The Trouble With Cowboys (2 page)

1

A
nnie Wilkerson was sitting in the Chuckwagon, minding her own business, when he mosied in. He was with a crowd, of course. He always traveled in a pack—him and his handful of ardent admirers.

Annie opened the menu, propped it on the table, and slouched behind it. The Silver Spurs belted out some country-and-western tune her sister probably knew by heart. The clamor in the crowded restaurant seemed to have increased twice over since Dylan and company walked in. But maybe that was her imagination.

The chair across from her screeched against the plank floor. Finally. John was already ten minutes late. She lowered her menu, smiling anyway.

An instant later the smile tumbled from her lips.

Dylan Taylor plopped his hat down and sprawled in the chair like he owned the table, the restaurant, and half of Park County besides. His impertinent grin slanted sideways, calling his dimple into action—a fact of which he was no doubt aware.

“Annie Wilkerson. Why’s the prettiest filly in Moose Creek sitting all by her lonesome on a Saturday night?” Dylan’s Texas drawl had followed him north, sticking with him like a stray dog.

Ignoring the heavy thumps of her heart, Annie tilted her head and deadpanned, “Well, Dylan, I was just sitting here waiting with bated breath for you to come rescue me.”

He put his hand to his heart, his blue eyes twinkling. “Aw, Annie, don’t tease me like that. It smarts.”

She scowled at him and settled back in her chair, propping the menu between them. “What do you want, Dylan?”

“Maybe just the pleasure of your company.”

“Maybe you should find another table.”

He tsk-tsked. “So cruel. You wound me with your hurtful words.”

If Dylan had a heart, she was sure it was unwoundable. Made of something springy and elastic that sent oncoming darts bouncing off. Typical cowboy.

She skimmed the menu, unseeing. “That seat’s taken.”

“Your sister joining you?”

Like she couldn’t possibly have a date? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His hands went up in surrender. “I was hoping to join you.”

“I have a date.”

His head tipped back slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Ah . . . who’s the lucky guy?”

“What do you want, Dylan?”

He tilted the chair onto its back legs, and she found herself wishing it would fall. But that kind of thing never happened to men like Dylan.

“I have a proposition,” he said, his eyes roaming her face.

Her cheeks grew warm and she hated that. Cursed Irish blood and fair skin. She swore he said things like that on purpose. She focused on the menu. On the photo of barbecue ribs that were actually better than they looked.

“Not interested.”

“Now, come on, give me a chance to explain. It’s business—not that I’d have any problem picking up socially where we left off last time . . .”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “There was no last time.”

“Whatever you say, sugar.”

She gritted her teeth and slumped until she could no longer see him over the menu.

“In all seriousness,” he said, his voice dropping the teasing tone, “I got a horse that needs help. Wondered if you’d drop by next week and take a look at him.”

Oh no. She wasn’t stepping foot on Dylan’s property again. Not after last time. “I’m busy next week.”

“It’s my best horse—Braveheart. He’s got moon blindness.”

“I’m not a vet—have Merle look him over.”

“He did.”

There was something in his voice she couldn’t define and didn’t care to try.

“He thinks I ought to put him down.”

Annie lowered her menu. Dylan’s dimple was long gone. “Is he blind?”

“Not completely. But he will be. Started bumping into things in the spring, and by the time it was diagnosed, it was too late. He’s not himself now. Spooks easy, won’t let anyone near, not even me.”

His eyes pulled her in. She’d never seen him without that cocksure grin, much less with that sober look in his eyes.

Careful, Annie
.

She looked away, toward the dance floor where her best friend, Shay, was dancing with her husband. They moved like two pieces of the same puzzle. She wondered how long it would take that cowboy to erase the pretty smile from her friend’s face. In her experience, it wouldn’t be long.

“Annie . . . ?”

She pulled her eyes from the couple. “There’s a trainer over in Sweet Grass County, Roy Flint. He’s supposed to be really good. I’ll get his number for you.”

“I don’t want him. I want the best. I read your column; you know what you’re doing.”

Brenda Peterson appeared tableside, flashing a bright smile. “You two ready to order?”

“We’re not together.”

“Large Coke, please.”

They spoke simultaneously, and Annie glared at Dylan as Brenda walked away with her menu—never mind that she hadn’t ordered yet.

Dylan propped his elbows on the table. “I can’t put Braveheart down, but he needs a lot of work, and I don’t have the time or expertise.”

Annie leaned back, putting space between her and those puppy dog eyes. She was a sucker for a horse in distress, but if she was at
Dylan’s place for days on end, she’d be the one in distress. Besides, getting him to pay up last time had been like collecting pollen from the wind.

“You’re right,” Annie said. “It is going to take a lot of time— time I don’t have right now.”

He leaned in, trained those laser-precision eyes right on her. Heaven have mercy, it was easy to see why he made women lose their wits. What was God thinking, combining all those rugged good looks with cowboy charm and tossing in dimples for good measure?

“I want
you
,” he said.

The double meaning—intended or not—was a needed reminder. She pulled the napkin from the table and spread it across her lap. “Roy can help him, I’m sure of it. I’ll get his number for you Monday.”

Someone nearby cleared his throat. John Oakley had somehow arrived unnoticed, thanks to Dylan’s annoying habit of usurping her every thought.

“Hello, Annie.” John bent and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Hi, John.” Annie couldn’t tear her eyes from Dylan, whose left brow had shot up.

“Oakley.” Dylan nodded, coming slowly to his feet. He towered over John, who looked out of place at the Chuckwagon in his banker clothes.

“Dylan. Thanks for keeping my date company.” His flat smile and flaring nostrils said otherwise.

“Anytime, Oakley, anytime.” Dylan’s gaze held hers for a beat too long, the corners of his lips twitching in a way she was sure annoyed John. “Annie, talk to you Monday.” He pointed at her, winking. “And don’t think I’ve given up.”

Warmth flooded her face as John sank into the chair and jabbed his glasses into place with his index finger. She watched Dylan amble away and told herself the feeling spreading through her limbs was relief.

Dear Spooked,

    
Horses often spook when the rider is fearful. You will both feel more confident if you have a safe place to go when things go awry.

2

A
nnie knew something was amiss the minute she entered the Mocha Moose the next week. For starters, it was too quiet— there were only a few patrons. Even the music whispering from hidden speakers was all wrong. A soft classical tune, not a blaring rendition of “Ladies Love Country Boys.”

She looked behind the bar where the owner, Tina Lewis, was stacking fresh cups beside the coffee carafes. Her short brown hair swung forward.

She gave Annie a chagrined look. “Hey, Annie.”

Annie proceeded with caution toward her afternoon caffeine fix. “I thought Sierra was working tonight.”

Tina glanced away and caught her lip between her teeth.

“What happened?”

Brown eyes met hers. “She didn’t tell you. I’m sorry, Annie. I kept her as long as I could, but she didn’t show up again last Friday, and Monday she brought Ryder with her—some trouble with the sitter. Now don’t get me wrong, he’s a little darlin’, but . . . well, he’s a four-year-old boy. . .” She finished with a wince.

Annie’s stomach dropped to her dusty cowboy boots. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I hated to do it in this economy, honey, and I tried to warn her, but it didn’t help. I mean, your sister’s a hard worker, and she was super for business—when she was here. ”

Cowboys had lined up for their coffees on Sierra’s shift.

“It’s okay.”

“And she took some great photos for me . . .” Tina gestured at her new board menu with the close-ups of their most popular drinks. “She’s just got a lot on her plate with college and a little boy.”

She filled a to-go cup with French roast and passed it across the granite counter with a lid. “On the house today.”

Annie protested but gave up when Tina insisted. They made small talk for a few minutes while Annie sipped her coffee. Tina peppered her with questions about her new Arabian mare.

“We got our issues of
Montana Living
today.” She gestured toward the stand of magazines. “I always read your column first. It’s your fault I went out and bought a horse for Rachel, you know.”

Annie’s grandfather, a veterinarian, had started “Ask Avery” in the biweekly magazine. When he’d passed, they’d offered the column to Annie, changing the focus to horse training. It made her proud to carry on his legacy. Maybe the magazine was free, but it was offered in every store in Montana and read by residents and tourists alike.

“You won’t regret buying the horse. If you have more questions, just give me a buzz.”

Annie left the shop with a fresh cup of coffee and a massive headache.
What will we do without Sierra’s income, God? And why didn’t she tell me she lost her job two days ago? What am I gonna do with that girl, Lord?

She thought of Dylan’s request for help and wondered if
she’d been too hasty in turning him down. No point crying over that spilt milk. She’d already given him the other trainer’s number.

Annie turned toward her house rather than going to check on Mr. O’Neil’s new gelding as she’d planned.

Outside her car window the sun shone brightly, casting shadows across the rocky peaks of the Gallatin Range, where snow still clung for dear life. Though spring hadn’t reached the higher elevations, it had wakened the valley, greening the grass and birthing colorful wildflowers alongside the rippling creeks. The sight lifted her spirits.

When she pulled into the drive, she spotted Sierra’s rusty Buick by the barn. Pepper grazed in his pen, his long nose following her truck up the drive. She wanted to saddle up and head for the hills, let the cool spring wind whip her hair from her face, chase the worry from her mind.

Instead she exited her truck and took the porch steps two at a time. Inside, the TV blared a cartoon. Ryder sprang from his spot on the floor. “Aunt Annie! You’re home!” He smothered her legs in an exuberant hug.

“Hey, buddy.” She ruffled his soft, dark hair and fought the urge to pinch his chubby cheeks—an action he hated—when he gazed up at her with adoration.

“Where’s your mommy?”

The blender roared to life in the next room.

“Never mind.”

After Annie removed her boots, Ryder tugged her hand. “Watch Batman with me.” He pleaded with his wide green eyes.

“Not right now. Aunt Annie isn’t finished for the day.”

Ryder plopped onto a pillow, the sulk fading from his baby face as he became reabsorbed in the cartoon.

In the kitchen her sister shut off the blender, lifted the lid, and dipped her finger into the jar.

“I just stopped by the Mocha Moose.”

Sierra turned, wide-eyed. The dab of chocolate something on her finger fell to the linoleum floor.

“You’re home early.” Sierra grabbed a paper towel and wiped up the drip.

“Why didn’t you tell me you got fired?”

Her little sister swiped her long auburn curls from her face with the back of her hand. “I tried.”

“When?”

“You’ve been gone a lot . . .”

“Working!”

“I know, I know. I just . . . I knew you’d be upset.”

Annie wondered where Sierra had been the last two nights while Ryder had been with Martha Barnes. No doubt at the Chuckwagon, chatting up every cowboy within a five-mile radius, while the sitter tab ran up.

She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and ran her hands over her face.
Deep breaths. Help me out here, Lord. I don’t want to lose it, but she just doesn’t get it
.

Sierra perched on the chair across from her. Her small frame
and delicate features had always made Annie feel protective. She was young, only twenty after all, and she’d hardly had a chance to be a kid.

“I’m really sorry.” Sierra looked at the table.

“I know you are. It’s just—” Annie sighed. She’d already said it a million times. After Sierra lost her jobs at Pappy’s Market and Food ’n Fuel. She didn’t have the energy for another recital of the Responsibility Speech.