No Ordinary Cowboy (Mills & Boon American Romance) (Rodeo Rebels - Book 6) (18 page)

Not that Dallas blamed Conner for avoiding any discussion of
her former fiancé. Richard had been retained and awarded a raise while Conner
was let go. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t harbor a grudge.

“I always love coming here,” she said as they drove past the
rodeo arena with its bucking chutes, bleachers and livestock holding pens. A
group of men were practicing on their cutting horses, separating calves from a
small herd and driving them one by one into a pen. Correction, several men and
two women, Dallas observed upon closer inspection.

She wouldn’t mind getting pictures of the women. Maybe she’d
ask Conner to stop briefly on their way out if the group was still
practicing.

“Not too much happening this time of day.” Conner aimed the
truck onto a long, straight dirt road, at the end of which were the pastures
where the mustangs were kept. “If you want some photos of calf roping or bull
riding, there should be a decent turnout tonight. Guys practicing for tomorrow’s
jackpot.”

“Will you be working the jackpot?”

“Yeah. I fill in for Clay during events and on weekends. When
Gavin doesn’t need me.”

Despite her curiosity, she didn’t pressure Conner for details.
Did he enjoy living the cowboy life 24/7 instead of now and then? Prefer it over
the manufacturing plant and the constant mental grind? What had happened to his
girlfriend, the tall, willowy swimsuit model?

“Sage mentioned you’re at the sanctuary almost as much as at
Powell Ranch.”

He cast her a sideways glance. “You talked to her about
me?”

“Only in passing. I was there last week. Taking pictures of the
baby.” Dallas pressed a hand to her stomach as they went over a pothole.

“How’s the documentary photography coming?”

She was surprised he remembered, and flattered. “I’m continuing
to pursue it. In between weddings and family reunions and conventions.”

Being a commercial photographer was her livelihood but not her
passion. She had hopes that the book on Prince and the mustang sanctuary would
launch her artistic career. That and the volunteer photography she did for
several local no-kill animal shelters.

“Don’t forget baby pictures,” Conner added.

“Right.” She smiled, glad the momentary awkwardness between the
two of them had passed. Not only for the sake of the book, which would require
them to spend considerable time together during the next few weeks, but also
because of her fondness for him.

He was fond of her, too, and attracted to her. Still. Dallas
could tell. When they’d first met—she’d been retained by Triad Energy for a
company brochure—there were instantaneous sparks. First, they’d gone on a group
lunch together. Then a happy-hour gathering after work. Their next happy hour
had included just the two of them. It had ended with a kiss that left her
thinking of nothing else for days.

By the end of her two-week project, she’d been completely
smitten and convinced he had all the potential to be the one.

During that same period of time, Richard had also made his
interest in her known. Dallas liked him, but kept him at arm’s length, her
attention focused entirely on Conner. After her stint at Triad was over,
however, he’d stopped calling her so much, then not at all. He cited work and
spending weekends at the office as the reason, and apologized. Dallas had
believed him. She’d heard the employees talking about a potential large contract
and that Conner would be in charge.

After two weeks without a single peep from him, she gave up
hope. Richard’s call and invitation to a movie wasn’t entirely unexpected, and
she’d accepted. The rest, as the saying went, was history.

She’d be lying if she didn’t admit Richard was a rebound
romance. And that she’d occasionally wondered what might have been if Conner
hadn’t become buried in work.

Well, they were both unattached now.

Dallas instantly dismissed the notion. She couldn’t think about
seeing anyone right now, and not for a while. She and Richard had only recently
split. And then there was the matter of—

“Is this close enough?” Conner asked, interrupting her train of
thought.

“Perfect.”

He’d pulled the truck alongside the larger of the three
connecting pastures, not far from a gate. About a hundred yards off, four
mustangs had raised their heads to stare at them. Not completely used to humans,
they were content to stay put and watch. That would change as soon as Conner
removed the bucket of grain he’d brought along.

Dallas hopped out of the truck, grabbing and then discarding
her sweater. It was early October, and, typical for southern Arizona, the
seasons were only now starting to change from summer to fall. The mildly nippy
early-morning air had warmed as the sun rose. By afternoon, they would be
running the air-conditioning in their vehicles.

Standing with the door open, Dallas rifled through her
equipment bag, grabbing her digital camera and two lenses, one a zoom on the
slim chance the horses proved able to resist the lure of a treat. Depending on
the shot, she occasionally used a 35mm camera. A good photographer always
allowed for choices.

She met up with Conner at the gate.

“Wait here,” he instructed. “These ponies are fresh off the
Navajo Reservation and pretty unpredictable. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Dallas started to tell him she wasn’t a novice where horses
were concerned and could handle herself, then reconsidered. Things were
different now, and she’d be wise to practice caution. So she did as instructed
and waited beside the gate, readying her camera.

Conner shook the bucket. That got the attention of the horses,
and they meandered toward him. Dallas raised her camera and studied the scene
through the viewfinder.

These mostly untamed horses were perfect for the book, in looks
and disposition. Despite their shaggy coats, long manes and tails, and compact
muscled bodies, they were extraordinary, and they knew it.

Not just any horse, they carried the blood of their Spanish
ancestors, brought over on ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean nearly five hundred
years ago. It showed in the proud, regal way they held their heads, the
intelligence reflecting in their eyes and the graceful movements of their
bodies.

Dallas was transfixed—by the horses and also by Conner.

He might possess two MBAs and be as smart as a rocket
scientist, but he belonged to this land every bit as much as these mustangs. How
many systems analysts handled a rope as if it was an extension of their arm? Had
an uncanny ability to predict a horse’s next move? Wore their jeans, Western
shirt and cowboy hat with the comfort and ease of a suit?

Conner did.

Except Dallas liked him infinitely better in jeans.

She snapped several pictures of him while he waited for the
mustangs to approach, certain he had no idea he was the focal point of all her
shots.

A mild breeze tousled the lock of unruly blond hair that swept
across his tanned forehead. His hazel eyes narrowed with interest as he studied
the approaching horses. A shade shy of six feet, he had the build of an athlete
despite spending the last six years in an office, and he carried himself with
confidence, completely ignorant of his effect on the opposite sex.

For every hundred or so pictures Dallas took, she might use one
for the book. To that end, she snapped away.

“I want to get a few shots of the baby.” Without waiting for
Conner to reply, she climbed the fence and straddled the top rail, careful to
maintain her balance.

The filly, no more than six months old, cooperated nicely,
turning her sweet face toward the camera. When Dallas went to climb down the
fence, the material of her slacks caught on a piece of wire. She momentarily
wobbled and let out a startled yelp.

“Don’t move!” In a flash, Conner was at her side, assisting her
down.

The horses fidgeted, not entirely happy with this new intruder
on their side of the fence.

When both of Dallas’s feet were firmly planted on the ground,
she looked up and went instantly still. Conner’s nearness, not to mention his
strong hands resting protectively on her waist, brought a rush of heat to her
cheeks.

“Th-thanks. I’m all right.”

“You sure?”

No, she wasn’t. Sure
or
all
right.

“I’m fine. Really,” she insisted, silently scolding herself.
She wasn’t some silly buckle bunny or schoolgirl, and her reaction to Conner was
entirely over the top.

He turned from her in that unhurried manner of his. “I was
thinking, maybe we could grab a cup of coffee at the Corner Diner when you’re
done here. Strictly work,” he clarified, when she didn’t respond. “To go over
what you need to do and how we’ll accomplish it.”

“Of course. Strictly work.” She shoved her disappointment
aside. Conner was right; they needed to maintain a professional relationship.
For many reasons. “Except, if you don’t mind, I’d like something a little more
substantial. I wasn’t feeling like eating earlier, and now I’m starving.”

Twenty minutes later, they made their way toward Conner’s
truck. The ride to Mustang Village, where the diner was located, didn’t take
long. The uniquely designed, equestrian-friendly community had been constructed
on land formerly owned by the Powell family.

Where cattle once roamed, commercial buildings, a retail
center, apartments, condos and houses sat. The slow flowing river remained, but
the lush vegetation growing on its banks had been replaced by a fence and
keep-out signs. Horses still carried their riders across the valley—on bridle
paths networking the area, not the open range.

Powell Ranch, four generations strong, looked down on Mustang
Village from its place on the mountainside, a witness to the wheels of
progress.

“You grew up in this area,” Dallas commented as they pulled
into the diner’s parking lot. “Does it seem strange to you, seeing all the
changes?”

“Sometimes.” He grinned affably. “When I was twelve, Gavin’s
dad started letting me go with them on cattle roundups. The corrals were over
there.” He pointed to the park a block down the street. “The loading station
just beyond them. We’d drive those cows from all over the valley right past this
very spot.”

“What a sight that must have been.” She imagined the pictures
she’d have taken. Hundreds of cows on the move. “I bet you loved it.”

“Are you kidding? It was dirty and sweaty and backbreaking
work.”

“You did love it!”

He grinned again. “The only thing more fun was the night we
captured Prince.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it.”

“For the book?”

She shook her head. “I’m only responsible for the photographs.
I just want to hear any stories you have from the days before Mustang Village
was built. For inspiration.”

They entered the half-empty restaurant and were promptly
seated.

“If I do, you’ll fall asleep,” Conner said, opening his
menu.

“I doubt that. The last thing you are is boring.”

He looked up at her.

When their gazes connected, a zing went through Dallas, half
warm and pleasant, half...

Wow!

So much for keeping their relationship professional.

Was he feeling it, too? Did he also sometimes think about what
might have been?

Attempting to distract herself, she perused the diner’s daily
specials and waited for her unpredictable stomach to protest. It didn’t. Whew.
She wasn’t going to embarrass herself in front of Conner.

After giving their orders to the waitress, he removed a pen
from his shirt pocket and began making notes on a paper napkin. “I was thinking
of Saturday for our trip into the mountains. Unless you have plans for the
weekend.”

“No plans.” She peered at the list he was making, tilting her
head and reading upside down. Water, snacks, twine, a tarp, a map, GPS, first
aid kit, rain ponchos.

“Is eight o’clock too early?” He continued to scribble as he
talked.

“No. I’m up at six most days.”

“Any preference on a mount?”

“Just something broke. Very broke. Like, if there’s a freak
earthquake while we’re out, the horse won’t so much as swish his tail.”

Conner’s brows drew together. “You’re an experienced rider,
aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I’d rather not take any chances.”

“If you’re worried about the trails being rugged, we can always
take the easier ones.”

“It’s not that.” She set her fork down, suddenly nervous.

“What then?”

She hadn’t planned on making any announcements until she
started showing.

“Well.” She mustered a smile while rubbing her damp palms on
her slacks. “I’m pregnant.”

Conner spilled several drops of coffee onto the table before
managing to steady his mug. “Pregnant! Wha...when?”

“When did I find out? A couple weeks ago. And to answer both
questions you’re too polite to ask, yes, Richard knows about the baby and no, we
didn’t discover I was pregnant until after we’d called off the engagement.”

ISBN: 9781460310557

NO ORDINARY COWBOY

Copyright © 2013 by Brenda Smith-Beagley

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