Never Love a Cowboy by Lorraine Heath Read Free Book Online

head in Harrison’s direction. It could easily thrust those long horns straight through a man, and it looked mean enough to try. He didn’t know if he was dealing with a bull or a steer, but he refused to accept that a neutered animal could get the better of him, so as far as he was concerned, the animal was a bull. That status would end shortly after he got it out of the mud.
    “He’s not worth the trouble. I say we leave him.”
    He glared at Jessye, who dismounted from her horse and stood at the edge of the pond. While Kit was driving the supply wagon to a predetermined destination, Harrison and Jessye were searching for cattle. Thus far, they had only rounded up six. “I am not leaving forty dollars wallowing in the mud.”
    The bull released a low bawl.
    “He doesn’t want to move,” Jessye said.
    “Then we cheat.” Harrison trudged through the sludge, the dank odor rising to suffocate him. It reminded him of the stench of the dungeon, with its mold, dead rotting rats, sweating stone walls, constant dripping, cold—he fought back the images. He refused to succumb to their nightmarish power, and he wasn’t going to let a wayward bull have his way.
    His feet bare, he stepped back onto firm ground, stalked to his horse, and loosened the rope from its mooring on the saddle.
    “What have you got in mind?” Jessye asked.
    On one end of the rope, he created a noose as he walked to her. “I’ve got to figure out a way to get this end around his horns”—he held up the noose—“and you’ll tie the other end to your saddle horn. You’ll climb onto your horse and pull while I push.”
    “How are you gonna get that rope around his horns without getting yourself gored?”
    “With great care.”
    “I wouldn’t do that iffen I was you fellas.”
    Harrison jerked around at the unfamiliar voice. A young man sat astride a gray pony. He spit out a stream of tobacco before lifting his hat off his browwith his thumb. “You’re gonna pull them horns right offa his head. Makes a bloody mess.”
    “How would you know?” Harrison asked.
    “I was a bogger afore the war—”
    “A bogger?”
    “Yep. I was the one sent to get the cattle out of the muddy bogs and thickets.” The man slung his leg over the saddle and slid to the ground. His long, slender legs curved out, so he walked as though he still had a horse beneath him. “It was a damn lonely job—”
    Staggering to a stop, he jerked his hat off so quickly that Harrison felt the air riffle. He also noticed that the man’s gaze had fallen to the gentle swells of Jessye’s flannel shirt.
    “My apologies, ma’am. I thought you was a fella.”
    Jessye smiled warmly. “No apologies necessary. I’m Jessye, and this is Harry.”
    “Folks call me Magpie. Don’t know why. Reckon it’s on account of my legs bein’ as skinny as a bird’s.” He dropped his hat on his head. “I’ll learn you how to get this here beast outta the mud.”
    “Do you know if he belongs to anyone?” Jessye asked.
    Deep within his soul, Harrison groaned. He was not exerting all this effort for someone else’s bull.
    “I don’t imagine he belongs to anyone. Ain’t a damn, pardon me, ma’am, soul within fifty miles of here.”
    Thank God for that .
    The young man approached him and held out his hand. “Iffen I could have your rope.”
    “Certainly,” Harrison muttered, handing it over.
    The man smiled. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”
    “He’s from England,” Jessye offered, and Harrison gritted his teeth. He wanted the man to finish his business and be off.
    “Now ain’t that somethin’,” he said before jerking off his boots and trudging into the mud.
    Magpie chattered to the bull as he tied the rope beneath and behind the animal’s shoulders. Harrison decided the man’s mouth, not his legs, had earned him his nickname.
    Holding the other end of the rope, Magpie walked to Jessye’s horse with a loose-jointed movement of his hips that made it seem as