No Ordinary Cowboy

“Why would they camp over here? Why not on Sheltering Arms land?”

“I want them to see what goes on at a real working ranch. Most of these kids have never seen a steer in their lives.”

Suddenly he pointed to a cloud of dust on the horizon and gunned the engine. “There.”

When they flew over a hill and landed in a small gully on the far side of it, Amy’s jaw snapped shut. She braced one hand against the door and one against the dashboard. Her butt hurt from bouncing on the firm seat.

She glanced at Hank. He was barely aware of the bumps. His mustache curved up at the ends, echoing a smile on his lips. Damp hair stuck out under the brim of his hat, punctuated by the caramel streak at his widow’s peak.

As they approached the cloud, his grin broadened.

Amy watched dust swirl around a small herd of cows, or steers, or whatever they were, thirty yards away. Cowboys on nimble horses raced around the edges, controlling where the cows went. Mooing and yelling and rumbling hooves drowned out everything else. The pickup got close before she realized the ranch hands had children on their saddles in front of them while they herded cattle.

Dear God, were they crazy? Her heart pounded.

“Those children will fall off,” Amy cried.

She unsnapped her seat belt and threw her door open.

“Hey!” Hank yelled. “You can’t go out there.”

She was half out of the truck when Hank wrapped his fingers around her arm and hauled her back in.

“Are you nuts?”

She sucked in a breath and ran a shaky hand over her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice trembled.

Hank reached across her, his big chest crushing her against the back of the seat and closed her door.

His dark eyes sparked fire.

“What the hell were you thinking?” His voice boomed in the close interior of the truck. “What were you going to do? Run into a herd of cattle?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, wondering at the strength of his reaction.

She touched his arm with one damp palm. “I’m afraid the children will fall. They’ll get hurt.”

His expression eased. His lips softened. “They’re fine,” he said.

Tears welled in Amy’s eyes and she turned away so he wouldn’t see. “They’ll get hurt. Stop them. Please.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” When she turned to him to object, he raised his hand to stall her. “Those kids are safe with the ranch hands. Most of my workers have been on horses since they were two years old.” He smiled. “Some of them ride better than they walk.”

“But—”

“This isn’t a real roundup, anyway. It’s just a little one staged for the kids.”

“Even so—”

When she reached for the door handle, still foolishly tempted to get out and rescue those children, Hank touched her shoulder to press her back against the seat.

“Sit and watch for a minute.” His quiet tone eased some of her fear.

Hank pointed to the nearest man. “See?”

Sure enough, the cowboy had a forearm as lean and strong as one of Hank’s wrapped around a boy’s waist. As Amy watched, he controlled the horse with his strong thighs and with the reins he held in his other hand.

The boy’s face practically glowed with excitement. He yelled at the horses, at the other cowboys, at the cattle. Directing them. As one of the animals broke out of the pack, he shouted, “Get him!” to the cowboy.

The cowboy laughed and yelled, “Sure, boss.”

The vibration of the herd’s frenetic motion rumbled through the truck. Leaning forward, Amy peered through the dust, trying to spot more children. Each one reflected that same joyous expression.

With her hands pressing hard on her thighs, Amy forced herself to calm down.

She turned to Hank to apologize, but the words froze on her tongue. He was resting his forearms on the steering wheel, his body straining forward. His eyes followed every bit of the action.

He wants to be out there in the thick of it all.

“Do you ever do this with the kids?” she asked.

He fell back against the seat and straightened his hat on his head.

“Yeah. We take turns going on the overnight trips. I’ll do the next batch of kids who come to the ranch. Just the older ones.”

He pinned her with a piercing look. “When you first got here this morning, I thought you didn’t like the kids.”

She didn’t answer. How could she ever make him understand how deeply her fears ran? How hard it was for her to care for people she might lose?

“Now I’m thinking maybe you’re afraid of them,” he continued. “Or afraid for them.”

The man saw too much. He leaned against his door and studied her. The cab of the truck became a cocoon, enveloping Amy in a potent blend of fright, compassion and a desire to confess.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. “My father died when I was fourteen. In front of me. Heart attack. I couldn’t save him.”

She stared out the window and swallowed hard. “It left me terrified of bad things happening to people.” She’d never discussed this phobia with anyone before.

“All right,” Hank said. “I can understand that.”

She had no doubt that he could.

The cowboy with the excited boy on his lap rode up to the truck, on Amy’s side. He leaned down from his horse and pressed his hand into Amy’s.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Matt.” He had a smile that could dazzle, and he knew it.

“I’m Amy,” she said.