The Accidental Cowboy. Heidi Hormel

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СКАЧАТЬ straight-faced, though she could see that he was trying to...flirt? No way.

      “My friend Olympia’s stepson rescued one and called it Petunia. You know, like the pig in the cartoon? Except they’re not pigs, even though people call them wild pigs. They’re peccaries, a big rodent...sort of.”

      “Your friend allowed her stepson to adopt a rat?”

      She had to smile at that. Petunia and all javelinas looked like hairy, long-nosed pigs. “Much cuter than any rat I’ve ever seen, especially Petunia. I’m sure she’s back in the wild by now. That was their agreement. Actually, in the wild, they can be a problem, especially the boars that get very aggressive.”

      “Any other deadly creatures? Or ones that are called one thing but are really another?”

      “Most wild things run when they see or smell a human.” She looked at the familiar pile of boulders. “We’ll need to go up there. That’s where the rock drawings I need to check are.”

      “The petroglyphs,” he corrected.

      “The petroglyphs are scattered throughout the area, along with metates.” Did he think she was stupid because she had breasts?

      He hummed an answer, squinting up at the outcropping. “This region has been inhabited for more than two thousand years. The people created the necessary irrigation techniques. There are indications of widespread agriculture.” He sounded so stilted. “Perhaps I’ll see evidence of bean production in the drawings.”

      Really, who studied beans? Men like Jones did, along with a number of the faculty her friend and president of the college Gwen had introduced her to. That’s when Gwen had asked Lavonda to work her PR magic in addition to her caretaking duties. Gwen hoped a little notice by the press of the Angel Crossing campus would lead to better funding. The professors and researchers had tunnel vision when it came to their fields of study. She was glad she didn’t have to try to make his bean research interesting to the general public.

      “Perhaps,” she finally said.

      “You said this area is protected? By the college?”

      They continued their way up the slope on the barely discernable path. “The ranch house has national historic landmark status. The college had been approached about protecting the acreage with a federal designation.”

      “Why would the ranch be considered ‘historic’?”

      Could the man get more annoying? Or maybe he was really interested in the answer. She looked at him closely. His head was cocked a little to the side and softness curved his lips. Not that she was looking all that closely. “After the woman from Georgia, it was owned by Arizona’s first ‘official’ cowgirl. She might have beat out Annie Oakley if they’d ever met.”

      “That’s quite a claim, from what I understand.”

      “I’ve seen the stats and the pictures. She was good. She had a way with horses, too. She could ride anything, even competed as a bareback bronc rider...when the cowboys would let her.” Lavonda said. “When I was competing, she was the kind of cowgirl I was trying to live up to, not afraid to go up against the boys.” She shut up, not sure why all of that had come spilling out. No one wanted to hear her own ancient history.

      “You rode broncs?” He looked more than a little surprised.

      “You only have to hold on.”

      “I believe there’s more to it than that.”

      “Not much, and being short was an advantage. Low center of gravity.”

      “Interesting,” he said with a crooked smiled, then asked with an eye on the donkey, “Is there a problem with the burro?”

      She pulled on Reese’s rope to get him moving again. “I wonder what the lady from Georgia thought when they found these drawings. Or even the cowgirl?”

      “Sorry. Not my area of expertise, unfortunately.”

      Maybe he wasn’t such a stick-up-his-rear academic. He’d actually smiled and nearly laughed. She’d always been a sucker for a man who could laugh at the world and himself. Sort of like she was a sucker for a man in a kilt or out of it—whoa! He was a colleague and temporary lodger. She had to stop remembering brushing against him and the charge of something a little dark and a lot exciting. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything like that. Maybe never.

      “Come on. You’ll probably want to spend a while looking around, and I need to write up my report.” She led Reese up the incline toward the drawings that decorated the wall just to the left of an overhang of red and dusty beige rock.

      “Report?”

      “I might be a ‘civilian’ but I am more than capable of providing the college with my assessment of the area.”

      He nodded, then asked, “Are there multiple locations with drawings and obvious signs of habitation?”

      “This one is the closest to the ranch. There are more extensive ones a day’s walk away. Others aren’t in restricted areas, so I get to those in the ranch pickup or on horseback.”

      He looked away before he said, with a return to clinical stiffness, “My research focuses on the diet of late Bronze Age man—”

      “And woman,” she added because his tone hit her “annoy” button again—she’d thought she’d disconnected it after years in the corporate world. She needed to work on that, especially if she planned to return to a corporate job...eventually.

      “And woman. Technically the Americas did not have a Bronze Age. There was no bronze until after the colonial period. I’m specifically interested in how legumes entered the diet here.”

      Jeez! Just when she’d thought he wasn’t a pompous professor. “Hmm,” she said, a noise that could mean anything.

      “Pardon me. You’re not a student and you probably know more about the area and its early inhabitants than I do.”

      Whoa, Nellie! Down, girl. Sure he’d just said she had intelligence and had apologized, but her only job was to act as hostess and not a hostess with benefits. If he wanted that, then he could drive himself to Nevada. Still in his utilitarian khakis—and she knew exactly what they were hiding—he had a certain charm.

      * * *

      JONES LOOKED UP the incline, not paying much attention to the flora, fauna or prehistoric graffiti. All he noticed was the very fine swing of the pixie’s hips as she led her pixie-sized donkey. He should feel awkward, like a giant in her miniature world. Her car—a Mini Cooper—matched her undersize lifestyle. Instead, he got that same low-in-the-gut heat that had stirred when she’d brushed up against him that day with the scorpion. Randy came to mind to describe his state. He shook his head as he moved again. His brain certainly wasn’t working at full capacity if he was coming up with Victorian descriptions of his state of...interest. He watched her more closely. Was that a natural swing? Or did she know that he was watching?

      “Which group does the department at the university attribute these drawings to?” he asked as he drew close to her and the overhang that created a shallow cave-like space.

      “They СКАЧАТЬ