Cowgirl, Unexpectedly. Vicki Tharp

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СКАЧАТЬ know anything about this ranch?” I asked the kid who’d rung me up.

      He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Busy time of year. Plus they’ve had a run of bad luck.”

      “So the job is temporary?”

      “I reckon.” He shrugged again. Easy. Automatic. Habit.

      I tore the ad off the board. It had phone number tabs at the bottom, but I didn’t have a cell phone and after paying for the gas, I didn’t have money for a pay phone either. If I could even find one.

      There was a map to the ranch drawn in the corner. “Mind if I take this?”

      “Free country.”

      Yes, it was.

      Outside, I swung my leg over my motorcycle. At over seventy years old, the bike showed wear—leg rubs on either side of the faded black tank, pitted chrome, and the edges of the leather seat and saddlebags were alligatored with age. Like an old T-shirt, it molded to my body. It was comfortable. It was familiar. And we’d experienced many of life’s difficulties together.

      I jumped on the kick-starter and blipped the throttle as the engine roared to life. The rumble and vibration of the bike shook the unease from my nerves as I settled into the seat to memorize the map. The job sounded promising. Hard work had never scared me. I needed the money. It was temporary.

      Practically perfect.

      Glancing both ways, I pulled in front of a slow-moving tractor, my helmet strapped to the side of the seat behind me. It bumped my leg as I shifted into a higher gear. Before deployment, I never rode without my helmet. Since I’ve been back, I’ve worn it less and less. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suicidal. I don’t have a death wish.

      I’m just not certain it matters much if I die.

      * * * *

      My engine sputtered and stopped on the downhill road into Lazy S Ranch, like an old dinosaur rattling out its last breath. I coasted the rest of the way and skidded to a halt in front of a small group of men gathered around a campfire.

      I climbed off and stepped to the edge of the circle of men. My engine ticked as it cooled and thin tendrils of campfire smoke curled into the air, but the handful of hot coals remaining provided little heat.

      A sharp whistle from an older man I assumed was the boss or ranch foreman, hushed their chatter, yet all eyes remained on me. Men don’t intimidate me, but I swallowed a grumble when my eyes settled on Hank from the café.

      One of the cowboys spit on the ground. Another stopped whittling. A kid of about nineteen or twenty on Hank’s right sucked in a hard breath. I thought he might choke on his toothpick.

      “Morning, boys,” I said, unfazed by the welcome. For a moment, silence reigned. Even the cow dog stopped chewing at his fleas. “Looks like I’m just in time.”

      “I thought the women’s knitting circle met on Wednesdays,” the kid muttered around the toothpick.

      There was the expected quick round of chuckles. Ignoring the comment, I walked over to the foreman and pulled the flyer from my back pocket. “Says here you need hands. I have two, so I’m here to apply.”

      “You’re a woman,” the foreman said as if the statement would come as a revelation to me.

      I pasted on a bright smile, ran my hand down my ponytail the same deep brown as the horse tied to a nearby tree, and flattened the front of my bomber jacket that all but hid my breasts. “Kind of you to notice.”

      “We need men. Strong men. With muscle.”

      I took the flier from his hand and feigned confusion as I pretended to reread the information printed on the sheet. “No, nothing here specifies men only.”

      “You have to be able to ride.”

      “I can ride.” He probably meant horses, not motorcycles, but he hadn’t qualified the type of riding so I didn’t consider it an outright lie. Besides, how hard could it be?

      “And shoot,” the foreman added.

      A genuine smile tipped my lips. “Not a problem.”

      He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. “And wrestle calves.”

      The breath I blew out ruffled my bangs. “Never wrestled calves.” Looking around, I tilted my head, indicating the kid with the toothpick, still lanky from a growth spurt. “But I sure as hell can out-wrestle him.”

      The group of men burst into hoots and guffaws, and one of them piped up, “Aw, c’mon boss, give her a shot, what can it hurt?”

      The foreman scrubbed a hand in nearly a week’s growth of beard and sighed. “Got no quarters for ladies, here.”

      After all the things I’ve done. I don’t think I qualify as a lady anymore. And in all honesty, I felt more comfortable around men than women. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” I sauntered over to Hank with mustered bravado and jabbed a thumb in his direction. “I’ll bunk with Pops.”

      Hank jerked his chin up as if I’d landed an uppercut. “Pops?”

      He had at least ten years on a couple of the other guys, who weren’t long out of the schoolyard at best. It wasn’t as if he was old, old. Just old enough I wouldn’t have to tell him more than once I wasn’t interested in a high country romance.

      In Iraq, the men had learned to leave me be. These guys would, too. In time. But I needed rack time before I had the energy to deal with it. Besides, I figured I’d already pissed Hank off enough this morning that he’d be the least likely one to hit on me.

      Hank eyed me with speculation, the brim of his hat shadowing his expression. “You’re no spring chicken either.”

      I ignored him and let the comment slide, as well as the round of juvenile comments from the guys steeped with sexual innuendo. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before, and the guys weren’t meaning any harm, but if my bones didn’t ache and the muscle under the scar on my shoulder didn’t burn, I might have argued with him.

      An ear-piercing whistle from behind me made me jump. The men quieted mid-laugh and a dog sidled up to my leg and leaned against me. I dropped a hand to its head and felt the quick lick of a hot, moist tongue on my palm. I turned and recognized the man I’d restrained this morning and the young girl walking up from the main house.

      The girl’s smile was a quirky mixture of shy and amused. The man spared me a brief nod before turning his attention to the rest of the men. “Enough of that kind of talk. My wife and granddaughter live here. I expect you to behave like gentlemen, and treat them”—the man looked between his granddaughter and myself before glaring back at them— “and any other women, with respect. If you cannot manage that, then you’d best go now.”

      The kid with the toothpick stared down at his boots and kicked sand onto the coals, and someone cleared his throat, but nobody bothered to leave. They had a leanness, a sparseness to them that spoke of a life of hard work without much left for excess. They may have been happy enough with a roof over their heads and a meal in their bellies.

      The СКАЧАТЬ