Sweet-Talking Cowboy (The Buckskin Brotherhood Book 1)

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Stephanie Bond

  “My goal has changed,” Lucy said, laughing. “I want to learn how to run the barrels and then I want to be a Babe. They have way too much fun.”

  Matt smiled. “Yes, they do. And here comes Ed.” She rode up on Muffin, a sixteen-year-old veteran with honed skills. Muffin didn’t prance around like the other horses. He just got the job done.

  Lucy studied him. “He doesn’t look very imposing.”

  “Just wait.”

  Muffin stood quietly at the line. At the signal, he exploded into action.

  Lucy gasped as Ed and Muffin rounded each barrel in a cloud of dust and raced toward the line as a unit, Ed crouched low in the saddle, Muffin running full out.

  Matt tapped his screen. “Fourteen-two. The latest national record is thirteen something.”

  The Babes formed a line and each of them grabbed a section of an elaborate silk flower garland. Marching toward Edna, who was still seated on Muffin, they looped the garland around the saddle horn, across Edna’s knee, over Muffin’s rump and back up the other side to loop the other end around the horn.

  Everyone on the bleachers rose to their feet and cheered.

  Ed threw her arms in the air. “Let’s party!”

  “I love this.” Lucy gazed at the arena. “I really love this.”

  Matt glanced at her sketchpad lying on the bench. Only the map of the course had been recorded. “Weren’t you going to sketch this?”

  “I will. It’s all in my head. Tomorrow I’ll get it down.”

  Tomorrow. Her last day.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Barrel racing didn’t fit into her life at all. Neither did a horse, and she couldn’t just rent a horse if she wanted to take part in this sport. Horse and rider were a unit, as Ed had so clearly demonstrated. But a girl could dream.

  She went down with everyone and got acquainted with the horses while they were unsaddled and turned loose for playtime in the arena. Then everyone headed up to Ed’s lavish home.

  Her cook had laid out an impressive amount of party food, along with several drink selections. Lucy enjoyed Nick’s reaction to the spread almost as much as the food itself, which was delicious. After about an hour of socializing, they all returned to the arena to fetch the horses. With so many wranglers available, the buckskins were loaded quickly.

  Lucy climbed into the passenger seat of Matt’s truck, fastened her seat belt and sat back with a sigh of delight. “I had no idea.”

  Matt glanced at her before he backed out of the parking space. “No idea about what?”

  “That barrel racing was so wonderful. I’d heard of it, seen it a few times on TV, but never in person. It’s totally impractical for me, but if I were a teenager again, I’d find a way to make it my sport.”

  “Never too late,” CJ said. “Henri and Ed started when they were kids, but the rest of them didn’t get into it until later. I think Anastasia—I mean Red—became interested about five years ago. She picked it up fast.”

  “Thanks for the encouragement, CJ, but I can’t imagine how I could ever get into it unless I make so much money that I can buy horse property outside of L.A. I’d need at least a couple of horses. Coming here every summer has taught me that horses hate being alone. They’re herd animals.”

  “Aren’t we all.” CJ chuckled. “I crave community as much as those critters.”

  “Time to get CJ home,” Nick said. “He’s lapsing into nostalgia mode.”

  Lucy turned to him. “I don’t mind, CJ. I get that way sometimes, too.”

  He sat up straighter. “Nostalgic about Apple Grove?”

  “Sure.”

  “Lucy, I know you have a great career going in L.A., but—”

  “CJ.” Matt’s voice was clipped.

  “What? I only—”

  “I mean it, bro.”

  “Yeah, sure, Matt. Sorry.”

  Lucy reached into the back seat to pat CJ on the knee. After Matt dropped CJ and Nick at the bunkhouse, she turned in her seat to face Matt. “Did you have to bark at CJ like that?”

  His jaw tightened. “He’s determined that you and I will be a couple. No matter what I say, he—”

  “That’s very sweet of him.”

  He put the truck in gear and pulled away from the bunkhouse. “It may be sweet, but he’s trying to give me hope. I can’t afford it.”

  “Is the pressure getting to you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You just snapped at CJ, who only wants the best for you.”

  He drove in silence until he reached her cabin and shut off the engine. “I’ll apologize to CJ in the morning.”

  “Matt, you’ve been a rock throughout this week. If continuing to stay with me is too much, I’ll understand if you’d rather—”

  “Go back to the bunkhouse?” He gripped the steering wheel. “Cut out the next two nights of making love to you? What kind of fool would do that?”

  “Not a fool. A man who’s reached his limit.”

  He glanced at her and his voice softened. “I’m sorry, Luce. Unless you think I’m too ornery to deal with, I’d like to come in.”

  “Then by all means.”

  He opened his door. “We can blow off some steam.”

  “That, too.” She pulled her key out of her pocket and picked up her leather satchel. Their nights together had become increasingly mellow. This wasn’t likely to continue that trend.

  Fine with her. She relished every facet of Matt, including the wild, passionate man who threw off his clothes and quickly stripped hers away. If he plunged into her without preliminaries, if his lovemaking tasted of desperation, no wonder. She was desperate, too. Time was growing short. The tension would ease once they’d burned through the frustrations and relaxed enough to savor the joy.

  He brought her quickly to a climax and claimed his own. Gradually his breathing calmed. Cupping her cheek, he leaned down and feathered a kiss over her mouth. “I’m doing my best,” he murmured. “It’s not always enough.”

  Her chest constricted. “Matt, I never meant to put you through—”

  “Shh.” He laid a finger over her lips. “That wasn’t a bid for sympathy.” He lifted his head and gazed at her. “Any guy lucky enough to make love to a woman as amazing as you should thank his lucky stars. I just wanted you to know that I… wish I could be a better man.”

  She gazed up at him. “If you were any better, I’d be totally intimidated. Please don’t try for sainthood. I wouldn’t know what to do with a saint.”

  “Then maybe I can interest you in someone less evolved.”

  “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  Technically Lucy could have ridden to the barn with Matt every morning, He would have taken her even if he hadn’t been in the rotation. Instead, she’d kept the schedule with Henri. Matt left her cabin in the predawn hours, either headed to the barn or the bunkhouse. Then Henri picked her up and took her to the barn.

  “I’m going to miss driving you to the barn,” Henri said as they started off Friday morning. “It’s a nice way to start the day.”

  “I’ll miss it, too.”

  “Will you want to feed again tomorrow? Matt’s not on barn duty so you could spend the time with him.”

  “Keeping our routine is better for me, and I think better for him. I’d like to make as little fuss as possible. If he and I leave here around ten-thirty in the morning, I’ll easily make my flight.”

  “If you don’t want any fuss, you might not want to go along with the current plan.”

  “Plan?”

  “Texts have been flying ever since I got up. Tonight is chuck wagon stew at the bunkhouse and—”

  “That’s right. Wow. A week ago I was getting ready to be married. Seems like years ago.”

  “Time is relative, or fluid, or something. Einstein’s mixed in there somewhere.” Henri pulled up in front of the barn and parked next to Matt’s truck. “The point is, everyone wants to party with you at my house tonight, so Jake’s agreed to mak
e the stew in my kitchen.”

  “They want to party with me? A guest?”

  “You’re way more than a guest.”

  “Well, I suppose since Matt is—”

  “Not just that. You’ve been a favorite around here for years. The Brotherhood wants to share a meal with you before you leave. We’d do it at seven instead of six, so Kate can come. But that’s only if you want it to happen.”

  “Of course I do.” Lucy’s heart swelled with happiness. “It’s a wonderful idea. Count me in.”

  “Good. I’ll text the guys now, so everyone’s on the same page. They even contacted Seth to see if he could come up and bring Zoe, but they’re not able to make it. He sends you his best, though.”

  Lucy paused, her hand on the door. “How does it feel to watch these guys building lives of their own?”

  Henri sent off the text and gazed at her. “Bittersweet. But it’s the way it should be. Change makes the world go around. Anybody who tries to keep things the same is in for a bitter and disappointing struggle.”

  “That’s why you’ll flourish, Henri. You get that.”

  “Learned it the hard way.” She tucked her phone away and reached for her door handle. “Let’s go see what that rascal Aristotle is up to this morning.”

  Lucy climbed out of the truck and followed Henri into the warm, fragrant barn. Matt was delivering hay at the far end. The moment she walked in, awareness of him snapped into place, a taut line of psychic communication.

  Nick wheeled a load of hay in their direction. “Good morning, ladies. Was that an awesome spread last night or what?”

  Henri laughed. “I’ll let Ed know you liked it. She made sure to include plenty of your favorites. Turns out she loves your enthusiasm.”

  “She does?” His smile was adorably shy. “That’s good to know. I toned it down last night, and it sure was tough to see a whole platter of those little chocolate cupcakes going to waste.”

  “They won’t. She can freeze them. But she put out extras specifically for you.”

  “Yeah?” His smile turned into a grin. “Hey, Matt, did you hear that? Ed put out extra cupcakes for me. She loves my enthusiasm.”

  Matt groaned. “Heaven help us all.”

  “Now I can’t wait for the next time we go over there. Speaking of food, did you ask Lucy about tonight?”

  “Just did.”

  “And I love the idea,” Lucy said. “I’m honored that you all want to do this.”

  “Shoot, yeah. Gotta give you a proper sendoff. Matt said something about you two going into town today for a caramel apple.”

  “It’s tradition. I always got at least one when I came here. I want to do some sketching in town, too. Everything looks so different in the winter.”

  “It does.”

  “Want me to bring you a caramel apple?”

  His expression lit up. “That would be awesome. Thank you.”

  “Do you ever worry about getting too much sugar in your diet?”

  “No, ma’am.” He patted his flat stomach. “I keep on the go and on top of that I work out at least an hour every day. I plan to do that forever so I can keep eating whatever I want. And I do love those caramel apples.”

  “Then I’ll bring you one. Or two?”

  He laughed. “One’s plenty. Enjoy your day in town.”

  “I’m sure I will.” It was easy to say. Not so easy to do. Tomorrow sat on the horizon, a dark bank of storm clouds moving relentlessly toward her, poised to block out the sun.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Matt bounced like a ping-pong ball between heaven and hell. Sitting by the wood stove in the Apple Barrel navigating his way through a caramel apple and teasing Lucy about the mess they were making was heaven. Glancing at the ancient Regulator clock on the wall, its hands reminding him of where she’d be at this hour tomorrow afternoon, was hell.

  He’d suggested coming in around two, after she’d had a chance to make some quick sketches of the square and before they bought their caramel apples. The store was quiet and they’d caught Orville in his favorite chair by the cast-iron stove. Lucy had wisely chosen to sketch Orville in his apple-lecture mode before starting in on her treat.

  The old guy had been tickled by the idea of having his portrait done while he talked. She’d created two and given him the choice of either to keep. He studied both while Matt and Lucy tackled their caramel apples.

  “Can’t rightly decide.” He shifted in his chair and held both up to the light. “Like ’em both for different reasons. This one makes me look more animated, which is good. In the other one, I’m more thoughtful and my hair came out better.”

  Hiram, proprietor of the Apple Barrel, walked over to offer an opinion. Hiram was younger than Orville, but not by much. Orville seemed to get leaner with age while Hiram grew rounder.

  “Take the thoughtful one, Orv,” he said. “It makes you look like a guru who knows something.”

  “When it comes to apples, I know everything.”

  “Then choose that one. We’ll get it framed and put it on the wall. But first, Lucy needs to sign it.”

  “Uh-oh.” Lucy held up her sticky right hand. “I think you’ll have to hose me down, first.”

  “Nah.” Hiram shook his head. “I’ll bring you a warm, wet towel just like they do in the first-class seats.”

  “I could use one of those, too,” Matt said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Sure thing.” He went into the back room.

  “I’m glad he said that about having you sign it.” Orville laid down the sketch he wasn’t keeping and held up the other one. “That’ll make it more valuable.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true, Orville. I’m not famous.”

  “You will be.”

  She smiled. “That’s sweet of you to say, but I’m not pursuing a career in fine art.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s very hard to make a living as an artist and I need to support myself, so I have a job in L.A.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I design marketing campaigns.”

  “You went to school for that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you take any classes in drawing?”

  “A couple when I was in high school. Got some basic skills. Mostly I’m self-taught.”

  “And you love doing it.”

  “Sure. It’s fun.”

  “That shows on your face when you’re sketching. It’s your special talent, the one you were born with.”

  “I guess so.”

  “No guesswork involved. It’s a fact.” He leaned toward her. “Lucy, I was born to grow things. Turned out I was especially attracted to apples. That’s my unique gift to the world. You were born to draw things. That’s your unique gift to the world.”

  Matt couldn’t have said it better. But coming from him, it wouldn’t have had much impact.

  Lucy sat in stunned silence. Clearly Orville’s simple but powerful statement had rendered her speechless.

  “First-class hand towels coming up!” Hiram walked out of the back room with a steaming bowl in one hand and kitchen tongs in the other.

  Lucy blinked and turned to him. “Love the presentation, Hiram. Thank you.” She took the towel, stood and carried the remains of her caramel apple to the trashcan near the front door.

  Matt thanked Hiram, took his towel and followed Lucy over to the trash.

  She turned, her gaze troubled. She lowered her voice. “He’s mistaken.”

  “Not in my opinion.”

  Her lips compressed into a thin line. “You’re prejudiced.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

  She blew out a breath, walked back to her chair by the stove and picked up the thoughtful-faced version of Orville. “This is the one, then? You’re sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll go with Hiram’s advice. I like the idea of looking like a guru who knows something.”

  Lucy balanced the page on her sketchbook, signed her name in th
e lower right-hand corner and handed it back to Orville.

  He examined the signature and nodded. “Even you know you’re good at this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You signed this picture with authority. You draw with authority, too. You don’t dilly-dally around.” He peered at her through his bifocals as he turned the sketch to face her. “This is what you’re all about, Lucy Patterson. I’m sure you’re very good at that marketing stuff, too, but it’s not who you are.”

  She met his gaze. “But it pays the bills.”

  “That’s important, but so is feeding your soul.”

  * * *

  Lucy didn’t mention the discussion until they were back in the truck headed for the Buckskin. “Orville doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  Matt wasn’t going to contradict her and start something. Not this close to their last night together. “Oh?”

  “It’s nothing like growing apples in a small town. Millions of artists are producing tons of work and trying to sell it. Hardly any of them make enough to live on.”

  “But some do.”

  “The extremely lucky ones, the rare exceptions. When I was younger I had the same idealistic idea as Orville was suggesting. This was my talent, what I loved, what I should do with my life. Then I looked around and everyone I knew who’d gone down that path was struggling. They couldn’t make rent, lived on Ramen noodles and worked side hustles in the service industry. Not for me.”

  “What if I’d said yes six years ago?”

  “We’d be scraping along, living in the cheapest place we could find and squeezing every penny. I’d be waiting tables at the Moose, sketching in my spare time and trying desperately to sell my work at local craft fairs. You’d be working for Henri, but you wouldn’t be able to save up enough to buy a stud because you’d be paying for housing and utilities instead of living in the bunkhouse. And God help us if I accidentally got pregnant.”