Chapter Three #2
Rawley stared at her, then touched his hat, dark eyes glinting. “Goodnight, Skylar McCoy. I hope I hear from you.”
“Me too, Agent Bowman.” She lifted her key fob, and the SUV’s lights blinked in response. She turned, slipping inside. Through the window, she saw him still standing there, rigid as a guard, then she drove off to head home.
Skylar entered her house, secured the lock, and hung her purse on the antique hall tree. The familiar sensation of soft fur brushing against her ankles made her look down into Cosmo’s blue eyes.
“Hey, pretty boy.” She crouched down, running her fingers through his silky coat.
A smile spread across her tired face when his rumbling purr vibrated against her palm.
“You know what? I got to talk to that hot cowboy I saw last night.” She exhaled slowly.
“Rawley Bowman is just too hot, but he was nice and that’s always a plus. ”
Rising to her feet, she padded across the cool tile of the kitchen floor, flicked off the glow of the light above the sink, then made her way to her bedroom. She peeled off her clothing as she walked, leaving a trail behind her.
Moonlight filtered through her bedroom blinds as she stepped into the bathroom to wash off her makeup.
After patting her face dry with a plush towel, she slid into her favorite leggings and an oversized, faded blue T-shirt.
How she wished she had one of Rawley’s shirts, still carrying the scent of leather, fresh hay, and that intoxicating aftershave.
“Oh, girl, you are in so much trouble,” she murmured, shaking her head.
She couldn’t help wondering if he’d gone into the bar and hoping he hadn’t. He could pick up any woman in a heartbeat; tall, handsome, confident. Skylar laughed softly; at five-six, she was almost a foot shorter than Rawley, but she loved tall men.
“Damn, he’s got it all.” She sighed. “So, why’s he still single? What’s his deal?”
She settled onto her bed, grabbed the remote, and flicked on the TV, scrolling through movie options.
She wasn’t tired, but after such a disappointing day, she welcomed the distraction.
Still, she smiled remembering that the night hadn’t been a total bust, she’d talked to Rawley, and maybe he’d call.
The next morning, she awoke feeling unusually relaxed. It was Sunday and she intended to be perfectly lazy. While waiting for her coffee to finish dripping into the cup, she mentally scolded herself.
“Don’t get obsessed,” she warned. “He could let you down. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Fishing her phone from her leggings pocket, she texted Ryan:
I saw Rawley last night.
Bubbles appeared almost immediately.
At Dewey’s?
Outside in the parking lot. I was leaving because he wasn’t there, but he was walking toward the bar, as I was heading for my SUV. We swapped numbers. Now I just hope he calls.
Me too.
He’s so hot!
Ryan sent a laughing emoji.
He really is.
Understatement! He’s nice too. I like him a lot.
I hope it works out. You deserve a great guy.
I want one. I want him.
You’re in trouble.
Skylar laughed as she typed:
I know… told myself that.
Just be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt.
If I get hurt, I know you’ll be there, like I’m always there for you.
Always! Gotta run; Seth and I are going riding. Talk soon. Love you.
Love you too.
She lifted her steaming coffee mug and headed into the living room, perfectly content to let the day unfold however it would. When she sat on the sofa, Cosmo jumped onto her lap, curled into a ball and fell asleep as she absentmindedly stroked his fur.
****
As Rawley entered the barn early Sunday morning, his dogs followed him, their nails clicking against the concrete floor. The scent of hay and horse manure hung in the air.
“Morning, boss.” Todd’s voice echoed in the spacious area.
“Todd. What are you doing here on a Sunday?” Rawley asked the manager of his ranch, noticing the man’s mud-splattered boots and the dark circles under his eyes.
“I wanted to make sure the guys got the hay stacked. Were you going for a ride?”
“Yeah. I’ll check the hay. Todd, go home.” Rawley’s tone left no room for argument.
“Yes, sir.”
“Yeah, fuck you with that yes, sir shit.” Rawley grinned when he heard Todd’s deep laugh echo through the barn.
After checking the hay, he opened the stall door to lead his horse out, when he noticed the horse was limping. He crouched down to see that the horse had thrown a shoe.
“Well, we have to fix this first, boy.” Rawley ran his hand down the horse’s leg, then stood and got what he needed from the tool room, nippers, a hoof knife, and a rasp for trimming, a hammer, clinch cutter, and shoe pullers for the removal.
He entered the tool room, removed a shoe from the wall, then strode back to the horse.
The big red chestnut’s coat gleamed like burnished copper in the morning light as he butted his massive head against Rawley’s chest, and Rawley rubbed his velvety ears.
“Hey, buddy. Let’s get you a new shoe, then take a ride.” He removed his hat and hung it on a hook.
Thirty minutes of reshoeing the horse, sweat beading on his forehead, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his brow, then entered the tack room.
The leather saddle creaked as he lifted it onto the horse’s back, the familiar weight comfortable in his hands as he shifted it a little to sit just right on the blanket.
Rawley mounted and nudged the gelding into a gallop out of the barn.
The hot morning air rushed past his face.
He glanced over his shoulder to see his dogs running behind him.
As he rode through the pasture, the tall prairie grass swished like whispers against the horse’s legs.
Dew sparkled on the blades, catching the sun’s golden light.
He decided to check on the cattle. He knew someone had already checked them at sunrise, but things could happen fast out there, and he wanted to see for himself.
In these late summer months, he didn’t have to worry much about predators, but come winter, when snow blanketed the land in pristine white silence, it was a constant battle with wolves.
Their howls would echo across the frozen valley, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Low food sources made them desperate, their eyes gleaming like lanterns in the darkness, and a pack could easily take down a six-hundred-pound cow, leaving nothing but crimson-stained snow.
Every winter, he prayed that he wouldn’t lose any cattle to them, but it depended on how bad the weather was. If it snowed a lot, piling in six-foot drifts against the fence lines, the wolves would venture closer to the ranch, searching for any morsel they could find.
He didn’t like shooting them, respected their place in this harsh ecosystem, and usually fired his Winchester rifle into the air to scatter them, but he also knew that once he disappeared over the ridge, they’d circle back.
He’d never had to shoot one, but if it came down to his cattle, his horse, himself, or the wolf, the wolf would lose.
He reached the cattle grazing and did a headcount which he would compare to the number the ranch hand had counted when he got back to the barn. He dismounted and let the horse drink from the pond.
It was a beautiful day, but he knew it would be so hot later that he’d rather just stay inside. He thought about Skylar and grinned. She was a real beauty.
As the horse drank from the pond, Rawley removed his phone from the pocket of his T-shirt, scrolled until he saw her number and sent a text.
How’s your morning going? He sent it and waited, then he saw the bubbles.
Great. Yours?
Same. I’m out in the pasture, checking my cattle and thought about you.
What? Your cattle made you think of me? How am I supposed to take that?
Rawley chuckled. Not how I meant it.
Sure. It’s a beautiful morning.
It is. I should have asked you to ride with me.
You should have. I love riding.
Me too. I’ll let you go. I need to get back to the barn. Have a great day, Skylar McCoy.
You too, Rawley.
He hung up, put the phone back into his pocket, mounted the horse, then rode back to the barn. When he arrived, he cooled the horse, then entered the office to check on the headcount. It matched.
“Thank God,” he murmured.
Rawley strode out of the barn, his boots crunching on a mix of dried hay and sunbaked dirt.
A low hum grew louder across the wide, rutted driveway, and he squinted against the glare of a clear morning sky to make out a white truck lumbering toward the red barn.
The vehicle rattled over stray stones before coasting to a stop beside a stack of golden hay bales, dust dancing in its wake.
He knew who it was before the lanky figure climbed out of the cab and stretched.
Bobby Gibbs, still lean as a rail, approached with deliberate slowness.
Rawley shook his head, recalling how the kid had landed here, horse theft.
Bobby thought it would be romantic to steal a horse that had once belonged to his girlfriend.
He ended up getting community service instead of prison only because the mare’s owner had shown mercy.
Rawley planted his hands on his hips. A soft breeze stirred the high grass beyond the fences, carrying the tang of manure and the sweet undercurrent of fresh-cut hay.
Bobby halted a few feet away, pushed his cowboy hat back and offered a terse nod. “Agent Bowman.”
Rawley smirked. “Stringbean, what’s up?” He had christened Bobby that the first day, no thicker than a green bean, hence the nickname.
Bobby’s shoulders bobbed with a chuckle. “I don’t work for you anymore, Mr. Bowman.”
“That’s Agent Bowman to you. And what does it matter?” Rawley shot back.
Bobby shrugged, folding his arms across his narrow chest. “Guess it doesn’t. You’re always going to be a dick.”