One Lucky Cowboy by Carolyn Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

Demon?" he asked when they reached the horse barn.
       "Names any indication of what they'll do?"
       "Molly is mean as sin. Demon is a bucker. I intend to win the bet."
       "Who are you riding?"
       "Oh, no, you can't have Blister. He's been my horse for ten years. I don't share."
    "Didn't ask you to share. I'll take Demon."
       He nodded toward a saddle and she was scarcely less than a minute behind him in the unspoken race.
       "I guess you have saddled up a few times, but I still don't think you can keep up with me all morning. If I'd thought of this before, you'd already be on your way to Wichita Falls," he said begrudgingly.
       "Twenty down. Fifty to go. I need the seventy dollars. I'll stay with you and I don't whine. Hell couldn't keep my ass from sticking to this horse until dinnertime."
       They had barely cleared the barn doors when Demon reared up on his hind feet and tried to toss the weight on his back across the county line. Jane was not prepared for it but she hung on until he came back down, reined in tight, and leaned down to talk to the animal.
       "If you do that again, you sorry bastard, I'll shoot you between the eyes and feed your carcass to the coyotes. That is a fact, not a threat, so you will behave."
       "Think you are a horse whisperer, do you?"
       "Not me. He almost bucked me over the house. I'm surprised I could even hang on. I should have listened to you and ridden Molly."
       That took him aback but he kept his silence.
       "So you are supposed to tell me this big story. That's the whole reason I'm here and not in the kitchen," she said.
       "What kind of job did you have last?" he asked.
       "What do you think?"
       "I think you were a cook in a restaurant. Not a burger joint but maybe Cracker Barrel or Applebee's. If you were a rich person you wouldn't be here doing this kind of work for less than minimum wage. You're poor and you are running from something or someone. How old are you, anyway?"
       "How old do you think I am?"
       "Nineteen on a good day. Twenty on a bad one."
       "Thank you. Do I really look that young?"
       "If you are a day over twenty-one and can prove it, I'll double our bet," he said.
       "I'm twenty-four and that's admitting a lot. Ladies don't usually tell their age. We are allowed to lie about our age by five years and our weight by twenty pounds without going to hell. And I don't have to prove shit to you, so we'll keep the bet where it stands."
       He actually chuckled. "Aunt Ellen would say the age by twenty years and the weight was nobody's damn business."
       "She's a good woman. Now tell me this story about why she doesn't drive."
       He sat the saddle well—tall and handsome. His blond hair curled up on his shirt collar and covered half his ears. His blue eyes were shaded beneath the hat but Jane had no illusions that they would be looking at her nicely. No sir, if she could see them, they would be shooting darts at her main arteries.
       She couldn't imagine John riding a horse. Not in his custom-made, Italian silk suits. She sure couldn't see him in scuffed up old cowboy boots or spurs. Or her stepfather, either. They were cut from the same mold. If Slade wanted to see con men up close and personal, he should meet those two.
       Jane's mother, Susan, had been the ultimate rancher. They'd lived in town until her paternal grandparents had died and left them the horse ranch. Her father had hated ranching and loved the oil business, but Susan had found her soul on the ranch. She was the one who'd dressed in faded jeans and scuffed up cowboy boots. She was the one who'd taught Jane everything from the ground up. She'd always said that someday Jane might find herself in a situation where she'd need to know how to do things for herself and not depend on anyone else. Until that moment, Jane hadn't realized that her mother was a prophet.
       "So?" she finally prompted.
       "Okay,