Rocky Mountain Cowboy Page 9

  Casey gave a solemn nod. Suddenly her little six-year-old legs picked up speed, the pink sneakers kicking dust into the air as she moved. “There he is. There’s Joe. He has the horses.”

  Rebecca looked straight ahead to where Joe stood in front of the barn, holding the reins to the gelding and the mare. They were saddled and ready to go.

  “Are these ponies?” Casey asked him.

  “Ponies?” he scoffed. “These are horses.”

  “They look like ponies,” Casey said.

  “Nope.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “We measure horses by hands, and these are not ponies.”

  When Casey screwed up her face, Rebecca nearly laughed out loud.

  “I’m serious here,” Joe said. “One hand is four inches. We measure from the ground to the top of the withers.”

  Casey started giggling. “A wither? Wither what?”

  Joe chuckled at her response. “This bony part.” He ran a hand over Blackie’s spine. “This is the wither.”

  “Can I touch the wither?”

  “Sure.” Joe scooped her up with his left arm and held her next to the gelding. “Right. There.”

  “Oh, it is bony,” Casey declared with awe as her small hand patted the horse’s neck.

  “Yep.” He let her down again. “Blackie here is sixty-three inches tall or almost sixteen hands. Ponies are anything under fourteen hands and two inches. No ponies on Gallagher Ranch. Not a one.”

  “Wait until I tell my math teacher about that.”

  “Higher mathematics,” Joe said with a grin for Casey.

  It was a killer smile, one that reached his eyes and made Rebecca wish that she had such an easy relationship with the cowboy. She used to. A long time ago.

  “Why does he keep moving his tail?” Casey asked.

  “That’s his flyswatter.”

  Casey whooped with laughter.

  Rebecca stood amazed as the two of them chatted back and forth. He wasn’t kidding. Kids did like him.

  “Ready?” Joe asked.

  “Hmm?” Rebecca returned, her gaze meeting his.

  “Casey is ready to ride. How about you?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Her phone began to ring. When she pulled it out of her back pocket, the unidentified caller hung up. Rebecca shook her head.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m getting hang-up calls,” she said quietly, for his ears only.

  “Can you tell who it’s from?”

  “No. I tried that callback method. But whoever it is either has the wrong number or a poor sense of humor.”

  “How many times have they called?” Joe asked, genuine concern on his face.

  “Six times in the last two days.”

  “Six? That’s harassment. I can ask Sam what he suggests.”

  “No. Please don’t. I’ll contact the sheriff myself if it becomes necessary.”

  “I don’t like it, Becca.”

  “Neither do I.” She turned to Casey. “Ready, sweetie?”

  With her daughter’s enthusiastic nod of approval, she lifted herself to the saddle and nodded to Joe, who lifted Casey to Rebecca’s waiting arms.

  “Okay, sit back against me and you hold the reins,” Rebecca said.

  “Reins?”

  Rebecca raised the leather leads. “These help us direct the horse.”

  “The horse doesn’t know his left hand from his right,” Joe added as he mounted Blackie.

  “Horses have hoofs, not hands.” Casey’s laughter bubbled over at the words, her gaze upon Joe in a gesture Rebecca recognized as pure hero worship. Mixed emotions settled on Rebecca. It was wonderful for her daughter to have a male role model in her life, but what would happen when the assignment was over and Joe Gallagher no longer welcomed them in his world?

  They rode in silence for several minutes until they reached a pasture filled with cows, to the east of the barn.

  “Whose cows are those?” Casey asked.

  “All mine,” Joe returned. “They’re eating the grass here until early next week, then I’ll move them to another pasture.”

  “How many head did you say you have?” Rebecca asked.

  “Close to two hundred.”

  “You’re going to move two hundred head by yourself?”

  “Naw. Gil and Wishbone will help me.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Dan usually helps, or my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Rebecca looked to see if it was a joke. “Elsie really helps you herd cattle?”

  “Are you kidding? It was just her and my dad when they started this operation. She’d put Dan and me and my sisters in the pickup truck, which was new back then, and ride along with my father, getting out every now and again when the cows went astray.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “That’s ranch life,” Joe said. “You lived on Elliott Ranch, where the deer and the antelope play and the cash is in abundance.”

  “It wasn’t easy street. We worked sixteen-hour days there, too.”

  “If you say so.”

  She cleared her throat, swallowing a lump of hesitation since he was in such a good mood. “Um, I’m happy to help you herd the cattle.”

  “You?” He turned his head and adjusted his Stetson.

  “Yes, me. I’ve done it before. Many times.”

  “Who’s going to watch the greenhorns if you help me?”

  “Couldn’t they use the truck and shoot video? We’d be taking care of two things at once.” She smiled, pleased at her solution. It was a brilliant plan.

  “Might work. Let me think on it.”

  Rebecca nodded. “Of course.” She led Princess away from the fence and followed Blackie as Joe led the horse back toward the ranch.

  “What’s that?” Casey asked as they neared the corral once more.

  Joe and Rebecca both turned to follow Casey’s pointing finger. A plastic cow head, complete with horns, was fastened to a round bale of hay, the size of a small heifer.

  “Why, that’s a dummy steer,” Joe said.

  “What do you use a dummy for?” Casey’s face was bright with amusement, and she seemed about to burst into laughter again.

  “I’m learning to rope again with my prosthetic hand. Roping is when you take your rope and twirl it in the air and it lands around the cow. The dummy is how I practice.”

  “Are you really roping again?” Rebecca asked. “And using your right hand or your left hand?”

  “A little of both, and learning is the key word here. I don’t have a lot of time right now, but yeah. That’s the plan.”

  “I used to rope,” Rebecca mused.

  “Give it a shot,” Joe said.

  “Give what a shot?”

  He inclined his head toward the dummy steer.

  “Yes, Momma. Do it,” Casey urged.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re changing your story,” Joe said.

  She turned to him. “It’s been a long time.”

  “You’re riding just fine, and you said you can herd cattle.” He shrugged. “Try roping on the ground.”

  “Oh, no. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it in the saddle.”

  “That might be a little ambitious until you develop a feel for the rope again. Those muscles get rusty after...” He cleared his throat. “Twelve years.”

  “Are you challenging me?”

  “That would be foolish. While I have been known to be foolish upon occasion, I would never do anything that might endanger the animals.”

  “Endanger the animals?” Rebecca huffed. “Casey, honey, I’m going to ease you to the ground. You go sit against the corral fence,
and cheer for Momma.” As Casey’s sneakers hit the dusty earth, Rebecca turned and narrowed her eyes at Joe. “I trust I can borrow your rope.”

  Joe slowly released the long rope from the pommel and stepped forward with Blackie, handing it over.

  “Is it soft enough for you?” Joe asked.

  “Just fine.”

  “You want my gloves? Don’t want to burn those pretty hands.”

  With a death glare shot toward the cowboy, Rebecca yanked her own gloves from her vest pocket. Pretty hands? They were a mess. Torn cuticles and red knuckles along with a healing wire cut in her palm. She tucked her hands into the leather gloves.

  Rebecca checked the coils, the loop and the knot. Then she eyed the dummy and began to roll her loop, leading with her thumb and index finger. Yes. She could do this. It was all coming back to her now. Time to throw her catch. The rope sailed underneath the right horn and missed the left horn. Caught off guard, the rope slipped from her hands to the dirt.

  “If you did that on the ground, you wouldn’t have to keep dismounting,” Joe observed.

  “I appreciate your insight.” She picked up the rope, pulled herself onto Princess yet again and leaned close to the mare, rubbing her gently. “Cowboys think they know everything,” she whispered. The horse whinnied in agreement.

  Once again she prepared the rope, refining her loop and coil, stepping Princess in a bit tighter.

  This time the rope sailed clear past the dummy.

  “Momma, can we have lunch now?”

  “Lunch? Yes.” She smiled at Casey as she slid from the horse and retrieved the rope. “You go on in the house and wash up. I’ll be in as soon as I rub down Princess.”

  “You know, that was pretty good considering you haven’t held a rope in a dozen years,” he said.

  Rebecca coiled the rope and handed it to him. He dismounted and stood close without touching the offered rope.

  “I mean it, Becca. That was a compliment. I don’t hand them out on a regular basis.”

  She met his gaze. “Thank you.”

  “About that chocolate cake.”

  “What?” She blinked, confused.

  “As I recall, you used to make blue-ribbon chocolate cakes. You said you’re going to make one soon. I’m looking forward to a piece.”

  “My cake-baking skills are likely to be as rusty as my roping.”

  The corners of Joe’s lips curved. “I’m guessing you haven’t forgotten.

  “I’ll make a deal with you. Stop by tonight for a therapy session and I’ll have chocolate cake ready.”

  “Therapy?”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  She nodded, hiding a smile. “That I do.”

  * * *

  “That’s another kid’s toy,” Joe said.

  “No. It’s another therapy tool.” Rebecca pushed the puzzle across the kitchen table to him, ignoring his irritation.

  He glanced around. “Where’s Casey?”

  “She’s getting ready for bed.”

  Joe released a breath. “Good, because I feel pretty silly.”

  “We use this one for manual dexterity. You aren’t the first patient to utilize this tool. Simply pick up the shapes and place them in the right slot using your prosthetic hand. It’s a repetition exercise to get you accustomed to using those muscles again.”

  “What muscles? I’m missing half my arm.”

  “You know what I mean. Your nerves still transmit the same signals as if the limb was there. All we’re doing is reminding them again. The goal is to increase your control. The strength and speed of your response will increase as well, the more you practice.”

  “Whatever. Seems like a lot of work for chocolate cake.”

  “As you said, my cakes were blue ribbon winners.” She glanced over at the counter, where the cake was cooling and waiting to be frosted.

  “It better be for this,” he muttered.

  “You’re doing an awful lot of complaining, considering you’re whizzing right through all these exercises. I don’t think you really appreciate all you have going for you.”

  “How so?”

  “You have great range of motion. No medical problems. Your phantom limb pain is minimal. You have great skin integrity and muscle development. You’re like a model patient.”

  “Except for my crummy attitude, right?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, I did.”

  Rebecca focused on documenting his activity in her tablet.

  “Maybe I wouldn’t have such a bad attitude if I wasn’t responsible for all of this,” he muttered.

  “It was an accident. Accidents happen.”

  He met her eyes, his fingers poised in midair. “Do you know what happened?”

  “I’ve not wanted to pry, though of course I’ve read your medical records.”

  “The fact is, I should have asked for help. I didn’t. Simple as that.” He shrugged. “I was repairing a tractor. The tractor fell on me.”

  “Oh, Joe.” It was one thing to read a report, another to hear the words from his mouth. Pain cut through her, and she raised her hands to cover her mouth.

  “I did it to myself. My mistake could have cost me the ranch. If Dan hadn’t stepped in, I don’t know what I would have done. He’d cashed out of his share years ago. Yet not only was he the first responder on the scene that day, but he was responsible for keeping the ranch running when I was in the hospital. I owe my brother plenty.”

  “I had no idea.”

  Joe nodded. “Family really is everything, Becca. Took me a while to fully appreciate that.” He dropped the last piece in the slot. “Done.”

  “Actually, you have to do it twice more. I’ll frost the cake while you finish.”

  “Maybe I should frost the cake,” he said.

  “Yes. Great idea. We’ll let you bake a cake and frost it next time. That will really facilitate more bilateral limb usage.”

  “Oh, brother,” he muttered.

  She moved to the counter and pulled out a stainless-steel spatula and quickly frosted the sides and then the top of the cake, swirling the chocolate whipped frosting into little peaks. How long since she’d done this? Years. At least well before the trial.

  “What do you want with your cake?”

  “Milk would be good. Thanks.”

  She poured a glass of milk and brought it along with a hefty slice of cake to the table.

  Joe snickered.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “I’m laughing at the frosting you planted on your face.”

  Rebecca turned to examine her reflection in the toaster and swiped at her face with a towel. She straightened. “All good?”

  “Nice try. Almost as good as your roping.”

  “I got it all.” She frowned. “Didn’t I?”

  He bit back a chuckle. “Not hardly.”

  “Fine,” she huffed, tossing the towel to him.

  Joe stood. “Hold still.” He dabbed at her nose and then her cheek. “You’ve even got some on your ear. How do you frost a cake and get chocolate everywhere?”

  “It takes a certain amount of skill, I admit. But I was rushing before you barked at me.”

  “I don’t bark,” Joe murmured. His face was intent as he leaned down to carefully wipe the frosting from her ear with gentle strokes of the terry-cloth towel. Rebecca peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. She shivered when she realized his lips hovered inches from hers.

  Suddenly he sucked in a breath and stepped away.

  “All done.”

  “Thanks,” she said a little too brightly.

  “Aren’t you going to get Casey for cake?”
>
  “Yes. Right away.” Rebecca nodded and moved down the hallway to the pink bedroom. Right about now she could certainly use a buffer between herself and the handsome cowboy in her kitchen.

  Chapter Eight

  Joe glanced up at the Sunday afternoon sky as he rounded the corner of the barn. Becca was in the drive with her head beneath the hood of the battered Honda. He was feeling inordinately good today, and he supposed Casey and Becca had a lot to do with that.

  Go figure. He seemed unable to resist her and her little girl yesterday. It was a good day, even if he didn’t get all the calls he needed to make completed. It didn’t escape him that he and Becca could have had a child if things had worked out.

  That was probably a road he’d best avoid going down. So he didn’t. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached her, making as much noise as possible in an effort to keep from startling her. He inched closer, clearing his throat, yet Becca still didn’t turn to acknowledge his presence. Finally he moved to the side of the car and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. That did it. She jumped, coming in immediate contact with the hood.

  “Ouch.” Her hand moved to her head. She pushed hair out of her face, neatly spreading grease across her cheek.

  Earbuds.

  That was why she hadn’t heard him.

  “I’m sorry.” He mouthed the words.

  “What?” Rebecca pulled the buds from her ears. “What did you say?”

  “Sorry. I was actually trying not to startle you. You sure are jumpy.”

  “I guess I was concentrating.” She rubbed her head one more time and pulled down the sleeves of her T-shirt.

  “You okay? Maybe I should check your scalp, be sure you didn’t do any serious damage.”

  “I’m fine.” She waved him away with a hand. “By the way, I have a bone to pick with you.”

  “Fire away.”

  “You didn’t tell me you have a rooster.”

  “Chickens, too. My mother’s department.” He rolled his eyes. “Woke you up?”

  “Not me. I sleep through anything.” Becca shook her head. “Casey woke me, determined to go find the rooster.”

  “So much for sleeping in, huh?”

  “Exactly!” she said.

  “Add that to your list of things that make ranch life so very special.”