Cami waited in the middle of the deserted yard, watching Gabby strike out
for the barn and Holt disappear into the ranch house. This, she decided,
was true loneliness. Here she stood, in the midst of a hostile
environment, able to count on one person and one person alone. Herself. In
a few minutes she'd be faced with a set of near impossible tasks--a
challenge she could not and would not refuse. It
was a challenge she'd face dead-on, never once flinching, no matter how
rough it got, just like the gun-slingers of the old west. She stretched
out her arms and laughed aloud. Lordy, she loved being a cowboy!
Several minutes later, Holt Winston returned to the porch,
a roll of papers crumpled in his hand. She simply stood and stared,
overcome with admiration. He'd shoved his Stetson to the back of his head,
revealing dark brown hair shot with streaks of sun-ripened gold. Without
the shadow cast by his brim, she could also see his face more clearly, and
she liked what she saw.
His features had none of the smooth, boyish charm of so
many of her male friends. The weathered crags and valleys of Holt's face
revealed the character of a man who'd lived hard and on his own terms,
who'd known his fair share of sun, dust and wind. A starburst of tiny
lines radiated from his unwavering gaze, and deep creases bracketed a firm
mouth and square, set chin. From the high, jutting cheekbones and
uncompromising blackness of his eyes, she suspected Mexican or Indian
blood had found its way into his ancestry.
He'd changed his torn shirt, she noticed with some relief,
the heavy denim free of distressing blood specks. His fleece lined vest
blew open in the breeze, revealing a pair of work gloves tucked into a
wide, black belt. His leather chaps rode low on his hips, clinging to his
long, lean legs and emphasizing the fluid grace of his movements.
Here before her stood an honest-to-goodness cowboy. He was
tall, spare and muscular. And absolutely perfect. How she envied the life
he'd led...the life she'd always dreamed of leading. "Don't just stand
there," the honest-to-goodness cowboy groused. "Haul your citified tail
over to the corral and let's see what you can do. Or, like as not," he
added beneath his breath, "can't do."
"Yessir, boss," she said, trotting after him. This was it.
Her big chance. Boy howdy, it didn't get any better than this!
Gabby exited the barn, weighted down by a saddle and
blanket, and leading a large dun mare. He gave the horse a light swat on
the rump and it trotted into the corral. With the ease of long practice,
he swung the saddle onto the upper rail of the fence and climbed up next
to it.
"All set," he called.
Holt nodded, slapping the resumé and references against
his thigh. "Says here you're quite impressive with a rope," he addressed
Cami. Snagging a length of thick braided manila off a post by the corral,
he tossed it to her. "Try impressin' me."
The rope uncoiled, half the length slithering in the dirt.
This wasn't a problem, she decided, gathering up the excess. She'd impress
him. Sure she would. Besides, how hard could it be? Holding the bulk of
the rope in her left hand, she swung the looped end into the air and
twirled it. To her utter delight, not to mention amazement, it worked. A
large spinning circle appeared above her head. She looked over at Holt and
grinned.
"Where'd you like it, pardner?" she drawled.
"Lasso the post next to Gabby. The post," he emphasized,
"not my foreman."
"You got it." She snapped her right arm back and then
forward, toward the post. The rope obediently flew off behind her. It
never reappeared. Instead, the rope went taut and she heard an anguished
howl. She whipped around and stared in horror.
"Congratulations," Holt said. "You roped my sheepdog.
Anytime we need Git hog-tied, I'll know who to call."
"Lord have mercy!" she exclaimed, running for the dog.
Gently she eased the rope from around the animal. He gave her hand a
pitiful little lick and flopped onto his back. "I'm sorry, Git," she said
with a groan. "Truly, sorry."
Holt strolled over and peered down at the dog. "I do
believe he surrenders. If you can convince the cows to do that, we've got
it made." He eyed her sternly. "Now, would you care to tell me what you
do with a rope that's so all-fired impressive?"
"Hang swings," she admitted.
"Come again?"
She cleared her throat. "I...I hung a couple swings for
the neighborhood kids. Their parents were very grateful. When I asked for
references, they were happy to oblige."
"You're kidding."
"Am not. I have a real knack for knots, too. And one other
thing." She dug deep into her pocket and pulled out her spare yo-yo. "I
can rope something fierce with this."
"The hell you can."
She looked him straight in the eye and said, "The hell I
can, too."
"That's not even a rope," he scoffed. "It's a string."
She shrugged. "Rope, string. Same thing. Only difference
is the thickness."
He shoved his hat back on his head, clearly put out. "I'd
call that a rather significant difference. Wouldn't you?"
"No. Just watch."
She jumped to her feet and stood a comfortable distance
from the post he'd wanted her to lasso. Planting the heel of her boot
firmly in the dust, she gave the yo-yo a few warm-up spins. Ready, she
jerked her wrist and sent the yo-yo flying toward the post. It whistled by
Gabby, spun around the post and tied in a pretty knot.
Gabby nearly tipped off the railing. "Son of a--"
Holt folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you
plan on doing to my longhorns? I've got news for you."
Cami frowned. "It won't work?"
"Glad you agree."
"But don't you see? I'm a natural with ropes." She glanced
at the yo-yo. "Okay, with strings. But I can graduate to ropes. I know I
can. The only difference is--"
"Thickness. So you said. Fact is, I need a wrangler who's
already good with ropes, not with yo-yos," he said, stemming her attempts
to argue. "With ropes."
"Strike one?" she asked.
He inclined his head. "Strike one. Let's see how you do
with horses." He examined the papers in his hand. "Says here you're a
natural with livestock and that you first sat a horse when you were
three."
"True. Every word."
"Uh-huh. Well, don't just stand there. Go get your horse
saddled."
Cami scuffed the toe of her boot in the dirt. Would this
be the right time to point out that her resumé didn't mention anything
about saddling horses? Perhaps not. Somehow she doubted Holt would
appreciate the distinction. Besides, how hard could it be?
"Er, what's his--" She peeked casually at the animal's
hindquarters. "Her name?"
"Petunia."
"Good. A Petunia." Anything named after a flower couldn't
be too bad. "I can handle a Petunia. Sure I can." With a decisive nod, she
struggled over the corral fence.
The horse stood ten yards away, swishing flies with her
tail. Reacting to the jangle of spurs, the animal swung her head around
and gave Cami the once over. Apparently unimpressed, Petunia turned away
with a noisy snort.
"Hey, there," she called. "Nice day, isn't it?"
The horse ignored her. Was it her imagination, or had the
animal suddenly grown? Not that it mattered. Huge or not, she'd have to
find a way to stick a saddle on its back and climb aboard. Catching the
reins, she led Petunia over to where Gabby sat with the saddle. He tossed
her a pad and blanket. Okay. A pad and blanket. They undoubtedly went
under the saddle so as not to give the horse saddle sores. Made sense. She
could do this. But which came first? Pad or blanket? She struggled to
recall and drew a total blank. No problem. When all else failed, she'd use
logic and reason...then guess.
She stepped in front of the horse, stroking the soft tan
muzzle. Petunia ducked her head and Cami took the opportunity to whisper
into the huge horsey ear. "Time for you and me to reach a little
understanding. I need to look good and I'd appreciate your help with that.
I've already struck out on my first cowboy skill. I'd be real sorry, if
not downright annoyed, if I struck out on this one, too. So what do you
say we girls stick together and make a small--though profitable--bargain?
Say a lump of sugar in exchange for fifteen minutes good behavior?"
Petunia snorted, grabbed a mouthful of silver shirt fringe
and chowed down. Cami scuffled with the horse and came away with a bit
less fringe than she started with. "That's a yes, right?" she asked.
Petunia grabbed for more fringe, and Cami darted toward the horse's
mid-section. "Well if that's a yes, I'd hate to think how you'd tell me
no. But I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I guess."
"That horse ain't gonna saddle itself, no matter how long
you stand there and jaw with it," Gabby spoke up.
"Gotcha," she said with an agreeable nod. "More saddle,
less jaw."
Trusting to dumb luck, a quality that rarely let her down,
she placed the pad first and the blanket second, across the horse's back.
Great. She scratched her head. Not great. There seemed to be a whole heck
of a lot more blanket than horse. This couldn't be right. The deep creases
in the thick cotton caught her attention and inspiration struck. She
folded the blanket and eyed the results. That
looked much better. She returned for the saddle.
"Allow me," Gabby said. He straddled the rail, grabbed the
saddle horn, and passed her the saddle.
"Too kind," she said. She grabbed hold of it, staggered
beneath the unexpected weight and measured her sixty-seven inches in the
dirt.
Gabby chuckled. "Heavy sucker, ain't it?"
"I hadn't noticed," she claimed, struggling to get the
saddle off her chest, regain her feet, and somehow heave the darn thing
onto the horse.
Holt leaned against the fence, his arms folded across the
top rail. His shoulders quivered in a most suspicious manner. "Need help?"
"Oh, no. I'm doing just fine. Thanks."
She managed to get her legs beneath her and stand.
Approaching the horse, she gave a tremendous heave. The saddle whacked
onto Petunia's back, stirrups and straps flying. The horse groaned,
kicking at the stirrup. Cami planted her hands on her hips, quite pleased
with herself...until she noticed that the saddle horn pointed south, when
it should have pointed north.
She snuck a peek at Holt. Had he noticed? His shoulders
quivered again, which probably meant he had noticed. Dang. She turned back
to the horse. A few twists and turns and grunts had the saddle where it
belonged. Now for the hard part--getting it connected. Crouching, she
peered beneath Petunia's belly at the two woven straps dangling from the
far side of the saddle. Large brass rings
decorated the end of the straps. Connected to the back strap ring was a
belt-like contraption. Finally. Something familiar. Something that should
be easy and straightforward. She darted under the horse and grabbed the
back strap.
"Ahem."
Cami glanced at Holt. "Ahem?"
He yanked at his hat brim. "Ahem."
"Gotcha."
She let go of the one strap and grabbed the other, gently
easing it beneath Petunia's belly. Now to figure where the darn thing
connected. Striving not to appear as green as she happened to be, she
poked and prodded. How did John Wayne do it in all his movies? He lifted
something up and... Experimenting, she lifted a leather flap connected to
the saddle and found a matching ring with several thongs attached to it.
Aha! It only took a minute to wind the thongs from the one brass ring to
the other. Last of all she tackled the back strap. This one proved easier
still, fastening like a belt. Finished, she slapped the dust from her
hands, proud as punch. She'd done it. She'd actually done it!
"You want me to mount up now?" she asked, facing the two
men with a broad grin.
"Boss?" Gabby cut in. He nodded toward Cami's feet. "Best
get those spurs taken care of first."
Holt nodded. "Climb up on the fence," he ordered.
Somewhat awkward in her new, stiff chaps, she did as he
asked, while he crossed to Loco, waiting patiently in the shade.
Unsnapping a leather holster buckled to the saddle, he pulled out a tool
that looked like a cross between a pair of wire cutters and a hammer, and
carried it over to her perch.
"Hold on a sec." He grabbed her boot and twisted, snipping
the long, sharp points off her spurs.
"Hey, there. Whatcha doing?" Cami cried in alarm.
"You aren't getting near one of my animals with these on
your boots. You'll cut them to ribbons." Once he'd snipped the spurs down,
he bent in the sharp, ragged edges. "Okay. Now you can mount up."
She climbed off the fence and frowned. Her spurs didn't
jangle worth a darn now, but real cowboys learned early on to face
adversity. And spurs that didn't jangle were a minor adversity--nowhere
near as bad as losing her longhorn cow buckle.
She approached the horse with determination. She'd done a
truly pathetic job at roping, worn the wrong kind of spurs, and gotten the
saddle pointed backward. She didn't want to embarrass herself further by
getting herself pointed backward, too. She closed her eyes and pictured
the dynamics involved in putting the proper foot into the correct stirrup
in order to be facing the horse's head once aboard, rather than the
horse's tail.
Satisfied with her game plan, she stuck her right foot
into the stirrup and grabbed the horn, swinging her left leg up and over.
The next instant, the saddle slid rapidly beneath her. She released a
muffled shriek and clamped on with all her might.
Silence reigned.
Well, she'd done it, she congratulated herself. She was,
indeed, facing the horse's head. Unfortunately she was facing it from the
vantage point of the horse's belly.
Gabby exploded with laughter, toppling from the fence
rail. Petunia ducked her head between her front legs and peered at Cami
like she'd taken leave of her senses--which in all likelihood, she had.
Familiar, chap-encased legs appeared beside her. "Tex?"
She gulped. "Yessir?"
"You ever saddle a horse before?"
"No, sir. I sure haven't. And if you look real close at my
resumé, I don't think you'll find any such claim."
"Trust me. I'll give it a real close look." He stooped.
"You need some help?"
"Maybe a little," she admitted reluctantly.
He reached beneath Petunia and plucked her off the saddle
by the scruff of her neck. "This does not bode well for your future as a
wrangler. You realize that."
"Yessir. I do. Is this strike two?"
"You could say that."
He unhooked the saddle, and tossed it onto the rail. "Pad
first, then blanket. Shake them out, checking for burrs and lumps. They
need to be smooth under the saddle," he explained as he went. "Place 'em
high on the withers."
"High on the withers. Got it."
"Next comes the saddle. Hook the offside stirrup on the
horn so you don't clip her elbow and put the saddle on her." He glanced
down at her.
"Horn in front."
"Horn in front. Got it."
Lifting the saddle off the rail, he dropped it onto the
horse's back with an ease she could only envy. Next he ran a hand across
Petunia's ribs. "Check her flanks," he ordered.
"Nice flanks."
He closed his eyes. "I'm glad you approve. You might
notice, they aren't moving."
"No, they aren't," she agreed.
"Which suggests?"
"That she's holding real still."
He released a long-suffering sigh. "It also suggests she
isn't breathing."
Cami stared harder at Petunia's flanks. "That doesn't
sound good. Should we be worried?"
"I'm beginning to think so," he muttered. He jammed his
hat down and explained, "She's holding her breath."
Cami nodded solemnly. "Me, too."
He ignored that. "You can't get a saddle on good and tight
when a horse is holding its breath." He gave a significant pause. "Once
she releases, the saddle slips off."
"Well, I'll be!" Cami exclaimed. "The sneaky devil. She
sure put one over on me. So what do we do?"
Holt grabbed the front cinch and clipped Petunia's side
with his knee. The horse exhaled and he pulled the strap tight. In short
order, he finished saddling. What had taken her twenty minutes to
accomplish, he did in two. He leaned against Petunia's side. "Like to
give it another shot, or you want to concede defeat now?"
She drew herself up straight and proud. "You're forgetting
I'm a Texan--tough as nails and danged stubborn to boot. I'll never
concede defeat. Long live the Alamo!"
For the first time, a genuine smile eased his mouth.
"You've got grit, I'll give you that."
"Thanks." She grabbed the reins and gave Petunia a
conciliatory pat. "Don't forget our bargain," she warned the horse, and
once again shoved her foot into the stirrup.
This time she gained the horse's back without further
incident. Not bad, she decided. Anchoring her hat more firmly on her head,
she steered Petunia away from the fence. This was it. Her final chance at
the big time. She could do it, no sweat. Besides, how hard could it be?
With an enthusiastic "Hiyah!" she slammed her newly
trimmed spurs into Petunia's sides. She realized her mistake a moment too
late. Petunia didn't take kindly to having spurs, trimmed or otherwise,
slammed into her sides. With a shrill whinny, she launched straight into
the air and landed with a bone-shattering thud. Still not having expressed
her disapproval thoroughly enough, she took off like a shot. Cami bounced
once in the saddle, once on Petunia's nether regions and once on the
ground, before skidding to a halt on her much-abused posterior. Her hat
drifted down to settle at her side.
She struggled to her feet, spitting dirt. "I hope you
realize this cancels our bargain!" she shouted after the horse.
Reluctantly, she glanced toward the two men. Gabby had fallen off the rail
again. Holt occupied himself staring at the ground. She picked up her
battered pink Stetson and hobbled across the corral.
"Strike three?" she asked.
"Strike three," Holt confirmed.
