One Fine Cowboy Page 4

  Nate picked up the whip and slowly extended it toward Charlie, his eyes never leaving her face. Eye contact worked with horses; hopefully it would work with this insane, irrational woman. If he broke the gaze, there was no telling what she’d do. Attack him, probably.

  “Go ahead,” she said, her voice shaking. “It figures you’d whip women too. No wonder your girlfriend left you.” She folded her arms across her chest. “If she actually did. You probably whipped her to death and hid the body in the attic.”

  He almost laughed at that idea. If anyone in his dysfunctional relationship with Sandi was whipped, it was him.

  “Go ahead,” Charlie said. “Do your worst.”

  Setting his mouth in a grim line, he lowered the whip toward her. Bringing it down slowly, he touched the tip to her thigh.

  She winced, and he knew she expected him to raise the whip and lash her in earnest. Their eyes met, hers challenging, his steady and stern. He lifted the whip in the air and held it there, his lips curling in a grim smile that didn’t alter the flinty expression in his eyes.

  “That’s my worst,” he said. “That’s it. If I touch the horse at all. When I hold it up, they stop. When I drop it, they go. I don’t whip horses, Charlie. Nobody does, except sociopaths. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a frightened horse to deal with—thanks to you.”

  He turned and stalked back to the pen, breathing slowly and deeply in an effort to calm his anger so Junior wouldn’t sense it. As he lifted the latch, he turned.

  “Junior was abused before I got him,” he said. “Your screaming and yelling probably brought it all back for him. So the only one hurting a horse here is you.”

  He eased the gate shut, resisting the urge to slam it. Junior stood across the ring, trembling, his sides slick with sweat. He started when Nate walked into the pen, as if he expected to be hit, then darted his head at Nate’s arm, his lips drawn back to bite.

  He hadn’t bitten anybody in a month. And it would take at least that long again to get over this setback.

  Just as Nate expected, it took almost an hour to calm the stallion to the point where he’d allow himself to be led back to his stall. Eyes wild, the horse backed into a corner and stayed there, ready to defend himself with slashing hooves and nipping teeth. He wouldn’t move even when Nate shook out a flake of hay.

  Nate scowled as he put the mares out to pasture and went to work cleaning stalls. Between Sandi and Charlie, he’d learned his lesson. He was going to keep his life simple from now on. Simple, and female-free.

  The steady work calmed him, and by the time Charlie showed up again, he was able to be civil.

  “I need a ride to my car,” she said. All her bravado was gone and she hung her head, staring at the ground when she talked, avoiding his eyes. She had straw in her hair from her tumble onto the hay bales and dark smudges streaked her jeans. She reminded him of an abused horse cowering in the pen at a livestock auction.

  He chased the image out of his head. Those animals were innocent. This woman deserved to be miserable after what she’d done to Junior.

  “I had it towed,” he said. “Ray Givens came out and got it first thing this morning. I grabbed your stuff out of it, though.” He waved toward the house. “Your suitcase is in the hall.”

  “You what?” She stared at him as if she couldn’t grasp the concept of towing a wrecked car.

  “I had it towed.” He took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Ray can fix it, but he’s got to order parts. Your axle snapped.” He settled the hat back on his head. “That little sissy car just wasn’t made for these roads.”

  “How much is it going to cost?”

  Nate shrugged.

  “You didn’t get an estimate?” She didn’t look so whipped now. She looked mad.

  “Nope. Ray won’t cheat you. It costs what it costs. You want it fixed, right?”

  “Of course I want it fixed.” She stamped her foot, and he was almost relieved to see her acting herself again. “I need to get out of here.”

  “That’s what I thought. So I had Ray order the parts. They should be here in about a week.”

  She stood motionless, staring at him with her mouth half-open, looking like one of those goggle-eyed goldfish you see in the fish tanks at Wal-Mart.

  “But I need to go,” she said. “This was all a mistake.”

  “I know,” he said. “I want you out of here too.”

  She turned away, but not before he saw the glisten of rising tears in her eyes. He felt a brief spasm of sympathy. She was just getting what she deserved, he reminded himself.

  She still hadn’t been hurt as badly as Junior.

  Chapter 6

  Charlie swiped at an end table with a rag, then pummeled a flaccid throw pillow to life. Removing a row of plastic horses from each windowsill, she swabbed at the grit that had seeped through the crevices. The wind seemed to have swept every loose speck of the Wyoming plains right into Nate’s living room. It was a wonder there was anything left of the landscape outside.

  She replaced the toy horses in their prancing rows, wondering why a grown man would collect such things. There was an old rocking horse in the corner too, with leather reins and a mane and tail of woven rope. The guy was obsessed with horses. It was odd, and kind of endearing, really. She shoved that thought out of her mind, calling up the image of him standing over her with the lunge whip.

  There was nothing endearing about that.

  And then there was that business with the attic. If he had an extra bedroom up there, why wouldn’t he let her use it? What was he hiding? She paused at the door and tried the knob.

  Locked.

  Nate Shawcross didn’t seem like the criminal type, but it was a little unnerving to be alone on an isolated ranch with a man who had a locked secret chamber in his house. If he’d made any effort to lure her into his bed, she’d have been worried about becoming the next victim of the Wild West version of Bluebeard—but serial killers generally make some effort to charm their victims into submission, and he hadn’t so much as smiled at her all day.

  She filled the kitchen sink with hot water and a squirt of soap, rattling dirty plates and silverware around and scrubbing them before stacking them haphazardly in the dishwasher. The machine was full, so she stabbed a few buttons until it whirred to life. Then she danced a quick and dirty tango with a battered O-Cedar broom, unearthing the respectable hardwood floor that was hiding under all the mud and straw the dog had dragged in.

  She cursed herself silently the whole time. Observe and report, Sadie had said. Maintain an objective perspective. If Charlie had taken that advice she might have waited before reacting and saved herself a lot of embarrassment. Nate’s defense of the whip rang true, so he was probably right: the only person hurting the horse had been her.

  But she wouldn’t apologize. Not after catching the hard glint in Nate’s eyes while he stood there with the whip raised. She remembered how exposed and vulnerable she’d felt, cowering in the straw. Apologizing would give him an advantage, and she couldn’t let that happen. So she’d help out. Clean his house. That ought to count for something.

  The place sure as hell needed cleaning. The pile of dust and dirt from the kitchen floor looked like she’d just cleaned out a stall in the barn. The man lived like an animal. Worse, actually. If he made his horses live this way, she’d sic the wrath of PETA on him and have them hauled away.

  She was scraping the last of the dirt into a dustpan when she heard the heavy tread of boots hit the porch outside. Folding her arms across her chest and setting her jaw, she leaned against the sink and waited for his reaction to her efforts.

  “Hmf.” Nate forced out a noncommittal grunt as he strode past her, scattering mud and straw across the clean floor. He kept his head down and his hat on, hiding his eyes under the wide brim while he prepared a rudimentary lunch. All she could see of his face was his clenched jaw, square and stubbled, set in a stony scowl.

  The man ate like a farm ani
mal too. Fisting a spoon like a toddler, he shoveled Fruit Loops and milk into himself until the last loop was scooped, then upended the bowl and slurped up the last of the sugar-laced milk. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and glanced around the house, taking in the shining counters and the empty sink. She was prepared for a thank-you, maybe even an apology, but he just stared up at her for a moment, his pale eyes expressionless. Turning away, he walked out without a word. She watched him go with her teeth painfully clenched.

  Had she ever been this angry in her life? She thought back to every bad breakup she’d ever had, every fender bender, every fight. She hadn’t felt this kind of rage since Teresa Grummond stole her boyfriend in seventh grade.

  “Bastard. Son-of-a-bitch bastard,” she mumbled. She stormed into the bedroom and changed her pants, kicking her feet into clean jeans so angrily she tripped herself and hopped around the room like a palsied rabbit before she managed to poke her foot through the leg-hole.

  She’d call Sadie. That was what she’d do. She’d call Sadie and demand a rental car. She wasn’t spending an entire week of her life with Nate Shawcross. He was dangerous, for heaven’s sake. He’d brandished a whip at her, right? Well, sort of. Anyway, she was going home.

  Sadie picked up on the first ring. “Tate,” she said.

  “Get me out of here, Sadie.” Charlie’s resolution to act poised and professional hadn’t even survived the dialing process.

  “Charlie, I never would have suspected you were a bigot,” Sadie said. “I am so disappointed in you.”

  “Bigot?”

  “This problem you have with Westerners. Now just because someone isn’t quite as sophisticated…”

  “It has nothing to do with sophistication!” Charlie’s knuckles whitened on the handset. “Sadie, there’s no dude ranch here. The whole thing’s a bust. The place is a broken-down dirty hole, and I need to leave.”

  “Charlie, I’m looking at the brochure as we speak, and…”

  “I don’t know where those pictures were taken, but it wasn’t here. The brochure is a freaking hoax.”

  “Then there are no horse whisperers there?” Sadie sounded like she’d just found out there was no Santa Claus.

  “There’s just one guy and he’s a cowboy, not a horse whisperer.” Charlie explained about Sandi and the brochure.

  “But there were all those recommendations from other trainers. Satisfied clients. Admiring colleagues.”

  “She made them up,” Charlie said. “She made up the whole thing.”

  “No.” Sadie sounded so sure of herself that Charlie felt a spasm of doubt. “Those were endorsements from top trainers, Charlie. Buck Brannaman. Clinton Anderson. And I called for confirmation.”

  “They were real?” Charlie’s mind was racing, trying to figure out how elaborate a hoax Sandi had managed to put together.

  “Definitely. They were surprised to hear Mr. Shawcross was running a clinic—he’s evidently somewhat, er, antisocial—but they were unanimous in their praise. Unanimous.”

  Charlie didn’t want to believe it, but the antisocial comment certainly rang true. “Well, he’s not teaching a clinic,” she said. “So however talented he is, it’s not doing us any good.”

  Sadie sighed. “You’ll need to get our deposit back,” she said. “Then I guess you might as well come home.”

  “I don’t think he has it. The deposit, I mean. I think his girlfriend took the money and ran.”

  Sadie cleared her throat. She always cleared her throat when she had something unpleasant to say.

  “He’d better have it.” Her nasal voice jumped into a higher register. “We can’t afford to lose it.”

  “I know,” Charlie said. “And I need a rental car. Mine broke down.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Sadie?”

  “Charlie, our funding is limited. We need to conserve our resources.”

  “It’ll be a week before the car’s fixed. I can’t stay here for a week.”

  The silence again, and then the throat-clearing.

  “I’m looking at my budget right here, Charlie,” she said, “and I don’t see a line item for ‘rental car.’ Besides, you can’t just leave yours there.”

  “I’ll get it back somehow. That’s my problem. Listen, I’ll even fly if you want. I just need to come home. Now.” She took a deep breath. “This isn’t a good situation you’ve put me in, Sadie. He definitely doesn’t want me here.”

  “Good. We’ll use that for leverage. Tell him you’re not leaving until you get that deposit.”

  Charlie hated to bring out the heavy artillery. It didn’t seem fair to Nate somehow, but she had to get Sadie to pay for a ticket. “Sadie, you don’t understand. He’s dangerous. He brandished a…”

  The door swung open and slammed against the wall. Nate staggered inside, holding a bloody cloth to his forehead.

  “Oh my God,” Charlie said.

  He bent over the sink and pulled the cloth away. A bloody gash on his forehead sent a rivulet of blood down his pale face.

  “What?” Sadie sounded panicked. “What was that? What did he brandish? A knife? A gun? Charlie, are you all right?”

  “I have to go.”

  “But if he’s dangerous…”

  “I was—I was joking, Sadie. I have to go.”

  “That’s not funny, Charlie.”

  Charlie looked over at Nate. The side of his face was streaked with blood.

  “I know,” Charlie said. “It’s not funny at all.”

  Chapter 7

  Charlie hung up the phone and turned to Nate. “Keep pressure on it. I’ll get some antiseptic.”

  She ran to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. She found every substance known to Mary Kay, but no peroxide. No Neosporin. No Band-Aids either, but she suspected he needed more than a strip of plastic to close that wound anyway.

  “Peroxide. In the barn,” Nate said. He was rocking back and forth, his jaw clenched, still holding the rag to his head.

  She dashed out to the barn. Unlike Nate, the horses had a full first aid kit at their disposal. Charlie carried the whole thing inside along with a brown plastic bottle of peroxide.

  She set the bottle on the counter and reached for a paper towel. Apparently, horses didn’t use cotton balls.

  “Thanks.”

  Nate didn’t use cotton balls either. Leaning over the sink, he grabbed the bottle and poured a stream of peroxide into the wound, clenching his eyes shut and grimacing as the liquid hissed and bubbled.

  “Whoa.” He teetered a little as Charlie pressed a handful of paper towels to the wound. “Gotta siddown.” She took his arm and supported him as best she could while he stumbled to the table.

  He pulled the paper towel away, then dabbed at the cut. The flow of blood was slowing. Resting his elbows on his knees, he held his head in his hands and stared at the floor, looking so hurt and helpless that Charlie’s heart softened a little. Maybe if she helped him they could get along somehow.

  Unless this injury was her fault.

  “Was it…” She paused. “Was it Junior?”

  “What?” He turned toward her, puzzled. “Oh. No. You thought Junior kicked me? No.” He tried to laugh, then grimaced with pain. “If Junior kicked me in the head, I’d probably be dead.”

  “Oh.”

  It wasn’t fallout from the scene this morning, then.

  “I pulled a hay bale down from the top of the stack,” he explained. “Forgot I’d piled some lumber on top. Piece came down and clonked me in the head.” He tried to smile. “Just a stupid cowboy thing, that’s all.”

  Maybe the blow on the head had done him some good. He’d actually admitted he was a stupid cowboy. She poked around in the first aid kit and finally found a packet of sterile gauze. Pulling his hand away, she dabbed gently at the cut with one last paper towel and pressed the gauze to it, adhering it with two strips of Red Cross tape.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be all right
now.”

  “Do you want…”

  “No.”

  “I could…”

  “No.” He glanced up at her. “Look, I appreciate the whole Florence Nightingale thing, but you can go back to whatever you were doing. I’m fine.” He grabbed the edge of the table and pulled himself up, wobbling slightly as he caught his balance.

  “Fine.” She folded her arms across her chest and set her jaw so he wouldn’t see he’d hurt her. “Then I guess you’re okay to talk business.”

  He sat back down, and she thought he might have turned a half-shade paler, going from ghost-white to almost transparent.

  “I need a refund for my deposit,” she continued. “I can’t get home without it.”

  “I don’t have it,” he said.

  Charlie sat down across from him. “You have to have it. You owe it to me.”

  “Sandi owes it to you.”

  “Well, where’s Sandi, then?”

  He stared down at the table. “I don’t know. Somewhere in Denver. It’s a big town.”

  “Then I’ll have to get it from you. Come on, Nate. Two hundred dollars will get me out of here.”

  “I don’t have it,” he repeated. He looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time since the whip incident. “I don’t have anything, Charlie. I don’t know how I’m going to pay for my next load of hay, for God’s sake.”

  “This is a class-A operation, isn’t it?”

  “It used to be. Well, it was going to be.” Nate dropped his head again. “She emptied the bank accounts. Checking, savings—it’s all gone.”

  Charlie shoved her chair back from the table, suppressing a twinge of pity that threatened to overwhelm her anger. “Well, I can’t leave until I get my money back. And I know you don’t want me here.”

  He didn’t respond.

  She turned to the sink, picking up a rag and wiping the counters. They were already clean, but she had to do something so he didn’t see her crying. She was just mad, dammit. He was pissing her off. That’s all it was.