One Fine Cowboy (17 page)

Charlie leaned on the paddock gate, watching the mustangs munch their morning hay. Nate and Taylor had picked up the last two horses, and the group seemed to have worked out new family roles already. Phaedra’s black gelding and Doris’s buckskin were the kids, eating greedily, focused entirely on the food. Trouble was more watchful, munching contemplatively, lifting her head occasionally to check out her surroundings, her ears twitching forward and back as she scanned the paddock and the pasture beyond for threats. She was obviously taking on the matriarchal role.

Meanwhile, Taylor’s big paint gelding stood watchfully by. Suddenly he stiffened, widening his stance and raising his head, then lifted his tail and unleashed a torrent of pee into the dust of the corral.

“Some nice nonverbal communication for you there,” Nate said, grinning. “That’s how stallions say hello to unwelcome company. Guess he still remembers what it’s like to be a man.”

“I’m not sure that’s a technique that would transfer well to people,” Charlie said. “Kind of messy.”

“But so handy when that obnoxious neighbor shows up at dinnertime,” he said. He stepped up beside her and jostled her shoulder. It was a friendly, joking gesture, the kind of thing a guy might do to his kid sister—but it sent a jolt of lust through Charlie that made her clutch the railing and take a deep breath.

Nate nudged her again, gently this time, and she turned and met his gaze. The look he gave her was anything but brotherly. One more second and they’d be rerunning that kiss—or that scene in the bedroom.

She looked away and gazed off across the plains. She’d miss Nate when she went back to Jersey. She’d miss all this open space too. Plucking a few leaves from a nearby sagebrush, she crushed them between her fingers and breathed in its sweet, surprisingly strong scent. It permeated the air here, combining with the ranch scents of horse and hay and leather to create a sort of Eau de Latigo that seemed heady and exotic compared to the smoggy scent of New Brunswick.

A plume of dust in the distance drew her eye. She pointed it out to Nate. “Looks like a Jeep. A red one.”

Nate peered at the dust cloud, then paled. “Trouble,” he muttered.

“My horse?”

“Your horse is a baby lamb compared to what’s coming. I have work to do.” Nate practically ran into the barn. That was evidently how cowboys said hello to unwelcome company—or avoided saying hello.

At least he hadn’t peed in the dirt.

She watched the oncoming car bounce up the driveway with a mixture of envy and admiration. It was a red Jeep Cherokee, the perfect mixture of style and sense—every bit as cute as the Celica, and tough enough to take anything the rocky road to Latigo dished out.

Cute and tough. That was a pretty good description of Charlie herself—or at least, she liked to think so. She was no great beauty—her figure was too bony, her features too bold—but she knew from the reactions of men like Nate and Taylor that she had a certain appeal.

She squinted into the sun as the jeep pulled to a stop in the wide dusty delta fanning out from the end of the driveway. Shading her eyes with one hand, she watched as the driver’s door opened and a long, denim-clad leg eased out, capped with a pointy-toed black cowboy boot tooled with twining red roses. Charlie could almost hear the wah-wah soundtrack as the long leg was followed by slim hips and a shapely butt.

Funny. There weren’t supposed to be any more students. Ray said Sandi had four deposits, and all four were accounted for.

So who was this?

Backlit by the setting sun, the new arrival swept off an Aussie-style cowboy hat and tossed her head, spinning out a golden halo of glossy blond locks. Charlie was a firm believer in female solidarity, but she couldn’t help feeling an evil stab of envy as the woman propped an elbow on the top of the jeep and struck an artful supermodel pose to consider the rickety ranch house. Tall and slim, the woman was a dead ringer for Heidi Klum—only younger, and possibly prettier.

Unclenching her teeth and smacking down her inner bitch, Charlie pasted a welcoming smile on her face. The newcomer’s svelte figure was encased in slim silver-washed jeans, a crisp white fitted shirt, and a fringed black suede jacket that shimmied with every graceful movement. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a Western wear catalog, or left some exclusive Denver soirée. Not only was she attractive; she had the suave self-possession that always graces women gifted with beauty.

“You must be a friend of Taylor’s,” Charlie said, proud of her deduction. Women like this didn’t soil themselves with messy stuff like horseback riding. Women like this found themselves a rich guy—preferably a film star or rock singer—and agreed to function as the ultimate decorative accessory, thereby earning him the envy of every man on the planet. In return, said woman was offered a life of languorous ease that consisted mostly of displaying her incredible beauty at poolside, in limos, and at exclusive, high-toned parties.

She was obviously slumming today.

“Taylor who?” The woman gave Charlie a blank, empty look that still managed to be a seductive masterpiece—lips slightly parted, eyes wide, head cocked at a quizzical twenty-degree angle.

Charlie wasn’t fooled. She was sure the woman had followed Taylor here, nose to the ground like a hound dog, following the seductive scent of money.

“Taylor Barnes,” Charlie said. “You know, Chance Newton.”

The woman’s perfect lips tipped upward in a faint smile. “Oh, so that’s why that name sounded so familiar.”

“Familiar?” It was Charlie’s turn to try on the blank look. She did the wide-eyed part okay, but she had a feeling she’d muffed the head-cock.

“I knew I’d heard that name before when I saw it on the check.”

The check
. Charlie felt as if some demon had wrapped a black hand around her heart and squeezed. This perfect creature, this goddess of the Western plains, had Taylor’s check. Who had the check? Sandi.

Therefore, this perfect, stunning creature was Sandi.

Nate’s girlfriend. Sam’s mother.

No wonder she’d left. Standing in front of the ranch house, she looked like an exotic bird of paradise that had been torn from her exotic emerald jungle and tossed into a dusty, dilapidated henhouse.

And no wonder Nate looked so mournful all the time. He’d had this goddess for a consort—and now he was reduced to bedding ordinary mortals like Charlie.

Charlie resisted the impulse to box her own ears. The inner jealous bitch was bad enough. Now her insecure geeky teenager was running wild. She tamped them both down and lifted her chin, looking Sandi straight in the limpid blue pools God had given her for eyes.

“I’m Charlie Banks. One of Nate’s students.”

“Oh. I’m Sandi. Sam’s mom.”

Sam’s mom. Not Nate’s girlfriend.

Hmm.

Having dispensed with her psychologically challenged alter egos, Charlie turned her attention to wrestling with the writhing tentacles of the green monster that was wrapping itself around her subconscious. She had no right to be jealous. She and Nate had a fling. Nothing more.

“So where is he?” Sandi asked.

“Nate? He’s in the barn,” Charlie said. “He’ll be glad to see you.” It was tough to get the words past her clenched teeth, but she managed it.

“No, he won’t.” Sandi laughed, a high, melodious tinkle. “And I wasn’t asking about Nate. Where’s Taylor Barnes?”

She pronounced the name as if it tasted good—as if Taylor was a sweet chocolate truffle waiting to be plucked from the box and popped between those perfect lips. No doubt the truffle himself would go willingly. Charlie felt a stab of sympathy for Nate.

“Taylor’s in the bunkhouse with the other students,” she said, setting off across the yard. She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you want to know where Sam is?”

“She’s with her dad, right?” Sandi rolled her eyes with even more drama than Phaedra could muster. “She’s always with her dad when we’re here.”

Charlie nodded. She’d guessed right. Nate and Sam were a unit, while Sandi, lovely as she was, was the third wheel in the household. She swallowed her jealousy and resolved to be kind.

“I’ll introduce you to the other students,” she said, giving Sandi a friendly smile.

Sandi nodded. “Doris Pederson, right? And Paulette Barnes?”

Charlie glanced back. “Paulette Barnes?” She blinked. “Oh. That must be Phaedra. Our token adolescent.”

“She’s a teenager, yeah,” Sandi said. “Phaedra?”

“That’s what she calls herself,” Charlie explained as they mounted the steps to the bunkhouse. “She uses just one name. You know, like Madonna.”

“Like Cher,” Phaedra—or Paulette—said as they stepped inside. But nobody heard her. Taylor looked like he’d been pole-axed, and even Doris stopped mid-story with her mouth half-open when Sandi sashayed into the room.

The only person unaffected by the woman’s poise and beauty was Phaedra. Well, not unaffected—just affected differently. The appearance of the Goddess of Blondness seemed to have short-circuited whatever part of the teenager’s brain housed her manners.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked.

“I’m Sandi. Your hostess.”

Phaedra scowled. “Charlie’s our hostess,” she said.

Sandi whirled to face Charlie, her eyes narrowed and hard as a snake’s, but the expression was so fleeting Charlie almost thought she’d imagined it as the woman’s face smoothed into its customary serenity with disconcerting ease. It was like watching a shape-shifter.

“I’ve been helping out,” Charlie said. “Nate couldn’t take care of everything on his own.”

Sandi sighed. “Nate can’t take care of anything on his own. Can’t, or won’t.” She shook her head as if she was talking about a fractious two-year-old. “I figured he’d manage to swim if I threw him in the deep end. Looks like he conned some other sucker into bailing him out, though.” She looked around the bunkhouse. Her eyes paused on the wildflowers in their blue glass jars, the neatly made beds. “Looks like he’s doing all right.”

“Yeah, he’s doing great,” Charlie said. “His ranch got inundated with strangers who expect him to spend all day every day teaching them about horses. They also expect him to feed them and clean up after them. Then he hit his head and practically killed himself, and then his kid showed up out of nowhere with no warning. And now you’re here. Oh, yeah. He’s doing terrific.”

Sandi shrugged, tossing her head as if to discount Nate’s issues, then turned a radiant smile on Taylor.

“Well,” she said. That was all she said, but her tone said a lot more. Charlie couldn’t help bristling. She remembered the way Nate had stared down at Honey’s reins when he first mentioned Sandi, the muscle that had flexed in his jaw as he’d wrestled with his inner pain.

Judging from the way Sandi was looking at Taylor, that pain was going to get a lot worse. And there was nothing Charlie could do about it. There’d been a time when she’d felt like she could make Nate feel better—at least for a while.

Now that she’d seen Sandi, she realized she’d been wrong.

This wound was going to leave a scar.

Nate was sweeping the long alleyway that fronted the horse stalls, gathering loose straw and dust into a tidy pile at the doorway. The barn didn’t need sweeping, and all his work would be undone as soon as he led the horses back in from the pasture, but he had to do something. He had to keep his mind busy, and he had to have something in his hands, because they were shaking.

A hot stew of anger and resentment boiled in his stomach. Sandi had told him she never wanted to see the place again. Why was she back? To see if he was doing the clinic? To gloat over the predicament she’d put him in? To ruin whatever relationship he might build with someone else—someone like Charlie?

Or had she come to take Sam back?

She couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow it. Sam needed stability—a home she could count on. Shuttling her back and forth between Denver and the ranch would only confuse her.

He dragged a few stray strands of hay into the pile. A shadow fell over the floor and he looked up to see his ex standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” she said.

She didn’t sound glad to see him, but she didn’t sound upset either. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been screaming at him, stuffing her clothes and cosmetics into a suitcase, and calling him every name she could think of. Now she seemed reasonable. Rational. In control.

What was
that
all about?

“Hi,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” she said. “Thanks for the big welcome.”

“You left. You said you were done with the place. Done with me.”

“I am. Well, almost.” She leaned in the doorway, crossing her long legs. Backlit by the sun, her hair glowed like a golden crown. She really was beautiful, he thought. On the outside.

Inside was another matter.

“So what are you doing here? You hate this place, remember?” He quoted her own parting words. “You hope you never see it again. Or me. So why are you here?”

“We need to settle some things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how we’re going to split things up.”

Split
what
up? She’d already taken everything he had. Everything but the ranch—and she sure as hell didn’t want that. She’d always hated it. He went back to sweeping, raising a cloud of dust with short, angry strokes of the broom. “Take whatever you want, Sandi. You know I don’t care about stuff. Just leave me what I need to keep the place going, okay? And if you want any furniture, maybe you could wait until the clinic’s over. It was your idea, after all.”

She stepped into the barn, brushing the dust off her arm where she’d leaned against the wall. “I don’t want any furniture,” she said. “Place is full of junk.”

“It was my grandmother’s,” he said. “It’s not junk to me.”

“Well, you can keep it, then. All I want is my half of the ranch.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Sandi, the ranch isn’t yours. It’s mine. And besides, you hate it.”

“I’ve been here seven years, Nate. That makes me your common-law wife.”

He let the broom clatter to the floor. “I offered to marry you—how many times? And you said no. And now all of a sudden you want to be my wife?”

“No. That’s the last thing in the world I want to be.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“But since we’re married in the eyes of the law, I get half of everything. And I want my half of the ranch.”

He leaned against the wall, assessing her the way he’d assess any enemy before a fight. Somehow, she didn’t look so beautiful anymore. There was a sharpness to her face he’d never noticed before, and a hard, greedy glint to her eyes. He narrowed his eyes and she looked away, faking interest in the view from the doorway.

“What the hell are you going to do with it?” he asked.

“Sell it.”

“It’s not for sale.”

“My half is.”

He kicked the pile of dust, stirring up a cloud that wafted down the aisle and settled over her fancy tooled boots. Picking up the broom, he went back to work as if she wasn’t there, forcing her to back out of the barn as he flung dust and straw toward the doorway.

“Nate,” she said. Her voice was taking on that hysterical edge he’d heard so often over the last few months. “Nate, talk to me. Dammit, don’t you have anything to say?”

“Just this,” he said, straightening and leaning on the broom. “You’ve taken everything I have. There’s nothing left—no money, no nothing. But that’s okay. All I want is for you to leave me alone. Me and Sam.”

“No problem,” she said. “Just sell the ranch, and give me half. You’ll never see me again.”

“No,” he said. “You can keep the money you already stole. But I’m not selling the ranch. It’s not mine to sell. It’s Sam’s.”

“Okay,” she said. “Then I want Sam.” Turning, she strode off to the house without a backward glance.

***

Sandi was leaving the house when Nate walked in an hour later. He stood back and she stalked down the steps, avoiding his eyes to stare haughtily across the yard. Taylor sat at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of water and reading a book. He looked up as Nate walked in.

“You’re a lucky man, Nate,” he said. “I envy you.”

Nate barked out a mirthless laugh. Well, at least Sandi wasn’t sharing their little drama with the clients. Taylor obviously had no idea what was going on in his life.

But even if he didn’t know about Sandi’s ultimatum, Taylor had no reason to envy him. The man was a movie star, rich beyond reason, with his pick of women. He probably only worked a few months out of the year, and he only had to pretend to be a cowboy, so he never had to deal with horse poop, drought, or, heaven forbid, a bunch of greenhorns descending on him demanding riding lessons.

Why the hell would he envy Nate?

Oh. Yeah.

“She’s pretty on the outside, I know,” Nate said. “But if it makes you feel any better, she’s not all flowers and sunshine.”

Taylor laughed. “No, I wouldn’t expect Charlie to be the flowers and sunshine type. But I’ll bet you’re never bored.”

Nate could feel warmth flooding his face. How did Taylor know he’d been with Charlie? Was the tie between them that obvious?

Could Sandi tell?

He swallowed. “I meant Sandi,” he said. “She’s my girlfriend. My ex, I mean. Charlie and I—Charlie and I aren’t together. Half the time, she can’t stand me.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Taylor said. “But I wasn’t talking about either one of them, actually. Or that cute little half-pint you’ve got, although I wish I had the chance to start over with Phaedra at that age.”

“Yeah,” Nate said, pleased. “Sam’s a good kid.”

“What I was talking about was Latigo,” Taylor said.

“What, the ranch? Yeah, I love it, but what do you see in it?” He glanced out the window, where the sunbaked outbuildings tilted like a drunken chorus line in the direction of the prevailing winds. There didn’t seem to be a straight wall or a square corner in the whole place, but it was home, and always had been.

“It’s not exactly a picture postcard,” Nate said.

Taylor shrugged. “I don’t know. The place has a lot of potential.”

Nate nodded. “It does,” he said. “I’m glad you can see it. God knows Sandi can’t, and neither could the folks at the bank. The place has supported my family for four generations, but the loan officer almost didn’t… oh, hell, you don’t want to know about that.”

Taylor looked puzzled. “You mortgaged it?”

Nate nodded, feeling a familiar headache set in as he clenched his teeth. “Sam was a preemie,” he said. “Born more than two months early. The doctor bills—well, it was crazy. I had to mortgage part of the place to pay them off.”

“That’s a shame,” Taylor said.

The pity in the actor’s tone made Nate clench his teeth even harder, and the dull ache in his head began to throb, swinging into a thumping cha-cha beat.

“We’re making it,” he said. “Sometimes it’s touch and go, but obviously Sam’s worth every penny. I just hope I can hang onto the place for her, you know?” He remembered Sandi’s threats and felt a heavy dose of dread settle in his stomach. “She loves it, and I want to make sure she’s generation five living off this land. It’s her heritage.”

“Maybe I could help,” Taylor said.

“No need,” Nate growled. “We’re okay.”

Taylor grinned. “I wasn’t offering charity.”

“Good,” Nate said. “I’m not taking any.”

“I figured that. Look, here’s the deal. I’d like to partner up with you. Buy into the ranch. I have some ideas to make it pay.”

Nate looked down at his lap. First Sandi, now Taylor—it seemed like everybody wanted a piece of what was his. “Can’t do it,” he said.

“I figured you’d say that. You’re not exactly the kind of guy who deals well with change, are you?” Taylor said.

“Guess not.” Taylor must have been talking to Sandi already. She was always saying he was afraid of change. Always trying to get him to turn the ranch into some kind of modern factory farm, or a dude ranch. Always trying to kill the traditions that had supported his family for generations. And now she was trying to take the place away.

He clenched his teeth. No way. The ranch had belonged to his grandparents, and their parents before them. It was his birthright, and, more important, it was Sam’s.

“Well, think about it,” Taylor said. “The offer stands. And if you ever decide to sell…”

“That’s not going to happen,” Nate said. “Not ever.”

“That’s not what your ex says,” Taylor said. “Sounds like she’s got you over a barrel. I’m just trying to help out. I’ve got a couple of solutions for you when you’re ready to listen. Unless you change your mind and want to sell the whole place.”

Damn. The girl ought to quit that beauty school and go into real estate.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Nate said, shoving his chair back from the table. He knew he should be more gracious, but anger was burning a hole in his gut. “I’m not selling.”