His Cowgirl Bride (4 page)

“How long you been at it?” she asked.

The mare got spooked and spun away from him. Holding the lead rope so she couldn't get too far away, Brent turned with her and found himself looking straight at Tacy.

“A little rebellion,” she said before he answered her. “I like this horse.”

“You would.”

“The man speaks.”

He grinned. “When he wants to.”

“So what time did you start?”

He looked at the mare's deep brown eyes. “Six-thirty. Why?”

“Just wondering what time I should start showing up in the mornings so I can get in on everything.”

“Don't you have a horse to ride?”

“Not today.” She folded her arms over the next-to-the-top bar and laid her chin on them. Her eyes sparkled.

Brent's stomach clenched looking at her.

“I'm here to watch.”

He spoke gently to the horse while studying Tacy. The woman wasn't taking no for an answer…and while he admired that trait in a man or woman, he wasn't too happy about it right now.

“Well, don't just stand there—ignore me and continue what you were doing,” she said, chuckling like tinkling glass.

“That's kind of hard to do with you distracting me.”

“Why, Mr. Stockwell, I had no idea you felt that way about me.”

He shook his head. “Cute,” he grumbled as his concentration went south once and for all. He was going to have a long talk with her after he ended this session with the roan.

“You have the saddle in the pen with you. Does that mean you're about to try to put it on her?”

He pressed his hand along the horse's hip, and she moved away from the pressure just as he'd wanted her to do. Then he tossed the end of his rope across her
back, and she accepted it with only a few twitches of her ears and a little flinch. He'd been working with the mare for two days to get her accustomed to him and the rope. Today he was moving up to the saddle blanket and then the saddle. Tomorrow he'd ride her. He didn't tell Tacy any of this. It sounded easy—and actually it was, once you knew what you were doing. But that didn't take the margin for error out of the equation.

To his surprise, Tacy didn't ask any more questions. She watched. He glanced at her from beneath his Stetson and didn't miss that she was drinking in his every move with those alert green eyes of hers. She winked when she caught him staring, but said nothing.

He moved to the fence and picked up the saddle blanket. While he was holding the lead rope, he settled the blanket on the horse's back. She took it fairly well. “Good girl,” he murmured, lifting it up several times and letting it fall back down. Each time, she accepted it without trying to run. Her trust was growing. After a few more minutes, Brent reached for the saddle.

T
acy had been surprised that Brent hadn't pitched a fit about her hovering. Good. She knew she was pushing her welcome, but she couldn't help that. She'd come out the day before and
forced
herself to stride right past the pen where he was working. She'd saddled Rabbit and gone about her business before heading home to get ready for work. Not today. She just hadn't been able to do it. She figured if she got him used to her being around, eventually he'd give in. Kind of like the way he broke a horse. The thought made her smile as she watched him building trust with the roan. Really, what was he so worried about? She could do what he was doing. No problem. Watching him made her more confident than ever. If there was one thing Tacy didn't lack it was confidence. She knew she would be a good trainer once she was given the chance.

When Brent went for the saddle, she held her breath. She wanted to ask questions, but held back.

He'd gotten the horse somewhat used to the blanket and was now talking softly and using clicking noises to take his relationship to the next level. One-handed—something she would never be able to do—he placed the saddle on the horse's back. It barely moved.

No bucking, no hop and skip. Nothing. Its nostrils flared and its ears twitched, yet the animal stood there with only those big velvet eyes shifting as she looked at Brent. Yep, no doubt about it, the man knew what he was doing. And he made it look easy. She'd seen her brothers working with a troublesome horse before and it never went this smoothly.

She watched him for another hour as he patiently got the horse used to the saddle and the cinches. Keeping her mouth closed and not asking questions was one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

When he finally turned the roan out into the large pen and came striding out of the round pen carrying the saddle and blanket, she fell into step beside him.

“That was really awesome. I've never seen a horse go so willingly from green to saddle-ready.”

He stopped, flung the saddle onto its wooden rest just inside the barn entrance and tossed the blanket onto the fence, then turned quickly toward her. This movement brought them so close Tacy had to back up a step to stare up at him. It felt as if they were squaring off for a fight. She realized with one look into those
stormy eyes of his that this was a fair assessment of the situation.

“I'm not playing this game with you,” he bit out, his calm trust-me tone gone.

“What game?” Might as well make him real mad—she was getting there herself. The man was really something when he was about to blow.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” he ground out, meeting her gaze with steely eyes.

She kept her cool. “I was just admiring your technique.”

His jaw clenched and she had a sudden urge to place her hand against it. That was not happening. Touching Brent Stockwell wouldn't be a smart move.

“You're having fun, aren't you?” The question was low, resembling Clint Eastwood's “Make my day.”

“Maybe,” she murmured, her pulse strumming like white-water rapids. She could see the danger signs, hear alarm bells chiming. Did that stop her? Oh, no, the thrill of the ride was too tempting—not to mention that she really hated being told no. She smiled. “Surely you didn't expect me just to give up.”

“Yeah, I did.” His shoulders stiffened, bringing his chest closer to her. “If you know what's good for you, you'd better listen up.” His breath feathered across her skin like warm honey on toast.

Tacy's comeback lodged in her throat. They stared at each other, her gaze drifting to the grim lines of his lips. This was not good. Her thoughts broke as he suddenly spun away and stalked to the barn door.
Slamming his hand to the rough wood, he stared out toward the cabin, every line of his body tense as the sun silhouetted him in an orange spotlight. Dust and floating hay specks played in the shaft of light, making a hazy halo around him—yet doing little to soften the tension radiating from him.

She was breathless. She hadn't experienced such a maddening attraction…well, ever. But this wasn't just attraction; it was an intense game of wills and she was mad. The cowboy was demanding that she do as he said.
And
calling her dumb if she didn't do it…ha! She strode past him into the sunlight and paused to look over her shoulder. “Just so you know, I don't like being told what to do. And unless you're going to figure out a way to lock me off the property, you're stuck with me, cowboy.”

He was clearly unhappy, but she was too mad to care as she headed to her truck. “You have a good day,” Tacy tossed over her shoulder before climbing into the cab and then driving off.

It was a wonder she could see the road for all the steam clouding her eyes.

 

“Mom, I've committed to getting these horses ready.” Brent had been so mad he couldn't think straight after Tacy left. He'd come inside the cabin for a glass of water when the phone rang. He'd been dreading another conversation with his mom about why he wasn't coming home for Thanksgiving. The truth was, he wasn't ready….

“Brent. We miss you. And Thanksgiving just isn't the same without you here to share it with us. Tina really wants you to come home. She's doing well—”

“Mom, if I come home it will just be more reminders of what I've cost her. You know Dad doesn't want me back there. And with good reason.”

“Brent, your father is a hard man, but he's a good man. He misses you.”

His gaze fell to the floor and he blinked hard, feeling his father's disappointment to the core of his soul. His father had taught him almost everything he knew. All Jonas Stockwell had ever wanted was for his son to be a responsible man. For months before the tragedy, he'd been telling Brent that he was letting success go to his head. Warned him, over and over again, that a real man didn't take a God-given talent like Brent's and risk throwing it away as he was doing. How many times had he told Brent that he'd started losing sight of his goals?

He'd been right. Only it had been Tina who'd lost because Brent had been too drunk and too cocky to tell her no. To tell her it was too dangerous for her to get on the troubled colt he'd brought home to break. His sister was a bit hardheaded and hadn't wanted to listen to him. In the end, because the alcohol had affected his good sense and because he was too full of himself, not only had he let her get on that horse, but he'd helped her. His dad hadn't been able to forgive him for that.

Brent completely understood. He would never forgive himself.

“Mom, it's best if I don't come home.”

A few minutes later, after a few more protests, he told his mom goodbye and walked out to the porch. Thanksgiving was three weeks away. As far as he was concerned, it might as well not even be on the calendar. Until the day Tina was one hundred percent healed, he couldn't feel any kind of thanksgiving in his heart.

He was here, back from the wilds of Idaho, simply because Pace had pointed out that Brent had to step up and stop hiding. Even if he couldn't forgive himself, he could gain some semblance of his self-respect back. He owed his dad that much. Taking Pace's job offer, training these horses, getting his life back on track…that might be a way to at least show his dad that he'd learned from his mistakes. In his dad's eyes, a man took responsibility for his mistakes and he fixed them. Brent agreed. But he couldn't fix Tina. All he could do now was try to make something of his life again. Until then, he couldn't look his dad in the eye.

He took a steady breath of the crisp November air and studied Birdy. She'd opted to stay behind and was now sprawled on the top step, looking up at him. She was a reminder that Tacy would be back soon, pushing his buttons again. Cute spitfire that she was, she had no idea what she was asking of him. No idea that her requests were something that would never happen as long as he was overseeing these horses.

 

“No, that ain't gonna work,” Applegate said, staring at the paper on the table by the window.

Stanley glared at him. “It will, you old coot.”

Tacy had been shocked when she got to work and found App and Stanley sitting at their table without a checkerboard between them. Instead, they had pencils and paper. One glance showed rough drawings of all sorts of contraptions. “Let me guess, you fellas are building a pumpkin chunker.”

“They wish,” Norma Sue called from a booth on the other side of the room.

“Not wish—we're doin' it,” Stanley said, grabbing the pages and stacking them neatly. “It seems we got ourselves a competition going on here.”

“Yup,” Applegate said, giving Norma Sue a scowl.

Tacy had been in a foul mood when she'd walked in the door, still hot under the collar about her new neighbor—Mr. Official-Thorn-in-Her-Side Stockwell. Even so, seeing the spark of challenge in the room made her smile and she couldn't refrain from teasing. “Is it true what they say about Norma Sue being a whiz with anything mechanical?”

Stanley coughed as App snorted, “I ain't no slouch myself. She kin fix toasters…I kin fix oil rigs. Did it fer years.”

Stanley grinned. “That's right. So it looks like we gonna have ourselves a real fine competition goin' on.”

Jess Tomlin was sitting at the table across from App and Stanley, giving Tacy his never-ending looks. She'd been too preoccupied with thoughts of Brent to even begin their normal banter. Now he jumped into
the fray. “Y' all do know that punkin chunkin is serious business for some folks. They spend all year working on their machines.”

Norma Sue chuckled. “We're not having a world championship chunkin contest. We're just having a friendly little beginners' contest. No pumpkin cannons or anything like that. I saw one where they were almost able to shoot a pumpkin a mile with that big cannon.”

“They do it with compressed air,” Applegate said, rubbing his chin.

“And it can be dangerous,” Jess said. “My favorite thing to watch is the trebuchets and catapults.”

“What's a trebuchet?” Tacy had to ask. She'd never have suspected that Jess would be interested in anything other than women and horses. He grinned at her.

“It's a weird contraption that has an arm that spins vertically, sending the pumpkin flying. Some folks make the arm spin by hooking up a bicycle to it. You can do the same thing with a catapult, I think.”

“I saw one of them,” Norma Sue said, tugging at her ear, making her kinky gray hair indent like she was poking a piece of steel wool. “It was the weirdest-looking thing.” She chuckled. “I don't think we have to worry about App and Stanley riding a bike to toss their gourds.”

The diner rumbled with laughter and Applegate's scowl disappeared as even he laughed along with the crowd. “Now, Norma, that is one thang y'all don't have ta anticipate seein'. It would give us all a kick,
though, if you hopped on a bike and put the pedal to the metal!”

“Oh!” Esther Mae squealed. “I'd pay to see that myself.” She was grinning like gangbusters until Norma Sue shot her a glare. She glared right back. “Well, I would.”

“Maybe I'd pay to see you doing that, too. You're the one always hopping on that miniature trampoline of yours.”

“Oh, I could do that. I know I could.”

Jess stood up and sauntered over to look over Tacy's shoulder at App's drawing. Now that Tacy studied it, she could see it was some kind of cannon.

“Sir, I was thinking if y'all were really wanting to have a competition, a catapult competition would be fun,” Jess said. “I'd kinda like to try my hand at one of those…and since this will be Mule Hollow's first time for a competition, one category of chunkin would be an easier way for anybody to get involved.”

“I don't know,” Applegate mused, spitting a sunflower husk into a spittoon. “I was thinkin' more along the lines of a cannon. I kinda like the idea of that.”

Jess chuckled, but when Tacy glanced at him his eyes were serious. “On many of those cannons, the teams have engineers and such to make sure no one gets hurt. Compressed air that powerful can be dangerous.”

“You sayin' I wouldn't be careful?” App barked, throwing his thin shoulders back.

“Well, no, sir. I just meant, well, you know, other people. Not you, sir. You would do just fine, I'm sure.”

“Yer darn tootin' I would be. Did I ever tell you I worked the oil rigs fer thirty years and had the top safety record?”

“Well, no, sir, I didn't know that.”

Tacy hid a smile, enjoying poor Jess's flustered state.

“He's right,” Stanley said, finally jumping in to help him out. “We wouldn't want nobody gettin' hurt over a little bit of fun.”

“I'm for the catapults,” Norma Sue said. “After all, we don't have a whole lot of time before we get this little contest up and running. What do y'all think?”

App and Stanley looked at each other and nodded. “Agreed,” they said in unison.

It was decided that all competition would be with catapults and they'd only do a local competition for the first year. Anyone around Mule Hollow could compete, but they wouldn't be advertising for anyone else to sign up. Maybe next year, Applegate said, and Tacy could see he had visions of cannons in his mischievous old eyes.