Counterfeit Cowgirl (Love and Laughter) (2 page)

Her head was buzzing, but she was coherent enough to know she was lucky he’d cut off her verbal barrage. “Goner?” she asked distractedly.

“Yeah.” He looked over his shoulder at the calf. It lay flat out on its side now. “Come from one of my best black heifers, too. That’s the second cow I lost already this year.”

“How do you lose a cow?” she asked irritably. You’d have to be dumber than a rock to lose something as big as a cow.

“She died,” he explained with succinctness.

“Oh.” Hannah couldn’t help peering past him at the little creature on the floor. Every rib was visible through his ebony
coat. “How did she die?” she asked, losing the razor-sharp edge of her anger. Now was not the time to think of lost mothers, she knew. Now was the time to think of a rapid retreat back into sanity. But just then the calf raised its head to stare at her with huge, woeful eyes.

“Is he sick?” Hannah asked, stepping past Ty and into the house.

“Come on in,” Ty said belatedly, and closed the door behind her.

“Is he sick?” she asked again.

“Not so’s I can tell. But sometimes they just give up when there ain’t no mom to love ‘em.”

“Maybe you should sing to him.”

“Sing to him!” She could hear the disbelief in his tone. “I’m afraid I ain’t brushed up on my Hank Williams for a while.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “Daddy used to sing to me.”

“Daddy?
Hey, where are you from?”

She approached the calf to crouch beside him. His eyes were enormous, his lashes as long as her pinkies, and his coat, when she touched it, was curling as it dried.

“I’ve never heard a grown woman call her father Daddy. I thought that only happened in the movies. Rich Southern gals who go around saying, ‘Oh fiddle dee, Daddy! Why can’t I have that Porsche?’”

“If I help you,” she said abruptly, glancing over her shoulder at him, “will you help me?”

“Help…”

“With my car.”

“Oh. Well, like I said, I’m not much good when it comes to engines…” She opened her mouth, but he lifted a hand to stop her words. “But I tell you what, you get this calf on his feet and eating, and I’ll have a look at it.”

“Do you have milk for him?”

“Colostrum’s what he needs.”

She didn’t know what colostrum was. Nor did she care. “Well, do you have colostrum, then?” she asked tightly.

“Yeah, Fred just milked out one of his Holsteins. The way my luck’s been running, I figured I’d need it sooner or later.”

“Then get it,” she ordered.

“Dad said you might be the pushy type.”

“Pushy?” Hannah rose abruptly to her feet.

Ty was staring at her again, and though she would have preferred to think he looked daft, the truth was quite the opposite. She’d better watch what she said, because Daddy had said Lucky Lindy’s henchmen could find her anywhere, even in the frozen tundra of North Dakota if she wasn’t careful.

“Dad said you was one of the best riders in the country,” Tyrel said, watching her with narrowed eyes.

“Fiddle dee dee. I’m so flattered,” she said, using the Southern accent he’d just described.

“In fact, he said you was a pretty good all-around hand.”

Hannah pulled her gaze from him and turned toward the calf. “I thought you said he’ll die soon if he doesn’t eat.”

Ty watched her a moment, then nodded. “I’ll get a bottle. Meantime, if you really want to get out of here, you might lick the calf dry. That’s what the mama would do, ya know,” he said, and turned away.

Lick it! Disgust roiled in Hannah’s stomach. He couldn’t be serious. Or could he? The way he’d cradled the calf against his body, perhaps he was. And she desperately needed to keep the little creature alive so she could buy her ticket out of hell. She grimaced.

But just then Ty’s quiet chuckle rolled from the kitchen, and Hannah knew she’d been duped.

She straightened. So he was laughing at her, was he?

No one laughed at her—not since she’d been eight years old. It had been less than a year since her mother’s death. She’d just come home from boarding school. She’d gone to the park with her nanny, wearing a pink pinafore and white tights. A boy dressed in jeans and a dirty T-shirt had found something amusing about her attire.

He’d gone home with a bloody nose and a limp.

Tyrel Fox would be lucky if he was walking at all by the time she was through with him.

“M
ILK’S WARM ENOUGH TO
…Hey!” Tyrel stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, a large, plastic bottle warm in his hands as he stared at the calf. “He’s looking better. How’d you get him up on his chest?”

“I licked him,” said Hannah.

Horrified, Ty glanced at the calf, then back at her before realizing she was kidding. One minute in her company had told him she was a spoiled little daddy’s girl. But it was also obvious that she was nobody’s fool. “It’s good to know you can take a joke,” he said, approaching her.

“Who wouldn’t be amused by your cleverness?” She raised her gaze to his. They were big eyes, slightly almond in shape and as blue as a robin’s egg. If the truth be told, she was the kind of woman who took a man’s breath away, but there didn’t seem to be much reason to tell her that. Her type always knew.

His father hadn’t said much about her. She was the daughter of an old friend. Good with horses. Might be temperamental, he’d said. Ty knew now that that was a euphemism for “cowboy killer.” He’d tangled with her type when he was in college and didn’t feel a need to do so again anytime soon.

She had an attitude, all right Still, there were advantages to keeping her around, not the least of which was that the old man had said he’d consider it a big favor if Ty would take her on. Since there had been enough bad blood between the two of them, Ty had promised he’d give it a try. And he had, but it hadn’t worked out. She’d be gone before morning and
that was definitely for the best. He didn’t need a face like that around to distract…Nate. Neither did he need to listen to the musical lilt of her voice. It only made him curious about her. And he didn’t want to be curious about his hired help. He wanted someone like Howard, with a face like an aged walleye and all the charm to match. Still, as long as she was there, she could help with the calf.

“I’ll prop him on his feet and you try to get him to suck,” Ty suggested.

Hannah’s fingers were slightly spread. He wondered if she’d been scraping her nails through the calf’s hair to simulate the rough lap of a cow’s tongue. Her expression suggested she was neither accustomed to, nor enamored with, the feel of grime. He stifled a chuckle.

“Dad was a little vague about your experience with cattle,” he said, setting the bottle on the floor. “You do know how to get him to nurse, don’t you?”

Hannah rose to her feet. Ty stepped over the calf and, lifting him to the tips of his hooves, encouraged him to stand.

“I’d ask
your
methods,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’m not willing to mimic his mother in this.”

Ty remained in stunned silence, then laughed out loud, surprised by her statement and wondering if she had meant to place such a bawdy suggestion in his mind. When her cheeks grew flushed, he guessed that she had not. Damn, Howard hadn’t been nearly so appealing when he blushed.

“I think that might be beyond the call of duty,” he said. She reddened more, and he chuckled louder. “Just stick your finger in his mouth and try to get him to suck.”

Grimacing, she glanced at his face as if wondering whether or not he was pulling her leg again.

“He doesn’t have any teeth, ya know. Go ahead.”

She did so gingerly, but the calf turned away.

“Try it again,” he urged.

“Why would he want to suck on my fingers anyway?” she asked irritably as she straightened up.

“Reflex. If he don’t have a sucking reflex we can kiss him goodbye right off the bat.”

He watched her pucker her lips. “There’s no reason for him to nurse if he doesn’t get something for his efforts. It’d be negative reinforcement.”

“Negative—”

“Where do you keep your sugar?” she asked, heading for the kitchen. But when she reached the doorway she stopped in her tracks. Ty winced. Just because he didn’t like her didn’t mean he wanted her to see his dirty laundry.

“Mr. Fox, are you aware that your kitchen has been ransacked by some maniac?”

Ty turned with the calf still poised between his legs. “We meant to do them dishes before ya got here.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him with an arch expression.

“It’s not as if we was expecting you to have sole kitchen duties,” he said, feeling irritably guilty. His mother would be sorely disappointed if she saw his house. And if she knew he’d exposed a lady to that kind of mess, she’d box his ears. Loretta Fox might look like a fragile house flower, but he’d learned long ago not to get her riled. “Me and Nate’s been taught to do our share of housework. We’re nineties men. But it’s been—”

“Mr. Fox,” she interrupted coolly. “Though you insist on believing that I am to be your employee, I assure you there has been a terrible misunderstanding. So it does not concern me what decade, or even what century, you come from.”

She then turned and walked into the kitchen. But in truth, Ty couldn’t really call it a walk—a slink, perhaps. Though she was dressed in nothing more exotic than snug cotton slacks and a royal blue blouse, she gave the impression that she was draped in silk and gems.

He heard her turn on the tap water and knew she was washing her hands. Then cupboards opened and closed until she reappeared in the doorway with a bowl of sugar.

Picking up the bottle, she knelt in front of the calf. “What are you staring at?” she asked.

“You.”

“Well, don’t.”

“I’m just curious is all. What are planning to do with that sugar, exactly?”

“Daddy used to grind up my pills and add sugar when I was sick.”

“Maybe the calf’s not as spoiled as you.”

Her eyes sparked blue flame when she was angry. Good God, what a face! Nate wouldn’t get a lick of work done if she hung around. Luckily she wasn’t the type to tough it out. That much he knew.

“I am not spoiled,” she said stiffly.

“My mistake.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing new.”

“Go ahead,” he urged, nodding to the sugar.

She ignored him as she squirted out a bit of colostrum and smeared it around the nipple. When she rolled it about in the bowl, the sugar stuck to it in a fine layer. Holding the calf’s jaw again, she eased the nipple into his mouth.

He chewed at it and turned away. She tried the entire process repeatedly.

Ty watched her. She’d removed her leather jacket and folded back the sleeves of her blouse in two precise rolls. Miraculously, her ivory slacks had not yet taken a single stain. She radiated class and elegance. Who was she? he wondered, but just then the calf began to suck. Wrapping his tongue around the brick-red nipple, he slurped up a bit of the warm liquid.

In another fifteen minutes, she’d convinced him to drink a quarter of the bottle. Hannah raised her eyes to Ty’s. They gleamed with bright triumph. A man could be entranced by those eyes, if he didn’t know any better. Luckily Ty did.

“Not bad,” he admitted. “You learn that trick on your daddy’s ranch in Texas?”

The light faded abruptly from her eyes. He watched her stroke the calf’s neck before drawing away.

“I’m afraid you have your facts wrong, Mr. Fox. I’m from Colorado.”

“Um,” he said. “Anyhow, you have my thanks.”

She rose to her feet. Ty eased the calf back to the floor.

“And your help,” she reminded.

He raised his brows in question.

“With my car.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He hated engines and was about as likely to get that one started as he was to fly to the moon. It almost seemed a better bet to get her to stay the night and head out to wherever she was going first thing in the morning.

“Listen,” he said, grateful for her help and sensing her fatigue. “You’re never gonna get out of here before dawn. You might as well get a good night’s sleep and take off in the morning.”

She smiled smugly. “I have to tell you, Mr. Fox, I was expecting a more original line from you.”

“Really?” He stiffened, sorry he had ever offered to let her stay. “And that’s one of my best ones, too.”

“I’ve heard better.”

“Guess them boys in Oklahoma just got me beat all to hell.”

“Colorado,” she corrected. “And, yes, they do. Now about the car…”

“I told ya I don’t know much about engines.”

“I doubt that’s your sole ineptitude.”

Ty snorted as he pulled on his jacket. “Don’t let it be said that a Fox don’t live up to his end of a bargain.”

“Far be it from me to spread such rumors.”

“I gotta like the way you talk,” Ty said. “Fiddle dee dee. ‘Far be it from me to spread such rumors,’” he mimicked. “Did you say that’s a New Orleans accent?”

“I said you’re a moron,” she said sweetly, and slipping into her jacket, hurried out of the house.

Ty followed her, trekking through the accumulating slush
and feeling quite proud that he resisted throttling her. Reaching the car, he pulled up the hood and leaned inside.

“Ahh,” he said, looking about.

“What is it?”

“Ohhh.”

“Did you find the problem?” she asked, leaning forward to see what he saw.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said, meeting her gaze.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He shrugged. “I got no idea. But your engine’s kind of greasy-looking.”

For a moment, he thought she might actually hit him.

“I can’t stay here!” she said, sounding panicked.

“Listen, honey,” Ty said, leaning against the car’s grill. “I understand your predicament. But you don’t have to worry. I got myself a gal. Shelly was voted princess for the pork producers of North Dakota just last year, and I’m a one-woman kind of man. I’ll keep you at bay no matter how tempted ya get.”

Her mouth fell open slightly. She had good straight teeth—and nice long legs. If she were a filly, he’d give her a chance. But as it was, she was just a snooty little girl who thought she was too good for the likes of him. He’d seen her kind before, had mooned over one for more than a year, in fact. And he wasn’t in a hurry to do so again.

“Are you suggesting that you think I won’t be able to resist you?” she asked.

“Well…” Ty cocked his head and made a crescent shape in the snow with the worn toe of his boot. “Dad said you’d just been jilted and needed to get away for…”

“Jilted!” The word fairly steamed from between her strawberry-tinted lips. “How dare he—the half-witted—”

“Hey, wait a minute. It’s what your dad told him.”

Her jaw dropped again. But she snapped it quickly closed before pursing her lips and taking a sharp breath through flared nostrils. “Listen here, cowboy,” she said slowly. “I have not now, nor have I ever been, jilted.”

“Yeah? Then why would your father—”

“He must have misunderstood the circumstances!” she spat. “I needed…” She drew a deep breath. He tried not to grin. “I needed to get away for a while. Daddy was kind enough to call up an old friend. That would be
your
father, I presume, and ask about a job. But I see there has been some terrible mistake. The ranch was supposed to be…” She glanced around the yard at the towering, red milking barn with the slanting lean-tos added on. “Well…” She smiled apologetically, a variation of the expression used for oafs. “You understand.”

“No,” Ty said, feeling his muscles tense. “I don’t.”

“Well…” She shrugged. “The ranch was supposed to be…progressive.”

“Progressive?” Ty crossed his arms against his chest. He was all for a little sparring—verbal or otherwise. But he really took it personally when someone insulted his ranch.

“I guess you
wouldn’t
understand,” she said, turning back to him.

Tyrel gritted his teeth. “Try me.”

“Where I come from they swim their horses in therapeutic pools.” She kicked up a bit of slush that stuck to the leg of his jeans. “Not muck.”

“Ahh, Nevada must have really changed since the Dark Ages when I was there.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But whatever the case, I have to get back—to Colorado.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

“But my car—” she cried, then steadied her voice. “My car won’t start.”

“And my cows need feeding. I guess we all got our problems.”

She looked distastefully toward the house, and remained silent for a moment before forcing out her next words. “Where would I sleep?”

“Pardon me?” he said, cocking his head as if he couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly.

“I want to know if the accommodations would be satisfactory if I were to stay.”

“Lady, you…” Ty chuckled. Glancing at the barn, he shook his head. “You beat all, ya know that?”

“Surely you can’t expect me to—”

“Listen! I’ve changed my mind. You can’t stay here after all.”

“What?”

“This ain’t your type of place. Not anywhere near your standards. You better be on your way.”

“But my car! I have nowhere else to go.”

Ty smiled slowly. “Then you can sleep in the barn.”

“The—”

“The hayloft’s pretty cozy really.”

“I will
not
sleep in the barn.”

They stood in the swirling snow, facing off like snarling badgers. “Then you better be a damn fine cook,” Ty said finally. “’Cuz it’s the only way I’m going to let you in the house.”

“C-cook?” she said.

“Yeah. You cook supper for me I’ll let you spend the night.”

She shifted her eyes to the house.

“You can cook, can’t you?”

“Of course I can cook.”

They stared at each other.

Snow was melting on her nose. “All right. It’s a deal.”

“Good,” he said, then turned away. “I’ll be in in an hour or so.”

“But it’s getting dark.”

“Funny thing,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. “Them cows still want to eat.”

T
HE KITCHEN WAS A MESS
. Worse than a mess. It was disgusting. Dirty dishes were everywhere. There was a half-eaten piece of toast lying jelly-down on the counter. In the refrigerator, Hannah found four al
umin
um cans, the contents of
which she did not care to be privy to. She pushed them aside with a wooden spoon before finally finding a carton of eggs. Drawing them out into the illumination of the single bulb, she gave them a judicial glare.

They looked all right. But then maybe all eggs looked all right. She’d rarely seen an egg that wasn’t florentined and garnished. Still, it couldn’t be that hard to cook, and she was ravenous.