Emily Carmichael - How To Lasso A Cowboy

“You are my angel,” Miguel said. “I will take care of this place like it was my own.”

“It practically is, as long as you pay the rent.” Tess tried hard to keep a stern tone in her voice. Otherwise she might melt down as mushy as Rosie.

“You sure you want the rent to go to Sean?”

Miguel had insisted upon paying rent when Tess asked him to take over the Diamond T. Rent would make him feel like a rancher, not a caretaker, he said. So Tess had named a small amount and told him to send it to Sean. The money wouldn’t send her brother to a college back east, but it would be a start. Sean had been right. The Diamond T belonged to him as well as her.

They rode out to a chorus of goodbyes and accompanying barks from Chief, who had been promoted to cattle dog in charge. Rojo trotted by Ranger’s side. Where Tess went, he went also.

“I got a dog in the deal along with a wife?” Josh asked when he noticed Rojo.

“Hell yes,” Tess replied. “A woman can buy a husband in any saloon in the West, if she has the cash. But a good cattle dog is hard to find.”

COLORADO 1884

WINSTON TAYLOR EASED back on his horse’s reins, bringing the animal to a halt. He rested his crossed wrists on the saddle horn as the gelding blew noisily and swished his tail at the everpresent flies. Ahead of him, orange, red, and coral rays streaked out from behind deep purple mountain peaks and violet clouds. However, it wasn’t the spectacular sunset that captured Win’s attention.

Instead, it was the small cluster of corrals and buildings set against the breathtaking backdrop that made his heart slide into his throat. A barn with a pole corral disappearing around its side had been added since he’d been here with his pa, but little else had changed in the ensuing ten years.

Ten years since he’d felt a sense of home and belonging.

Ten years since he’d seen Caitlin Brice.

Unease shot through him, making him question his good sense in responding to the telegram. He’d stayed away all these years, even when his father had made his annual visits to his old friend Tremayne Brice. Win had hoped to protect Cait by his absence.

With his pa dead, the Brices were the closest thing to kin Win had, and he’d broken his selfimposed exile because they needed his help. Seeing Cait again would be difficult, and he was thankful her father would be there to act as a buffer between them.

Suddenly impatient, Win clucked his horse into motion. The sooner he found out why they sought his help, the sooner he could accomplish his task and disappear from Cait’s life. Again.

As he drew nearer, the cabin door swung open. A shadowed figure stepped onto the porch and froze, obviously seeing him. He tipped his lowcrowned hat off his forehead, affecting a reckless nonchalance.

He drank in her appearance, from the practical trousers that enhanced her long slender legs and slightly rounded hips, to the loose shirt that camouflaged the gentle curves beneath it. Despite the men’s clothing and rifle gripped in her hands, there was no doubt Cait had blossomed into a beautiful woman.

The ten years evaporated as Win recalled with startling clarity the smoothness of her bare skin, and the way she’d arched against him, giving herself freely without regard to the repercussions of being with him. He’d been fifteenyearold Cait’s first man, and he’d been little more than a boy himself at seventeen.

He sucked in a deep breath and willed his body to ignore the insistent rush of lust that bolted through him. Even after all these years, Cait made him feel like a rutting stallion.

Her lush lips curved downward and her backbone stiffened. Although he couldn’t see her eyes clearly, he knew their blue depths would be snapping with that fierce Brice temper-full of fire and passion.

God, he’d missed her. Not just the woman, but the childhood friend he’d known since they’d been kneehigh. She was the only friend he’d had while growing up, despite the fact they’d only seen one another two months out of each year. His shoulders slumped as he realized his abrupt leavetaking ten years ago had destroyed whatever affection she’d harbored for him.

Isn’t that what I intended, to ensure she wouldn’t pine for me?

He dismounted gingerly, ignoring the twinges in his legs and back from long days in the saddle. After wrapping the leather reins around the hitching post, he faced the woman once more. “Hello, Cait,” he said in a voice husky with disuse.

“Win.” Her voice was cool but she set the rifle down, leaning it against the porch rail.

“I got the telegram.”

She crossed her arms, unintentionally drawing his attention to her modest bosom. “I reckoned.”

He dragged his gaze back to her face and frowned at her terseness. Where had the talkative girl gone? “The message said you needed me.”

Cait flinched, then her lips settled into a grim line. “I need your help.”

He shrugged. “Same thing.”

She glared at him and opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it. She looked beyond him, anger radiating from her ramrodstraight figure.

For a moment, Win was tempted to tell her why he had left so abruptly all those years ago, but the impulse passed. She might understand his reasons, but it wouldn’t make her hate him any less. “You and your pa sent for me. Why?”

She continued to stare over his shoulder, then finally relented and motioned with her chin toward the new circular enclosure. Win turned his head and spotted a magnificent black horse prancing around in the corral. His breath caught and held as he watched the stallion shake its regal head, its mane flowing like an ebony river. The animal must have been concealed by the barn when Win had arrived because he surely would have noticed him.

“He’s our hope to breed and sell more than the runofthemill cattle horses,” Cait continued, her voice not quite steady. “He’s got champion blood running through his veins.”

“Wild?”

She nodded and slid her hands into her pockets. “Me and Pa caught him in the foothills about a month ago. We got half his mares, too.” Her voice possessed a hint of pride.

Win whistled low. “You did good.”

Cait’s lips curled downward. “Except he won’t let anyone near him.” She cleared her throat. “Deil can’t be tamed.”

“Deil?”

“The stallion. It means ‘devil’ in Scottish.”

Win turned back to the stallion, surprised to see it watching them, as if knowing he was the subject of their conversation. “If he can’t be tamed, why did your father send for me?”

“Because Pa figured you were the only man who had a chance.”

Win smiled. Tremayne had always respected the abilities of both Win and his father, Adam, to gentle even the most savage horse. He glanced around. “Where is Tremayne?” He grinned wryly. “In town drinking his supper like he and Pa used to do?”

There was a long moment of silence. “He’s dead,” she said without emotion, her arms crossed tightly.

Win reeled with shock, his mind unwilling to accept the flat pronouncement. “When?”

She shrugged. “Two weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say past the godawful lump in his throat. Tremayne had been more like an uncle than a friend.

“Me, too.” Cait’s reticence slipped and Win glimpsed the pain beneath her toughasgristle exterior. Suddenly, Win saw a little girl in the woman’s place. Young Cait had caught a butterfly, and ran to him, eager and excited to share her treasure. But when she opened her hand to let it fly away home, the green and blue butterfly was dead. Tears had dribbled down her rosy cheeks and Win, two years older, had comforted her with an awkward hug and a gentle punch to her arm.

Win wanted to do the same now, but suspected Cait would thump him this time, and it wouldn’t be a friendly cuff.

Cait cleared her throat and the brief vulnerability vanished. “I’m sorry about your father, too.”

“Thanks, but it’s been two years.” He paused, and couldn’t help adding with more than a hint of accusation, “You didn’t come to the funeral.”

Her slender fingers curled into her palms and her lips thinned. “Pa was there.”