One Fine Cowboy Read online

  A series of heavy thumps made her turn back toward the table. Nate was staggering to his feet, pulling himself off the floor with a trembling hand on the tabletop. One of his knees gave way, and he fell back into his chair.

  “Holy shit,” Charlie said.

  “I’m okay. Slipped,” Nate said, hauling himself to his feet again. “I’m fine.”

  “Sure you are. Nate, your pupils are huge and you can hardly stand up. You have a concussion.”

  “It’s nothing.” He took a few steps toward the door, supporting himself on the counter, then reeled back to the chair and sat down. “Things are flickering a little, though. Just around the edges.”

  “I’ll bet,” she said. “You need to go to the emergency room.”

  “What emergency room? The closest one’s Cheyenne, and it’s a fifty-minute drive.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “I can’t afford it,” he said. “I told you, she took everything.”

  Charlie gave him a long look. Maybe he’d be okay. He was starting to get some color back.

  Arguing seemed to do him good.

  “Okay. But you have to lie down, and you can’t go to sleep,” she said. “And we ought to ice that.”

  “What’s this ‘we’ stuff?” he said.

  “We, as in you and me. Hey, I don’t like it either, but I’m all you’ve got.”

  “I’ll call Ray.”

  “Ray’s busy. He’s fixing my car.”

  “Not yet he isn’t. And somebody needs to feed the horses and check their feet. Peach needs her bandage changed too.”

  “Peach?”

  “One of the mares.”

  “I can do that.”

  He lifted his head and looked her in the eye, his pupils dark and dilated but still managing to express his utter disdain at her horse-handling skills.

  “I can,” she protested. “Look, I’m good with animals. This morning—well, that wasn’t me. Not really.”

  “Who was it then?”

  She sighed. “My evil twin, the PETA activist,” she said, letting a smile tip her lips. “Really, she causes so much trouble for me.”

  “Seems to me she causes trouble for everybody.”

  “Well, yeah. You might say that. It’s kind of a hobby of hers. She even got me arrested once.”

  “Arrested?”

  “Long story,” Charlie said, wishing she could bite back the words. It definitely wasn’t a story she wanted to tell. Not to this guy.

  He looked at her a long moment, then let it go with a shrug. “Can you do me a favor, then?”

  “Sure.” She nodded eagerly. If he let her handle the horses, she might get a chance to make up with the stallion. Undo the damage she’d done, and prove herself in the process.

  “Keep your evil twin away from me. And bring me the phone so I can call Ray.”

  She glowered, hands on hips. “You don’t need Ray. You have me.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “What is your problem?”

  He shrugged. “Look, I’m sorry, but Sandi was ‘good with animals’ too, and I wouldn’t trust her with a gerbil. You have to be really focused to work with horses, and you girls always have something else on your mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “God knows. Mary Kay, I guess. Clothes. Girlie stuff.”

  “I’m not Sandi, Nate. I’m not like that. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly a girlie girl.”

  ***

  Charlie stood with her feet apart, jaw jutting, fists clenched, obviously trying to look tough, but all Nate could think about when he looked at her was her panties. And her red lips. And all the other parts of her that lay across his bed last night.

  She sure looked girlie to him. She’d felt pretty girlie too when she’d dressed his head wound with surprisingly gentle hands.

  He shook his head, trying to shatter the image of her bending over him. Her breasts had been inches from his face, pressing into the cloth of her T-shirt, and she’d smelled sweet and clean.

  “You look pretty girlie to me,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t notice the weird strangled quality of his voice. “I mean, look at your fingernails. You can’t groom a horse with nails like that.”

  “I can so. I’ve done it before. Lots of times.”

  “When?” he asked.

  Charlie looked up at the ceiling as if she was probing her long-term memory. She probably couldn’t remember the last time she’d so much as seen a horse. “All right, it was a long time ago. I was maybe fourteen. But still…”

  “You’ve grown your claws out since then.”

  “In more ways than you know,” she said, tossing her head. “But I can do stable work. I don’t care if I break a nail.” She sat down beside him. “Come on, Nate. At least let me feed them.”

  He looked at her a long time. There was an element of pleading in her expression, as well as determination. The combination was a little unsettling, but he finally interpreted it as desperation and gave in.

  “All right,” he said. “You can feed them. Stay out of the stalls, though. There are a couple customers out there that have a bad history with humans so far. And try to calm down. They’ll mirror your mood, and you’re kind of… well…”

  “Kind of what?” She tossed her hair, eyes flashing, obviously on the defensive.

  “Kind of type A,” he said. “See if you can think happy thoughts or something.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m happy when I’m with animals. You’ll see.” She shot to her feet with a speed that would send a nervous horse into conniptions. “I’ll do a great job.”

  She’d try. He had no doubt of that. But succeed? Probably not. Sending this woman out to the barn was like sending a mouse into the elephant house at the zoo.

  It wasn’t likely to end well for anybody.

  Chapter 8

  Once Charlie listened to his instructions and left for the barn, Nate stood up. He still needed to call Ray about that bandage for Peach. The little roan mare was half Junior’s size, but she’d cut herself up in an apparent effort to get at the stallion. She was one feisty female—kind of like Charlie. He took a few steps toward the phone, then sat down again.

  Things were still flickering around the edges, but at least the throbbing in his forehead was fading a little. Finally, he managed to make the call and drag himself to the sofa without passing out or falling down.

  He flicked on the TV. He’d just sit down for a minute—only a minute. Then he’d go check on Charlie.

  Animal Planet was on, and he didn’t bother to change the station. They were showing dog agility trials, and he watched a sheltie vault over a fence and crawl through a tunnel at top speed, then leap up onto a table into a down-stay. Pretty impressive.

  The dog door thwapped and Buttercup waddled in.

  “Watch this, Butt,” he said.

  A dog barked on the show and Buttercup plopped down and stared at the screen, watching a saluki leap in graceful arcs through the course.

  “See?” Nate said. “You could do that.”

  Buttercup turned and grinned, then trotted to the sofa. Placing her front paws by Nate’s feet, she struggled to hoist her bulk up beside him, snorting with effort.

  “Or not,” Nate said. He patted the dog’s flat head and sighed. “I guess you’re past that, aren’t you? You’re an old lady now.”

  The dog grinned and panted, clearly relieved that she wouldn’t be climbing ladders or jumping through hoops anytime soon.

  A documentary on alpaca farming followed the agility trials, and Nate soon drifted off to Magic Panty Land.

  He woke with a start when the sun dropped low in the sky and threw a patch of golden light across his closed eyes.

  “Shoot.” He looked out the window. Long shadows stretched across the prairie. “Why didn’t you wake me up, Butt?”

  Charlie, he thought. Where the hell was she? For all he knew, she’d done something stupid out there and g
ot herself hurt. And that was the best-case scenario. The woman apparently had a criminal record, for God’s sake. He stood up, tottering a little as pain stabbed into his forehead, and headed for the barn.

  He heard her as soon as he cracked the barn door open. She was singing some old blues song, low and slow, in a husky, whiskey-laced alto. It was pretty, and he stopped in the doorway so she wouldn’t see him and quit. He could hear the horses shifting in their stalls, munching their dinner rhythmically, soothed by the sweet, slow song. Heck, it even made his head feel better.

  He eased the door shut and snuck around the corner to see what she was doing, then clapped a hand over his mouth before he could call out.

  Yelling at her would only make things worse. And things were bad enough.

  Charlie stood in the box stall beside Junior, working a currycomb over his bright bay coat as she sang. The open door cast a slash of sunlight across the horse’s face and Junior shifted, the white of one nervous eye showing as he scanned the barn for intruders. Charlie glanced up, her singing stopping mid-note when she spotted Nate.

  Junior bobbed his head and pawed the straw with a forefoot. Nate put a finger to his lips and widened his eyes, signaling her to be quiet, but she straightened up and set her fists on her hips in her typical combative stance.

  “What?” she said. “We’re fine.”

  “Step away from the horse,” he said, holding his hands up in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “Move really, really slow.”

  “What are you, an equine security system? ‘Step away from the horse,’” she repeated in a nasal, mechanical tone. She laughed. “I’m not trying to jack your stallion.”

  Junior tossed his head and stamped a heavy hoof.

  “See?” she said. “You’re making him nervous.”

  She turned back toward the horse, tossing her hair. It flared up in angry spikes right in the animal’s face.

  Junior stumbled backward. Slamming his rear into the stall door, he lifted his front feet from the straw and lashed out, one heavy hoof striking Charlie’s knee. She grimaced, but she didn’t fall down and she didn’t yell.

  “Get out of there. You need to get out,” Nate said, trying to keep his tone level. “He’s dangerous, Charlie.”

  Charlie eyed him from the far side of the stall. “He was fine until you got here,” she said.

  “He was fine until you got all uppity and tense,” Nate retorted.

  “You mean he was fine until you pissed me off.”

  The horse whinnied a warning and they both lowered their voices.

  “Whatever. We can argue later.” He had to give the woman credit. She had guts. The kick had to have hurt. Her face was pale, and tears stood in her eyes, but she wasn’t about to back down.

  Sandi would have passed out by now.

  Junior snaked his head out; his lips pulled back from his teeth and he snapped the air inches from Charlie’s shoulder.

  “Oh, shit,” Charlie said. She kept her voice soft and calm, making the curse sound strangely out of place. “You might have a point. But I can’t get out, Nate. He’s in front of the door.”

  The flickering around the edges of Nate’s field of vision intensified, and he set one hand against the wall for support as he struggled to tamp down his emotions—anger at Charlie for being so cocky and careless, and fear that Junior would stomp her into the straw at any moment. “We’re going to have to calm him down,” he said. “Take some deep breaths. Think good thoughts. Try to send some his way. Maybe talk to him, or sing. He seemed to like your voice.”

  Charlie glanced at Nate, then flicked her eyes back to the horse. He was breathing hard, trembling slightly, and his eyes were wild.

  “A green meadow,” she said softly, letting her voice drop into the low tone of her singing. “Grass, waaaaving in the sunshine. Yummy grass. Mmmm.”

  Junior stamped a foot and shuddered.

  “No fences,” she murmured. “Miles and miles of hills. You can gallop up and down. Up and down.” Her voice was low and slow, mesmerizing. Nate’s headache was starting to ease, but Junior only snorted.

  “A mare,” she said. “She’s beautiful.” She drew out the word like it tasted good. “She has a nice round rump. A perky tail.” Nate’s eyes shifted down to Charlie’s own perky rump as she took a step to the right. The horse shifted slightly away from the stall door. “She likes you, Junior. That mare really likes you.”

  Junior tilted his head to one side and blinked, swiveling his ears forward with interest. Something in Charlie’s voice had struck a chord.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Nate said. His tone echoed hers, gentle and slow. “You’re less of a threat that way. Now don’t look at him, and don’t face him. Angle away from him a little bit.”

  Charlie did as she was told, moving a little stiffly.

  “Good. You’re doing great,” Nate said. “Now breathe down your nose. You’ve seen horses greet each other? Like that.”

  Charlie expelled a shaky breath.

  “Easy,” Nate said. “Do it slow.”

  Charlie breathed out again, smoothly. Junior stretched his neck toward her, but slower this time, and whuffled the air in front of her face. Charlie responded, leaning toward him, her eyes half closed, black lashes brushing her pale cheeks, her lips slightly parted. She seemed totally immersed in the moment.

  Nate caught his breath. They were two of a kind, he thought. Both full of fight. In Junior’s case, it came from fear.

  He wondered where Charlie’s combativeness came from.

  She took a cautious step forward and the horse mimicked her, bridging the gap. Finally, the two of them stood face to face, sharing breath, Charlie’s nose almost touching the stallion’s muzzle. Her eyes were bright and Nate held his breath, praying she wouldn’t speak and break the spell.

  She didn’t.

  Nate held his breath as Junior turned his head and explored Charlie’s ear with his soft, mobile lips. She backed up a step and the horse followed, fascinated by this strange being. A few more steps and his hindquarters swung away from the stall door.

  “Now,” Nate breathed. “Just ease over and open it real slow. Don’t move too fast.”

  “He’s okay now,” Charlie said. “It’s okay.”

  She slowly lifted her hands from behind her back and stroked the horse’s neck. It wasn’t a smart move, but Nate could understand it. Communicating with another species could dissolve your rational side, make you act from impulse—like an animal.

  Fortunately, Junior didn’t mind. He continued his exploration, working his way down Charlie’s neck, mumbling her shirt collar between his lips. Charlie smiled.

  Sandi would have run away screaming by now, Nate thought.

  “I can finish up, I think,” Charlie said. “He’s okay now.”

  He couldn’t believe it. She was looking around for the currycomb.

  “No,” he said. “Listen to me. Get out of the stall. Please.”

  “But look. He’s fine.” She rubbed Junior’s chest and he stepped forward, hanging his big head over her shoulder and leaning into her.

  “He’s a big baby,” she said, stroking his neck.

  Nate stared at the tiny woman struggling to stand under the weight of the horse’s affection.

  “Okay,” he said. “I give. You win. You’re good with animals. If I had a gerbil, I’d give it to you. Just please, please get out of the stall. Please.”

  Charlie ducked out from under Junior’s head and limped toward the gate, giving the horse a quick good-bye kiss on the tip of his muzzle. Nate half-expected the horse to flare up again, but Junior only blinked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly as she stepped out of the stall. “But he’s hard to resist.” She stepped through the gate, then turned back toward the horse. “You’re just a hunka hunka burnin’ love, aren’t you?”

  As she closed the gate, Nate’s dizziness returned. It might have been the head wound, or it might have been relief at Charlie’
s escape. When he grabbed her shoulders as she turned toward him, he realized it might have to do with something else about Charlie. She met his eyes boldly, amused by his stern expression and still elated by her encounter with the horse.

  Nate shook her slightly, his mouth working, trying to form the right words. Part of him wanted to yell at her for being so reckless. Another part wanted to praise her for her courage. And another part—the biggest one, he had to admit—wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her until she felt as dizzy as he did.

  Charlie smiled up at him and laughed, her eyes bright with triumph. A picture of what could have happened, of her body bruised and broken in the stall, flashed through his mind and he pulled her close, squeezing her in a quick, hard hug. She squeezed back with surprising strength, and he felt her heart pounding against his chest.

  “Oh, he’s beautiful, Nate,” she said, her breath warm on the side of his neck. “Did you see…”

  He took her hand and dragged her down the alleyway, away from Junior’s stall. She stumbled behind him, but she didn’t resist. Once they reached the door, he turned and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her out to arm’s length. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said, giving her a slight shake. “You knew from this morning how he could be. You could have been hurt.”

  “But I wasn’t, was I?” Her eyes gleamed triumphantly. “Who’s the horse whisperer now, cowboy?”

  “There’s more to it than that,” Nate growled.

  “Oh, that’s right. I’m not a horse whisperer. I’m just a dumb girl, all clothes and makeup, right?” Charlie said. “And Junior’s vicious.”

  “Hey, I never said you were dumb,” Nate said. “It’s just that you’re not used to horses, and you don’t know…”

  “I didn’t know Junior was dangerous,” she said. “That’s what I didn’t know. And that’s why I could handle him.” She folded her arms. “If I’d believed that, I’d have been nervous, and I probably would have gotten hurt.”

  “No,” Nate said. “You would have stayed away from him.”

  She narrowed her eyes and hardened her expression. “You think I stay away from everything that’s dangerous? Think again.”

  Nate backed away. Maybe it was the woman who was dangerous.