Come Home, Cowboy. Cathy Mcdavid

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      That aside, she intrigued him, and not just because of her exotic beauty and knockout figure. He wished he had known her before her son had died. Seen the attractive spark in her dark eyes and hear the laughter he suspected was once there in her sultry voice.

      Cara turned in her seat to face him. “Well?”

      He decided he could take her question one of two ways. She might be asking his opinion on what to do next. The horses, fifty or more, were stretched out over a quarter mile in the ravine below, eating grass or standing and staring at the human intruders, their manes and tails blowing in the cold January wind. She could also be expecting him to vacate the Jeep, having delivered him to their destination.

      He leaned toward the latter. She was wearing that scowl, after all, the one she constantly affected in his presence. For fun, he decided to go with the former, if simply to get a rise out of her.

      “Drive closer,” he said and lifted his rope.

      “What exactly are you planning?”

      “Getting those horses back onto sanctuary land.”

      She didn’t move. “How?”

      He retrieved his leather gloves from his duster pocket and put them on. Slowly.

      Her scowl deepened, though it didn’t detract from her loveliness.

      “Well?” she demanded again.

      “I’m going to rope the black.”

      She crossed her arms over her middle. “Do tell.”

      “Then we’ll lead him back to the sanctuary. The other horses will follow.”

      “I’d like to see that.” She didn’t bother hiding her sarcasm.

      “Good.” He adjusted the coiled rope, sliding it between his gloved fingers, liking the familiar feel. “Because you’re going to drive the Jeep up beside him so I can throw this rope around his neck.”

      “You’re joking.”

      “I’m open to a better suggestion.” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “We can get my brothers and a few more hands on horseback. Or round up the mustangs with the quads, though that might cause a stampede.”

      He could see by her creased brow she disliked that idea. Probably too reminiscent of how the mustangs were captured in the first place. Josh had learned from Violet while having a beer at the Poco Dinero Bar that the horses came from all over Arizona, driven in from the remote regions by a fleet of four-wheel vehicles or sometimes helicopters.

      “Give me thirty minutes.” He allowed himself a small grin, certain his confidence would annoy her. “I’ll have the mustangs safe and secure.”

      “He’ll run,” Cara said, referring to the black.

      “Undoubtedly. All I need is for you to get me close enough.”

      The black was fast. Josh had observed him more than once in the sanctuary, tearing hell-bent for election across the grazing land. He was also fiery, smart and a natural leader, qualities Josh sought in a horse. The black had been the reigning king of his harem of mares before being captured four months ago. He wasn’t ready to abdicate his position anytime soon.

      Cara chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, distracting Josh. Or was she enticing him? She had a great mouth. Full and lush and wide. He found it hard to look away.

      “What if you don’t?” she asked. “Rope him.”

      “I’ll help you get the mustangs back to the sanctuary any way you choose.”

      Her gaze narrowed. “You swear?”

      What way was she thinking? On foot? They’d never catch the black. Maybe Josh should reconsider.

      He didn’t. “You have my word.”

      She pushed down on the clutch and shifted gears. “Let’s go.”

      The next instant, they were flying down the rise. Had he been with anyone else, Josh would have let loose with a whoop and a holler. Cara was a competent driver. Make that a great driver, he amended as they reached the bottom and turned on a dime with just the right amount of daring.

      The open Jeep, with its roll bar overhead, allowed him the room he needed to maneuver. Ground flew by at increasing speed. At times, the late-afternoon sun blinded him as they drove into it. The wind grabbed at his cowboy hat. Frustrated, Josh whisked it off and dropped it on the floorboard.

      Nearing the mustangs, he unbuckled his seat belt and half stood, bracing his right knee on his seat and his right shoulder on the roll bar.

      “Be careful,” Cara said over the noise of the engine. “I wouldn’t want you falling out.”

      Was she being sarcastic again? Josh couldn’t be sure. He kind of hoped so, liking to think she hid a sense of humor somewhere beneath all those layers of pain.

      The mustangs nervously eyed the approaching Jeep. A young colt ran in a circle around his mother, kicking up his back feet.

      “Cut to the left,” Josh ordered, pointing at the black. “He’ll bolt that way.”

      “How can you be sure?”

      “He won’t take the herd up the ravine. Too many cholla cactus.”

      Cara nodded, then swung the Jeep hard to the left. As if someone had flipped a switch, the entire herd collected itself, then broke into a full gallop. The black stayed in front. It was a position that enabled him to both act as lookout and defend against possible danger.

      Josh raised the rope above his head, the force of the wind nearly ripping it from his hand. “Move in first chance you get. Don’t worry if the other horses scatter.”

      Once again, Cara proved her exceptional driving abilities. She maneuvered the Jeep so they were driving parallel to the black, about fifty feet away from him.

      Only a half mile of flat ground remained before the next hill. Josh needed to make his move quickly or kiss opportunity goodbye.

      “Get closer.” He didn’t add, Now or never.

      Cara seemed to figure it out. Glancing over her shoulder, she eased the Jeep nearer and nearer, narrowly avoiding ruts, holes, boulders and brush. The fifty feet separating them from the black shrunk to twenty. Josh raised the rope...and hesitated.

      Powerful, athletic, with a coat the color of charcoal and sleek as satin, the horse moved with breathtaking beauty. Head and tail raised high, he charged ahead, the image of the outlaw horse he was.

      What would it be like to ride that magnificent animal? Josh wanted to know. More than that, he wanted to own the black. Train him. Gain his trust. Command him. He would, too, he was suddenly certain.

      Lifting his arm, he studied his target. Josh had a drawer filled with gold and silver buckles, testament to his abilities at calf roping, bronc busting and bull riding. Once a rodeo man, always a rodeo man. He had no СКАЧАТЬ