The Cowboy Who Broke The Mold

Carrie felt as if she had been sucker-punched. She blamed her reaction less on the fact that this handsome cowboy was involved in a relationship than on the re- alization that he was heading right toward that beautiful red-and-black pickup. The instant she had seen it parked in front of the school, she had assumed that the brand- new vehicle was the transportation provided in her con- tract. That it, in fact, belonged to Judson could only mean that the old bomber in which she had been driven here was to be hers.

Swallowing her disappointment, Carrie stammered, “Th-that’s all right. I want to get settled in. You go on, and don’t worry about me…But before you go…could you possibly…”

It pained her to have to ask Judson for help, but al- though she was initially skeptical about the horned menace, her introduction to myriad new fauna had Carrie worried that the area was indeed teeming with exotic perils.

“There’s, uh, that little matter of those jackalopes…”

At the reminder, Judson’s face broke into a wide grin. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot,” he said, snapping his fin- gers. “Wait here just a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Just what was it about that crooked smile that made her heart thump so frantically? Conscious of the quiver in her stomach, Carrie watched him saunter over to the pickup. Unable to tear her eyes away from his snug jeans, she told herself that it was ridiculous for her to be feeling this way. Aside from the fact that the last thing she needed right now in her life was any romantic attachment, this particular man had made it quite clear that he not only didn’t like her much, he was dating someone else. Judging by those drop-dead good looks, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had an entire harem at his disposal.

Plainly, Judson Horn was off limits, and that was all there was to that. Thank God and good riddance to any future heartache.

Returning momentarily with rope in hand, he began fastidiously fashioning a snare. Fascinated by the sight of rough hemp manipulated by his strong, masculine hands, Carrie felt her mouth grow dry.

Realizing that this would be something she herself would be expected to master, she asked with a shaky sigh, “Would you mind teaching me how to do that?”

“Not at all.”

That lazy, irresistible grin instantly disarmed her, spreading warmth throughout her body and leaving a hot blush upon her cheeks. Surely that trademark smile had won him many a skirmish! As Judson reached around her and began guiding the rope through her fingers, Carrie swallowed a sharp intake of air. Trapped in his arms and surrounded by his woodsy scent, she could feel the shivers tripping up and down her spine. Though her mind urged her to run away, her body seemed pow- erless to obey.

“Think you can manage that?” he asked, pulling the rope into a small noose.

Was he crazy? How could he expect her to pay at- tention when her heart was racing a hundred miles a minute and her thoughts were concentrated on the mus- cles corded along his forearms? Such strong arms, she thought absently, were made to make a woman feel pro- tected and cherished.

Say something, her mind urged. But she was unable to fill her lungs with enough air to expel a single syl- lable. What was it about this man’s touch that instantly turned her brains to pudding?

Staring down at their joined hands, she asked at last, “Would you mind showing me one more time?” Try as she might, Carrie was unable to make her voice reg- ister louder than a whisper.

“Not at all.”

Giving in to the urge, Judson bent so that his mouth was next to her ear. Whether he personally liked her or not, there was no denying that Carrie Raben felt damned good in his arms. Her waist was so incredibly small he wondered if it were possible to span its circumference with his two hands. He had little doubt that if the severe winter and isolation of the outback didn’t get lovely Ms. Raben, some rich, lonely rancher would. Just off the top of his head, he could think of at least a dozen eligible fellows who would give their left arm for the chance of snapping up such a sweet, cultured morsel. Knowing how fast word traveled in Harmony, he figured there would be a line of beaus outside her trailer door before his dust had had a chance to settle.

For some reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Judson found the thought strangely unsettling. He told himself it was just because that could leave his children without a teacher right in the middle of the year when it would be next to impossible to find a replace- ment. Still, when Carrie raised her lowered eyelashes to meet his searching look, Judson knew for certain that it was he, not the children of Harmony, who was in trou- ble.

Suddenly he couldn’t remember what had prompted him to even consider pulling this sweet, young thing’s leg. The naiveté shimmering in those wide green, eyes resurrected in him a streak of chivalry that he thought had died long ago at the end of a whip.

Carrie’s hair felt soft against his cheek, her subtle fragrance bewitched him, and a perfectly graphic sen- sual image flitted across his mind as he trailed the rope across her pale, slim wrists. Repeating his instructions, he couldn’t help but wonder just exactly what kind of a trap it was that he was setting.

Carrie suspected that her heartbeat galloping at break- neck speed was a dead giveaway to the fact that she was a woman without a man in her life. Glad that he was unable to witness the crimson flush of her face, she tried her damnedest to block out the effect that Judson’s closeness was having upon her. When at last she was able to master the process of setting a snare herself, she stepped and surveyed her handiwork.

“Simple task for an ex-Girl Scout!” she quipped, self-consciously making light of her racing pulse.

Leaning against the side of the old schoolhouse, Judson decreed with a definite sparkle in his eye, “Who’da thought a greenhorn could set such a fine jackalope snare?”

Confused by a sudden rush of pleasure at the com- pliment, Carrie was startled by how warmly his words filled the hollow inside her. Perhaps she had been wrong about this man after all. Perhaps her first impression of him had been too hastily formed. Perhaps it was only the rigors of hard living that made him seem so distant and solitary. Perhaps she needed to have her head ex- amined.

Feeling the need to put some distance between them, Carrie said with newfound assurance, “I’ll set a couple out a ways.”

Picking up a length of rope, she stepped off into the high grass surrounding the playground. She had gone less than ten paces when a pair of brawny arms grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. A red haze of panic descended over her as her mind filled with dreadful possibilities.

“Let me go!” Carrie yelled, resisting him for all she was worth. Her high heels connected with a shinbone, and an oath echoed against mountain walls.

Judson stumbled backward, dropping her upon the hard dirt. Carrie scrambled to her feet, but Judson was already loping toward his vehicle. Helplessly she watched as he pulled something out from under the seat. When he turned to face her, a pistol dangled from his hand.

It seemed incongruous to her that this man would want to hurt her, but having dealt with violence on a daily basis in her previous school, she wasn’t taking any chances. Her mind raced to come up with a way to make this lunatic see reason. She remembered her instructor’s words from a self-defense class she had taken. If you can, engage your attacker in conversation. Make him see you as an individual. Certainly there was no chance of some kindly police officer intervening way out here in the boonies.

“Wait a minute…P-please…” she stammered, back- ing slowly away.

But Judson wasn’t listening. Expressionless, he looked right through her. Raising the gun to shoulder height, he steadied his grip with his free hand and shat- tered the silence with a squeeze of the trigger. Carrie heard the bullet whiz past her and compelled her eyes to follow the direction of the smoking barrel.

There, curled up in the long grass just a step away from her discarded length of rope lay a huge gray and yellow diamond-patterned snake. Though decapitated, its body kept coiling and winding, doubling and falling back on itself. Fearing the still-groping tail could some- how find her and wrap itself around her, Carrie stepped back.

Judson holstered his gun. Then he rubbed his raw shin.

“What in the hell’s the matter with you? Are you deaf and blind both?” he demanded, the look in his eyes illuminating his doubts about the new schoolteacher’s mental stability.

“You scared me!” she snapped in her defense.

The woman was a master of understatement. The ter- ror glistening in her eyes reminded Judson of a fawn cornered by a pack of wolves. What had he done to make her come to such unflattering conclusions about his intentions? Bothered by the question, he told himself that it was enough just knowing that the district had entered into a nine-month contract with a crazy woman. One whose innate prejudices conjured up a bad B-movie fantasy based on the old preconceptions of what savage Indians did to white women. His eyes nar- rowed in cold fury.

Limping over to the dead snake, he picked it up by the tail and held it at arm’s length. Reaching into his hip pocket, he pulled out a knife and sliced off its rat- tles—ten to be exact. Stepping toward her, he shook his closed fist next to Carrie’s ear. As innocent as a baby’s rattle, it was indeed the sound of death.

“Whenever you hear this sound, stop and back away slowly. Rattlesnakes, not Indians, are the real threat out here, lady.”

Tossing the snake into the bushes, he added coldly, “One more step and we’d be having this conversation at the hospital.”

Judson’s words clicked inside Carrie’s head like the rattles of that diamond-backed snake lying dead beneath the afternoon sun. She battled the sudden flush that swept over her. It was a sensation that had little to do with the heat of the day and everything to do with the man who stood looking at her as if he should be helping her into a straitjacket. The rustling of aspen leaves seemed quite far away as terror drained from her body and the ground swayed precariously under her feet.

“You’re not going to faint, are you?” he asked, hold- ing out both arms to catch her just in case.

Guilt pressed upon Judson’s heart like a grinding stone. It appeared he’d scared the poor thing to death.

Valiantly trying to insert a hardy tone into her voice, Carrie responded, “I’ve never fainted in my life.” But there’s always a first time for everything…

Struggling to regain her senses was like trying to find her way up from the bottom of a deep mountain lake. No, make that the depths of a pair of blue eyes filled with what appeared to be genuine concern. What was happening to her? A minute ago she was fighting this man with all her might, and now she was leaning against him for support, practically begging him to wrap those strong, sensuous arms around her again.

Putting both hands on his chest, Carrie woozily at- tempted to steady herself against that impenetrable wall and recover a modicum of her dignity.

Judson derived little satisfaction in being right about this rough country being no place for one so fragile. Damn it, shouldn’t being right feel better? Looking into Carrie’s pale, delicate face, he was reminded of his chil- dren. Perfect angels—when sleeping. And like his twins, she evoked in him a fierce possessiveness and the irrational desire to keep her safe forever.

Judson’s body, however, reacted in a manner that was far from fatherly. He was excruciatingly aware of Car- rie’s soft curves against his hard, lean frame. Her nip- ples were taut through soft silk; his arousal just as ob- vious through rough demin. If he didn’t get the hell out of here right now, he might as well hand her the knife to cut out his heart.

Good Lord! Just how many times did a man need to be horsewhipped to learn a lesson? The muscle along his jaw bunched at the memory.

Holding on to her by both elbows, Judson took a step back then let his arms fall loosely at his sides.

Bewildered, Carrie stood in front of him trembling like a butterfly, riveted to this singular spot of the spin- ning globe by the warmth centered deep inside her. This was definitely not the way she had intended to start the school year—in the arms of a blue-eyed Native American who had made it quite clear he didn’t even partic- ularly like her!

What must he think about her now that she had lit- erally thrown herself into his arms? In a community as isolated as Harmony, it couldn’t take much to set tongues wagging.

“Are you gonna be all right?” Judson asked, his voice a sexy, agitated purr that sent her imagination traveling down a road clearly marked Danger—Enter At Your Own Risk!

Swallowing hard, Carrie simply nodded.

Apparently unconvinced, Judson ran a work- roughened fingertip beneath her chin and tilted her face up. Beneath his close inspection, twin roses bloomed upon her cheeks.

Certain the most passionate kiss could not have been more erotic than the tenderness in that one callused fin- ger, Carrie felt her knees grow as weak as a baby’s. She hated herself for blushing again. It was the Raben curse—fair skin that acted as a barometer for every emotion and rendered her absolutely useless in a game of poker.

Seemingly satisfied at last that she wasn’t going to collapse and melt into a puddle of estrogen at his feet, Judson turned abruptly on his heels. Following after him like a scolded pup, Carrie heard the gravel crunch be- neath his feet as he reached his pickup and jerked open the door.

Climbing behind the wheel, he tossed her a gruff di- rective. “By the way, if you don’t have one, you’d bet- ter think about gettin’ yourself a gun.”

“But I don’t believe in guns,” she stated unequivo- cally.

Judging by his reaction, Carrie was certain a kick in the stomach would have had a less negative effect than this particular admission. Judson’s eyes glinted danger- ously, making her feel at once both vulnerable and fool- ish.

“What you don’t seem to understand,” he continued, speaking slowly as if English were not her native tongue, “is that our children need someone not just to teach them but to protect them, as well. There may come a time you’ll need a gun, say, to clear off the front steps of some such unfriendly critter as a rattle- snake or a bear.”

Carrie suppressed a shudder at the thought.

“Look, no one would blame you if you decide that you’re just not cut out for this job.” Pausing a moment to wipe the sweat from beneath the brim of his black Stetson hat, Judson Horn looked unflinchingly into her eyes. “Quite frankly, it would save us all a lot of grief if you’d make that decision right now instead of mid- term when it will be damned near impossible to find a replacement. Out here it’s a matter of survival.”

His words pierced Carrie’s heart like the rows of barbed wire that lined the road to Harmony. He was right, of course. She had come out West naively ex- pecting to leave heartache and urban crime behind only to be greeted by a rattlesnake in her front yard! Still Carrie could not allow herself to be so quickly deterred. What she had left behind had been a different kind of wilderness, and she knew that if she kept running away from her fears she would ultimately destroy herself in the process.

“I’m staying,” she said with sudden resolution.

Whether it was disgust or admiration reflected in Jud- son Horn’s eyes, Carrie wasn’t sure. She knew only that she was done running and that she was determined to make Harmony her home.

“Suit yourself,” Judson said, his expression a studied mask of indifference. Reaching into the glove compartment, he pulled out an envelope with her name typed upon it and handed it to her through the open window.

With that, Judson tipped his hat and threw the pickup into gear.

Something in that simple gesture made Carrie’s heart beat more quickly. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something undefinably sexy about that damned cowboy hat.

As dust rose about the receding vehicle, she noticed that Judson Horn didn’t so much as glance back.

She was on her own.

Chapter Three

School was to start in less than a week, and she didn’t know where to begin. First there was enough house cleaning in both buildings to keep her busy for a month. Then there was the fact that she wasn’t sure how to organize one schoolroom to accommodate eighteen children at six different grade levels. Still, those worries would have to be temporarily put aside. Right now food was her most imminent problem. Aware that the half a hamburger she’d eaten in Atlantic City wouldn’t last her long, she realized that somehow she was going to have to get comfortable driving a beat-up, old stick shift— and fast.

Sinking to the front steps of the schoolhouse, Carrie felt the tears spill down her face. The surprising thing was that they weren’t tears of self-pity but rather of unexpected joy. Beneath the never-ending Wyoming sky, she felt spiritually cleansed. The sun filtered through the quaking aspen, splaying exquisite patterns upon the ground. The air she breathed was sweet and clean. The rippling of the river and the rustling of the Jeaves seemed to her the most soothing sounds on earth.

High above two eagles circled, brushing wing tips on clouds before separating and going their own ways. A sharp pain ripped through Carrie as she was reminded of the engagement she had severed back in Chicago. From the very start she had worried about the possible consequences of mixing business with pleasure. Never get involved with the boss, she had told herself, but Scott Ballson insisted that the fact that he was her prin- cipal had nothing to do with their out-of-school rela- tionship. He assured her that their private lives were their own.

Then again, Carrie reminded herself bitterly, he had also told her he’d back her a hundred percent. In truth, Scott had stood behind her only long enough to stab her in the back.

“Just because I changed a student’s grade?” he had sputtered incredulously, staring at the engagement ring she had pressed into his palm. “I can’t believe you’re acting so childishly.”

“It’s a matter of betrayal.”

“It’s a matter of politics,” he had scoffed, alluding to the fact that Cindy Lawton’s father was on the school board and that the failing mark the senior had earned in Carrie’s class not only rendered her ineligible to play in the state basketball tournament but also jeopardized the pretty senior’s graduation, as well. When Carrie had adamantly refused Scott’s request to raise the grade, he exercised the “administrative privilege” of changing it himself—without her consent or knowledge.

“I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, Carrie, but it’s the way of the world. Everyone does it.”

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