Counterfeit Cowgirl (Love and Laughter) (9 page)

“On a horse?”

She looked so surprised that he couldn’t help but chuckle. “I guess I’ve been working you pretty hard, huh?”

“Have you?” she asked, and smiled. “I didn’t notice.”

“I suppose you always work like this,” he said.

“Me. No. Just when I’m on vacation.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

He leaned against Tuff Tina’s stall and bent one knee to rest the bottom of his boot on the plank behind him.

“So you on vacation now?” he asked.

“You might say that.”

It was foolish, he knew, but for a moment it almost seemed she was serious. He tried to keep his head. “So would a ride ruin your sabbatical?”

“No.” She shook her head. “A ride would be nice.”

Behind the barn were the unpampered horses. They were also some of The Lone Oak’s best stock. Skippa Lula, the palomino mare Nate used for roping, was the most dependable.

Ty slipped a halter over her head and handed the lead rope to Hannah. Then he haltered the chestnut he’d used for heeling for the past five years.

Back inside the barn, Ty tied Rowdy near a stall and motioned Hannah down the aisle a ways.

“Cross ties are there,” he said. He watched as she moved forward and quickly snapped a rope into each side of Lula’s halter. Whatever Hannah Nelson was or wasn’t, she knew horses.

Inside the tack room, he lifted a chocolate-colored saddle from a rack. “This all right for you?” he asked. “It’s the smallest I’ve got.”

“Ahh…” She looked baffled for a moment, then said, “Sure. That’s fine.”

“Okay. Grab that blanket and the hackamore hanging there,” he said, and moved back into the aisle.

Hannah placed the blanket on the mare’s back without prompting. Ty sat the saddle atop it.

“Can you cinch up while I see to Rowdy?”

She blinked at him. She’d shed her overalls for a goose-down jacket that Howard had left behind. It was faded, out of date, ripped on one sleeve and generally ugly. Funny how she still looked like a princess in it. Even the tattered, tweed cap he’d offered her, made her look adorable, like royalty incognito, with soft hair and fire in her eyes.

“Sure,” she said finally. “I can, uh…cinch up.”

“Okay.” His own roping saddle was high pommeled. Over the years he’d grown accustomed to the feel of it and used it all the time now. It took him only a few minutes to tighten the girth, slip a bit between Rowdy’s teeth and turn toward Hannah.

She was standing with one stirrup draped over the seat of the saddle as she stared in bewilderment at the string girth.

So she was an English rider and didn’t know how to cinch up a Western saddle. It was as plain as the nose on Ty’s face. There were a thousand remarks he could make about that. Instead, he led his gelding up beside the mare and handed his reins to Hannah.

“Here you go. Let me do that. Put your gloves on before your fingers stiffen up.”

She did so.

In a minute they were out of the barn and riding down the gravel road.

So who was she? Ty wondered for the hundredth time. Where was she from and what was she doing here?

He didn’t voice the questions.

Off to his right a trio of robins hopped about, looking puffy and disgruntled in the snow.

Hannah turned toward them, seeming to ride without conscious thought.

“Dammit, Frank,” Ty said, raising his voice to an odd birdlike falsetto. “I told you it was too early to come back here. We should have stayed in Florida.”

To his surprise, Hannah laughed. His heart flip-flopped in his chest.

The rest of the ride was filled with talk and laughter. He showed her where, at the top of a distant rise, they could just see the trees that surrounded his parents’ house.

To the west, in a ravine where a bunch of scrubby box elders grew was where he had found a wounded fawn as a child. He’d carried it home and kept it until it lost its spots and moved on. But sometimes he thought he still caught glimpses of it.

Hannah watched him as he talked. Sometimes she turned away to gaze at the widespread country around them, and ask all sorts of questions.

What kind of bird? Had he always wanted to be a rancher? How many foals was he expecting? And with each of her questions, Ty’s own life seemed to take on a new significance, a new glow.

Finally the sun sunk beneath the low, western hills, casting midnight blue shadows across the snow. They reached the barn just as the last glimmer of light faded.

Supper was nothing more than a continuation of the same mood. Nate, eager for an evening with his band, was at his comical best. Even Pansy cracked what might be referred to as a smile.

Finally the meal was over and Nate and Pansy were gone for the night.

“Well…” Ty shuffled his feet, feeling suddenly nervous. He’d gotten somewhat accustomed to Hannah’s regal beauty, could almost breathe evenly in her presence now. But that was with others about. Now, alone with her, he felt his heart
rate pick up and his temperature rise. “I guess I’ll go check the heifers. That’ll give me till midnight or so before I have to do it again.”

Hannah turned toward him. She’d spent the past hour or so upstairs while he’d padded about the lower floor trying not to image what she was doing up there. But it had been hopeless. She had taken a bath. He’d heard the water running, knew when it had been turned off, sensed the whisper of her blouse as she’d slipped it from her body. Almost
felt
the lap of the soft waves as she’d stepped into the tub.

“I’ll go out at midnight for you,” she said.

She was wearing a soft salmon-colored sweater tucked into her jeans. It caressed her breasts, accentuated her tiny waist and made his mouth go dry.

“Ty.”

“Huh?” He snapped out of his reverie, feeling patently stupid, and ridiculously overheated.

“I said I’ll check them at midnight.”

“No. That’s all right,” he said. It was going to be hard enough to sleep knowing they were the only two in the house. If he had to worry about her out there all alone, he might just as well kiss his poor lonely bed goodbye. “I
want
to go out.”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. And maybe he had.

“No, really. The cold air will do me good.” Never was a truer word spoken. The March night air was just about as effective as a brisk shower.

“You can’t expect to do your part and Nate’s.”

“He’ll be home by…” Ty shrugged. “Five or so.”

“In the morning?”

“Yeah. So that just leaves me three trips out there before breakfast.” He grinned. It sounded ridiculously masochistic when he said it that way.

“Then I’m going out.”

He tried to dissuade her, but it was no use. Finally, dressed for the elements, they wandered out side by side. He justified
this by telling himself that if she was going to take up the night watch, he’d have to show her what to look for.

The night was very still and very bright. The sky was clear with a three-quarters moon that shone on the melting snow like a huge chandelier.

Hannah drew the chill air deep into her lungs. There was a freshness here she had never before experienced. A peace, an acceptance. She shivered, filled with emotions she neither understood nor wished to analyze.

“You cold?”

“No.” She glanced at Ty, then shifted her gaze from his shadowed face to the pastures that fell away before them. “It’s very pretty here,” she said softly.

“Prettier than Boston?”

She turned back and raised her brows to stare into his downturned face. “I’m from Colorado,” she said.

He laughed. The sound shivered through her. “Oh, yeah. Here,” he said. Lifting one strand of barbed wire in a bare hand, he pressed the other down with his foot so she could scoot between them. “Watch your head.”

In a moment they were on the other side, but he stopped her now with a hand on her arm. Taking off her tweed cap, he unfolded the flap and placed it back on her head. “You gotta keep your ears covered,” he said. Their gazes met. Softness swirled around them.

But in an instant Ty cleared his throat and turned away.

“Didn’t your mom teach you anything?”

They walked side by side through the darkness, their hands shoved deep into their pockets. “Tell me, Tyrel Fox, are you always such a mother hen?” she asked.

He looked straight ahead. Fog rose in cool clouds in the dip before them. “Have you ever noticed that you evade every question I ask you?”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do.”

Through the fog, she could see clusters of cows lying on the snow-covered hills ahead of them. “Wouldn’t it be wiser
to keep the cows inside if you know they’re going to deliver soon?”

“There’s not enough room for all of them. If we know they’re due we separate them and put them in the barn with the newborns. But they can be unpredictable, and you’re changing the subject again.”

“I am not.”

“The subject was your mother.”

“Speaking of mothers, when are your mares due?”

He stopped in his tracks and faced her. “You know my brother, my occupation, my address, my…” He paused, searching for more words. “Dammit, Hannah, you know everything but my hat size. Don’t you think you could trust me with…hell, I don’t know, your middle name or something?”

No, she couldn’t. But his voice had gone all soft and smoky again, curling in her insides. She looked away.

“It’s Ann.”

“Really?”

She grinned at the surprise in his tone. “What else would you like to know?”

The night was very quiet. Not a car, not a plane, not a whisper of wind could be heard.

“Anything,” he murmured. “Just give me anything.”

She turned back to him and felt her senses scramble. Beneath the shadow of his hat brim, his jaw looked as rugged and real as the land around them.

She jerked her gaze away, walking toward the herd again. In a few strides he caught up with her.

“She taught me which spoon to use for sorbet,” Hannah said.

“What?” He pulled her to a halt with a hand on her arm.

“That’s what Mother taught me,” she said, her voice almost inaudible to her own ears.

The moon was at his back and shone full on her face.

“Do you look like her?” he asked softly, unable, for all his self-warning, to keep from touching her cheek, to stop himself from pushing a few golden strands behind her ear.

She shivered beneath his touch. “Too big boned,” she said.

“What?”

She drew a soft breath between her lips. They were beautiful lips, perfect, pink as evening clouds. “Mother was very refined,” she added.

“Was?” He realized suddenly that he was holding his breath.

“She died in a car accident when I was…” She stopped as if somehow this delicate information might be used against her. “Quite young,” she finished softly.

He touched her cheek again, wishing with all his aching heart that he could pull her-into his arms, could ease the pain he saw in her face and knew she would never admit to. But he had no right to share her emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She glanced over his left shoulder. “I didn’t see her much anyway.”

“And your father?”

“He travels a good deal.”

The night was quiet.

“Didn’t they know?” he murmured.

She stared at him with eyes wide beneath the tattered tweed. “What?” she asked. It seemed as if she tried to contain the question, but it crept out on a feather-soft whisper.

He should stop. Should turn away. Should send her back to wherever she came from. Should have learned long ago not to give a woman like this a rope to hang him with.

“Didn’t they know how precious you are?” he asked.

He waited for her rejoinder, her admittance that she was indeed worth her weight in gold.

But in an instant, he realized that her eyes were too bright and her perfect lips trembling. He searched for words, but his throat was tight, and his mind jumbled by her softness, her beauty, her vulnerability that ripped at his soul.

“Thank you.” Her words were so small he could barely hear them.

Closing his eyes, he shushed all the warning bells and wrapped her in his embrace. It took a moment, but finally she lifted her arms and hugged him back.

And so they stood with the moon shining bright and hopeful upon them, doing nothing but holding each other. Yet it felt like so much more, like the completion of a dream, like coming home after a long journey.

Finally she stirred in his arms and moved away slightly.

He heard her clear her throat, and watched her glance nervously to the right, as if letting down her guard was such a horrid thing that she could not even face him.

“You all right?” He should have thought of something clever to say, but couldn’t.

“Yes,” she said. The word was soft, but instead of looking away, she raised her gaze to his, and smiled. He smiled back. “I’m good,” she said.

He tried to let her go, tried to let her draw away, but he could not, not completely, not now. And so he tucked her hand under his elbow.

Arm in arm, they walked through the darkness. The cows lay content and quiet, chewing their cuds, barely glancing up as they strolled by. Ty pointed out certain animals and their various attributes. Even in the dark, he knew them, their family, their history. As if they were old friends. Geez, he needed to get a life, he thought. But with her there beside him it seemed like more happiness than he could bear. Certainly too much to keep.

“And that one there…” He pointed to his right, where a black heifer lay alone. “That’s Cranky II.”

“You have them named?”

He smiled down at her. “Just a few. Those that bear remembering. Her mother was the meanest damn cow I ever saw. I was, oh, maybe fifteen when Dad got her. Bought her at an auction with twenty or so others. We had a girl neighbor—Elaine Anderson.” He said the name reverently, then sighed. “I thought she was the prettiest thing that ever walked on two legs.”

She was staring at him.

“Buck teeth didn’t bother me back then,” he said. “And that hook nose—it only added to her beauty.” Hannah’s laughter trickled to his soul. “Anyway, she’d come over with her dad to see the new stock. And me, I thought this was my chance to strut my stuff.” He winced. “I told you I was only fifteen, didn’t I?”