The Accidental Cowboy. Heidi Hormel

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      “Which I have.”

      “I studied the area you want to explore, and it isn’t well mapped, even though it’s relatively near to the ranch, because the things that draw any kind of settlement haven’t changed that much over the years. Those things would be shelter and water. There is a very deep well here, and my guess is that a couple of the settlements nearby had small wells that probably ran out over the years and the groups moved on.”

      “Still, this is not something for which you’ve trained. Weekend and daylong treks notwithstanding.”

      “Excuse me?”

      She blew air out of her nose and Reese shook his head while stamping a small hoof—a cartoonishly small hoof. Petite and pixieish, just like Lavonda. “Gwen wouldn’t have suggested I take you out into the desert if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

      “Were you a Girl Guide? Sorry. Um, a Girl Scout? Right? That’s what they’re called here.”

      She drew herself up to her fully unimpressive height, and he watched closely as her cheeks reddened with obvious anger. “First, I am a woman. Second, I have much more experience in desert survival than you. Third, I am saving your bacon, because while Gwen may not have said it, you would not have been permitted to go out exploring on your own.”

      “Saving my bacon?”

      “You know, keeping this whole bean search from going south.”

      He knew what she was getting at. He knew exactly what happened when a project went “south,” except this one at least wasn’t being filmed. Never again. “Since I have done an exhaustive review of the literature as well as corresponding with local experts, I am certain that we will quickly and rather easily discover what I am looking for.”

      She looked down at Reese, whose ears drooped. The burro reminding him of a stuffed lop-eared rabbit he’d abandoned when his brother had teased him mercilessly.

      She squared her shoulders and said, “I’ve led similar expeditions over the summers and breaks while I was in college. I have a fair amount of expertise...it just wasn’t something that fit into my long-term plans in the end.”

      Whether he liked it or not, she was his guide if he wanted to get his search started sooner rather than later. Her familiarity with the area could help him locate the landmarks described in the journal, which had belonged to an ancestor who’d settled in the West at the turn of the last century. “I am sure that you are competent...more than competent.”

      “Whatever. It’s temporary until the university finds you another guide.”

      “Again, I thank you for taking on this extra responsibility.”

      “You’re welcome. Now, I’ll make up a checklist for you.” She led the burro back to his stall and strode from the barn. Shite. Why was he acting like a schoolboy by making her angry, when his very adult self wanted to watch her hips swing like that all day...and night?

      * * *

      LAVONDA STROLLED OFF with a nonchalance she worked on maintaining. Jones’s comments had gotten way under her skin, which was silly. What did she care what a Scottish academic thought of her trail skills? It wasn’t like she’d make a living out on the range. She’d decided long ago that ranching, horses and all that went with it weren’t her future, after seeing the toll this lifestyle had taken on her sister—every time Jessie was thrown from a horse yet again or had fallen asleep during class after a weekend of rodeo competition. She and her family had worked so hard and had so little back then. Classmates had computers and Tony Lama boots. She loved the horses and didn’t mind sweating, but she wanted the “riches” that should have followed all of that work. It didn’t take much brainpower to figure out a job in an office with a big company might mean a lot of hours but also money for the computers and the boots.

      So why did she feel like she had to prove herself to a wannabe cowboy, when she should be worrying about finding her next high-powered job?

      Despite her annoyance with Jones, a tiny part of her brain mulled over whether she could pull off accidentally forgetting to pack two tents so they’d have to share the one. What was wrong with her? She had never been the kind of woman—even as a teen—who made sex or men a priority. So had all of that stored-up sexual frustration exploded when Jones showed up in his kilt?

      “Yee-owl,” Cat protested on the back patio. She sat with her tail primly curled around her feet, but the narrowed eyes told another story.

      “Cat, you’ve already had your food for the day. The vet has me under strict orders. He says that you’ve got at least six pounds to lose.”

      “Yee-owl.”

      “Sorry.” Lavonda opened the door and Cat raced into Lavonda’s quarters, entertaining the possibility she’d left a piece of kibble somewhere. As Lavonda created the list of items for Jones, she heard Cat’s bowl being knocked around the small kitchenette. As she wrote, she peeked at Cat sitting by her empty bowl. The cat’s tail did the slow twitch of annoyance. Lavonda leaned down and picked up the bowl quickly enough to miss the swat.

      “Yee-owl.”

      “What is wrong with that animal?” Jones asked, appearing from nowhere outside her door—a good distance outside of her door. She jumped.

      “You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Dang it, that flutter in her heart had moved to points south.

      “You said something about a list.”

      “I just printed it out. We’ll go over it quickly. I’m sure you have the majority, if not all, of the equipment. As you pointed out, this is not your first rodeo.”

      “I’m certain I didn’t use those exact words.”

      “Probably not, but close enough for government work.”

      He shook his head a little. “You’re lucky that I watch American programs on television. Otherwise, it would be like you were speaking Greek.”

      “Indubitably, Jones, my man.”

      “Your knowledge comes from Masterpiece, right? All Americans watch that and think they know the British, although not so much the Scots.”

      “No Masterpiece for me. I’m more old-school. Ab Fab and The Vicar of Dibley and really old old-school, Are You Being Served?”

      “No Doctor Who or Agatha Christie?”

      “I like comedies.”

      “I see.” He gave her a once-over and then turned away. “I don’t think there’s enough allergy medication for me to come in there with the cat. Who, by the way, can’t keep her paws out of my Hobnobs.”

      “At least you’re not sneezing. I’ll meet you on the back patio. That way, if I’m contaminated by any cat hair it shouldn’t kill you.”

      * * *

      “I’M ALMOST BEGINNING to like this,” Jones said, indicating the long, tall glass of amber liquid Lavonda had brought with her. “It has the look of Scotch. Maybe that’s why?”

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