Winning the Cowboy's Heart

“I’m fine,” Regan whispered back. “But I wish I knew who did it. I’d kind of like to shake their hands.”

The woman winked and then nodded toward a table of three geeky eighth-graders who had been thoroughly reamed out by Domingo a few days before for some petty infraction.

“You’re kidding,” Regan mouthed.

The librarian gave her an arch look and disappeared into the stacks.

A few long hours later Regan was in her kitchen making tea, peppermint tea, to help combat the stress headache she’d acquired.

A windstorm had started brewing late that afternoon and was now in full force, bending the trees and rattling the windows, and at first Regan thought the noise at the front door was a blast of wind. When she heard it again, during a lull, she realized someone was knocking.

She glanced down at her after-work wear—a tank top, sweat bottoms and fuzzy socks. Short of ignoring the door, there wasn’t much she could do about her appearance and she couldn’t exactly leave someone standing outside in a windstorm.

Or could she?

Will Bishop was out there, his shoulders hunched as the wind whipped at his clothing.

A gust caught the storm door as she pushed it open, and Will caught it just before it hit him. “Do you want to come in?” She raised her voice to be heard.

“For a minute.”

Okay. She could deal with a minute. He’d barely gotten inside when another blast hit.

“Does the wind do this a lot?”

“We get some good storms here.”

She wondered if she should ask him to sit down, offer him something to drink. Then she glanced at him and decided no. He had some reason for coming and it wasn’t social, so she’d skip the niceties.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” Will said, getting right to the point, “but I’d like to know… Do you think Kylie is involved in this squid thing?”

Those damned squid again. She’d had it up to here with squid—especially when they brought parents to her house.

“Have you asked her?” she asked with a touch of impatience.

“She says she’s innocent.” The for once went unspoken.

The house shook with the force of the wind. Twigs and pebbles bounced off the windows, but Regan’s attention was focused on Will and the deep concern she saw on his face. This man was worried about his daughter and she owed him an honest answer.

“I don’t know if she was involved, but my gut feeling is no. I’ve heard that it was actually some eighth-grade boys, but I’m not sure.”

Will put a hand on the back of Regan’s recliner. “Domingo harassed Kylie twice today. The second time he came on pretty strong, trying to force her to confess.” His expression became stony. “If he starts again tomorrow…Well, I wanted an independent opinion before I went in to have a, um, chat with Pete.”

“Everyone’s a suspect, including the staff.”

Will let out a breath and dropped his hand, ready to leave now that he had his answer. “Thanks. This helps.”

“Would you like some tea or something before you go?”

He’d started for the door, but now he turned back, looking surprised. Regan was a little surprised herself. Her mother had hammered manners into her, but she hadn’t realized to what degree. “Since you’re here,” she said lamely.

“I need to be getting home. Kylie’s supposed to be starting dinner and I need to make certain the vegetables don’t get burned mysteriously. But thanks. Especially after, well, everything.”

She followed him to the door. He stopped before going out. “I would have called, but you don’t seem to have a number.”

“Unlisted. I like to avoid irate parents at report card time.”

“Irate parents tend to show up on the doorstep around here.”

She smiled. “I noticed.”

Their gazes held for a second and then he smiled. And, oh, what a smile.

Regan blinked and then Will ducked his head and stepped out into the bad weather. Regan grabbed the storm door, fighting the wind to latch it shut. It shook, making an odd noise, but it held.

She settled into her chair with her lukewarm tea and unsettled thoughts, listening to the house try to blow down around her, hoping she would remember her vow to stay away from damaged men.

APOLOGIZING had been the right thing to do.

Realizing that his daughter’s teacher was attractive was a guy thing to do. But it had been a long time since Will had felt such a gut-level draw toward a woman and it perplexed him. Well, it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Wrong time. Wrong circumstances. Probably the wrong woman.

Will propped a foot on the lower rail of the pole corral and watched his horses graze as his daughter rode bareback at the far end of the pasture. The windstorm had blown out as rapidly as it had blown in, leaving the air oddly still. Will had zillions of branches to collect around the place, but he’d start tomorrow while Kylie was at school. It was a good way to stay close to the house and the phone, in case that jerk Domingo called.

Kylie started cantering a pattern, practicing her flying lead changes and probably winning big trophies in her head. It was almost dark and a school night, but Will was glad his daughter was enjoying the things a kid should be enjoying, things he’d never gotten enough of at her age. He’d been too busy dealing with his old man. The phone rang and he jogged to the house, scooping up the receiver on the eighth ring.

“Hey.” It was Trev. And he sounded stressed.

Will made a guess as to what was coming next. “More livestock stolen?”

“No.” There was a silence, and then he said, “I saw your brother in Elko today.”

Will stilled. “Brett was in Elko?”

“Yeah. He’s working for the Friday Creek Ranch. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks.” Will pressed his lips together. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was having a hard time thinking at all.

“I didn’t talk to him, but I thought you’d want to know,” he repeated.

“Yeah, Trev. Thanks again.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT MORNING Will drove Kylie to school in a haze. She’d missed the bus, but he’d skipped the usual lecture on responsibility and simply told her to hurry so he could get back home and start working the horses. He was fully booked and it took a good part of the day to put in his contracted time on each animal; after which he still had to clear the windfall branches and conduct a brand inspection for a horse sale.

“You okay, Dad?” Kylie asked when they reached the school. “I mean, you didn’t yell at me about the bus.”

“I’m fine. Just tired. I didn’t sleep very well.”

“Too much coffee, probably.”

“Probably. Behave, kid. And don’t miss the bus!”

She grinned and got out of the truck, oblivious to the fact that her jeans were getting too short and totally unaware that her father’s heart was squeezing tight as he watched her join a group of friends.

He pulled out of the lot and drove at the posted snail’s pace to the end of the school zone. He passed Kylie’s bus going in the opposite direction. The driver waved and Will forced himself to wave back, although he didn’t think it would have killed the driver to wait a few seconds while Kylie found her history book.

Right behind the bus was Regan’s small car.

So Kylie wasn’t the only one having time issues that morning.

He accelerated as soon as he was out of the safety zone, then made a conscious effort to slow down. With only a couple hours of troubled sleep, he wasn’t as alert as he should be.

Couple of hours? Probably more like thirty minutes. He’d finally dozed off just before the alarm rang. And then he’d been instantly awake and the worries had come crashing down on him.

Why the hell was Brett back?

It had been more than ten years since he’d last seen Brett and it had not been a happy parting. In fact, someone had had to call the sheriff and Will had barely escaped a night in jail. Brett had not.

They hadn’t spoken since that night. Brett had left town the next morning and that had been the last Will had seen or heard of his brother.

Now he was back. Why?

The thing that really set Will on edge was that he wasn’t quite sure about the legalities of his situation. He might be better off if he did know, but looking into those things meant opening a can of worms he was inclined to leave firmly closed. He wouldn’t do it—not unless he absolutely had to. Brett was a good eighty miles away at the moment and he’d better stay eighty miles away. If he didn’t, he’d be a sorry man.

REGAN PARKED in the only available staff space, some distance from the back door. She grabbed her work bag off the passenger seat and made a dash for the teachers’ entrance just as the bell rang. Flinging the door open, she ran smack into Pete.

“Ah, Miss Flynn,” he said, looking a bit like a satisfied bullfrog.

“Sorry I’m late.” She tried to speak calmly, even though she was winded from her sprint. “I had a problem this morning.” As in, an enormous elm branch on top of her new fence had stretched the wire and popped the staples; another large branch lay across her driveway, too big for her to do anything about. It had taken her almost fifteen minutes to work the first leafy monster free of the drooping fence wire. Even then she could have made it to work on time by driving around the branch that was blocking her drive, if her mother hadn’t called just as she was walking out the door. Claire she could put off, but not her mother.

“You do know it’s district policy to phone when you’re going to be late?”

Regan nodded and refrained from telling him she had called, but Mrs. Serrano had been away from her desk. No sense having Pete jump all over the secretary, too.

He gave Regan a stern look, then abruptly turned and stalked off on his standard morning hunt for marauding pranksters. Regan secretly wished the pranksters success as she unlocked her classroom.

It might have been the aftermath of the squid inquisition, or it might have been that the students were hoping for the appearance of new slimy specimens to use for various nefarious purposes, but, whatever the reason, they paid close attention to Regan’s lesson on classification. And she’d wisely opted to use an utterly benign material for this lab: leaves.

At first the kids seemed disappointed, but as the lab progressed the general mood became lighter—to the point where Regan began to wonder if Pete was going to find his car full of foliage when he left work that day. Once the thought had occurred to her, she issued a stern warning about the misuse of lab materials. The kids looked as if they were listening and a few even nodded after she spoke, but she’d taught for long enough to know that kids could look as if they were listening attentively and still not hear a word she said. All she could do at this point was hope for the best.

“Regan, what are you doing?” Tanya asked as she walked into the teachers’ lounge several hours later.

“Watching Pete’s car.”

“Do I want to know why?”

Regan turned back to the copy machine, which was happily churning out ninth-grade history work sheets.

“I’m trying to avoid trouble not of my own making.”

“I knew I didn’t want to know.” Tanya, a one-woman cleaning machine, went to the sink and started rinsing and drying coffee cups. “So why were you late this morning?”

“The wind blew a branch down on my fence and I had to get it off.”

“It couldn’t wait?”

“I needed to call the fence man, if it was damaged. He’s kind of a slow worker and I want to get Toffee home this weekend.”

“Was there that much damage?”

“Yes. I can’t tighten the stretched wire myself, so I called him. He’s going to try to get out there before the weekend.” She tightened one corner of her mouth. “Emphasis on try.”

Tanya gave her a sympathetic look just as Karlene, the girls’ PE teacher, came in and flopped down in a chair, blowing a few of her short brown curls off her forehead. “Ever have the feeling that you wanted to kill your boss?”

“Shh.” Tanya said. Pauline Johnson walked into the room just then, her high heels clicking on the tiles with metronomelike precision, the hem of her skirt hitting exactly midknee and her pale hair carefully lacquered into a French twist. She gave her colleagues a professional smile and went to check her mail. After sorting it, she marched over to the copy machine.

“Do you have many more?” she asked, indicating the masters Regan held in her hand.

“Two more sets.”

“We really need to have a schedule for this machine.”

“We pretty much have one,” Tanya pointed out. “We’re supposed to use it during our prep periods.”

“I’m talking about before and after school.” She gave a sniff as Regan positioned another master copy in the machine. “I’ll talk to Pete about this. I think it’s important.”

Regan stubbornly went on with her copying, in spite of Pauline’s impatient gaze boring into her back. Every school seemed to have a Pauline on its staff and Regan had plenty of practice dealing with them—her last school had had no fewer than three. One Pauline was no problem at all.

WILL DIDN’T GET ANY SLEEP that afternoon, though he’d promised himself he would. The day was simply too jam-packed. He put in an hour on each of the horses he was starting and he got the biggest branches piled up and ready to burn, the smaller ones left for Kylie to stack after school. Then Will got his inspection book out and headed to the Taylor ranch.

The Taylors had sold yet another overpriced horse, this time to a first-time horse buyer from Elko. The buyer seemed pleased as punch to pay double what the animal probably was worth. Will silently documented his inspection, noting the horse’s brand, sex, age, color and markings. He handed the book to Todd Taylor to sign, then peeled off the copies.

At least the animal was well trained, so the new owner wasn’t buying trouble. Todd paid the inspection fee, grumbling about the recent increase, which amounted to about one fifth of a percent of the purchase price. Will felt bad for him. Especially when he watched Mrs. Taylor drive up in her gleaming new SUV, waving as she eased the big machine into a three-car garage.

“So, how does Kylie like her teachers?” Todd asked after the garage door had closed.

“So far, so good.”

“Great.” Todd smiled. He continued to smile until Will gritted his teeth and asked the question he knew Todd wanted him to ask. “How’s Zach doing in football?”

Todd launched into a ten-minute spiel. Will nodded. A lot. And then finally managed to sidestep his way to his truck and reach for the door handle.

“Oh, you probably have to be going. Well, anyway, be sure to go to the game next Friday. Zach will be starting and I think you’ll see what I’ve been talking about.”

Will gave a noncommittal nod and got into his truck.

On the way home he took the loop, even though it added a couple miles to the trip, passing by Regan Flynn’s house to see what havoc the windstorm had wrought, wondering if she had a hole in her roof or other major damage that had caused her to be late that morning.

He didn’t see much wind damage—just a few scattered branches—and then he wondered just what the hell he was doing driving by her house in the first place.

Looking at the wind damage. Right.

He was curious about Regan Flynn.

Shit. As if he didn’t have enough trouble without adding to it in a way he’d promised himself he wouldn’t—at least not while Kylie was still living at home.

REGAN LIKED WORKING in Madison’s arena, even if it was a little pricey. It was well kept and in addition to the large covered arena there were several paneled work areas outside. Today she chose to work inside, since the wind was starting to blow again. She’d managed to drag the big branch off the drive before she left and was hoping there wouldn’t be another branch in its place by the time she got home.

“That’s quite an improvement,” Madison called almost an hour later, after Regan finished her last training pass of the day.

Regan eased Toffee to a halt and dismounted as Madison walked toward her, carrying a sheaf of papers in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

“He’s coming along,” Regan agreed, rubbing the gelding’s forehead. She’d spent a good forty-five minutes working him over both ground poles and a series of foot-high jumps, talking to him with her hands and her body and teaching him to yield to her cues.

“He likes the work,” Madison commented. “You used to show jump, didn’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“After watching you ride a few times, I figured you had to have been in competition somewhere, so I Googled you.”

“I see.” Regan wasn’t sure that she liked being Googled.

“Do you have any plans to compete again?”

Regan smiled as she slipped the reins over Toffee’s head. He pushed her with his nose, nearly knocking her off balance. It was getting to be a habit. She put her hand on his nose and firmly pushed his head away before turning her attention back to Madison.

“Those days are long gone. I just want to ride for my own pleasure.” She started leading the horse toward the gate as she spoke, fighting to keep him from crowding her space. “Kind of a sanity saver, you know?” she said through gritted teeth, wishing Madison wasn’t there to witness the power struggle. When she was on Toffee’s back, there was no question as to who was in control. On the ground, he had both the height and the weight advantage, and he used them. He was very disrespectful.

“You might consider teaching a jumping class,” Madison said, eyeing the horse as she opened the gate for Regan, but saying nothing about the obvious. “People would be interested and I like to offer a variety of classes here at the arena.”

Regan gave a brief nod. She wouldn’t mind teaching a class, once she was settled into her real job. It would be a good way to meet people who didn’t have kids in school.

“All you have to do is book the times with me, charge the fees set on the arena rate chart and give the arena thirty percent of the proceeds.”

“Is that all?” Regan replied, thinking it sounded like highway robbery, since she’d seen the rate schedule.

“You’d have access to the jumps and all the other equipment, and I’d put you on the calendar of events, which goes out in the newspaper and over the radio.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You know,” Madison said as they reached the stall, “I’m putting on a training clinic next weekend. You’ve seen the advertisements, haven’t you? Del Gilbert and Will Bishop?”

It was impossible not to see them. They had appeared that morning and were plas-tered all over town—the grocery store, the post office, even the school.

“You, uh, might consider going.” Madison shoved the cell phone into her pocket and handed Regan yet another paper advertising the event. “I give a ten percent discount to people who board with me. All you have to do is bring this paper with you. There’s a discount code stamped on the bottom.”

“Thanks,” Regan said. “I had planned on going.” She’d never seen anyone start a horse from the ground up and she’d heard enough about Will’s abilities to be curious.

“It’s worth the fee,” Madison replied. Regan had a feeling she could have said she’d like to watch the tractor till the arena and Madison would have told her it was worth the fee.

“There’s something else. I was wondering how much longer you plan to board Toffee here. I’m getting calls from people who want a stall and I’m full up.”

“The fence was finished yesterday—just in time for the windstorm to bring a big branch down on top of it. I need to have the wire tightened again before I can bring him home.”

“Well, it shouldn’t take long to do that.” Madison spoke confidently, making Regan believe she’d never worked with contractors. “I’ll call Trev or Will about doing a brand inspection and make arrangements for one of them to haul Toffee to your house whenever they’re available.” Madison waved at a person who’d just walked in the stable door and then turned her attention back to Regan. “You don’t have a trailer, yet. Right?”

“Not yet. Do you think they’d mind hauling for me?”

Madison shook her head no.

“Great. I’ll pay them, of course. But I won’t be available on a weekday until after school hours.”

“When is that? Three o’clock?”

“Better make it four.” She knew Pete wouldn’t bend the rules for her and let her leave a little early.

“I’ll give you a call.”

“Thanks.”

Madison smiled a nice-to-do-business-with-you smile before walking down the aisle between the stalls, slipping clinic discount flyers under each of the nameplates.

Regan pulled her stall door open and Toffee all but walked over her in his hurry to get to his hay. She firmly smacked his chest with the flat of her hand. “No,” she told him. He stopped and let her take off the halter. As he walked away, Regan leaned against the edge of the door frame, admiring his lines and gleaming coat and wondering how on earth she was going to get him to respect her. She’d never handled a horse with no manners before and she knew she needed to do something about it.

With luck, the clinic would give her a place to start.

BY THE NEXT DAY it was obvious that, although Pete hadn’t fully given up on his squid-related prankster hunt, he was winding down. He stalked around the school scowling, almost a defeated man. But then, just after lunch, he received an ego boost of such massive proportions that it had to be shared with the staff in an emergency after-school meeting.

“This feels bad,” Tanya murmured behind Regan, as they entered the meeting room.

Pete did look remarkably smug, rocking on his heels at the podium and waiting for the staff to straggle in, most of them showing signs of irritation at having been pulled away from their after-school prep time. And most of them seemed to have an idea of what was coming.

Mr. Zeiger, the school superintendent, stepped to the front of the room. “I wanted to tell you, in person, that although Mr. Bernardi is doing better, he has decided to retire. The board met last night and rather than commence an employment search now, we’re going to continue with the current situation. Mr. Domingo will continue as acting principal until the end of the school year.”

Karlene raised her hand. “When will you advertise this job?”

“We’ll fly it in February and interview in March. The position officially begins in July. That’ll give the successful candidate a chance to tie up loose ends.” Zeiger gave Pete a small nod. “Unless, of course, he’s local.”

Pete’s chest swelled so much that Regan began to wonder how his buttons held. “Thank you, Mr. Zeiger.”

The superintendent smiled and then turned his attention back to the group. “On a more serious note, the Renshaw family is still dealing with some huge medical bills and they’re trying to avoid bankruptcy. Our schools are in good shape, financially, so the board has agreed that a percentage of the proceeds from our independent fall fund-raisers can be donated to this cause. Also, the high school’s FFA club is organizing an auction to be held in October, and there’ll be various bake sales and car washes, too. I know you’ll support these events as best you can.”

There was a general murmur of approval. Even Pete looked supportive.

“Who are the Renshaws?” Regan asked Tanya.

“They work for the district. Mr. Renshaw in the bus garage, and Mrs. Renshaw in the district office. Their daughter had to have a kidney transplant, and the insurance hasn’t covered everything.”

“I’ll want the individual faculties to vote and decide what percent of their fund-raisers, if any, to donate. And now I’ll turn things over to your principal.”

Pete took his place behind the podium as the superintendent stepped away. “That’ll be all for this afternoon,” he said, “but we’ll be having another short meeting tomorrow at