she’d gotten pregnant, at only nineteen if his math was correct.
An uncontrollable urge to help her, to please her and make her happy, filled Dusty. He had to make a fun night happen for her, even if only once.
Even if only to bring her out of this blue funk so she could make it through the rodeo.
He’d like to give her what many teenaged girls experienced as a normal part of growing into womanhood.
It would take planning to set up exactly what he wanted to give her.
“Max?”
“Hmm?” She sounded drowsy. He wondered if she was getting any sleep at all at night or if she tossed and turned with worry.
“Do you want to borrow my mother?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s possible you need a woman to talk to. The kind who is nurturing and wise. A mother.” And I have to go prepare a surprise.
“Would she mind talking to me?” Max sounded so sweetly hopeful it melted Dusty’s heart.
“She would love it if you would call her. Seriously. Mom loves being needed and I need her so seldom these days. She rues the day I grew up.”
Max giggled.
Surprised, Dusty glanced down at her. Tough Max giggling. Strange...and cute.
He held out his hand palm up. “Give me your phone.”
She pulled it out of her breast pocket and passed it to him.
He loaded his mom’s number in and then called her, handing the phone to Max when it rang.
His mom answered and Max said shyly, “Charlie? Can I talk to you?”
Even without his ear to the phone, he heard his mom’s effervescent response, “Of course, sweetie. What’s up?” and Dusty knew Max was in good hands.
He left and limped to his truck for a drive into town to pick up a few supplies.
* * *
“Max, wake up. It’s me.”
Max awoke in the middle of the night slowly to a dark silhouette hovering over her bed who spoke with Dusty’s voice.
“Dusty?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” he whispered. “Are you awake?”
“I am now. What are you doing here?” She rubbed her eyes. “You shouldn’t be in my bedroom.”
“I know. Sorry about that, but if I’d told you about this ahead of time you wouldn’t have agreed to do it.”
“Agreed to do what?” Her frustration level soared through the roof. She was tired and cranky and afraid that the rodeo would flop, and Dusty had the nerve to sneak into her bedroom and wake her from much-needed sleep.
Plus, she was super embarrassed that he’d caught her crying this afternoon. Crying, for Pete’s sake. Oh, the humiliation of him seeing her weakness.
On the other hand, he’d given her a beautiful gift. He’d loaned her his mom. She’d had a wonderful conversation with Charlie and had come away less scared.
She’d be
en given motherly advice today and it had been the best thing to happen to her in years.
“Dusty, why are you here in my room in the middle of the night?”
Dusty tossed back her covers.
He was lucky she wore pajamas to bed or she would be screaming in earnest.
What was the fool up to?
“Get dressed,” he said.
“No way am I going anywhere. I’m tired—”
He pressed one finger against her lips. “I know, but you need to have some fun. Let’s go do that.”
“I don’t need fun. I need sleep.”
He wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck, kissed her lips oh-so-lightly and ran his mouth along her jaw to her ear.
Shivery spots of delight followed his lips. What was he doing and why? Oh! He’d nipped her earlobe. It felt good.
What was he—
“Trust me,” he whispered.
Goose bumps pebbled her skin where moisture from his mouth lingered, marking her with the softest, gentlest of tattoos. Whoa. “Oh...trust you. Okay. I guess. What are we doing?”
He pointed to the star-studded sky outside her window. “Going for an adventure. Are you up for it?”
“What kind of adventure?” she asked, her heart at once both wary and yearning.
“The best,” he said and stood with his fingers tucked into his blue jeans’ pockets and his cowboy hat tipped back on his head.
A rugged, handsome cowboy stood in her bedroom in the night tempting her with his big body, starlight and the promise of fun.
When had that ever happened to her before? Well...never.
He waited, leaving her to make her decision and come freely.
When had she last had a good adventure, one that didn’t involve stress and worry?
What was Dusty up to? What was she agreeing to?
Did it matter?
Her life was all about work and more work.
Why not take a night off?
Moonlight beckoned.
Starlight twinkled.
Dusty tempted.
Fluffy, unfamiliar flutters of the deepest longings welled up in her chest.
She needed...
Dusty must have felt her wavering because he turned his back. “Get dressed. Hurry.”
And she did, rushing into her bra and panties. She covered those with her old jeans and a cotton shirt.
Home on the Ranch: Montana Rodeo Star Page 16