Falling For The Rebel Cowboy

“So...no Uber service?”

“Nope. Need a ride somewhere?” His breath puffed out in the frosty morning like cigarette smoke.

“I want to go into town and get some things for my son.”

“I’m headed there. You can ride with me.”

If she remembered correctly, the closest town was at least an hour away. Cooped up with him in a vehicle for that long? She pasted a smile on her face. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

He shrugged, said, “Come on,” and led the way to his black pickup truck. He opened the passenger door, then stood aside. Just as she started to climb into the truck, the blond lab jumped into the passenger seat.

“Sorry. She loves going for rides. Just give her a shove and she’ll move over.”

She shooed her hands at the dog, but it didn’t move. “Come on, sweetie. Move over, okay?” She waved her hands again.

The dog looked at Wyatt, and he looked at the dog. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn they both rolled their eyes. He gave a quick whistle and the dog rolled over.

Leaving a layer of blond dog hair behind on the passenger seat.

Great. Francine looked down at her black suit and Chanel coat. Wyatt reached in and moved the seat forward, and the dog jumped into the back. He brushed the seat off, then rummaged behind it, pulling out an old red plaid blanket.

“It’s old but relatively free of dog hair,” he said, then spread it across the seat.

“Thanks,” she said and climbed up into the truck, shivering in the cold morning.

He shut the door, walked around to the driver’s side and got in, then started the engine. “It’ll warm up in a minute.” He put the truck in gear and headed down the long drive to the main road.

“What’s your dog’s name?”

“Sadie.”

Before long, heat poured out of the vents. “Is it always this cold?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes. It’s already snowed up in the mountains.”

“Do you and your family live here all year, or go elsewhere when the snow hits?”

“All year. Guests come here in winter, too.”

“Doesn’t it get lonely out here?”

“Nope.” He turned the radio on.

She took the hint he didn’t want to talk and settled back, watching the scenery roll by. Born and bred in New York City, she was used to the frenetic pace of a big urban area and millions of people. She knew concrete and crowds and skyscrapers, not mountains and valleys and lakes.

The road curved along the prairie, river and hillsides. She spotted some kind of sheep clambering up and down rocks—

Wyatt slammed on the brakes, and the truck stopped suddenly in the middle of the road. She braced a hand on the dashboard and looked out the front window.

A large herd of massive animals plodded across the road in front of them. Sadie’s head appeared over the back of the seat between them, her doggy breath warm on Francine’s neck. The dog yawned, ending with a squeak, then lay back down, giving a doggy sigh, as if this were a common occurrence.

“Are those buffalo?” Francine wished he’d stopped the truck about a mile back.

“Bison.” Wyatt leaned back, his thumb idly tapping the beat to the song on the radio.

“They won’t stampede, will they?”

“Nope.”

His brief answers really irked her. Did he not believe in civilized conversation? “Gee, you’re just a regular chatty Cathy. Let me guess. You do PR for the ranch, right?”

* * *

SHE WAS FEISTY. He might even appreciate it...but something told him she was used to talking down to guys like him. “That would be my brother Hunter. I don’t believe in talking just to fill a silence.”

She stared at him a beat, then her gaze shifted over his shoulder. Her mouth opened, and a scream ricocheted around the truck. But not just any scream. One of those Friday the Thirteenth–Freddy Krueger–Chucky–Halloween movie screams.

He whipped his head around and saw an enormous bison standing not two feet from his door, staring at them.

He held very still but slid a hand to Frankie’s knee. “Quiet,” he snapped. “Don’t upset it.”

Her scream cut off abruptly. The bison still stood there, staring at them with bloodred eyes, steam puffing out of his nostrils. His horns curved forward, and the tips looked razor sharp.

Sadie gave a sharp bark, and he reached back to run a hand over her head, hoping she’d stay quiet. Beside him, Frankie’s breaths shuddered in and out, too fast. “Take a deep breath and hold it. Count to five and let it out.”

He heard her breathe in, ending on a whimper, then she blew it out. “Again. I don’t want you to pass out on me. I need you to keep Sadie quiet. She’s pregnant, and I don’t want her upset.”

Frankie’s breathing finally slowed down, and she murmured softly to the dog.

A bellow ripped through the cloudy morning, and the bison swung its massive head toward the departing herd. With one last look at Wyatt and Frankie, the animal shifted about and wandered across the valley toward the river.

“Oh, thank God,” she murmured.

He faced the front windshield and put the car in gear, making sure all the bison were off the road, then continued to town.

By the time Wyatt pulled into a parking spot in front of the general store, Francine seemed totally fine.

“This is a charming little town,” she said as she unbuckled her seat belt.

He looked up and down the street, saw the same old buildings that had always been there, just prettied up for the season. Neatly trimmed window boxes burst with fall foliage. Colorful flags announcing the harvest festival hung from the old-fashioned streetlights.

“Where do you need to go?” he asked.

“Children’s clothing store.”

“I don’t think there’s one here. But Marge might have something in the general store. That’s where I’m going, anyway.”

“Great, I can get clothes for John Allen, a rake and a horse blanket,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear.