Counterfeit Cowgirl (Love and Laughter) (12 page)

Hannah let the letter droop in her fingers. What did he mean, he had failed her? It wasn’t true. He had been a good father. It was she who was the failure. He had given her everything, every trinket, every garment, every vehicle she had asked for. True, sometimes it had taken tears, and sometimes it had taken tantrums, but eventually she’d always gotten her way, until this last disagreement.

No matter what she did, she’d been unable to change his mind about her leaving LA, about coming here.
You must leave before it’s too late,
he’d said. And now he spoke of the things she had missed. But what things? She’d had everything from tennis instructions to daily room service. And yet…

She shifted on the bed, then stretched her arms above her head. Suddenly the image of a dark man with musical laughter and entrancing eyes came to mind for the zillionth time. A man who had touched her and kissed her and made her heart…

Springing from the bed, Hannah began to pace.

Tyrel Fox meant nothing to her. Indeed, he was far beneath her. And he had laughed at her, bet that he could bring the ice princess to her knees. And all the time she had been falling in love…

No! Foolishness.

Reaching the window, she gazed out onto the rolling pastures beyond the yard. The snow had melted, leaving only tired, spotty patches of dirty white.

She hated Tyrel Fox, she told herself. But regardless of her feelings, it looked as if she would be staying awhile longer.

H
ANNAH PULLED
the buckskin to a halt. He was a two-year-old with a two-year-old’s energy, and a two-year-old’s attention span. Peppy’s Dillon Dude was the name on his registration papers. She rubbed his forehead, wondering if he’d been named after Matt Dillon’s buckskin. He looked much the same as that movie horse, only better, longer legs, finer neck.

Tyrel Fox may be an immature, dishonest, mean-spirited, half-witted, down-on-his-luck…Well, in short he was a jerk, but he
did
know his horses.

Hannah let her attention stray over the fence. Several of the young animals were lying flat out on their sides, exposing as much area of their bodies to the sun as possible. Nate’s palomino mare stood with one hip cocked and her lower lip drooping. All the horses looked drugged by the sunshine. All except Maverick. He reared on his hind legs again, trying to coax a yearling to play with him.

He would look good under an English saddle. With those legs and that drive, he’d jump like a deer. Not that the Tyrant would ever allow his cowboy horse to be used that way, but…

Hannah stroked the buckskin’s neck as she thought.

She hadn’t told Ty about the letter she’d received from her father, of course. Neither had she broached the subject of her staying on. It was entirely possible he wouldn’t allow it. But what else could she do? Daddy had begged her to remain where she was, and because of that she had no choice. But
her pride wouldn’t let her admit her predicament to a barbarian like Tyrel Fox. No. She wouldn’t sacrifice her pride. But maybe…

“M
R
. F
OX
.”

Tyrel sent his lariat loop flying over a plastic steer’s head that had been stuck into a hay bale. Snapping up the slack, he turned to her, his eyes flat, his expression inscrutable.

She held his gaze and raised her chin a fraction of an inch. “I need to speak to you.”

“Yeah?” he said, staring at her for a moment before striding off to retrieve his loop from the dummy steer.

She clasped her hands together, knowing she’d be a fool to show her emotions.

“I have a proposition for you,” she said, forcing her arms back to her sides and hoping the posture looked more natural than it felt.

“Do you now?” He coiled up his rope.

“Yes.” She refused to clear her throat. “I’ve decided to stay on awhile longer—but only if I can train Maverick to jump.”

He was still for a moment, then laughed.

She wasn’t going to get mad, she told herself. She couldn’t afford to get mad. “May I ask what you find so amusing?” she asked finally.

“You,” he said. Having apparently gained control of his humor, he flipped and caught his loop with practiced ease. “You are, honey.”

“God knows, it’s my sole goal in life to entertain you,” she said.

“Well, you sure as hell do.” He tossed the loop again. It settled easily over the dummy.

“Do you have an English saddle?” she asked. She’d learned with Daddy that it was best to treat her wishes as though it was a foregone conclusion that they would be met.

“English saddle?” He chuckled again. “No. I sure don’t.”

“Then you’ll have to buy one,” she said, her tone stiff.

He chuckled. “So you can teach Maverick to jump?”

“That’s right.”

“There’s just one problem,” he said, retrieving his loop again. “I don’t want Maverick to jump. He’s a roping horse.”

His expression was smug, his attitude irritating—but she wasn’t going to get mad.

“He’s not a roping horse,” she said, and managed a gritty smile.

“That just goes to show that you don’t know any more about horses than you do about anything else.”

Anger rolled over her like a high tide. “Listen, you goon,” she snarled. “He’s no more a roping horse than I am a cocktail waitress.”

“Well, honey,” he said, staring at her, “you dress yourself in one of them short skirts and get that big-hair thing going, that just might be an option.”

She caught her breath. Did that mean he wouldn’t let her stay? But she couldn’t allow herself to think that way. “He’s built like a Thoroughbred,” she argued, refusing to take his bait, to be sidetracked. “He’s born to jump. A natural.”

“What do you know about natural?” he asked. “Natural means honest. And, honey, that’s something you don’t know the first thing about”

“Why? Because any
natural
woman would fall for your two-bit charm? Because any
natural
woman would be entranced by the sight of your eyes, would die for the strength of your arms around her, would be struck speechless at the sound of…” Her words trailed off, and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten started on this track.

He was staring at her, his sensual lips slightly parted, his brows raised over his mahogany eyes.

She blinked twice and considered hiding behind the roping dummy like a whipped cur. But a Clifton Vandegard didn’t hide. “Maverick’s a…a natural,” she finished lamely, finding her line of thought with some difficulty.

He exhaled a soft breath finally, staring at her as if trying
to read something in her expression. “And where did you get your horse knowledge, Hannah? Kentucky?”

“That’s none of your business.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His brows lowered. “I think I have a right to know a few things about my employees—such as…oh, I don’t know—why the hell they’re here!” he said, leaning into her face.

She tried to hold his gaze, but finally looked away. “Listen,” she said, glancing at the horses in the pasture. “You want to build a reputation for your stallion. But you’re not going to do it. Not unless you get some of his babies out there winning ribbons.”

“His babies’ll win,” he said. “Belt buckles—for roping!” He took a few strides toward her.

“I can make that horse jump. I can make him fly.”

“I don’t want him to jump. I don’t want him to fly. In fact, I don’t want any of your prissy city ways or your prissy city tack or—”

“Prissy!” She crunched her fists tight and gritted her teeth. “I am not prissy! I’ve worked off my…” She could think of a thousand appropriate things to say, but her mother’s words were still perfectly clear in her mind.
A lady does not use profanity.

“Your what?” he asked.

“I’ve worked my…fingers off for you! And—”

His laughter interrupted her. “And you have such pretty little…
fingers,
” he said. “But the fact remains, I’m not going to let you spoil that horse.”

“Spoil him!” She spat the words.

“An animal like that needs a firm hand, not some soft—”

“I am not soft!”

He grinned as he let his gaze sweep down her body, as if thinking of parts of her anatomy that were just that.

She gritted her teeth. “I can do anything you Barbarian Brothers can do!”

“Yeah?” He raised his brows at her. “The Barbarian Brothers can team rope. Can you do that?”

“A retarded chimpanzee could do that. And probably with more panache.”

He canted his head at her. “More what?”

She snorted at his ignorance.

He growled back at her. “So you’re saying you can rope.”

“Of course I can!”

“Then come on.” He raised the lariat toward her.

She blinked. Her temper settled a notch. “Well, I didn’t say…” She paused and swallowed. She couldn’t lose this job. “I didn’t say right now. I’d need a little time.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “How much time are we talking about, Ms. Nelson?”

She had no idea. “Three weeks?” They were the first words that came to mind.

“So you’re saying you could rope a steer in three weeks?”

He was laughing at her. Maybe a lady didn’t swear, but her mother hadn’t said anything about not knocking a man on his sexy ass.

“Your steer doesn’t look like it’s going to run all that fast,” she said, nodding toward the dummy head.

“Oh, no,” he said, shaking out his loop. “Not
that
steer. A
real
steer with legs and ears and horns. You know. The breathing kind?”

“Real steer?”

“Uh-huh. From a real horse. That’s how we do it up here on my broken-down, two-bit ranch.”

She shouldn’t have insulted his ranch. He was so touchy about that.

“You’re not…” He took a few steps closer, eyeing her as if she were a strange new breed. “You’re not scared, are you? You’re not thinking there might be something you can’t do.”

She tightened her jaw. “Three weeks will be fine. And after that time I start Maverick English.”

“Wait a minute,” he said. “What do I get out of this? The privilege of your company?”

“What do you want?” she asked, her tone cautious.

He laughed again. “Now there’s a hell of a question for a
lady like you to be asking.” He walked around her, studying her as if judging her for soundness. “Aren’t you afraid I might ask for something
revolting?
To touch you or…Geez! What if I wanted to
kiss
you or something.”

The memory of his kiss sent a spurt of warmth up from her belly. “What do you want?” she asked again, holding his gaze and making certain her tone was icy cold.

He stood there in silence for a moment, head tilted sideways as he watched her, and then he said, “I want you to sing to me.”

“What?”

He nodded, as if it were the perfect solution. “Yeah. I want you to sing me a love song. At the rodeo.”

“Wh—”

“Yeah. Let’s see. Three weeks from now…” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “That’ll be about the time of the Buffalo rodeo. And they got a hell of a sound system there.”

“Sound system!”

“Yeah. I can hear it now. Course you’ll need to tell everyone you’re singing it for me.”

“I don’t…” She backed off a step. “I don’t sing really well.”

He nodded. “You’re sure as hell right about that, honey. I heard you in the shower. You couldn’t carry a tune if it were tattooed on your ass.”

She huffed.

“But—” he shrugged “—if losing scares you—”

“I will not lose!”

He grinned. “It’s a deal then?” he asked, sticking out his hand.

She grasped his hand in roiling terror.

He stepped back. “I gotta put up with you for three more weeks then,” he said.

“Yes.” She gritted her teeth. “Three more long weeks,” she agreed, but in her mind she breathed a heavy sigh. At least she was here for a while longer.

Dropping her hand, Ty turned quickly away, before she
could see his expression, before she could sense his relief. He’d just won himself three more weeks, and if there was a God in heaven—maybe longer.

“G
OOD MORNING
, N
ATHAN
,” Hannah said, bending over slightly to speak to the booted feet that stuck out from under a tractor.

She’d checked the bottle calves and fed the horses, and then, when she was certain Tyrel was occupied elsewhere, she had hurried over to the machine shed where she’d seen Nathan disappear.

He slid out from under a John Deere tractor and grinned at her. A streak of grease was smeared across his right cheek. “Hey,” he said. “How’re you doing?”

“Good.” She nodded. “How about you?”

“Good.”

“That’s nice.” She cleared her throat. “So you have a band?”

“Yeah. The Restless Cowboys.”

She drew a deep breath and remembered not to wring her hands.

“Were you needing something, Hannah?”

“No.” She said the word too quickly and silently berated herself. Of course she needed something. She needed a lobotomy for making such an idiotic bet. But short of that, she needed help and lots of it.

“Well, then…” Nathan grinned at her, contracting the grease stain on his cheek. “I better get to it,” he said, pulling his creeper back under the tractor.

“Nathan,” she said. Her voice sounded panicked to her own ears.

He pushed himself back out His grin had expanded, though she wouldn’t have thought it possible. “The way I see it, we got us two options,” he said. “We can either teach you to sing, or we can teach you to rope. But I heard your singing…” he said, and shook his head.

The air left her lungs in a rush. “You know about the bet?”

“Heard it through the grapevine. So I figure…” He slid back under. She watched him disappear and reappear a second later.

He sat up, and there, clasped in his right hand, was a lariat.

She felt her jaw drop.

“I’m your man,” he said.

Moments later they stood near the roping dummy.

“So which you want to do, headin’ or heelin’?” he asked.

“Huh?”

He grinned, nonplussed. “Ever tossed a rope before?”

“No.”

“Ever handled a rope before?”

“No.”

“Ever seen a rope before?”

“It’s that thing you have in your hand, right?”

“All right. Battle’s half won. Now you gotta rope a steer, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, then—”

“Nathan?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s a steer?”

He paled a little. “Tell me you’re joking and I’ll continue this lesson.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I might cry. ’Cuz it really tears me up inside to see Ty win a bet.”

“Okay, well in that case, I was joking.”

“Good,” he said, making no attempt to make her think he believed her. “Now listen, Hannah, there’s a couple different types of roping. But what me and Ty do is called team roping.”

“Which involves a steer,” she said.

“That’s right” He winced. “A steer. Now some of them steers have horns and some don’t. But all of them got spunk, and none of them much care for the idea of getting trussed up like Penelope Pitstop on the train track. You see, we put
them in a chute about here.” Bending down, he picked up a stick and drew an
X
in the mud. “Then we put a horse and rider on his right side and a horse and rider on his left side.” He drew corresponding marks. “The steer is released. The first cowboy takes off after him and tosses a loop around his head. The second cowboy runs around the steer…” Nate curved a line around the steer’s mark. “…and ropes his heels.”

“His heels?”

“Yeah. His hind legs.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, certain he was.