Cowgirl, Unexpectedly. Vicki Tharp

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СКАЧАТЬ that sly smile that creased his face, he knew. He knew that I knew that he knew. “Something wrong?”

      What did that old deodorant commercial say? Never let them see you sweat? That’s right, call me Dry Idea. I stared straight ahead. “Nope. It’s all good.”

      He chuckled. “Heels down,” he said as he eased toward the rail.

      “They are down,” I grumbled.

      Then three things happened in rapid succession. Hank stepped in front of Sierra. Sierra skidded to a halt and rudely introduced me to Newton’s first law of motion—something about how an object in motion stays in motion. I flew over her withers and landed on my back in the deep sand and glared up at Hank. What the fuck?

      He turned and walked toward his horse. Over his shoulder he said, “That doesn’t happen when your heels are down.”

      * * * *

      The day was warming rapidly as the sun rose high overhead. We were riding the line of fence Jenna, Santos, and I hadn’t completed the day before. Hank estimated we had less than a mile of fence to check before we could meet up with the rest of the crew to prepare the pens in advance of rounding up the cattle.

      The horses eased their way into a small valley between two hills, completely cutting off the breeze. Within minutes, sweat was pooling between my breasts and sliding down my sides and onto my bandage. I’d have preferred that the bandages didn’t become drenched with sweat so I hitched my reins over my saddle horn, removed my long sleeve shirt, and tied it around my waist as we rode. As soon as I was paid, I needed to buy more clothes. My one and only tank top was not going to cut it.

      In this area, the brush was sparse, the ground rocky but not so rough we couldn’t ride side by side. “You could have killed me, you know,” I said, more to break the silence than to force an apology from Hank. He wasn’t stingy with words, but he also didn’t talk just to hear his own voice.

      Hank glanced over at me. “A calculated risk.”

      “With my life.”

      He shrugged. “Worked out in the end.”

      “How’s that?”

      “You survived.” Then he glanced down at my leg in the stirrup, a smirk on his face that I tried to convince myself wasn’t really all that sexy. “And your heels are down.”

      I glanced down. My feet and heels placed exactly as he had shown me this morning. “The ends justify the means, I guess.”

      “You will thank me later.”

      I wasn’t convinced, but I let it slide. After a couple hours of near-silence, it was nice to have a little conversation to take my mind off the never-ending line of fencing. “So you grew up around here?”

      Hank lifted his hat off his forehead and wiped sweat from his brow. He typified the iconic, rugged cowboy with his hat wrenched low, a look I found more attractive on him than I cared to admit. However, even with his hair matted to his head from sweat, I liked him even better with it off. I could see his eyes and the way they danced when he teased me or dimmed when his thoughts turned inward. It was important to me to be able to read people.

      “My folks had a place not too far, but they sold out when I was in high school. Worked for Dale all of my junior and senior years.”

      I’d wondered how the two were connected. After overhearing them at the cafe, they clearly had a history. “Is that when you started the rodeo thing? After high school?”

      “I was on the local circuit. Small-time rodeos mostly for about a year after graduation.”

      “Stayed close for the family?” As soon as I said it, I knew I was wrong. His eyes lost their spark and he slumped in the saddle before pulling himself together. “Not family.” I guessed again. “A girl.”

      He didn’t deny it so I figured I was correct.

      “So you dated Farmer John’s daughter for a year. Then you found greener pastures with the rodeo groupies?”

      I was shooting my mouth off. Trying to rib him a bit. He deserved it after making me eat sand this morning. Instead, I’d hit a nerve. His mood shifted and his gaze turned stark. I shivered. He reined his horse to a stop, his stare holding mine.

      “I’m not that kind of man,” he said, his voice low and measured. “I don’t commit lightly or easily, but when I do, I’m all in.”

      Somehow, his words came out sounding like a warning. I wasn’t sure why he told me that, but his story intrigued me. “But there was a girl,” I stated, convinced of at least that much.

      He turned his horse away and pushed the gelding into a slow trot.

      I nudged Sierra to keep up with him. “So, if it wasn’t you tapping all the rodeo queens, then it must have been her messing around.” Geez. Did I really say that?

      “Tapping?” He flashed an expression that was part shock, part embarrassment, and part amusement. “Since when do you talk like a high schooler?”

      “Try eight years in the military.” Again, he avoided my question, so I assumed I was right. “So then you left?”

      “It got complicated.”

      I waited for him to elaborate, but then he pushed his horse over the next ridge. I’d have run smack into the back of him if Sierra hadn’t been paying attention when he skidded to a stop. “What the—”

      I followed his stare to the bottom of the hill where all four strands of barbed wire lay in a matted, tangled mess. The ground was churned up where the fence had been cut, and even from this distance, I could see the shallow tire ruts leading from the fence line to the dirt road about a quarter mile away.

      “Christ,” Hank muttered in disbelief as he wiped his brow again. He pulled out his radio to notify Dale, but even with the advantage of height on the ridge, we were too far away for good radio reception.

      He started toward the fence, his palomino picking his way down a rocky, stair-stepped incline. Sierra followed closely behind. The descent was so steep in places I had to push my legs forward and my body back to keep from rolling over the top of the mare’s head.

      We got to the bottom a few minutes later. The ground on our side of the fence was so churned up it looked like someone had tilled it with a tractor. On the other side of the fence, there were only the tire tracks. Even a non-rancher like me could read these signs. Hank stared at the riot of wire and cattle tracks. His face turned red and his nostrils flared.

      My heart sunk in my chest. “How many cows do you think they rustled?”

      * * * *

      “Hard to say exactly how many head we lost,” Hank told the other hands over the soft crackle of the evening’s campfire. “Looks like two trailers. Depending on how long they were, we could have lost twenty head or more. Since Dale has switched to ear tags for identification instead of branding, if the tags are removed, chances of being able to prove they belong to the ranch will be difficult.”

      Everyone had gathered around. The heat from the fire kept the chill at bay. Even Dink СКАЧАТЬ