How to Wrangle a Cowboy (26 page)

Lindsey felt her mood souring. Okay, the man had a rough childhood. She got that. But that was no reason to deny everyone around him, including himself, the simple pleasures in life. A kiss, a plaything, a puppy—he was so cautious he leeched all the joy out of things.

“Let’s take a break.” She knew she was being rude, but she didn’t want to be with him—not at that moment. The expression on Cody’s face when he’d turned to summon his little dog had been a mixture of resignation, disappointment, and guilt—three emotions that didn’t belong in this sunny, summer day.

Chapter 31

Lindsey headed for the house, lost in thought. The one time Shane had let go was when they were making love.
Don’t think
, he’d said, and she’d called him
Zen cowboy
. That had been a different Shane, one who felt safe and confident. One who’d taken her away from the world of her worries and into a special place that was theirs alone.

She could feel a warm glow stealing over her at the memory and smiled.

“My goodness,” Grace said. “I didn’t think the swing was
that
much fun.”

Lindsey started, spinning toward the far corner of the porch where her grandmother sat in the shadows.

“It’s only fun once in a while.” Lindsey slumped onto the wicker love seat beside her grandmother. “The rest of the time, it’s kind of a drag.”

“Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?”

Lindsey rested her elbows on her knees and hung her head. “Yup.”

“I have to say, I’m surprised. I thought he’d be a pistol in bed.”

“Grandma!” Lindsey sat up tall. “I can’t believe you’d even
think
about that.”

“I’m old, but I’m not dead,” Grace said mildly. “And I have a good eye for that sort of thing.” Her smile turned mischievous. “So maybe it’s you.”

“It’s not me. It’s him. And it has nothing to do with bed. In fact, that’s the only time he lets go enough to quit being such a…ooooh.” She buried her head in her hands, realizing Grace had tricked her into saying far too much.

Well, she’d started, so she might as well finish. She needed somebody to talk to, and while Parsnip was a comfort, the old mare didn’t have much advice to offer on human affairs.

“I feel bad for Cody. He won’t let him swing on the swing. He’s convinced something terrible will happen to Stormy, so he keeps trying to keep the kid from loving his own dog. He can’t just relax. Not ever.”

“You know why, don’t you?”

Lindsey nodded. “I asked him a minute ago if he was ever really a kid. He said no.”

“That’s quite an admission for him. He normally won’t talk about his childhood at all.”

“It must have been awful.”

“Probably. But even if nothing truly terrible happened, he grew up without a real home or a real family. Unconditional love is like a safety net. It lets you take risks, have adventures. He never had that.”

“He had it with the Deckers. And with his brothers.”

“I think it was too late by then, don’t you?”

Lindsey remembered herself at fifteen and realized Grace was right. She’d already become the person she was destined to be by that age, and only a few major tragedies, like her mother’s death and losing Daniel, had been able to change her.

“He cares for you,” Grace said.

Lindsey lifted her head, surprised. “He said so?”

“I see him watching you.” Grace smiled gently. “There’s love in his eyes. He’s not the kind of man to say so until he’s sure, though. Like I said, he doesn’t take many risks, especially with Cody to think of.”

“That’s just it.” Lindsey stood and walked over to the rail just in time to see Shane emerge from the barn with an old saddle propped on his hip. He looked strong and steady and muscular—a man who’d always worked hard and done the right thing, and always would.

So what was her problem? She couldn’t help watching the way he walked, with long, self-assured strides. The way his hand, strong and sure, gripped the cantle. The way he balanced the weight of it on his hip, carrying the heavy saddle as if it was a toy.

“What’s just it?” Grace asked.

“Oh. Um…” Lindsey had lost her place in the conversation.

“We were talking about risks,” her grandmother prompted.

“Oh. Well, life’s all about risks.” Lindsey watched Shane set the saddle on the ground, shoulder muscles bunching, then relaxing. He headed back to the barn with that same purposeful stride and she almost lost her place again, then remembered. Risk.

“Look at the risk you and Granddad took, coming here.”

“The greater the risk, the greater the reward. That’s what Bud always said.”

“And I believe that, with all my heart. I want to live my life the way you did.”

“Chasing dreams and riding fast horses?”

“Exactly.”

Grace got that foggy look in her eyes that worried Lindsey so much. “Bud and I, we never play it safe.” She looked up, and Lindsey felt her grandmother was looking right through her. “Tell him not to work so hard.”

“Who, Shane?”

“No. Bud.” Grace looked peeved. “Shane always works hard. But Bud’s getting older. He doesn’t like to hear it, but it’s true. You tell him to come up here and sit with me awhile. It’s been too long since we just sat together.”

Lindsey thought about sitting down with her grandmother, taking her hands, and pulling her gently back to reality. But what harm was there in dreams, really?

“I’ll…I’ll do that.” Leaving Grace to her dreams, she walked slowly back to the barn, thinking about Shane, about Bud, about how every life is ruled by love or the lack of it. And she said a little prayer, asking Bud to be with her grandmother for a while. There was no harm in asking, right?

She reached the door of the tack room and stopped, appreciating the view. For one thing, the room was nearly empty. The smudges on the windows were gone, and the rafters were free of cobwebs. Shane was gathering up a few remaining bits and pieces of tack, unaware he was being watched.

The man lit her fire and warmed her from the inside out like no man ever had. Those broad shoulders were made to carry heavy burdens, but it was in his mind that he carried the most weight. Shane felt responsible not just for Cody, but for the whole world. He thought it was his job to care for Grace, to keep Stormy safe, to protect Lindsey from her own wild impulses.

He was a good man—probably the best she’d ever know. But he was right to quash Cody’s hopes of a permanent relationship between the two of them. They were simply incompatible. Weren’t they?

He turned and caught her watching. A slow, sexy smile spread over his face, and the dark eyes lit with a fire she knew was as hot as a woodstove on the Fourth of July.

“It’s just about done,” he said.

“Yeah.” She could feel the telltale heat behind her eyes that meant tears might come at any moment.

She loved this man. But she doubted she could live a full life with him when he was so absurdly protective of those he loved. All she could do was treasure every moment with him, and do what she could to make his life easier, better, smoother. That’s what love was about, after all.

“Thanks,” she said. “You did a great job. Really.” She grabbed the broom he’d propped in a corner. “I’ll sweep it out. You go check on the kids.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” She nodded sharply. “And, Shane?”

“What?”

He turned in the doorway, and she knew she’d never forget how he looked in that moment. His bare arms were streaked with grime from the tack room, and at some point his T-shirt must have snagged on a nail, because it was torn right across his chest. His hair was tousled and damp with sweat, and one leg of his jeans was hung up on the top of a scuffed cowboy boot. He looked dirty, exhausted, and sexier than sin.

She’d lost her place again, and struggled to think of something to say. “Those flyers I printed up?”

“I’ll put ’em up tomorrow.” He grinned. “I’m going to town anyway. Want to come along?”

She shook her head. She had work to do, up in the attic.

“Okay.” He flashed a mock salute. “See you, boss.”

And even though the rational part of her knew without any doubt that the two of them simply weren’t compatible, the rest of her watched him walk away with a hitch in her breath and a jackrabbit heart.

Chapter 32

Shane was carefully tacking up Lindsey’s notice at the feed store when RaeLynn Evans strolled in.

Blond and perky, RaeLynn always stood a little too close. Her daddy owned the store, and she seemed to consider it her personal cowboy smorgasbord. The look in her eyes made him worry she’d rub up against him like a cat, or knock him down and throw herself on him like a dog rolling in scent.

She leaned closer, reading the notice and whispering the words to herself. When she was done, she stood back with a smirk on her face.

“So she’s got you running her errands now?”

He could tell from her tone there was talk around town about him and his new boss. Wynott was full of rampant traditionalists, and he was sure the fact that he took orders from a woman probably emasculated him in the eyes of women like RaeLynn.

So why was she fluttering her lashes at him? Matter of fact, how did she even manage to do it? With all the lumpy mascara and sparkly shadow weighing down her eyelids, he was surprised she could even blink.

“Nobody that comes in here is gonna call her,” she said. “Ranchers don’t fuss over dogs and cats like that.”

He’d had the same thought and couldn’t help chuckling. “She does animal massage too. And acupuncture.”

He felt vaguely disloyal as RaeLynn snorted again. But he was just stating facts. “I wouldn’t pay a dime for that puncturing. Makes you look like a whore.”

It took Shane a second to realize RaeLynn had confused acupuncture with piercing.

She stroked one hand down her sizable chest. “My body is a temple. I’m not gonna mess it up with that kind of thing. And who’d do that to an animal, anyway?”

Shane tried to picture a cat with an earring or a dog with a nose stud, and smiled. RaeLynn took that as encouragement and sidled closer.

Ugh.

“I bet I can beat her when it comes to massage.” She rubbed her breast against his arm. “I give one heck of a back rub, cowboy.” She touched his shoulder with one finger and batted her lashes again. “Matter of fact, I’m just closing up here. We could—”

“Sorry. Got a lot to do.” Shane waved the flyers.

RaeLynn pouted briefly, but when she saw it had no effect, she cocked her head and eyed the flyers.

“What you oughta do is put one up at the Red Dawg,” she said.

“I don’t know. That’s a rough crowd.”

“Not in the daytime.”

She had a point. During the day, the Red Dawg was fairly civilized, despite its rustic decor. Tourists, travelers, even ladies who lunched enjoyed its cowboy-themed fare, from Buckin’ Bar-B-Q Buffalo Patties to Cow Camp Stir-Up Soup. The food was a lot better than it sounded.

It was Red Dawg nights that were dangerous, as the setting sun lured the serious drinkers out of their lairs. The former oil workers drove over from the trailer park to spend their unemployment checks, while the bikers from Cheyenne roared out of the city to drink in a bar where it was still legal to smoke indoors. Meanwhile, the used-up small-time ranchers, tough as rawhide and tanned like leather, sat at the bar and drank steadily as they told stories of the glory days when they could still heft a bale of hay and buck out a green three-year-old.

Shane wasn’t sure any of those folks would spend real money on a pet, but RaeLynn knew the community as well as anybody.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll try that.”

“You don’t have to
thank
me.” RaeLynn put one hand on her hip and did a weird little swivel, kind of an abbreviated stripper dance. “You can just take me out to dinner sometime.”

He stilled, and she probably saw that he was trying to figure out how to extricate himself from her clutches. Her flirty smile soured.

“If your lady boss will
let
you, that is. She probably doesn’t like you catting around, does she?”

Shane had never catted around in his life, but RaeLynn had her own version of reality, and he knew from experience there was no point in arguing.

“You’re right,” he said, with a mental apology to Lindsey and a big sigh of relief. “She’d never allow it.”

Shane made a few stops en route to the Red Dawg, pinning up flyers at the quilt shop and the post office, where he smiled as he posted it between a couple of wanted posters.

By the time he got to the bar, the sun was setting, and stepping into the dim light of the Red Dawg blinded him for a moment. But he sensed a change in the atmosphere as he entered, and saw shadowy figures spinning their bar stools to observe the new arrival. He knew they couldn’t see much more than a silhouette, but they turned back to their drinks without a word. If he’d been female, there’d have been catcall and lewd invitations, but a man was of no interest this early in the night. Give them another hour or two and they’d be spoiling to fight any newcomers. Shane had timed it just right.

The place was eerily quiet. With the wells dried up and the work gone, a lot of the men were trapped in an endless loop of poverty. They’d bought motorcycles and boats and fancy cars when they were flush, and sold them for pennies on the dollar when the jobs dried up. A lot of the wives left, but the men and a few of the women remained, living in a trailer park on the site of the “man camp” the oil company had thrown up when the wells were pumping.

Springtime Acres, it was called—a loose assemblage of single-wide trailers somebody bought at a discount and trucked up to a few empty acres off the highway. There’d been no real effort to form a community; it was up to the residents to plant grass and put skirting on their homes, and most of them didn’t bother. It felt like a temporary sort of place, but many of the men had been there for ten years, living first on unemployment, then welfare, and then on whatever possessions they could pawn or sell outright.

The Red Dawg bulletin board advertised everything from lost dogs and fundraisers for cancer patients to Mary Kay parties and “for-a-good-time-call” scrawls. He dutifully tacked up Lindsey’s neatly printed notice, with its carefully cut tabs on the bottom bearing her phone number, but he was sure she wouldn’t get many calls. He’d seen the mangy dogs that roamed the trailer park, and it was obvious they didn’t get much veterinary care. As for the lunch ladies, they mostly came in from town, where they had their own veterinarians.