Accidental Cowgirl Read online

  Cole put his arm around her shoulder, leaning down affectionately. “Good for you, Ma. Glad you put them in their place.”

  Ma cuffed him on the shoulder. “Well, I might have been a little more polite than that, but it’s what I wanted to say. We got a small crew for this week now. I gotta call and back off the bakery order.”

  “Aw, Ma. Don’t do that.” Cole winked.

  “I know the both of you could eat enough to order twice as much as usual, but we got a budget to keep around here, as someone keeps remindin’ me.” She slanted a glance at Decker, who put his hands up in mock surrender.

  “Hey, I’m just trying to help. We’re finally headed in the right direction. This cockeyed dude-ranch plan of yours seems to be working, Ma.”

  Ma sat down in the conference chair opposite Decker’s desk. “Well, I didn’t have a lot of choice but to come up with some cockeyed plan, now, did I?”

  “Don’t even get me started.”

  Ma raised her eyebrows in silent warning. “Deep down, your daddy was a good man, Decker. You remember that.”

  He frowned. That good man was the same guy who’d almost gambled away the ranch, then smacked into a tree with a whiskey bottle still in his hand, leaving Ma with a dying property and debts she didn’t even know about yet.

  That good man was also the guy who’d told a seventeen-year-old Decker to leave and never come back. And he hadn’t … for ten long years.

  Cole shifted his weight to the door frame. “Well, if we’re looking for the silver lining, Ma, it did get Decker home from L.A.”

  “For now, Cole. For now.” The only reason he’d come was because Decker Senior was finally dead, and Ma had finally been able to ask for help, but he knew it was temporary. As soon as things were under control again, everyone would remember he wasn’t welcome here, so he didn’t want them harboring any delusions that he had any delusions about staying. He’d head back to his life in L.A. and try to forget, once again, how much he loved it here.

  First, though, he had work to do. Getting the ranch profitable enough to pay the mortgage notes was one thing. Paying off his dad’s bookies was quite another.

  “Well.” Ma bounced up from the chair. “I got things to do. Can’t sit around chitchatting with you hens in here. Cole, go check on Jimmy and Pete. I sent ’em out to check fence lines, but they came back quicker than they should’ve. I went out and snipped a little one myself yesterday. I want to know if they found it.”

  Decker’s eyes widened. “Ma! You cut the fence?”

  “It was just a little cut.” Ma smiled wickedly. “Nuthin’d get through it. But a good hand would notice it. If they didn’t see it, we’re gonna have words.”

  Decker shook his head and rolled his eyes at Cole. “I think we’re just ancillary here, Cole. Ma doesn’t really need us to help run this place.”

  “I been runnin’ this place a long time longer than you ever knew, boys.” She swatted Cole with the dish towel she’d been carrying. “Off with you. Go earn your keep and do somethin’ useful, wouldja? And get a haircut.” Cole laughed and headed out of the office.

  Ma turned toward Decker, peering at him for a long moment. “You good?”

  Decker nodded. “I’m good.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m good, Ma. Why are you asking? And why that tone?”

  Ma sighed. “I saw Marcy trolling around yesterday, giving you those puppy-dog eyes she thinks she’s so good at. What’d she want this time?”

  “Wants me to train her horse.”

  “You going to?”

  Decker squinted up at her. “She said I’m the best there is, Ma.” And I might have been, if Dad hadn’t kicked me off the ranch.

  Ma crossed her arms. “We both know this isn’t about a horse. That girl’s not right for you, Decker.”

  He turned toward his desk phone as it beeped, relieved at the excuse to discontinue the conversation. “I should take this.”

  Ma swung the dish towel at him and scooted out of the room as he answered the call. Two minutes later he was grabbing his keys and heading out the front door.

  “Where you going in such an all-fired hurry?” Ma yelled from the kitchen.

  “Roscoe’s gone missing again.”

  “He’d better not be messing around with his old blue light this time.”

  “Well, if he is, I’d better find him before the state cops do. Bess is terrified they’ll pick him up again.”

  Decker shook his head as he ran down the front steps and jumped into his black pickup. Poor old Roscoe was losing his mind, slowly and painfully. At least once every few weeks, he’d disappear in his rattletrap Chevy, thinking he was still on duty for the state of Montana. On a good day, he’d fall asleep sitting in one of his favorite speed traps. On a bad day, he’d use his blue light to pull over some unsuspecting tourist or other.

  He was at that scary point in his Alzheimer’s where he could be as lucid as could be for hours or even days at a time, and then bam. He’d fall into that pit where ancient memories were clear as day, but this morning’s breakfast was a complete mystery. For an ex-cop, that was the dangerous part.

  Decker just hoped this time he hadn’t unearthed his old gun, too.

  * * *

  “Twenty-seven, twenty-eight …” Kyla huffed. She winced every time her legs parted, her right thigh aching with every jump. She studied the cop, ready to run if he made a move toward her.

  “Are you …” Huff! “… a sheriff?” Maybe that’s why he was out of uniform, in an unmarked car?

  “Trooper.” He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

  “Are you …” Huff! “… a plainclothes trooper?”

  “We don’t all wear uniforms, young lady.” His lips tightened and she realized she’d annoyed him. Bad idea, since it was just her, him, and the tall grass out here. She closed her mouth and continued jumping, but her stomach was making some frightening noises.

  As she got to forty jumping jacks, she heard a low hum in between her labored breaths. Could it be? She strained her ears toward the sound. Oh, thank God! There was another vehicle coming. She kept one eye on the road behind her car, and was elated when a black pickup came into view. When it pulled to a stop on the shoulder and a man slid out of the driver’s seat, she gulped and stopped jumping.

  Oh, my. Now this was a proper cowboy rescuer. Beige Stetson, weathered green chambray shirt, and just-tight-enough blue jeans made her wonder if Hayley and Jess were on to something with this whole cowboy-vacation plan.

  “Roscoe, buddy, what do we have here?” The cowboy hooked his thumbs on his belt as he strolled toward Kyla and the cop.

  Roscoe turned toward him and poked a thumb in Kyla’s direction. “She’s drunk.”

  “I see.” He turned to look at Kyla. Dark brown hair peeked out from under his hat, and his blue eyes looked like they were trying not to show their amusement. “Ma’am, are you drunk?”

  Was he the real cop around here? Just a guy passing by? She crossed her arms. “No.” The cowboy glanced at his watch, then looked back at her. “Roscoe, buddy, it’s been a long shift. Why don’t you let me take over here? I bet Bess has supper ready.”

  Kyla fought the little jump in her tummy at his words. As much as her fantasies might have starred a deserted highway, broken-down car, and rugged, handsome cowboy, her reality was a bit smarter. It was one thing to outrun the geezer. The cowboy? Not so much. Was she actually safer with the pseudo-cop?

  Roscoe looked doubtful, but rubbed his stomach. “I don’t know, Decker. You sure you can handle her? She’s kind of a pisser.”

  Pisser? She’d done everything he’d asked! She’d even called him sir, though by the time they’d gotten to jumping jacks, she was pretty sure he was faking the whole cop thing.

  “Pissers are my specialty, old buddy.” The cowboy brushed his hand across his mouth like he was trying not to laugh. “You just get in your truck and head back up to town. I’ll take care of her.”

 
Roscoe turned toward his truck, then back to Kyla. He pointed at her and narrowed his eyes again. “I’ll be watching you, young lady.”

  Kyla watched as Roscoe pulled his rattly old truck back onto the pavement, too late realizing she should have asked him to call AAA for her when he got to somewhere with a cell signal. Once he cleared the rise and disappeared, Decker turned back toward Kyla, shaking his head. “Jumping jacks? You let him make you do jumping jacks?”

  “You saw that?”

  “Why’d he pull you over, anyway?”

  “He didn’t. I have a flat tire. I was just sitting here when he came along, thinking maybe he was going to help. Instead, I’ve now had a whole battery of sobriety tests and I still have a flat tire.”

  He raised his eyebrows, glancing down at her skirt. “You don’t know how to change a tire?” He shook his head as he peered around the back of the car to check out her wheel.

  “I know how to change a tire, thank you. And I would have been perfectly capable of changing this one, but there’s no spare.”

  “It’s illegal not to have a spare.”

  “It’s not my car.”

  “Whose is it?”

  “A … friend’s.” Yes, a friend’s. Definitely not a rental. Which means I’m definitely not a deserted tourist, got it?

  “Where are you heading?”

  Oh, no way she was answering that one. “North.”

  His eyes crinkled. “Where your biker-gang buddies are waiting for you, and if you don’t show up in the next three-point-five minutes, they’ll be right down?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Got it.”

  “Are you a cop?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is he?” She pointed up the road where the blue truck had disappeared.

  “Was. Trooper Roscoe Dubuque, Montana State Police.”

  “Retired?”

  “Yup.”

  “Does he forget that sometimes?”

  “What? That he’s retired?” Decker looked her up and down, then locked his eyes on hers again. Kyla fought to match his stare, though her eyes longed to travel the length of him. It should have been hard, but his irises were such a deep blue that she couldn’t look away. Good Lord, this man belonged in a catalog. “Roscoe believes he’s doing the right thing. He really does. You want me to check out that tire?”

  Kyla uncrossed her arms and glanced down, realizing she was still barefoot. She looked for the heels she’d kicked off and headed toward them as she answered. “Depends. Do you have a magic air pump?”

  “No, but I’ve got something in my truck that might fix it temporarily.” He crouched down and poked at her tire. “Maybe.” He turned and headed for his truck, shaking his head. “Don’t want to leave you out here for the bears.” Kyla looked around, hardly meaning to, and Decker laughed.

  “Not funny.”

  “Sorta funny,” he called, head buried in some toolbox in the truck bed.

  She tried not to watch as he tossed around some tools, but to her chagrin, she was having trouble not following him with her eyes. His soft green shirt tapered into just-worn-enough Levis that hugged all the right parts in all the right ways. She shook her head. There is no greater trouble than a too-handsome man, she could hear Gramma telling her.

  And Gramma, as always, had been one hundred and fifty percent right on that one. It was going to be a lo-o-ong time before she’d ever go down that path again. She kicked the flat tire with her toe, then jumped as Decker came around the back of her car.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered as he walked slowly toward her, pointing a rifle.

  Chapter 3

  “He had a gun? Omigod!” Hayley bounced down onto a huge leather couch beside Kyla, handing her a glass of white wine as she angled her body to keep one eye on Kyla and one on the rest of the room. Kyla could practically see her turning on her bat-ears so she could listen in on everyone’s conversations. If her vet business ever went south, she’d be a shoo-in for the CIA.

  “Well, it turns out I was lucky he did. If he hadn’t, I’d be hooked up to an anti-venom drip right now. At least he got my tire blown up enough for me to make it here. I need to call the rental agency and have it towed back tomorrow. No way am I getting in that thing again.”

  “I didn’t even know they had rattlesnakes out here.” Hayley took a deep breath and patted Kyla’s knee. “Okay, so we’ll consider this a minor blip in my master plan. The point is … you met a cowboy! Already!”

  Her auburn curls bounced as she shifted on the couch. Ever since they’d met at freshman orientation, Hayley’d been trying to corral those curls while Kyla had envied them. And though Kyla had learned to be content with the fact that her five-foot-three frame would never be able to reach the top shelves at the grocery store, she still wished sometimes for hair that wasn’t a dull, straight brown. Next to Hayley and Jess, she felt like the plain-Jane friend who always got killed off first in horror movies.

  She’d made it to the ranch just in time to find their cabin, shower off the hideous day, and change for the first evening’s meet-n-greet at the main lodge. She looked around at the living room, which was three times as big as her apartment. But with the logs crackling in the fieldstone fireplace, flickering wall sconces, and soft brown leather couches arranged in conversational groupings, it was as cozy as could be. The soft lighting and wide pine floors were soothing in a way she couldn’t quite define, and she swore she could smell chocolate chip cookies.

  Jess floated down to sit on Kyla’s left, tucking her peasant skirt around her legs. When Jess had arrived in the dorm a week later than the rest of the students, Hayley and Kyla had been wary of her exotic looks and southern upbringing. By second semester, they’d moved Jess into their tiny corner room, turning their double into a triple. The three of them had been inseparable ever since.

  Her cinnamon tea smelled heavenly as she leaned closer to Kyla. “So, sweetie, tell us about the cowboy.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, really.”

  “Then why are you blushing?”

  Kyla pressed her fingers to her flaming cheeks. Oh, to not be so damn Irish. “Seriously, there’s nothing to tell. Car went screech, cop went walk the line, lady, and cowboy went bam!”

  Hayley grinned. “I still can’t believe he thought you were drunk. Did he think you’d done shots at the airport bar, or what?”

  Jess pulled her legs up under her in a yoga pose Kyla wouldn’t be able to make her body do with ten years of practice. “After the morning she had, I’m surprised she didn’t do them in Boston before she left.”

  “I was sorely tempted.” Kyla cringed, remembering the closing moments of the trial earlier that day. She’d been called to the stand one last time, and though she was prepared for the questions—had practiced for hours with her attorney, for God’s sake—she’d still had a panic attack right in the witness box, in front of the jury, the press, and Wes’s family. Only desperation and a nonrefundable ticket had gotten her on the plane afterward. She would have much preferred to stumble back to her apartment and hide for the rest of the foreseeable future.

  “Sweetie, I think this place is going to be just what you need.” Jess patted Kyla’s knee. “Just think—no trial, no city, no Wes, no press.”

  No real job, either, unfortunately. Her accounting agency had felt it in their best interests to “maintain some distance from her situation,” so despite her MBA from Princeton and her stellar reputation prior to the Wes debacle, they’d given her a six-week severance package and had FedExed her personal belongings to her at home. Now she was doing piecemeal voiceover work for an ad agency she’d interned with during her senior year. Instead of advising multimillion-dollar companies on their investment portfolios, she was recording television commercials for couples-only resorts and antacid.

  She rubbed her right thigh in a motion that had become almost automatic over the past year. After six hours on a plane, three in a car, and forty-two jumping jacks, it ached beyond belief, jus
t like it had for almost twelve months now.

  If the pain had been just physical, she could have learned to live with it by now. Unfortunately, every twinge reminded her of the night she’d driven back from Gramps and Gramma’s Vermont farmhouse, panicking because Wes hadn’t shown up as promised and wasn’t answering his cell.

  Every ache reminded her of the moment she’d hit a swamped section of Interstate 89 and hydroplaned just shy of a guardrail. She’d landed snug against a tree that had triggered her airbags, trapped her inside, and hidden her whereabouts until the next morning. The same state trooper who’d found her and called the heavy rescue crew to extract her had played good-cop three weeks later at her first interrogation, after she’d finally awakened from her coma.

  “Ooh!” Hayley’s voice lowered dramatically as she looked over Kyla’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but I think the cowboys have arrived.”

  Jess unfolded her legs from the couch and snuck a peek. “Hmm. Rugged, strong, handsome. But they’re definitely not the sunset guys on the brochure. I can’t even believe these two are brothers. They look nothing alike.”

  “I bet they’re not as hot as Decker.” Kyla clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words were out.

  “Decker?” Jess lifted her eyebrows. “Would that be Mr. Cowboy from earlier?”

  Kyla shrugged her shoulders as she tried not to smile too widely. “Maybe.”

  Hayley elbowed Jess. “Well, if Cowboy Decker is hotter than these two, then I think we need to help Kyla find him again while we’re here. These two must be the ranch hands.” Kyla watched Hayley’s eyes travel down and up the men. “I’m thinking I could easily be convinced to like cowboys.”

  Kyla fought the urge to turn around. She wasn’t yet sure whether she was a fan of the cowboy breed. On one hand, they were unfairly gorgeous. On the other, they scared innocent women with their big guns. On the other other hand, they saved incompetent tourists who didn’t recognize a poisonous snake warning until it was far too late.