Claiming Her Cowboy

This time Lucy laughed as well, and her eyes were bright with amusement. “You know that chickens are on your chore list, right?”

“Not seriously?”

She nodded.

“So, how do I get Beau?”

“He’s docile. Gently grasp the rope around his neck and lead him to the Ute.”

“What about the cows?”

“Nary a bull in sight. You’ll be fine.”

Jack started across the field. He grimaced and shook his head as he skirted around a cow patty. Day one on Big Heart Ranch, and already he’d gotten up close and personal with a chicken and was about to bring home a lost goat.

Yeah, it was going to be an interesting summer.

Chapter Three (#uf216b09b-e74e-5314-b1ac-4798159b588f)

Jack checked his watch as he tugged his shirttail free from his jeans. He’d made it through day one and would be off duty soon. All he had to do was get his final chore assignment of the day completed. Then he’d be on his way to T-town, a little shopping and a nice steak. Free until the alarm sounded tomorrow at 5:00 a.m.

He pulled the paper Lucy had given him from his pocket and checked the dates. No chicken assignment until after the trail ride and camping trip were complete. If things went in his favor, Mrs. Carmody would release all the birds before then. He’d even pay the bird to stage a coop-break.

For a moment, he simply smiled, thinking about the whole chicken incident. Lately, women had been getting one over on him left and right. Feathered females included.

At least the goat had cooperated.

He shook his head and turned the paper in his hand over. Stables, straight ahead. Or equestrian center, as Lucy Maxwell called the building. He’d been assigned his own horse. That thought alone made him smile.

It had been a long time since he’d been responsible for a horse. Twenty-five years ago, Aunt Meredith’s horses had been his saving grace. His aunt worked him so hard the summer Daniel died that he didn’t have time to blame himself for his little brother’s death. He’d mucked stalls, fed and exercised a stable full of horses from sunrise until bedtime. Then he fell into a hard sleep, too exhausted for the nightmares.

There was no denying the thrum of excitement that accompanied Jack as he entered the equestrian building. Except for the soft whinny of horses, it was quiet.

Jack smiled. He’d forgotten how good quiet was. The lights were on as he took his time walking down the center of the stables, his left hand reaching out to touch the gates of each stall he passed, like he was a kid again. He let the smells of horse sweat and hay nudge his memories while he searched for the sorrel mare he was about to groom.

Spotless. The boys’ ranch stables were spotless, no strong urine odors to indicate the stalls were anything but clean. A chalkboard on the outside of the very last stall on the left had “Grace” printed in white chalk in a childish scrawl. He looked around and found the tack room, situated next to an office, whose door was shut, lights off. The sign on the door read Tripp Walker, Manager.

The familiar scent of new leather drifted to Jack’s nostrils as he entered the tack room and grabbed supplies. He juggled a currycomb and soft brush in the air and caught them easily. His steps were light as he opened the latch to Grace’s stall.

Jack Harris, in a barn. No one would believe it if they could see him now. He didn’t believe it himself.

The mare shifted and raised her tail. Jack sidestepped, though not fast enough to avoid stepping in steaming and aromatic horse patties. He grimaced and held his breath. Twice in one day.

His life as an attorney was filled with horse patties, but today was a record.

Nope, no one would ever believe this, either.

“Grace,” he told the mare. “I thought we were going to be friends. This is no way to treat a guy on our first date.”

The horse merely nickered in response.

Jack grabbed a pitchfork and buried the foul evidence in fresh wood chips that he moved to the corner of the stall, before pulling the currycomb and a brush from his back pocket. He ran his open palm slowly along the coarse coat of reddish-gold of the animal’s flank to prepare her for the session, and then gently began to comb the horse.

“There you go, Grace. Feels good, doesn’t it?” he soothed. “When we’re done, I have a nice carrot for you.” With two fingers, he massaged the animal’s wide forehead until she relaxed.

Jack stuck his nose right into her neck and rubbed the mare’s ears as he inhaled. Yeah, this was the real perfume of summer. The sweet, subtle sweat of horse hair. Pleasant memories of days with Aunt Meri tumbled through his mind.

Jack continued to brush the mare, one hand on the brush, the other on the animal’s silky-soft back. The tension he didn’t realize he held evaporated into the small space.

“You’re doing it wrong,” a small voice whispered.

Jack paused, and Grace’s ears perked at the voice. A quick glance around the stall revealed nothing and no one. Jack continued brushing.

“Circles. You gotta do it in circles.”

He opened the metal gate and took a quick peek down the main walkway and then into the stalls on either side of Grace’s. Both stalls had horses, but they appeared to be the nontalking variety. “Where are you?” Jack asked.

“Up here.”

Jack frowned before glancing straight up. To the right was a hay storage shelf where a little boy, no more than five or six, smiled down at him with a toothy grin. His upper front teeth were absent.

“Are you supposed to be up there?” Jack asked.

The urchin with a dirty face and hair the color of straw shrugged. “No one cares.”

“I bet Miss Lucy cares,” Jack said.

The kid wore jeans and battered red sneakers, the laces untied. Scooting to the edge, he dangled his legs. The movement knocked bits of straw into the air. Hay and dust danced on their way to the ground. Some landed on Jack and Grace.

“Kid, you’re messing up my work here.”

“Sorry.” Which came out as thorry due to the missing teeth.

“What’s your name?”

“Dub Lewis.”

“Your name is Dub?”

“Uh-huh. What’s your name?”

“Jackson Harris.”

Dub screwed up his face and giggled. “What kind of name is that?”

Jack smiled. No filter. His brother had been the same way. Said whatever came to mind, whenever it came to mind.

He chuckled. “Touché, kid.”