His Cowgirl Bride Read online

  Chapter Three

  “Birdy!” Tacy scolded the next morning after she stumbled over something that shouldn’t have been in her path and dropped her travel cup of coffee on the porch. A quick glance down revealed a boot, a cowboy’s riding boot with the spur still strapped on. “Bad dog,” she mumbled as her gaze fell on Birdy, who was flopped on her stomach with her chin on her paws, eyes watching Tacy expectantly.

  “You have done a bad thing, young lady,” she said, bending to retrieve her cup and the boot. Striding to her truck, she dropped the boot in the back and gave Birdy another stern look. “You’re gonna get me in trouble if you start stealing our neighbors’ boots. You don’t mess with a man’s boots.” Birdy cocked her head and didn’t look the least bit repentant. “I’m serious—no stealing.” Birdy barked once and wiggled her tail, totally ignoring Tacy’s scowl as she lowered the tailgate. “I am such a sucker. Hop in.” Birdy sprang into the back, spun and licked Tacy on the cheek.

  “Yeah, yeah, I love you, too.”

  She knew the boot had to be Brent’s, and after yesterday’s meat-loaf incident, she wasn’t looking forward to returning it.

  The man just plain disturbed her, and he was taking up too much of her thoughts. Aside from the fact that she found him—the bad boy of the rodeo circuit—disturbingly attractive, there were the things he’d said when they first met—that he’d died—that kept coming back to her. What had he meant?

  Two years ago he’d been such a party-hearty cowboy that it was amazing the man had time to stay on the top of the rodeo leaderboard.

  Then he’d disappeared because of a rumored family emergency. He’d dropped out of competition, and off the front covers of the tabloids. He was just gone.

  Now he was back—in Mule Hollow—and taking over her job. She could understand Sheri and Pace’s explanation. They’d had to bring Brent in because they weren’t going to be back in time to honor their contract. The horses were contracted to have sixty days’ riding on them before they were picked up at the end of December. Since Pace wasn’t going to be there to do it, he’d called in the next best thing—Brent. Those were Sheri’s words.

  Sheri had told Tacy to talk Brent into letting her help him. Yeah, right. As badly as she wanted to learn to break horses, she wasn’t the kind of gal who begged anyone for anything. Then again, she wasn’t the kind of gal who let a guy tell her what she could and could not do, either. Maybe that had been part of the reason she’d conned him into eating that meat loaf the day before. Who knew? She’d taken Rabbit out for some exercise in the pasture when she got home from the café and half expected him to be waiting for her when she rode back to the barn. But he hadn’t been around. If he couldn’t tolerate hot stuff, that meat loaf probably burned a hole in his stomach.

  Maybe he liked it hot, because now he was striding out of the barn as she parked the truck.

  “Hey, cowboy,” she called, climbing out of the cab and walking with his boot extended in front of her. “I bring a peace offering,” she said handing him his boot.

  “This is my boot.”

  “Very good. That is, in fact, your boot,” she said. To her surprise, Brent chuckled.

  “This is your peace offering? My own boot?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I like it a lot. Thanks.”

  She grinned. “You’re very welcome,” she said, striding past him and heading toward Rabbit’s stall. “Hey, boy,” she cooed as she lifted the latch and entered. Brent had followed her into the barn and was now leaning against the gate, watching her. Her pulse started doing that erratic drumbeat that did not make her happy at all.

  “So why are you so adamantly against my getting in that pen with those horses?” Tacy had decided to just cut straight to the problem. “I came here to learn to train horses, and now you’re standing in my way. Is it something personal?”

  “You’re not one to mince words, are you?” he said, startled.

  “No, I’m not. And you’re not a chauvinist, so what’s the problem?”

  A grin spread across his handsome face. She looked at the horse blanket she was settling on Rabbit’s back, feeling Brent’s gaze on her.

  “What makes you think I’m not just a male chauvinist who doesn’t want a woman out there?”

  “Not your style.” She walked past him to retrieve her saddle from its stand.

  He crossed his arms and watched as she hefted the saddle. “You like to think you can read people, don’t you?”

  She paused, grinning. “Bad habit I have.”

  “So how did you know I liked meat loaf?”

  She grimaced. “How do you know that wasn’t just a lucky guess?”

  She started to walk past him, halting when he moved slightly in front of her.

  “That was no guess.”

  She swallowed, not expecting to find herself so close to him. “Okay,” she said, sidestepping around him as her pulse careened. “So I remembered reading once that meat loaf was your favorite food.”

  He followed her into the stall, and she could feel him close beside her as she placed the saddle on Rabbit’s back. She was so embarrassed—it wasn’t as if she read those magazines. Well, she had read the covers, and she did admit that sometimes when she found herself standing in line she’d scanned them, looking specifically for his name.

  “You read stories in the tabloids about me?”

  She spun toward him. “Why would you say that? You were at the top of your game when you were riding. You were written up in more than just the gossip rags.” Drat. She’d just admitted how much she had followed the cowboy.

  “You didn’t exactly strike me as the type to read that trash.” He strode out of the barn and she followed him. His sarcasm and stiff posture told her that he was really angry. Tacy suddenly had the overwhelming need to justify herself. “I didn’t read them. I did read an article about you in the Horseman, though,” she said. “I really and truly never flipped through those other magazines. I’m a grocery store headline reader, that’s all.”

  He stopped between the barn and the corral. “Most of that stuff wasn’t true. It’s pure fantasy.”

  “However, inquiring minds sometimes can’t help reading them.” Her comment made him scowl. “Sorry, I was just teasing,” she said.

  His gaze looked tortured as he lifted his rope from the fence and tightened the coil. She almost let it go. Almost. There was something about the way he looked standing there tense as a fence post and as hard as a block of ice.

  Don’t butt in, the voice in her head hollered. But she forged ahead. “So you’re going to enlighten me about the truth, right?” The soft snorting of the horses that were moving about on the other side of the fence sounded loud in the tense silence as he lifted his gaze to hers.

  “No, I’m not. As soon as I hit the circuit again, nosy reporters will try to expose my life like an open book, and I don’t know what kind of lies and twists will be attached. I’d rather not think about all that now.” His tone softened a bit and his accusing gaze gave way to one that almost begged her to understand.

  Tacy’s curiosity skyrocketed, but she only gave a light nod. After all, it was his business. Still, when Brent spun on his heel and strode into the horse pen, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. What had happened to him?

  Tacy stood there for the longest time as Brent worked the rope. His back and shoulders barely moved as the rope twirled above his head. With a quick flick, he let the loop fly toward the group of horses, and there was no mistaking which horse he had in his sights. Nor was there a question in her mind about whether the loop would land easily around the horse’s neck.

  Brent Stockwell was poetry in motion. Cowboy poetry. And as the horse he chose reared, hooves pawing the air, head twisting from side to side, Brent took up the slack on the rope and walked calmly toward the uncertain animal, reeling it in with no fear.

  As he talked gently to the horse, Tacy watched the animal fall under his influence. Tacy was afrai
d she was doing exactly the same thing. Only she wasn’t going to let herself back down and give up her dream. Oh, no, she was going to break horses, with or without his help.

  She’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t intrigued by Brent. She was…but that didn’t matter. Her main goal was to figure out how to get Brent to teach her to do what he just did. Before she could tame horses, she was going to have to tame the man!

  Chapter Four

  On his third morning in Mule Hollow, Brent hopped in his truck at twenty to six and headed to Sam’s for an early-morning breakfast. He glanced at Pace’s house as he passed it, and couldn’t help but think of the feisty redhead probably still sleeping inside.

  He had not planned on Tacy when he’d agreed to take this job. The fact that she knew about him—or thought she did—bothered him. It wasn’t as if he was that famous or anything. His picture had been on the front page of those tabloids two years ago…. Thankfully, hardly anyone recognized him these days. If they did, it was only because they were connected to the rodeo circuit in some way. Sam hadn’t cared one way or the other. Normally, he didn’t let it bother him if someone knew him and mentioned his past stupidity—dating TV stars and acting like he was somebody special. Tina’s accident had sobered him up in more ways than one. Knowing Tacy had read all that trash about him—it bothered him. More than he wanted it to.

  The woman was something—“Something else,” he growled. A distraction he wouldn’t mind as long as she stayed out of the horse pen.

  When he pulled up in front of the diner, two older men were disappearing through the swinging door ahead of him.

  He removed his hat as he entered, realizing they were the first patrons of the morning.

  “You came back,” Sam said, grinning as Brent sat down on the same stool he’d chosen the day before.

  “I’m back, but—” he held up his hands “—I don’t believe I’ll be having the meat loaf.”

  The two older men had set their checkerboard on the table by the front window and come to stand at the counter. They studied him. At the mention of meat loaf, their dour looks turned into grins.

  “So yor the one that ate the meat loaf?” the thin one said loudly. “Big TV star like yourself got hoodwinked, didn’t ya?”

  Brent’s palms dampened at the mention of the TV spots. Sam hadn’t said anything about that, but Brent should have known he’d seen the commercials. Brent had snagged a few endorsements during his bid for the championship.

  The other man shook his balding head. “That’s not a good thang. Not good at all.”

  Brent didn’t know if the man was referring to the meat-loaf episode or the TV spots. Brent was in agreement on both counts.

  Sam chuckled and set a cup of coffee in front of Brent. “I told y’all Tacy got him. She recommended the meat loaf and didn’t tell him about all the peppers I load it up with.”

  That got a hoot from all three of them and Brent couldn’t help chuckling along with them. He was relieved that they seemed more interested in Tacy’s reactions than his past. She’d definitely pulled a smooth one on him.

  “So what’d ya do ta make her mad at ya?”

  Brent looked at the skinny guy. “I asked her what she recommended. She said the meat loaf.”

  “That’s Tacy. She’s a root-tootin’ live wire. By the way, I’m Applegate Thornton, but you can call me App,” the skinny guy said, holding out his hand.

  Brent shook, glad App didn’t lock on to his hand with the same grip that Sam had.

  “And I’m Stanley. Stanley Orr. Glad ta make yor acquaintance. Sam said you was here ta train horses fer Pace.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s true.”

  Sam had been grinning through the whole exchange. “That thar’s why Tacy tricked him into eatin’ the meat loaf. He surprised her out thar. Poor gal didn’t have a clue you was showin’ up here.”

  “You mean she didn’t know?” App’s eyes widened beneath bushy brows.

  Sam shook his head. “Shore didn’t. Pace and Sheri never said nothin’.”

  Stanley let out a low whistle. “She didn’t get mad, did she? She got even.” He and his two buddies got a good laugh out of that.

  “Serious, though,” Stanley said, “why would that make her mad? Yor good with horses, so you kin teach her same as Pace was goin’ to. Right?”

  Brent didn’t want to get into this, but it couldn’t be helped. “No. I won’t teach her.”

  Three groans went up around him.

  “She know that?” Stanley asked as his buddies leaned in with raised bushy brows.

  “Hey,” Brent said, suddenly feeling defensive. “I told her I didn’t want her in the pen with the horses, and she got a little peeved. Why are y’all looking like that? It’s for her own good.”

  “Tell him, Sam,” Applegate prompted.

  “She came here to learn to train them horses,” Sam said. “That’s the only reason Tacy’s in Mule Hollow. The little spitfire wants ta not only train ’em, she wants to break ’em.”

  “Over my dead body,” Brent mumbled, swallowing a big swig of coffee.

  “That may be, if you get in her way,” Stanley said, grabbing a handful of sunflower seeds out of a bag. “She’s got her heart set on it.”

  App crossed his arms and assessed Brent with warning eyes. “Yup, she does, and I don’t thank she’s the type ta have some ole cowboy tellin’ her what and what not she kin do.”

  “Even one that does foo-foo commercials,” Stanley added, hiking a bushy brow and grinning wider.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” App grunted, leaning forward to sniff the air close to Brent. “Men—especially self-respectin’ cowboys—ain’t spos’d ta smell prissy.”

  So much for no teasing. Brent decided against pointing out that it had been two lousy cologne commercials—about which he’d been teased mercilessly by every cowboy on the circuit.

  Sam chuckled, clearly enjoying Brent’s discomfort before taking pity on him and reeling the conversation back in. “I jest don’t see Tacy walkin’ away. Pace was supposed to teach her.”

  App and Stanley sobered. “Yup,” they said in unison.

  “Pace agreed to that?” Brent didn’t like what he was hearing.

  “Well, yeah,” Sam said, slapping his palms on the counter as he glared at Brent. “You ain’t listening. She ain’t from here. She came here just fer the reason of learnin’ ta break them horses.”

  “Pace didn’t tell me any of that. I’m sorry, fellas, but that agreement was between Tacy and Pace. My agreement with Pace has nothing to do with putting Tacy at risk. No way am I teaching a woman how to get up on the back of a bucking horse.” Not after he’d helped his sister do exactly that, and he’d almost gotten her killed.

  “Calm down,” Stanley said, placing a hand on Brent’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, you don’t look so good,” App said, peering close. “She’s a good little gal. No need ta get angry at her.”

  Brent picked up his coffee. “I’m not angry at her. I’m just not the guy to teach her to break a horse. She’ll have to take that up with Pace when he gets back.” He might have to have a word with Pace about that, too. “Sam, how about some eggs, sir?”

  Sam grinned. “I’m fixin’ ta cook ’em right up.” He headed toward the kitchen and App and Stanley went over to their table and the checkerboard. He wasn’t too sure he understood why someone would want to play checkers at the crack of dawn. To each his own—they liked checkers this early; he liked riding horses this early.

  “Sam,” he called. “No funny business. I had heartburn like you wouldn’t believe.”

  All three of the men thought that was funny and hooted and chortled with laughter. Brent didn’t join them, as his thoughts turned back to Tacy. He hoped she wouldn’t ask him to teach her to break horses. She’d told him he was in her way and made it clear that she thought she was capable—his sister had believed the same thing, and only by the grace of God was she still alive. Brent was counting
his blessings and had absolutely no intention of being part of that kind of foolishness again.

  Especially with Tacy Jones. The woman was a wild card. It would be a shame to risk something happening to somebody who was obviously so full of life.

  If she asked, he’d just tell her no.

  There were much worse things in life than being told no.

  “So I got this idea about the Thanksgiving festival,” Norma Sue Jenkins said.

  Tacy had just poured coffee into Norma’s cup and refilled Norma’s two friends’ cups and couldn’t help listening in on their conversation. She liked it when they came in for afternoon coffee, when the diner was quiet because the cowboys were all out working. Norma was a hoot, a robust ranching woman with a robust personality. Along with her friends, Esther Mae Wilcox and Adela Green—Sam’s wife—Norma was considered the heart of this tiny town. These three ladies loved Mule Hollow and everything about keeping it a place where people wanted to move and raise their families.

  “Well, I hope it’s something new,” Esther Mae said, patting her red hair. “I’m getting a bit bored with the same ole festivals.”

  Adela, a small woman with a gentle smile and soft white hair, nodded. “Me, too. We do need something to keep visitors wanting to come back for more. What’s your idea, Norma?”

  “Pumpkin’ chunkin’,” she said, grinning so wide her smile stretched across her round face, making her look a bit like a grinning pumpkin herself. “Or ‘punkin chunkin,’ which is the right term for the contest.”

  Esther Mae gasped. “You mean, where people bring those funny contraptions and see who can shoot a pumpkin the longest distance?”

  Norma nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I think that would be a riot.”