The Trouble With Cowboys (15 page)

After refrigerating the pasta Annie hopped in the truck and made the short drive to Dylan’s. She looked futilely for Sierra’s car on her way through town. Hopefully she’d gone to Bridgett’s and not some guy’s since she had Ryder in tow.

At the Circle D Annie found Braveheart in his stall, stomping his hooves. He must be so tired. She soothed him with soft words as she approached, making a concerted effort to clear away all thoughts of Sierra.

He raised his head and neighed, looking for her.

“Right here, baby. Annie’s right here.” She held her fist to his nose, and he tensed up and moved back until he hit the stall.

Annie continued talking. She didn’t dare put the horse in the pasture just yet. He was too skittish and distrustful, and now that his sight was completely gone, she was afraid he’d stumble in a rut or run headlong into the fence.

She’d finally gotten him to approach the stall door and was scratching his neck when Dylan entered, leading the bay quarter horse she’d seen in the pasture before.

Dylan’s smile lit up the barn. “Evening.”

He wore tan chaps, a plaid shirt, and a hat that had been put through the paces.

“Hey.”

She worked quietly with Braveheart, aware of Dylan nearby. He moved with efficient motions, unsaddling the bay and brushing him down.

When he was finished, he joined her. “Hey, buddy.”

Braveheart tossed his head and neighed.

She felt Dylan’s appraisal and put a few inches between them.

“You smell like flowers and sunshine.”

She started to say she’d stopped home for a shower, but heaven forbid he think she’d gone to extra measures on his account.

“You smell like horseflesh and sweat.”

He laughed. “That’s my Annie, always putting me in my place.”

Too bad it only seemed to amuse him. “Someone has to.”

He stroked Braveheart’s neck, his attention still on her. “If you knew how much I enjoyed it, I bet you’d stop.” His deep, quiet drawl caused a visceral reaction in her.

She shifted farther away and cleared her throat, willing the heat in her stomach to stay put and not flood into her cheeks.

Braveheart snorted.

“Easy, fellow,” Dylan said.

The horse wasn’t responding well tonight. No doubt he sensed the leftover tension from her quarrel with Sierra. And it hadn’t dissipated since Dylan’s arrival.

“He’s restless,” Dylan said.

Annie was glad to have the focus on the horse. “He’s letting us touch him at least. How’s he eating? He looks thinner.”

“His appetite’s down. I’m getting worried. What more can I do for him?” He leaned on the stall door, and his arm brushed hers as he reached out to rub Braveheart’s neck.

The horse nickered.

“Just keep loving on him as often as you can. Try not to worry. Time will take care of it. It’s like with any sudden loss. You just keep breathing and eventually everything settles into a new normal. He’s depended on his sight all his life, but his other senses will pick up the slack. Be patient.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Not my forte.”

She thought of Sierra and sighed. “I know what you mean.”

He rubbed and scratched Braveheart while she talked to the horse in soothing tones.

After a few minutes Dylan gave Braveheart a final pat and withdrew his hand. “I need to grab a shower.”

“Meet you on the porch in a bit.”

“Actually . . . I thought you might be interested in a field trip.” He flashed his dimple.

Annie looked away. He was at it again. “The porch suits me fine.”

“Did you know your grandpa’s childhood home is on my property?”

She met his eyes. Her grandpa had told countless stories about growing up in a cabin, but she’d thought it long gone. “It’s not still standing . . . ?”

“It is. Road’s kinda rough getting back to it, but my truck can handle it. My grandpa bought up the property way back and used the cabin as a bunk for his cowhands. But the creek floods over the road leading back there, so he stopped using it.”

She weighed the exciting proposition of seeing her grandpa’s home with the daunting one of extra time with Dylan.

“Whaddaya say? We have enough daylight if we go there first.”

She remembered the tales her grandfather had told her. About falling into the creek when he was just a wee thing, about jumping off the roof on a dare from his big brother and breaking his ankle. And he’d told her about the view from his mama’s kitchen window.

“I’d love to see it.”

“I’ll grab a shower and we’ll be on our way then.”

He was out of the barn before the second thoughts could swarm
over her like bees over a honeycomb. She was going with Dylan to some remote cabin in the woods? What was she thinking? What would John think?

Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s Grandpa’s cabin
. She was being ridiculous. It was daylight, after all, and it wasn’t a date. Just a . . . field trip, like he’d said.

She pulled her focus back to Braveheart and worked with him until she heard Dylan enter the barn.

“Ready?” he asked.

She gave Braveheart a final pat. “Hang in there, baby. I’ll be back soon.”

“How far is it?” she asked as Dylan opened the truck door for her.

“Fifteen minutes or so.” He rounded the vehicle, tossing his keys in the air and catching them easily. His spread was larger than she’d figured if they could drive fifteen minutes and still be on his property.

She took a deep breath and realized his truck smelled just like him. Leather and musk. He got in, started the truck, and a countryand-western tune filled the cab.

“Chilly?” he asked.

The sun had sunk behind the mountains, and clouds had rolled in across the sky. “A bit.”

He flipped on the heat and turned down the drive. She didn’t like being in tight quarters where she could smell him and feel his body heat. He tapped his fingers to the country jig and hummed along.

She wished she’d brought her letters so they could make good use of their time. But she hadn’t, so she might as well settle back and enjoy the scenery. From the corner of her eye she watched his square fingers thump the steering wheel, then curl around the
wheel as he turned onto a rutted drive. His sleeves were folded up, exposing thick forearms with a sprinkling of black hair.

The mountain scenery, Annie. For heaven’s sake
.

“Tell me about yourself, Annie. All this time together, and I don’t even know what you do in your spare time.”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the green hills dotted with cattle. “Ride my horse, Pepper, mostly. Read, when I get the chance.”

“What do you read?”

She sure wasn’t telling him she was a Jane Austen junkie. Didn’t want him thinking she had grand illusions of romance.

“This and that.”

“That’s my favorite genre too.”

She rolled her eyes.

“How’s your nephew? Getting good with that lasso?”

“He’s becoming quite the cowboy.”

“How come I get the feeling you don’t approve?” The smile in his voice was audible.

“Because I don’t.”

“Come on, now. We’re not so bad, are we?”

She humphed.

“Saw your sister flitting around tables at the Tin Roof Monday, chatting up the customers, doing a fine job.”

The anxiety she’d felt earlier snaked back up into her throat. “She quit today.”

She felt his perusal for several seconds before he turned his attention back to the rutted lane. “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “We had words before I came to your place. She took off with Ryder in a huff.”

“She’ll be back. Any idea why she quit?”

“I’m sure she got tired or bored or something. It’s always the same with Sierra. I couldn’t count on both hands all the jobs she’s had, and with a track record like that, no one will touch her. I don’t mean to talk bad about her. She’s really a sweet girl, and I love her to bits, but . . . she can be a handful.”

She was surprised to find her tongue so loose. He was easy to talk to when he wasn’t being all Dylan.

“Maybe I can put in a good word somewhere.”

“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want you ruining your good word. Besides, I think she’s asked around about everywhere. I just hope her car holds out. It’s making a funny noise, she said, but we can’t afford to get it checked right now.”

“Maybe I can help. I’m a mechanic of sorts. Have her bring it over and I’ll take a look.”

She looked at him, catching his profile. Masculine square jaw, neatly clipped sideburns. “Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

He turned a smile on her. “Anything for a pretty lady.”

She didn’t want to know if he was talking about her or Sierra. They crossed a low wooden bridge. Moose Creek was barely a trickle, the water having evaporated under the July sun.

The lane became more rutted and he slowed down, dodging potholes.

“You weren’t kidding.” She reached for the door to steady herself.

“This area’s been flooded so many times, and like I said, no one comes back here anymore.”

Her shoulder thumped into the door. “I see why.”

“Used to ride over here when I visited my grandpa.” He tipped a smile her way, waggling his eyebrows. “Made a great rendezvous spot with the girls.”

Brother. “I’ll just bet it did.” Her grandpa wouldn’t have appreciated his use of the place.

They bounced and bumped their way down the lane. The hills leveled and the pine trees grew thicker. The lane became covered with a bed of pine needles.

Awhile later she spotted the cabin nestled in a grove of tall pines. “There it is.”

Weeds and overgrown bushes virtually engulfed the front of the one-story cabin. As they drew closer she made out weathered logs separated by lines of chinking. The tiny porch featured broken handrails, and a stone chimney rose from the wooden-shingled roof.

“My grandpa jumped off that roof when he was a boy.”

Dylan put the truck in park and shut off the engine. “Oh yeah?”

“Broke his ankle.” She got out of the cab. “His brother had to do his chores the rest of the summer for daring him.” She took a deep breath of the pine-scented air.

“Sounds like you’ve heard a tale or two.”

She couldn’t prevent the smile as she approached the steps.

“Careful of the rotting wood,” he said.

On the porch she tried the rusty handle and the door squeaked open. Inside it was dim. Dust motes danced in front of the cabin’s tiny windows. Something scurried away in the dark corner, making her jump.

“I’ll get a flashlight,” Dylan said, and then she was alone. The air in the one-room cabin smelled stale and musty, as if it hadn’t been energized by human presence in years. A stone fireplace dominated one wall. The mantel, no more than a rough-hewn beam, slanted across the empty grate like a cocked eyebrow.

Opposite it, a tiny loft nestled near the beamed ceiling, marking the place where her grandpa and great-uncle had slept. The
room below was empty from what she could see, save for something that appeared to be a small bed.

She made her way into the kitchen, bumping into an old chair. The window over the sink beckoned. She braced her hands on the cast-iron sink ledge and looked out past the cobwebs and dirty windowpane. Beyond the pine boughs, the Gallatin Range stood in silhouette against the pink evening sky.

She heard the front door squeak open, then Dylan’s footsteps as he crossed the wood-plank floor. The flashlight shed a golden glow over the room when he entered.

“Sorry. Forgot how little light these windows let in.” His voice seemed deeper in the quiet of the cabin. “Great view,” he said, coming nearer.

“My great-grandpa built the house at just the right angle so his wife could see the mountains she loved.”

She looked around the room as Dylan shone the light. An old rug hugged the wood floor near the chair she’d bumped. Chunks of chinking were missing, and daylight seeped through the slits.

“I wish these walls could talk,” she said. “Imagine the stories. . .” She walked back to the main area and peered up at the loft before stepping onto the ladder.

“Careful, it’s old.” Dylan grabbed her waist. He probably had ulterior motives, but she was too distracted to put up a fuss. She reached the top and peered into the dark loft.

“Here.” Dylan handed her the flashlight, taking hold of the rickety ladder. “Not sure how sturdy the loft is.”

She shone the light around the space, disappointed to find it empty except for some debris in the corner. She stepped back down, turning into Dylan’s arms at the bottom. Her heart bucked in her chest and gooseflesh raced down her arms.

“Excuse me.” It was an effort to keep her voice steady.

He pulled his hands away, letting her by. She approached the big fireplace, shining the light on the old stones.

“They were probably pulled from the creek.”