A Cowboy For Clementine

With the roast simmering and nothing left to do, Clem sat in her parents’ living room and stared at the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Should she start a fire? She nixed the idea. It wasn’t cool enough yet. A moment later, she found herself hopping up to the door to see if she could detect any activity on the dirt road. At four-thirty, she moved to the porch, where she’d have a much better view of on-coming vehicles. Frijole joined her, plopping her twenty pounds on Clem’s lap. When the sun started to fade, she fingered the cell phone number Randy had given her.

Clem got up and paced the length of the porch. She’d faxed them a detailed map, and they’d assured her they were familiar with the area. The phone rang inside the house, startling her as it echoed off the high ceilings. Cowchip, her parents’ toothless fifteen-year-old Australian shepherd, began to bark. Clem shot through the door and lunged for the phone.

“Hello?” Clem asked breathlessly.

“Gate’s locked.”

Clem felt her heart clog her throat as adrenaline rushed through her veins. The voice sent a dozen light fingers down the fine hairs on her nape. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

“W-what?” Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was just Randy or Ryan.

“Gate’s locked,” the voice repeated. “Can’t get through.”

She wasn’t mistaken. That voice was branded into her mind along with his kiss.

“Mr. Scott.”

“Ms. Wells.”

“I thought you were retired.”

“Gate’s still locked.” He evaded her comment. He was here. He’d ventured outside the safety of his gates.

“Climb over,” she joked.

The silence on the other side told her he didn’t find that funny.

She added, “I’m coming right out. I thought I left it unlocked. Maybe one of the neighbors saw it and closed it up.” She was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. She was just so excited.

She hurried to her truck, pausing a moment to boost Cowchip into the back.

“Thank you, God,” she whispered as she bounced down the road. She didn’t know what she was thanking him for, the help or Dexter Scott. Nine miles and two gates later, she arrived at the fence just a mile off the main road and laughed with relief when she saw one pink and one dusty-brown truck, both with trailers hitched behind. The men were standing outside, talking and chuckling, their hats tilted low on their heads.

“Hi!” she said as she slid out of the cab of her truck. Cowchip hopped out with her to greet the strangers. She brushed her hair back, unintentionally making eye contact with Dexter. Her face hot, she bent down to find the lock. Clem felt her hands tremble as she fumbled to put the key in it.

Cowchip had managed to wriggle through the fence, and dogs started to bark in the back of one of the trailers. Horses whinnied. Cowchip snuffled Dexter Scott’s jeans and boots, her tongue hanging out in happiness as Dex leaned over to scratch her behind her ears. Clem couldn’t help watching. Even Cowchip fell victim to those hands, competent and calm, able to lull any unsuspecting being into a state of sedated rapture.

“You made it.” She couldn’t stop the breathy quality in her voice, and she tried to cover it up by yanking off the lock and swinging open the gate.

Dexter straightened, uncurling to stand at his full height, his shoulders expanding like the wingspan of a hawk. The smile he had for Cowchip disappeared, replaced with a look much more speculative as his gaze flickered up and down, pausing at the heart locket. Her hand came up to touch it. He continued to stare, as if he were taking in every detail of her, his eyes finally settling on her mouth. He remembered the kiss, Clem realized. If possible, her face felt hotter. Clem turned to the Miller brothers.

“Are you a sight for sore eyes,” Clem said, leaning over to shake their hands heartily.

Randy laughed. “I bet we are. I figured you wouldn’t mind if we brought along extra baggage.” He elbowed Dexter in the back, but he ignored Randy and got back into his truck and then gunned the engine.

Clem took that as her cue. She moved her truck on to the gravel road so they could pull around her. Then she shut and relocked the gate before jumping into the truck to catch up with them. At the next gate, she felt as if she was all fingers, knowing Dexter was watching her every movement. When she finally got the latch undone, she glanced up at him and he tipped his hat in acknowledgement, then drove past her.

By the time they’d gone through the last gate and arrived at the house, Clem was very relieved. They got out of their trucks, looking around.

“Beautiful area.” Ryan whistled.

Clem nodded. “Thanks.” She walked toward the main house. “Come in, please.”

Randy shook his head. “We need to let the horses and the dogs out. They’ve been cooped up for long enough. They need a good stretch. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to let the horses out in the corral for a while, just to get the kinks out of their legs.”

“Of course,” Clem agreed. “Do you need help?”

“No. We’ve got it.” Randy was already starting to unlatch the trailer. Ryan was right behind him, letting the dogs out the side door.

The dogs barked with enthusiasm and raced up and down the courtyard, releasing hours of pent-up energy.

“Any preferences where we put the horses?” Ryan asked, leading out a beautiful mahogany horse, obviously not one of Dexter’s.

Clem shook her head. “Either corral is fine.” She pointed west. “I emptied that stable for all your horses. I hope there’s enough room. If not, you’re welcome to any free space.”

Dexter looked up at the sky. “A few can stay out. They might prefer it. Give them a chance to get used to the air.”

A shrill, terrified screech grabbed their attention. The dogs were chasing Frijole, who moved quite swiftly considering her bulk, scrambling under the trailer ramp, only to startle New Horse, who was being led out by Randy.

“Quince! Bam-Bam! Dell! Come!” Dexter commanded, sharpness in his voice.

Then a sharp epithet shot out of Randy as he clutched his face. New Horse was free.

Clem ran toward New Horse, who was intent on trampling Frijole. The cat squalled in defense, teeth bared, her body hunched, prepared to both attack and retreat at the same time. Clem walked with careful purpose toward the brown horse, crooning to him, reassuring him that the cat wouldn’t hurt him. But even though the horse’s ears pricked up at the sound of her voice, his eyes were wild and his hooves were ready to flatten the cat.

As if in slow motion, Dexter saw New Horse rear again when Clem stepped in to rescue the cat. And he felt raw fear trickle down the back of his neck like sweat.

What the hell was she doing?

She was going to be crushed.

Fear became terror. He was suffocating as he stood there watching her sweep up the cat and duck under New Horse, the horse’s hooves just inches from her head. She stumbled, barely clinging to the cat and her balance. But somehow, she kept her footing.

“It’s not the horse’s fault,” Dexter heard in a fog as Clem reassured the cat. “He’s just a little spooked. I’d suggest, Frijole, if you want to live out the few lives you have left, you keep clear of the dogs and the horses while they’re here.” With a quick kiss to the furry head, Clem let go of the cat, who sensibly took off for the safety of the bunkhouse. Then she walked up to the frenzied horse and caught his reins.

Dexter saw her arms strain against the power of the horse, but she kept crooning to him as she moved as close to him as she could.

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