Once Upon a Cowboy (2 page)

At the A-OK Corral,

outside Lullabye, Colorado...

Holt Winston flipped through the stack of resumés cluttering his desk, his expression growing darker by the minute. Why the hell had he waited so long to fill the last remaining wrangler position? Procrastination wasn't his usual style. But it sure had grabbed hold on this particular task.

He glanced at the next resumé and tossed it aside with a practiced flick of his fingers. He knew damned well why he sat here as stubborn as a mule asked to jump the Grand Canyon. It was for one reason and one reason only.

Gwen. As usual, he could trace the root of his recent woes straight to his city-loving ex-wife. When she'd waltzed out the door, she'd scooped up and pocketed every last penny in his bank account. She'd even cleaned out the spare change under his couch cushions. She'd come as close to bankrupting him as he'd ever care to get.

Turning the A-OK Corral into a
dude
ranch offered his only chance for salvation. Not that he liked it. No way, no how. Unfortunately, it didn't change a damn thing. What was done was done. What remained as a result... Well, he'd just have to swallow it down like some sort of foul tasting elixir.

He turned his displeasure on the stack of resumés. Even so, hiring hands for a
dude ranch gnawed at him, twisting in his gut like a blunt-edged knife. Being good with rope, horse, and cow didn't count for much anymore. To be worth their salt, wranglers who worked dude ranches had to be good with people, too. A sorry state of affairs, that's what it was. But one he'd put up with until he'd got himself back in the black. And the only way to accomplish
that
involved opening his gates to outsiders.

Now because of his little aversion, all the good wranglers were taken. Which left him a day late, a dollar short, a man shy and knee deep in cow— Hold the horses!

He snatched a resumé from the pile and tipped back his hat. Well, now. If that didn't beat all. Here in the middle of this heap of manure, he'd found a gold nugget. A gold nugget by the name of Tex Greenbush. A natural born cowboy who, if the people recommending him weren't exaggerating, could "sweet talk the rattle off a diamondback."

Considering the strange and varied "city slickers" who visited each year, a sweet talking wrangler was one he couldn't afford to pass up. Hell, he couldn't afford to pass up a wrangler who could string more than two words together.

That decided, he yanked his standard contract from a drawer, scrawled his signature on the bottom, and stuffed it into an envelope with a brief acceptance note. A lick and a stamp and it was ready for the post office. With a practiced snap of his fingers, he sent the envelope spinning lazily through the air. It landed smack-dab in the center of the "outgoing" box on the far edge of his desk.

Then he tilted his oak swivel chair to a reckless angle and lifted a mud-spattered boot, dropping it square on top of the remaining resumés. Settling his hat low over his eyes, he grabbed his chipped mug and took a deep, satisfying swallow of coffee as thick as molasses and black as tar. Yep. Now that he'd taken care of that minor detail, he could enjoy the rest of his day.

Life was perfect.

* * *

A few days later in Richmond, Virginia...

Cami Greenbush whooped for joy. "I did it! Holy mackerel, he hired me!" Tossing the letter, envelope, and contract she'd received into the air, she rushed to the window and flung it open, leaning out farther than caution dictated. "Hey, everybody!" she shouted, thick black curls tumbling about her flushed face. "I'm not just a cowboy, any more. I'm Tex Greenbush. A gen-u-ine, hired-for-the-season,
employed
cowboy."

Enthusiastic applause greeted her announcement. "Way to go, Cami," one neighbor yelled.

"We knew you could do it!"

"That's our girl."

She grinned at the well-wishers. "This calls for one heck of a celebration. Texas style, of course. You're all invited. Tonight. Up here. Seven o'clock. And fair warning, the chili's gonna be tongue-blisterin' hot."

"Er, Cami," her roommate, Diane, interrupted. "Have you read this acceptance letter?"

Cami retreated from her precarious position at the window. "Sure I have. It said, 'You're hired.' What else is there to read?"

Diane sighed, studying the papers. "Well, the contract for one thing. It stipulates a two week trial period."

"No problem."

"No problem, unless this Holt Winston decides you can't do the job. Then, according to this, he can fire you."

"He won't," Cami reassured, crossing to the kitchen. "Did I buy extra chili peppers last time I went shopping? I'm sure I did. We'll need lots for tonight."

Diane trailed after her. "Will you please pay attention? Once Mr. Winston realizes you can't rope, haven't been near a ranch in more than twenty years, and the last horse you rode was made of plastic and connected to a carousel, he'll have you on the next plane out of there."

Cami poked through the refrigerator. "Train. Real cowboys use two, and only two, forms of transportation. Their horse. And, when they absolutely must, a train."

"Girlfriend!"

"What?"

"He's going to discover you lied on that resumé and that's going to make him very angry."

Cami rocked back on her heels and glared indignantly at her roommate. "Lied? What lies are you talking about?"

"Your roping skills for one," Diane said pointedly.

"Oh, that." Cami shrugged. "Everyone knows Texans are prone to exaggeration. I admit, one or two details might be open to broad interpretation. But I wouldn't call them lies. Lying is wrong. And if there's one thing I never am, it's wrong."

"There's another thing you're not." Irony underscored Diane's voice. "And that's a wrangler."

"Sure I am. I just need practice."

"You need to have your head examined."

Cami returned her attention to her pepper search. "You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?" her roommate asked in exasperation.

"That I'm a Texan." An aching intensity colored her words while wispy memories of her late father crowded in. If only he were here to see her now.
Daddy's little cowboy
. It was her dream. Her goal. The one thing that meant more to her than anything else in her entire life. Determination ripped through her, giving weight and passion to her words. "And being a Texan means I'm a cowboy by birth. The rest will come naturally."

Diane groaned. "You've got to be kidding."

"It's not a problem," Cami insisted. "You'll see. Cowboying is in my genes." With a smothered exclamation, she grabbed a plastic bag half hidden behind a carton of milk. "Found you, you devils." She held the chili peppers aloft and grinned in triumph. Life was perfect.

Chapter 1

Wes slowed his battered pickup and made a sharp right, bouncing onto a long dirt road. "Here we are," he said to Cami. "Around this next bend is the A-OK Corral."

Cami scooted to the edge of her seat and strained for her first glimpse of the place she'd call home for the next several months. The truck cleared a rise and a huge ranch appeared before her. She sighed in delight. It was the embodiment of a lifelong fantasy and perfect in every detail.

The builder had tucked the two story log house into a hillside. Behind it the Rocky Mountains rose sharply, stabbing the intense blue sky with craggy, snowcapped peaks. A stand of ponderosa pine surrounded the buildings and a sweep of green daisy-studded scrub grass bobbed beneath the late spring breeze like a living welcome mat.

Off to the right of the main house and dotted among the trees were several smaller cabins. For the help, she wondered, or the guests? To the left stood the barn and corral. A meadowlark called to her from a fence post, it's flutelike song a pleasant welcome. She inhaled deeply, taking in the brisk mountain air. What could be more ideal than this?

She turned to Wes. "Thanks for the lift," she said with a wide grin. "And tell that wife of yours to visit real soon."

"You can count on it. Remember, you promised to come by my shop for a soda next time you're in Lullabye."

Cami ticked off on her fingers. "And by Clara's for more cowboy duds—she dressed me up real fine, didn't she? And by Reverend Sam's for a chat—lordy, that man can chat. And by Trudy's Feminine Fripperies for any unmentionables I might need—though what half that stuff is used for, is beyond me." She caught her breath before adding, "Oh, yeah. And by Lem's Mercantile and General Gathering Spot for—well, just for the heck of it, I guess. That sure is one friendly town you have there. Who's left to meet?"

Wes thought a minute. "You missed Tommy Torrino. But he's down Denver way and won't return 'til tomorrow. He's our mayor."

Cami grimaced. "I guess that's what I get coming in a day early."

Wes climbed out of his pickup and plucked her suitcase from the bed of his truck. "That's youth. Always in a hurry to be gettin' and doin'. Guess I'll shove off, if you're positive you'll be okay."

"Not just okay. Being back on a ranch..." To her horror, tears filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly to dispel them, offering a wobbly smile. "I've dreamed about it for a long time. I can't believe I'm finally here."

"Now, now." He patted her shoulder. "You need anything, anything a'tall, you give me or Sadie a holler. Remember now, cellphone coverage is spotty out this way. But Holt has a landline. You call anytime, hear?"

Impulsively, Cami threw her arms around him. "Thanks, Wes."

He gave her an awkward hug, than scrambled into his truck. "Tell Holt howdy. And don't be a stranger, hear?"

"Will do."

Wes started his engine and reversed out of the yard in a huge plume of dust. Cami waved, then turned and crossed to the ranch house. It seemed unnaturally silent. To be on the safe side, she banged on the front door. No one answered. Maybe arriving ahead of schedule hadn't been the smartest idea, after all.

Then she shook her head. Nonsense. It showed incentive. It showed drive. It showed an eagerness to start work. Who wouldn't appreciate that? She'd tuck away her suitcase on this fine porch of Mr. Winston's and borrow his equally fine rocker. Eventually someone would show up to welcome her, and they'd be delighted she'd had the good sense to come early. In the meantime, she'd relax and enjoy the view.

"Look, Daddy," she whispered, almost dancing in excitement. At least, she would if her brand spanking new jeans—no charge for the extra heavy-duty starch—permitted such an action. "I made it. It's not quite home. But it'll do." She settled into the rocker and stretched out her legs, also a necessity given all that starch. "Fact is, it'll more than do."

She'd no sooner given the rocker a practice push than an approaching cloud of dust heralded the arrival of another vehicle. A few minutes later, a minivan pulled into the yard and a man in his late thirties climbed from behind the wheel, looking around in bewilderment. He poked his head in the open car window and said something to the woman seated on the passenger side. In the back, Cami could see several wriggling children. The family's youngest member announced his presence with a strident wail.

Cami glanced from the silent ranch house to the car. This wasn't right. These were guests, no doubt about it. Someone should be here to meet them. It wouldn't do for their introduction to the A-OK Corral to be so lacking in welcome. Coming to a swift decision, she stood, gave her stiff britches a "forward ho" nudge with her hip to set them into motion, and strode across the yard toward the car.

"Howdy!" she shouted over the shrieks of their baby. "Cami Greenbush at your service." She stuck out her hand.

The man latched onto it in relief. "Rob Radburn," he said, pumping her arm up and down. "I didn't think we'd ever get here. We've been on the road for four days straight, and the kids..." He turned a harassed gaze toward the van. "They're sort of sick of being penned up in there."

"Completely understandable." Gingerly, Cami eased her crimped fingers from his desperate grip and peered in the open window. The woman on the passenger side stared blankly out the front windshield. "Er, your wife?"

A young freckle-faced redhead opened one of the sliding doors. "Aw, she's been like that for the last day and a half. Randy was foolin' around with his slingshot and it sort of went off by itself and beaned her one."