Cowboy Lessons

“You lying—” She struggled not to cuss. He could see that. “That horse belongs to my father.”

“And I bought it from him.”

“You what?”

For just a second Scott found himself studying her face. Anger set her whole cheeks aglow. Her ears were tipped in red. A spot on her brow, right above her nose wrinkled, delightfully. Even her small nose looked adorably red.

“Your dad sold it to me.”

“My dad—” She looked momentarily speechless. “My dad sold you Rocket?”

Now it was Scott’s turn to be surprised. “Is that his name?”

She nodded.

A new respect for the grizzled old cowboy who’d suckered him for two thousand dollars filled Scott. “He told me it was Buttercup.”

She snorted again.

And then a new thought penetrated Scott’s mind. “I could have been killed.”

She gave him a look of mock sympathy. “I doubt you’d have been mourned for too long.”

“Thanks,” he said. Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame her for being snippy. But still…He really had saved her father from being evicted, because he knew for a fact someone else had been right behind him ready to pay the tax bill. Literally. The guy had been at the window with him. But he decided not to argue the point.

“I really don’t intend to turn your father out.”

She didn’t look in the least bit grateful for his intervention. As a matter of fact, she looked like that model he’d dated, right after he’d told her he thought she looked cute now that she’d gained some weight.

“You don’t intend to turn him out,” she said, shifting her weight onto one foot in a hip-jutting motion that Scott couldn’t help but notice was really sexy. “Well, gee, Mr. Beringer, thanks ever so much. Considering this ranch has been in my family for three generations, that’s very kind of you.”

“Kindness is my middle name.”

He’d been trying to make a joke. She didn’t take it that way.

“Get out,” she grated through teeth clenched like Thurston Howell’s from Gilligan’s Island. “Forget about the horse. I’ll have my father mail you your money back.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s kind of hard to be a cowboy without a horse.”

AMANDA THOUGHT SHE’D misheard him. Frankly, she must have had the same expression on her face as he’d had when she’d told him to get off her father’s land.

No, his land.

She fought back a hiss of anger. Why the heck her father had waited until today to tell her about the tax lien, she had no idea, but it was hard to say who she was more angry with: her father for not sharing the trouble the ranch was in, or Mr. Scott Beringer, Silicon Valley billionaire.

Oh, yeah, she knew who he was. She’d recognized him the moment she’d seen him at her feet. Her father’s robber baron was none other than the reclusive boy wonder of the software industry.

“What do you mean, ‘be a cowboy’?”

He smiled in a friendly sort of way, not that she had any intention of being that. “I want to learn to be a cowboy. Well, a rancher, really.”

She digested the words for a second while she tried to come to grips with the fact that he really must be the nutcase the press made him out to be. A formidable nutcase, she reminded herself. Someone who did whatever it took to get what he wanted, at least if the newspapers were to be believed. But it was obviously true, because look how he’d acquired their land.

“Mr. Beringer, I think you’ve been inhaling too many silicon fumes.”

He shrugged. Puffs of dust rose from his dirty red-and-white-checkered shirt. He looked ridiculous. Like a cross between Gene Autry and Buddy Holly with those thick-framed black glasses and wide green eyes. And yet…cute.

Ack. Where the heck had that thought come from?

“Why not? Maybe I need to take life a little less seriously. Stop and smell the roses, if you will. Or the manure as the case may be.”

“So you looked around for a ranch to steal?”

“I didn’t steal it. And, no, that’s not why I did it. Frankly, it wasn’t until this very moment that I realized I have a hankering to learn to ride the range.”

“Ride the range?”

“Sure. Herd cattle. Cook over a campfire. That sort of thing.”

“That sort of thing,” she repeated because she really couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You think it’s that easy?” She snapped her fingers to illustrate. “Have you any idea how much work a ranch is?”

“So, then, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll sell the land back to you.”

For the second time, Amanda felt speechless. “You’ll do what?”

“Sell it back to you.”

“Mr. Beringer—”

“Scott,” he insisted.

Scott seemed like the wrong name for him. Attila. Genghis. Those seemed more appropriate.

“Scott,” she said mildly, even though inside she felt as if she’d woken up in the middle of a Saturday Night Live skit. “My father is old. And he’s been ill lately. Certainly not well enough to teach you the ropes.”

“Then you teach me.”

“Oh, no. No. No. No.” She waved her hands and shook her head, that mane of hair of hers bouncing around her shoulders.

“Sure, why not? I leave for Singapore tomorrow. We can start my horse lessons when I get back in a week.”

“Horse lessons?”

“Yeah. I’ll need to learn to ride my new horse.”