Once Upon a Cowboy (4 page)

She nodded energetically, her brim clipping his and knocking both their hats askew. "Got it," she said. "I'll take care of it right away, boss." She swung around. The wickedly curved horn on her buckle caught him in the gut and snagged his shirt.

"Son of a—"

The sound of rending cotton and popping snaps brought her up short. "Oh, dear," she said with a gasp and turned back.

"Whoa, Nellie!" Holt dodged a swipe from the opposite horn, moving away before she could do any real damage.

"Put a rope on that maverick she's wearing," Gabby suggested, "before it turns you from a bull to a steer."

Holt examined his gaping torn shirt and the long, angry scratch scoring his stomach. Anger stirred and he nailed her with a look. "This is not a good start to our relationship," he announced.

She gulped, her gaze fixed on his injury. "Is that...
blood?
"

He took one look at her suddenly white face and slapped a hand to the scratch. "No, it's not," he lied without compunction. "It's ooze."

"But, it's red." She swayed. Gently. From side to side.

"Right. It's red ooze." As much to distract her as for his own peace of mind, he held out his free hand. "The buckle, Tex. Give it over." He gave the order in his most implacable tone of voice.

A hint of color returned to her cheeks, his diversion tactics apparently working. "But my pants..."

"Those britches of yours have enough starch in them to stand on their own. They'll stay up just fine, belt or no belt. Now give it to me before you put someone in the hospital."

With a great show of reluctance, she unhooked the belt and slid it through the loops. "I'm real fond of this buckle," she said wistfully. "I've dreamed of owning a buckle like this for a long, long time. Don't you like it?"

Now she'd done it. Gone and made him feel like a heel. A heel making a fuss over a little bitty nothing of a scratch. Shoot. "It's a fine buckle," he found himself saying.

He avoided looking at Gabby and Frank. He knew if he did the two would get to laughing and he'd be forced to discourage them, undoubtedly with his fists. Matters would slide downhill from there, and more ooze would be spilled. Plain and simple, keeping his attention focused on Tex seemed the wisest course of action for all concerned.

"Really?" she said. "You really think it's a fine buckle?"

"A buckle like that demands respect. A lot of respect." He glanced downward at his torn shirt again. "And a lot of distance."

She peered at him hopefully. "Then I can keep it on?"

He wasn't that stupid. "No."

She sighed, handing over the belt. "Okay. You're the boss."

"You got that straight." He held the thing gingerly by one horn and jerked his thumb toward the family of redheads. She took the hint.

She jangled onto the porch and faced the Radburns with an encouraging smile. "Okay, boys, everybody grab a suitcase or bag and haul it to the car." Rhonda clung to the arms of the rocker and moaned.

"Can't we stay here?" Rufus demanded. "I wanna be with you."

Cami ruffled his hair. "I wish you could, buster. But it seems you belong next door. Now get going. Rollie, you let that mouse out of your pocket before you get in the car. Rob? Think it'll be too much trouble to reassemble the roof rack?"

"Not at all. I'll get right on it, Cami." He hustled toward the car.

"Rhonda, you come with me, honey. Now, now. Whimpering won't solve anything. Give me the baby. Heavens, looks like there's been a flood south of the border. We'll have him changed in no time."

Holt watched in amazement as, without missing a step, she plucked the diaper bag from the pile of luggage, settled the wriggling baby on top of a canvas tote and commenced to buff, puff, and dust. In no time, she'd restored a cooing infant to his mother's arms and convinced the contrary woman to return to her car. Once they were settled, Cami poked her head in the window.

"Here you go, boys. Take my yo-yo and do some practicing. I've got plenty more where that one came from. I expect next time I see you, you'll put me to shame with the stunts you can do. No, no, Rusty. Bopping your poor momma is not a good trick." She pulled back and waved. "Don't be strangers, now. We're just one big, happy family around here. So, you come and visit real soon. Hear?"

"Well, now," Gabby muttered. "If that don't beat all."

Frank nodded in agreement. "Wish I could stick around and see if she's as smooth a wrangler as she is a talker. But I better start for home. Once my housekeeper gets a load of those Radburns, she's gonna up and quit on me. No question about it."

Holt gave them a look of disgust. "Nobody who dresses like that has been within spittin' distance of a ranch, and you both know it." He folded his arms across his chest. "She's no wrangler. I'd bet my bottom dollar on it."

His gaze wandered in her direction. No, he realized grimly, she wasn't a wrangler, but she
was
trouble. He didn't doubt for a minute Tex could sweet talk a chicken out of the jaws of a starving coyote. He didn't intend to let her sweet talk him. No, sir. Not him.

And yet... Doggone it. With all that black hair hanging halfway to her waist in tight, shiny curls, even the back of her appealed. Not to mention her nipped-in waist, a pert little rump and long, lean legs that could clamp around his saddlebags any day of the week. She was too pretty by half. Which meant the only way to protect himself was to get her off his ranch. Pronto. Before she opened her mouth and changed his mind for him.

She turned and practically sashayed across the dusty yard to his side. He forced himself to be fair. With those ridiculous chaps and jeans, sashaying was probably the only way she could move. He spoke before she had the chance. No point in giving her an unfair advantage. "I'm calling your bluff, Tex. Time to put up or pack up."

She didn't seem the least concerned. "I'm ready when you are," she said.

He gave an abrupt nod. "I'll go find your resumé and we'll get this nonsense over and done with." He strode toward the ranch house and snagged his foreman by the arm. "Get Petunia," he ordered in a quiet aside.

Gabby started. "Petunia? You sure?"

Holt risked a quick look over his shoulder. Tex stood in the middle of the drive as soft and fresh as newly churned butter. He almost changed his mind. Almost. Then her dimples winked at him. "Just do it!" he barked, slamming his hat down on his head.

He stomped up the porch steps, his inappropriate parts once again in an uproar.
Hell's bells and little fishes!
That woman was yanking his chain something fierce. And worst of all?

She didn't even know it.

Chapter 2

Cami waited in the middle of the deserted yard, watching Gabby strike out for the barn and Holt disappear into the ranch house. This was the moment of truth. Here she stood in the midst of a hostile environment, able to count on one person and one person alone. Herself. In a short while she'd be faced with a set of near impossible tasks, a challenge she could not and would not refuse. A challenge she'd face dead on, never once flinching no matter how rough it got, just like the gunslingers of the Old West.

She stretched out her arms and laughed aloud. Lordy, she loved being a cowboy!

Several minutes later Holt Winston returned to the porch, a roll of papers crumpled in his hand. She simply stood and stared, overcome with admiration. Admiration, and something more. Something she had no business feeling toward her employer. He appealed in a way no other man ever had. There was a strength about him that drew her. A permanency that reflected the landscape surrounding them. And it didn't hurt that he was sexier than hell.

Holt shoved his Stetson to the back of his head, revealing dark brown hair shot with streaks of sun-ripened gold. Without the shadow cast by his brim, she could also see his face more clearly, and she liked what she saw.

His features contained none of the smooth, boyish charm of so many of her male friends. The weathered crags and valleys of Holt's face revealed a man who'd lived hard and on his own terms, who'd known his fair share of sun, dust, and wind. A starburst of tiny lines emphasized his unwavering gaze, and deep creases bracketed a firm mouth and square chin. From the high jutting cheekbones and uncompromising blackness of his eyes, not to mention the hint of copper tinting his skin tones, she suspected Mexican or Indian blood had found its way into his ancestry.

He'd changed his torn shirt, she noticed with some relief, the heavy denim free of distressing blood specks. His fleece-lined vest blew open in the breeze, revealing a pair of work gloves tucked into a wide black belt. His leather chaps rode low on his hips, clinging to long, lean legs and emphasizing the fluid grace of his movements.

Here before her stood an honest-to-goodness cowboy. He was tall, spare, and muscular. And absolutely perfect. She gave herself an entire minute to drink him in, aware that a big part of the attraction related to his occupation. She'd always had a soft spot for a cowboy. This one fell into the category of super-sized cowboy. How she envied the life he'd led, the life she'd always dreamed of leading.

"Don't just stand there. Haul your citified tail over to the corral and let's see what you can do," the honest-to-goodness cowboy groused. "Or, like as not, can't do," he added beneath his breath.

"Yessir, boss," she said, trotting after him. This was it. Her big chance. Boy howdy, it didn't get any better than this!

Gabby exited the barn, weighted down by a saddle and blanket, and leading a large dun mare. He gave the horse a light swat on the rump and it trotted into the corral. With the ease of long practice, he swung the saddle onto the upper rail of the fence and climbed up next to it.

"All set," he called.

Holt nodded, slapping the resumé and references against his thigh. "Says here you're quite impressive with a rope," he addressed Cami. Snagging a length of thick braided manila off a post by the corral, he tossed it to her. "Try impressin' me."

The rope uncoiled, half the length slithering in the dirt. Not a problem, she decided, gathering up the excess. She'd impress him. Sure she would. Besides, how hard could it be?

Holding the bulk of the rope in her left hand, she swung the looped end into the air and twirled it. To her utter delight, not to mention amazement, it worked. A large spinning circle appeared above her head. She looked over at Holt and grinned.

"Where'd you like it, pardner?" she drawled.

"Lasso the post next to Gabby. The post," he emphasized, "not my foreman."

"You got it." She snapped her right arm back and then forward, toward the post. The rope obediently flew off behind her. It never reappeared. Instead, the rope went taut and she heard an anguished howl. She whipped around and stared in horror.

"Congratulations," Holt said. "You roped my sheepdog. Any time we need Git hogtied, I'll know who to call."

"Lord have mercy!" she exclaimed, running for the dog. Gently she eased the rope from around the animal. He gave her hand a pitiful little lick and flopped onto his back. "I'm sorry, Git," she said earnestly. "Truly, sorry."

Holt strolled over and peered down at the dog. "I do believe he surrenders. If you can convince the cows to do that, we've got it made." He eyed her sternly. "Now, would you care to tell me what you do with a rope that's so all-fired impressive?"

"Hang swings," she admitted.

"Come again?"

She cleared her throat. "I... I hung a couple swings for the neighborhood kids. Their parents were very grateful. When I asked for references, they were happy to oblige."

"You're kidding."

"Am not. I have a real knack for knots, too. And one other thing." She dug deep into her pocket and pulled out her spare yo-yo. "I can rope something fierce with this."

"The hell you can."

She looked him straight in the eye and said, "The hell I can, too."

"That's not even a rope," he scoffed. "It's a string."

She shrugged. "Rope, string. It's all the same. Only difference is the thickness."

He shoved his hat back on his head, clearly put out. "I'd call that a rather significant difference. Wouldn't you?"