A cowgirl’s dream
Barrels and Hearts Series Book 1
Edith MacKenzie
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
A Cowgirl’s Heart - sneak peek
Acknowledgments
Also by Edith MacKenzie
About the Author
Glossary of Aussie Slang
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental
A Cowgirl’s Dream (Barrels & Hearts #1):
Images © DepositPhotos – masterwilu & iStock – 4x6
Cover Design © Designed with Grace
Created with Vellum
Thank you, Lexie and Ethan, for letting Mummy write a book. Nonna, for her kid-wrangling abilities, and Matt for not laughing in my face when I told him I think I can write a novel.
Chapter 1
“Gosh dang it,” swore Frankie as she looked down at her horse’s front hoof. The shoe clung on precariously, held in place by the two remaining nails. Sighing, she rubbed the gleaming bay on the neck. “It’s a good thing you can run fast is all I can say for you, Mac.”
Seemingly unfazed, her horse nuzzled her pockets, looking for more licorice. Pushing the strands of long blonde hair that had escaped her braid from her face, she pulled her phone out and sent a quick message to her farrier. Hopefully he would have some spare time soon, and Mac wouldn’t be out of work too long.
“Wow, Mac’s done it again, hey?” Deb, Frankie’s best friend, rested her lanky frame on the fence. “How many has it been this month? Mitch will get the wrong idea,” she teased, giving her a suggestive wink.
“You’re home early. And I’ll have you know—this is only the second time this month.” Frankie placed her hands on her hips before laughing. “But to be fair, it was three the month before. And I’m sure Mitch knows Mac’s feet have always struggled to hold on to shoes in wet weather. Poor horse isn’t a duck, you know.”
“Who isn’t a duck?” Megan asked, her five-foot frame a stark contrast to Deb’s much taller six feet.
“This poor put-upon nag.” Frankie glanced between her friends. “Did everyone get an early mark today?” No sooner had the words left her mouth when Mac, offended by the teasing, let out a loud snort, covering the girls in muck. “Friendly.” Frankie threw her hands up in mock surrender, causing the girls to laugh harder as Mac stoically returned to looking into the distance, ignoring them.
“Did you get an early knock-off today, too, Deb?” Megan squinted up at her taller friend who nodded in reply.
“Yeah, calm before the storm for us, too. Not long now, and we will be elbow-deep in it for foaling season,” Deb answered.
The crunch of the gravel drive drew the girls’ attention as a white ute pulled in, its toolbox rattling as if the tools held within sought a way to free themselves. “Here to save the day—and in record time. I want it noted,” Mitch said as he emerged, aviator sunglasses glinting in the afternoon sun.
“He can save my day any time he wants,” Megan murmured under her breath.
It was true. Mitch, with his sandy-blond hair and chocolate-brown puppy dog eyes, had established quite a following among his clientele. Even the most jaded of pony club mums weren’t immune to his boyish charms and had been known to succumb.
Mitch buckled on his farrier chaps—the leather swishing as he strode—carrying his tool stand. “Okay, big boy, let’s get this sorted.”
The girls appreciatively eyed the farrier’s denim-clad butt as he bent to pick up Mac’s hoof. With deft movements, he twisted off the remaining nails and inspected the damage to the bent shoe. The girls quickly averted their eyes once he straightened up to avoid being caught staring. Soon, the ring of hammer meeting metal returned the shoe to straight, ready to be reset.
“So, busy day?” Smooth, gal. Frankie mentally rolled her eyes at her verbal clumsiness.
“Enough to keep me out of trouble. How about you? Ready for Chaltan Rodeo?”
“Should be, now that you have Mac sorted for me. Are you going down to watch?”
Mitch stretched his back, giving his broad shoulders a wiggle to loosen them. “I’ll probably head down for a look. Are all of you riding?”
Megan gave a flick of her hair. “Of course. Gotta keep Frankie honest. If we don’t ride against her, she doesn’t even try.”
Frankie snorted. “I thought it was because of all the cute cowboys.”
“Yeah, that too.” Deb laughed, winking at Megan.
Reaching into her pocket, Frankie retrieved some cash. “How much do I owe you this time, Mitch?”
“$15 should do it. The rate I’m out here, I’m almost thinking about starting a tab for you.” Mitch took a long drink of water, wiping the sweat from his brow. He lingered a moment longer before reluctantly loading his tools into the ute. “If you keep calling me out to tack these shoes back on, I’ll expect a dinner invite soon, Frankie,” he teased.
“The girl can cook, that’s for sure.” Deb elbowed Frankie in the side, laughing as Frankie shuffled her feet, her face turning a bright shade of beetroot. “Maybe if you ask her nicely, she will even make dessert for you. That’s where she really shines.”
Mitch visibly brightened at the mention of dessert. “I like sugar.”
“I bet he does,” whispered Megan.
“Shush.” Frankie wanted to disappear in the dirt beneath her feet.
The shrill ring of Mitch’s phone saved Frankie from further mortification. “Maybe next time, Frankie,” he said, winking at her before climbing into his car and pulling out of the drive.
“Maybe next time,” mimicked Deb. “Girl, he has the hots for you.”
Megan cast Deb a sour look. “He’s just a friendly guy. I don’t think he’s that into her.”
Deb raised her eyebrows, throwing her a frankly disbelieving look, her lips pressed together.
Thankful for a break from being the focus of attention—for the time being, at least—Frankie untied Mac’s lead. “Better get evening stables done if we have any hope of getting to that dessert you all keep nattering on about.”
There was a chill in the morning air as Frankie made her way to the barn to feed up the horses. The moon still shone pale against an ebony backdrop, its shift nearing completion, and the first hints of color started to paint a thin line on the horizon. Nickers and pawing hooves banged on stable doors, greeting her as she turned on the lights. Mac’s brightly shining bay head filled the top of the closest stable door, his big white star glowing. Down the breezeway, the inquisitive eyes of Deb’s horse, Doc, peered out at her. Next to him, was the large, spotted head of Megan’s horse, Panda. The clamor of clients’ horses arose from the remaining stalls, all here to be trained in their owner’s fervent hope that some of Frankie’s winning magic would rub off on them.
And make no mistake, Frankie was a winner. She just wished people didn’t refer to it as luck or magic. She worked danged hard every day to make her dreams come true, and the one she wanted most was t
o go to the States and qualify for the NFR. If she didn’t dare utter to anyone her dream of one day holding the barrel racing gold buckle of the NFR or to be the big winner at the American, then it was solely for fear they would laugh at her.
Finished with the feeding up, she started to change the horses from their warm stable rugs into sturdy green canvas paddock rugs. She enjoyed the steady chomp of contented horses eating and the pungent aromas from the wood shaving bedding wafting up from underfoot. Letting her mind drift, she reflected on the previous night’s conversation. Surely Deb had it all wrong about Mitch.
They were friends, and he was a dang good farrier. And if she was being honest with herself, he was easy on the eyes. So what if he came running every time she needed him to help with Mac, or always seemed to have a twinkle in his eye when he smiled at her? Still didn’t mean he liked her. Surely not in that way, at least. Feeling suddenly hot from the uncomfortable direction her speculations had led her, she began to lead the horses, two at a time, into their paddocks. Time to stop gathering wool and get some real work done.
Chapter 2
The rough stock waited in the yards behind the chutes. The anticipation of their upcoming battle against a cowboy made them stamp their feet and hassle each other. Red dust swirled from their maneuvers and was illuminated in the late afternoon sun, giving them a ghoulish appearance. The announcer’s scratchy chatter blasted from the loudspeaker, broken up by the crowd’s vocal support of the competitors. Frankie always loved the energy that came from being at a rodeo ground. Chalton Rodeo, being their local one, meant they would be able to sleep in their own beds tonight—a welcome change from the usual swag beside the horse trailer.
Frankie gave the cinch one final check before mounting up. Deb and Megan, having already made their runs, cooled their horses down on the other side of the trailer. Walking off on a loose rein, she found some free space in the crowded warm-up area and began to put Mac through his paces. Watching the competitor before her begin to make her way to the entry chute, she completed one final lap before following the other girl’s lead. Nerves filtered through her body as the anticipation built. A disappointed roar from the crowd heralded a knocked-down drum.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, means the cowgirl from Tattergallera is out of the running to bring home a check. And speaking of checks, this little lady about to enter the arena is no stranger to them. Currently leading the championship race to represent Australia at the upcoming Need for Speed competition in the US of A. Make some noise for Frankie Smith.”
Wetting her lips, she leaned forward as she gathered up the reins. “Showtime, Mac.” She sent him flying down the chute into the arena. Nice and tight around the first drum, the big bay sent sand flying, spraying the closest spectators. She urged him on to the second, and it was neat too.
Now just the last, Mac. Relief flooded her as he left it standing. Sending him flying for home, the wind stung her eyes as he sped to stop the clock. She blinked as she looked up, desperately seeking her time.
15.8 seconds.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our new leader, Frankie Smith, and a brand-new arena record too. Phew, that was one fast run. Put your hands together for our local cowgirl!” Frankie gave Mac a pat, exiting the arena to the crowds’ roaring approval.
“Not a bad run for a horse that can’t keep his shoes on,” observed Mitch. He propped himself nonchalantly against the trailer, hands casually in the pockets of his jeans.
Frankie paused in her task of untacking Mac as she fought the natural inclination to smooth her hair down. Dang, girl. Settle down. Feeling rattled, she returned her attention to Mac, painfully aware that her face was red and sweaty from the exertions of her ride. Mitch, in stark contrast, looked like he had stepped straight from a cowgirl’s fantasy.
Mac nudged her, looking for treats. Frankie laughed. “He knows he’s done a good job, too.”
“I’d say you both did a good job.” Mitch retrieved a piece of licorice from the packet Frankie always kept in her tack box and gave it to Mac. “So, I think I should buy the new arena record holder a drink,” he offered casually, a questioning note in his voice.
“I could go for a drink,” Megan said, inviting herself in the conversation as she rounded the corner. “That is, if you’re offering.”
Mitch, momentarily taken aback, recovered quickly, proving to be too much of a gentleman to correct her. “Sure, my shout for drinks.” He shrugged helplessly at Frankie. “Gotta help celebrate your latest win.”
And help celebrate he did. Though she wasn’t much of a drinker and was also the designated driver, it was one of the best nights Frankie had had in a long time. No one let loose like a rodeo crowd, and tonight they outdid themselves. She allowed Mitch to buy her a small rum and cola and stood back, watching as Deb and Megan kicked up their heels and ran amuck. It was only a matter of time before the hapless Mitch was dragged out to dance.
She laughed at their madcap antics and became aware of the pleading looks Mitch kept throwing her way. Grinning, she put her empty drink down as she prepared to enter the fray. Attempting to save him from her friends’ laughing clutches was the least she could do after all the shoes he had tacked back on for her.
It was late by the time Frankie closed the tailgate of the horse trailer after Mitch helped load the horses. Both Deb and Megan snored loudly in the back seat of the ute.
“Um, thank you for helping get the horses sorted. That lot was no help.” She gestured to the supine duo. “Oh, and the drink too.”
“No problem. I kinda only had you in mind when I offered.” He gazed intently at her.
“Um, yeah. Oh, that’s what Megan’s like, I guess.” Gracious, calm down girl. He’s going to think you’re a world-class idiot if you keep spluttering about like that.
“Deb mentioned something about a BBQ you guys are having?”
“Oh yes, for her birthday. She gets one every year.” Frankie desperately fought the urge to slap herself on the forehead. Idiot.
Mitch laughed. “I hope she gets a birthday every year. Something has gone horribly wrong for her if she doesn’t.”
Frankie blushed sheepishly. “I meant she has a BBQ every year to celebrate.” Seriously, what was wrong with her?
“I know what you mean. I was just teasing. Her family always had one for her birthday—I wondered if she’d kept up the tradition. I’d better let you get that lot home.” He nodded his head in the direction of the slumbering pair. “I can’t wait to try some of these desserts I’ve heard about at the BBQ.”
Why was it that she only owned jeans and T-shirts? Most girls have at least one dress! Giving up, Frankie dramatically flopped face-first onto her bed, deciding she would just spend the entire BBQ in that position. Honestly, there was nothing else she could do.
“Do I even want to know?” Deb popped her head into the room.
“Doff weeve muy loon,” she mumbled into the bedspread.
“Duff’s a loon? Do we even know a Duff? Hey, Megan, do you know a Duff?” Deb called down the hall.
“No, why?” came the reply from the kitchen.
“Ha-ha, you’re so funny,” Frankie grumbled, raising her head off the bed. Her hair now closely resembled a bird’s nest freshly fallen from a tree. In a storm. A bad one. Maybe cyclonic. “I said Leave. Me. Alone.” She theatrically dropped her head back down.
“I’m not sure I can, in clear conscience, remove myself from the room. What sort of friend would I be if I weren’t here in your time of”—she helplessly waved her hands in the air—“whatever this is?”
Frankie sighed. “Fine, since you seem to be enjoying this so much, I have nothing to wear.”
Deb’s mouth twitched a little. “I had noticed you running around naked a lot. I just thought you were trying to even out your tan. Apparently not. Whoa!!” Deb ducked quickly to dodge the pillow Frankie launched at her head. Finding a white shirt Frankie had earlier, she waved it above her head in surrender. “I come in peace. Plea
se, no shoot.”
Frankie, despite her peevish mood, couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine, but I think I am beyond help.”
“My, you are committing to drama today, aren’t you? Is it because the farrier stud muffin is coming over?”
Frankie snorted in an unladylike manner. “Dare you to call him that to his face.”
“I would, but I want him to be able to fit his hat back on his head at some point,” Deb deadpanned. “Okay, let’s have a look at what we’re working with here.” She headed confidently to Frankie’s closet.
In the end, Frankie did find something to wear, and it was jeans and a shirt. But hey, Deb had to work with what she had. Her long blonde hair hung sleekly from a high ponytail and her jeans hugged her slender curves, the lean muscles shaped from long hours in the saddle. The merle-grey V-neck T-shirt clung just enough in the right places. Deb didn’t care what Frankie thought. She was pretty sure Mitch wasn’t going to have any complaints.
Chapter 3
Deb may have unkindly called Frankie a coward for saying only a quick hello to Mitch before bolting off to the kitchen to finish preparing dessert. Quite a crowd had gathered for Deb’s annual birthday BBQ, which wasn’t unusual with the rodeo community since they could so easily go from competitors to friends to family. Placing the final scoop of passionfruit on the pavlova, she rubbed her nose as she stepped back to appreciate her masterpiece.
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