Dare to Kiss a Cowboy Page 4

  After saddling Hazard, Dusty swung onto the horse’s back and started along the moonlit trail toward the house. Holding the reins loosely, he allowed the stallion to have its head. Hazard knew the way and was eager to get back to his stall and his grain, leaving Dusty free to dwell on his problems. As he rode, he upbraided himself. What had possessed him to give Anna Andrews thirty days, anyway?

  He frowned into the night as her face flashed in his mind. She had the same wide blue eyes as her no-good brother, though hers seemed to snap with an obstinate spirit and a passion for life that had been lacking in Steven’s. Clenching his jaw tighter, he visualized her the way he’d seen her the first time. The woman had one heck of a lot of hair. When she’d come into his office, that long honey-brown stuff, which nearly reached her waist, had draped her shoulders like a silk shawl. He’d had a fierce urge to reach out and touch it.

  Today he’d found himself strangely aware that she’d braided her hair exactly the way the tail of a cutter was braided for practice sessions to protect it from being damaged by the horse’s own hooves.

  Dusty snorted derisively at his wayward train of thought. To hell with Miss Andrews, her hair and her passion. The woman irritated him no end. She talked back, dared to suggest she knew what he was thinking, laughed openly at his troubles and practically demanded things go her way. She was the single most bothersome female he’d ever run across, and he’d bless the day she was out of his life.

  After a minute he heard himself chuckle. To his surprise the sound held a trace of real amusement. “Terminal charm,” he muttered, shaking his head. Why her insult struck him as funny he couldn’t imagine. Maybe it was the way she’d stared daggers with those big, apprehensive eyes. She was an intriguing mix of pluck and panic. One minute he wanted to turn her over his knee, and the next he...

  Dusty frowned as unexpected desire flowed through his body. Hell. He wasn’t attracted to the woman. He didn’t even like her. Both she and her brother were like burrs under his saddle. He supposed he’d felt a little sorry for her when she’d come by yesterday, twisting those slender hands together and looking serious and scared. She believed in Steven so much he hadn’t been able to say no to her.

  Hazard shifted nervously, capturing Dusty’s attention. The stallion perked up his ears and came to a halt. Glancing quickly around to get his bearings, Dusty realized they’d reached the densest part of the woods. The moon’s light was muted, almost nonexistent, beneath the lush canopy of leaves, and except for Dusty’s light-colored hat, they were all but invisible in the darkness.

  He was about to say something to soothe the animal when he heard it, too. Around a sharp bend in the trail he could hear the muffled hoofbeats of an approaching horse.

  ANNA WAS RELIEVED to be out riding in the delicate June night. It was a pleasure and a luxury she would always cherish and hoped never to have to give up. If only her ex-fiancé, Thad, had understood her love for the wide open spaces and the company of a good horse. Thad was such a hardworking, solid person. It was too bad he was unable to see her side of this one important issue. With a wistful sigh, she put thoughts of Thad aside and gave herself fully to the freedom of the nighttime excursion.

  All the stress of the day had seemed to melt away the instant she’d left the stable area and galloped across the moon-burnished pasture. The dapple-gray Anna had chosen for her ride was a mare named Candy Cane. She was a good cow horse, but no champion. At first, she’d found the little mare inordinately stubborn about accepting the bit and being led out of her stall, but now, her mount seemed to be enjoying the outing.

  The woods had grown progressively thicker and darker as they’d ridden, and Candy had slowed to a walk. The coolness of the thicket and the rustling thrumming sounds quickened Anna’s senses. She smiled, inhaling the tart pungency of the forest.

  Without warning, Candy shied to the right, startling Anna. Seasoned horsewoman that she was, she wasn’t unseated by the mare’s unexpected skittishness. As Anna gentled her with a soft word, she glanced up and was confronted with the reason for Candy’s distress. Rounding a bend in the trail, making hardly a sound, came a horse and rider. The man’s hat, almost luminescent in the moonlight, was pulled low over his face. Yet there was enough illumination for Anna to discern a sweeping expanse of shoulders and well-muscled body moving in the saddle with an all-too-familiar grace.

  Forbidding as doom itself, he reined his mount to a halt, saying nothing. An echoing stillness surrounded them for what seemed like an eternity before Dusty finally demanded, “What in blazes are you doing out here?”

  Candy Cane sidestepped, uneasy, and Anna couldn’t blame the mare. Mr. Dare and his big stallion materializing out of nowhere like that had been startling, to say the least. But she refused to allow him to intimidate her. In her most businesslike tone, she ventured, “Oh, hello, Mr. Dare. This is a coincidence.”

  The stallion snorted.

  Dusty laughed curtly. “My sentiments exactly, Hazard.” When he shifted forward in his saddle, his manner grew slightly threatening. “Who gave you permission to take out one of my horses, Miss Andrews?”

  She was affronted. “I thought, as stable manager, I could exercise a horse if—”

  “Forget it,” he cut in. “To tell the truth, I don’t give a plug nickel, right now. It doesn’t matter so much with Candy Cane, anyway.” He shifted back in his saddle, and there was a squeak of leather. “That mare’s so barn sour I can’t figure how you got her to leave the barn at all.”

  Insulted, Anna grumbled, “I can’t figure that, either, since I’m such a lousy horsewoman.”

  He cocked his head. After a minute and without another word, he signaled his mount forward. When he passed her on the trail, their legs brushed, and Anna felt a shiver course through her body. She must have telegraphed her reaction to Candy Cane, for the mare grew goosey, prancing sideways and pawing the earth.

  It was all Anna could do to calm her mount and breathe at the same time. Dusty’s insolent presence had an odd way of short-circuiting her competence, both at being an effective rider and a rational woman.

  “One more thing, Miss Andrews,” Dusty called back, causing Anna to stiffen reflexively.

  She couldn’t bring herself to turn around, but decided he probably couldn’t tell in the dark, anyway. “Yes, Mr. Dare?” She forced her voice to be as firm as his.

  “I want you in my office in forty minutes.”

  She swallowed. So much for a stress-free ride. “Yes, Mr. Dare,” she responded, fighting her disappointment. Then patting Candy Cane’s neck, she whispered, “Soon, honey. We’ll do this again, soon.”

  Anna shivered with trepidation, praying this upcoming meeting wouldn’t be the one in which Dusty would tell her he’d changed his mind and had decided to fire her.

  Reining her mount around, she was stabbed by guilt, wishing she hadn’t made the little mare promises she wouldn’t be able to keep.

  ANNA DIDN’T HAVE to knock. The door to Dusty’s office was swung wide, giving her a clear view of him, his booted feet propped on his desk and his masculine torso sprawled negligently along the length of his leather chair.

  He’d been going over some papers when she’d come in, but apparently she made a sound, for his glance shifted in her direction. He surveyed her for a moment before his lips curved in a mocking half smile. “Just how old are you, Miss Andrews?” he queried. “You look like a teenage wall-flower at a 4-H Club dance.”

  Anna stifled the urge to tell him his rudeness was almost as offensive as his raging ego. She sensed he was trying to get her so mad she’d quit this job. Well, he’d have a long wait. She had no intention of doing his dirty work for him. After counting silently to ten, she said, “I suppose, as my employer, you have a right to ask a few personal questions. I’m not sure that’s one of them, but I’m not ashamed of my age. I’m twenty-six.”

  A dark brow lifted in what appeared to be disbelief. “Miss Andrews,” he said with an almost imperceptible nod towa
rd a chair, “sit down.”

  Her glance fell to the spot he’d indicated. The carved and padded antique was a rather spindly excuse for a place to sit, but Anna figured it must be an expensive family relic. Resisting the urge to dust off her jeans, she walked to the chair and perched on it. She knew she looked about as relaxed as a horse with three legs off a cliff, but she was doing the best she could under the circumstances. This man held her family’s fate in his hands. “Yes, sir?” she managed.

  He placed the papers he’d been perusing next to his hat on the desk. Lowering his feet to the floor, he stretched, then leaned back in his chair. “Max tells me you wanted to talk to me?”

  His statement startled her. “I ... Yes, but I thought you wanted to...” The sentence died away. Why remind him! she scolded herself.

  Dusty nodded. “I did, but why don’t you go first.”

  His expression was speculative, and Anna had the feeling he was about to give her an oral exam. If so, then it was still possible she might pass his test. He might not be bent on firing her, after all. Clinging to that possibility, she cleared her throat. “I did want to discuss a few things...” She hesitated a moment, then went on, hoping he hadn’t noticed, “It concerns the horses’ care. I checked the supplies, and we’re in pretty good shape for the most part. One thing, though, I noticed in the records that it’s time for the horses to have their booster shots. I have plenty of experience giving them. But when I looked through the medical supplies I discovered we’re low on the one-and-a-half-inch twenty-gauge needles.”

  When she paused for air, he merely nodded, and she decided he meant for her to go on. “I see by Steven’s—” she faltered briefly when she noted his grimace of irritation at the mention of her brother’s name “—planner that your three-year-old, Lady Freckle Handy, is to be worked with cattle three times a week to get her ready for some cutting competitions this summer. I’ve taken a look at her, and she’s athletic enough. Is she pretty cowy?” she asked, referring to a horse’s natural desire to control cattle.

  He frowned, as if the question had been absurd, as if any of his prize horses could be anything else! “She has a tendency to charge the cow, if anything,” he said. “That’s why I want her in some small-purse competitions this summer. To help break her of that. She’s got championship potential. The first time we had her in with cattle, she put her head down and went nose to nose. With training, she’s going to be a big money winner.”

  “You’re taking her slower than Hazard to avoid burnout, I gather.”

  At the mention of his prize stallion, Dusty flashed an extraordinary smile. Anna knew the expression had nothing to do with her remark, but was an unconscious show of pride for the animal. With a chuckle, he said, “Hazard’ll never burn out. For fun, that damn horse was cutting the family dogs when he was a colt. Drove them crazy. He’s perfect. Aim him at a cow and you can throw your reins away, ’cause he takes over. Lord, I love that horse. He’s like me. Lives for a challenge.”

  Anna felt an unsettling thrill dance along her spine. She’d never seen such passion in this man before, never even seen a genuine smile on his face, and the sight was frighteningly beautiful. Too bad he’d just reinforced what she’d already determined about him—that he was recklessly bold, exactly the type of man her mother had always warned her about.

  But there was something else she realized when she looked into his smiling face. He might love to win, might be breeding his horses to be champions. But he loved them, too. That was a point in his favor—amid a whole pile of points against.

  Dusty sobered, inspecting her strangely. She wondered what her face was registering, but before she could react, he steered them back to the subject. “What were you saying about Freckle?”

  Anna gripped her hands in her lap. Here goes. “Well, I have an idea that I think would help fine-tune her moves. And if you like the way she responds, I thought, er, you might want me to work Hazard with them, too.”

  He peered at her narrowly. “Them?”

  A wave of apprehension swept through her, but she believed in what she was about to suggest. This training method had worked for Uncle Bud, and it had worked for both her and Steven in training horses for area ranchers. Lots of smaller spreads with limited budgets trained cutting horses this way. Even some of the bigger operations were starting to try it. Facing him squarely, she steadied herself and murmured, “Goats, Mr. Dare. I’m suggesting we work Freckle with goats once a week.”

  He inclined his head, looking as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “What did you say?”

  Uneasy beneath his watchful scrutiny, she fidgeted, squeezing the scrawny arms of her chair. “Uh, goats...”

  She was sure he heard her that time. There was a distinct hardening in his eyes. “Goats?” he repeated, his tone critical and vaguely amused.

  “I ... I know it’s considered kind of a maverick idea to most of the bigger spreads, but the practice is catching on. Goats are faster than cattle, and cutting them takes more quickness and cow sense than—”

  “Miss Andrews,” he interrupted, “you don’t need to tell me about training cutting horses with goats. I don’t live on Mars. But in my opinion we don’t need to go to that extreme. I have five hundred excellent Herefords that are here specifically for the purpose of fine-tuning my horses. I don’t intend to start a goat herd, too.”

  “Uncle Bud and I have goats,” she offered quietly.

  Dusty sat forward, his vexation evident. “I’m happy for you, Miss Andrews. However, that doesn’t affect my decision. No goats.”

  “You’d be surprised at how well they work,” she went on, refusing to be bullied.

  “If it’s so great, why didn’t your brother bring it up?” Dusty challenged, pushing himself out of his chair.

  “Steve is a people-pleaser, Mr. Dare. I guess he figured you’d react this way, and he didn’t want to make you mad.”

  Dusty’s laugh was short and humorless. “So he decided to please me by stealing from me. I’ll have to thank him.”

  His remark hurt, but Anna didn’t have a retort. Steven had done a terrible thing and there was no defending him.

  Dusty came around his desk, halting a scant foot from her chair to glare at her. “Apparently you and your brother don’t share that particular trait.”

  She was confused, and his nearness didn’t help to clear her mind. “What trait?”

  “The people-pleasing one.” His smile was unpleasant. “It would be a nice change, Miss Andrews, if you made an effort to please me, since I am your employer.”

  “I’m doing my best,” she countered through clenched teeth. “I can’t help it if you refuse to see that.”

  She noticed that the muscle in his jaw had begun to bunch and jump, so she prudently cast her gaze down, worrying that he’d had about enough. Maybe she’d gone too far. But if he wasn’t so bullheaded...

  “Miss Andrews,” he growled, “the reason I called you in here tonight was to fire you.”

  She jerked up her head to stare at him. She had gone too far! In some sort of cruel mental movie, she watched everything she loved being taken away—Steven being marched off to jail, her ranch being confiscated by Mr. Dare’s lawyers, while she, Uncle Bud and their thirty-two hungry goats sat by the side of a lonely dirt road with no place to go.

  “But I’ve changed my mind—for now,” he said, giving her a disgruntled look. “Go ahead with the inoculations.”

  Anna squinted, uncomprehending, as though he was speaking a foreign language. She had no time to ask what he meant, for he was still talking. “And get what supplies you feel we need. Also, I’ll think about allowing you to work with Freckle. As for Hazard, that’s out of the question. As for the rest—” he paused, pursing his lips for a moment as though in troubled thought “—keep doing what you did today. You can be sure I’ll watch your progress, and we’ll talk again later in the week when I have time.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, the move a wordless
indication that the interview was over. Somewhat feebly, she managed to get to her feet. Not only was she still working as Bent River Ranch’s manager-trainer, but she had been given quite a bit more responsibility than she’d expected!

  Nodding, she mumbled, “Thank you, Mr. Dare...” The words came out tense, in spite of her numbness.

  His brows dipped as though he guessed she’d like to argue a point. It amazed her that he had such an insightful nature. She did want to discuss one thing, though—his lack of wisdom about keeping Freckle and Hazard inactive when both the stallion and the mare needed challenging workouts.

  “Well, what in blazes is it?”

  His scowl made her want to leave the room at a run, but she knew, for Hazard’s sake, she must speak up. “It’s just that, er, Uncle Bud always gave me the stallions to train, Mr. Dare. He said stallions respond to women better because there isn’t that male-ego clash. I mean...” She rushed her words when he looked like objecting. “You see, a stallion is strong-willed and so are most men.”

  “You’re going to tell me about men, now?”

  “No, don’t be silly,” she shot back, then caught herself, composing her face and her voice. “What I mean is, a woman is more nurturing. I’ve always handled stallions well.”

  “Miss Andrews,” he began, clearly trying to control himself, “Hazard is very possibly the finest cutting horse on the face of this planet. Only an expert with years of experience could walk the line between pushing him too hard, taking the ‘cow’ out of him, or being so easy that the headstrong element you’re talking about would take over and he’d become too aggressive.” With both scorn and pity in his tone, he told her, “The hard truth is, you don’t have the age or experience to have the ability to walk that line. You may be pretty good, but this is a future world champion we’re talking about, not some cowboy’s weekend hobby. As I said, I may allow you to work with Freckle—in another week or so. Most trainers would kiss my feet for being allowed to do that!”