Who Wouldn't Love a Cowboy?

“He’s not the friendliest guy, is he? I’m surprised he runs a dude ranch operation.”

George sighed. “He used to be different.”

“Really?” Sounded like a story. Callie’s journalist instincts went on high alert. “What happened?”

But George acted like he hadn’t heard the question and went to the table to check a linen covered basket. “Naomi just brought these scones out of the oven ten minutes ago. You should eat them while they’re warm.”

He smiled, waved and practically ran out the door.

Chapter Four (#ulink_98f29ea5-6cb3-5bbf-a43a-b46c45468178)

After a big barbecue dinner shared with the other guests at the ranch—a family of four visiting from California and a couple of middle-aged women from Seattle—Callie went for a stroll by the creek. The sign on the wooden stake next to a couple of inviting wooden chairs said Lost Horse Creek.

She made a mental note of the name. Maybe she’d use it in her story. Ignoring the chairs, she strolled along the dirt path bordering the creek.

When her editor, Valerie Pender, had called Callie into her office a few days ago to assign her the cowboy story, Callie had wanted to refuse. But Valerie had been enthusiastic. “Why are women so crazy about cowboys, Callie? That’s the question you’re going to answer in this story.”

Why me? Why not someone else? Anyone else? Callie was tempted to ask. She wasn’t into cowboys. She’d been born on a ranch but after her father’s death, her mother had sold the place and they’d moved to the city. Ever since, Callie had had no interest in horses, ranches or the rodeo. She liked to go to the theater in her spare time. She enjoyed shopping and spa dates with her mother. She even avoided country music and Western movies because they brought back too many painful memories.

But this was the first feature article Valerie had offered her. It would have been career suicide to say no.

So she’d fibbed and said, “I’d love to write a story about cowboys!”

And now, a few short days later and given no time to research, here she was.

Callie stopped. She’d ended up at a corral outside one of the big barns. George was saddling horses for the other guests, who had all signed up for a sunset ride along the ridge of the foothills that surrounded the homestead.

“Change your mind?” George asked, spotting her on the other side of the fence. When she hesitated, he added, “Don’t worry. I’ll find you a nice, gentle mount.”

“Thanks, but I’ll sit this one out.” She turned to head back to her cabin, only to find the cowboy she’d met earlier on the road standing in her way, close enough that she could see the dark growth of his beard outlining the square line of his jaw.

Jason Dowcett, she remembered George saying his name was. He’d cleaned up after his long day of work and looked pretty darn good. Except for that peeved expression on his face.

“What’s the problem?” he asked. “Afraid of horses?”

She didn’t bother to answer his question, instead telling him, “I’m not here to have a vacation. I’m here to interview cowboys.”

“You should call Thunder Ranch, then,” Jason advised. “The Hart family loves to rodeo. Especially Colt. Make sure you book an interview with him.”

Callie was about to thank him, surprised that the grouchy cowboy was actually being helpful. But George piped in, saying, “The Harts aren’t the only famous rodeo cowboys around these parts.”