The Accidental Cowboy

“This is our pack mule...well, burro.” Lavonda patted the animal. She didn’t want his feelings hurt. He might only be as tall as a good-sized Great Dane, but he had the ego of a Clydesdale.

Jones’s face went from annoyed to amused and back to annoyed, but he said nothing. She’d already noticed that he was standoffish, not unlike the executives she’d worked with as a highly paid corporate communications specialist. She could suck it up and be nice. She’d definitely learned to do it before.

“You’ll thank Reese when we unpack the water and snacks. Plus, this little guy needs the exercise and experience.” She clucked to get the burro moving. She heard the scuff of Jones’s boots following them. “Did you know that saguaro cacti only grow in the Sonoran Desert and the arms don’t appear until the plant is about seventy years old?”

“Yes. As part of my preparations for this trip, I did internet research on the region.”

Not friendly but factual. She could live with that.

“Your...what did you call it?” He gestured at her pack animal.

“Reese. And he’s a he...or was a he.”

“Is he a native of the region?”

She went on to explain how burros, aka donkeys, were used by miners and then turned loose to become feral. Reese had descended from those intrepid little animals. “My sister, Jessie, has a therapeutic riding program for children with medical challenges. She’s considering burros for cart work.”

“Cart work?”

“Pulling children in carts or buggies. Especially the younger kids who may be too small to ride a pony. The burros’ size also makes them less intimidating. They’re very, very smart and affectionate.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type of beast a cowgirl like you would defend.”

“I’m not a real cowgirl. Not anymore.” She closed her mouth fast. She didn’t want to talk about this with a stranger.

“You live in Arizona on a ranch, and—”

“That doesn’t make you a cowgirl,” she shot back. What the hell? She knew how to keep quiet even when provoked. She’d been the spokeswoman when her company had been at the center of a media crap storm, and she hadn’t let the press rattle her. Here she was ready to lose her cool with a professor studying beans. She turned to Reese and gave herself a moment to relax. This man was from Scotland. Of course he didn’t understand that being a cowgirl was more than a hat and boots.

“Are you sure your burro is up to this outing?”

She refocused on small talk. “Reese learned that looking pathetic would get him out of work with his last owner. The college just recently received the property as a bequest. He and Cat came with it. There’s a goat, too, but she’s out eating her weight in tumbleweeds.”

“Quite a menagerie.”

“At least we don’t have a javelina.”

“Are they related to scorpions?” he asked straight-faced, though she could see that he was trying to...flirt? No way.

“My friend Olympia’s stepson rescued one and called it Petunia. You know, like the pig in the cartoon? Except they’re not pigs, even though people call them wild pigs. They’re peccaries, a big rodent...sort of.”

“Your friend allowed her stepson to adopt a rat?”

She had to smile at that. Petunia and all javelinas looked like hairy, long-nosed pigs. “Much cuter than any rat I’ve ever seen, especially Petunia. I’m sure she’s back in the wild by now. That was their agreement. Actually, in the wild, they can be a problem, especially the boars that get very aggressive.”

“Any other deadly creatures? Or ones that are called one thing but are really another?”

“Most wild things run when they see or smell a human.” She looked at the familiar pile of boulders. “We’ll need to go up there. That’s where the rock drawings I need to check are.”

“The petroglyphs,” he corrected.

“The petroglyphs are scattered throughout the area, along with metates.” Did he think she was stupid because she had breasts?

He hummed an answer, squinting up at the outcropping. “This region has been inhabited for more than two thousand years. The people created the necessary irrigation techniques. There are indications of widespread agriculture.” He sounded so stilted. “Perhaps I’ll see evidence of bean production in the drawings.”

Really, who studied beans? Men like Jones did, along with a number of the faculty her friend and president of the college Gwen had introduced her to. That’s when Gwen had asked Lavonda to work her PR magic in addition to her caretaking duties. Gwen hoped a little notice by the press of the Angel Crossing campus would lead to better funding. The professors and researchers had tunnel vision when it came to their fields of study. She was glad she didn’t have to try to make his bean research interesting to the general public.

“Perhaps,” she finally said.

“You said this area is protected? By the college?”

They continued their way up the slope on the barely discernable path. “The ranch house has national historic landmark status. The college had been approached about protecting the acreage with a federal designation.”

“Why would the ranch be considered ‘historic’?”

Could the man get more annoying? Or maybe he was really interested in the answer. She looked at him closely. His head was cocked a little to the side and softness curved his lips. Not that she was looking all that closely. “After the woman from Georgia, it was owned by Arizona’s first ‘official’ cowgirl. She might have beat out Annie Oakley if they’d ever met.”

“That’s quite a claim, from what I understand.”

“I’ve seen the stats and the pictures. She was good. She had a way with horses, too. She could ride anything, even competed as a bareback bronc rider...when the cowboys would let her.” Lavonda said. “When I was competing, she was the kind of cowgirl I was trying to live up to, not afraid to go up against the boys.” She shut up, not sure why all of that had come spilling out. No one wanted to hear her own ancient history.

“You rode broncs?” He looked more than a little surprised.

“You only have to hold on.”

“I believe there’s more to it than that.”

“Not much, and being short was an advantage. Low center of gravity.”

“Interesting,” he said with a crooked smiled, then asked with an eye on the donkey, “Is there a problem with the burro?”

She pulled on Reese’s rope to get him moving again. “I wonder what the lady from Georgia thought when they found these drawings. Or even the cowgirl?”

“Sorry. Not my area of expertise, unfortunately.”

Maybe he wasn’t such a stick-up-his-rear academic. He’d actually smiled and nearly laughed. She’d always been a sucker for a man who could laugh at the world and himself. Sort of like she was a sucker for a man in a kilt or out of it—whoa! He was a colleague and temporary lodger. She had to stop remembering brushing against him and the charge of something a little dark and a lot exciting. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything like that. Maybe never.

“Come on. You’ll probably want to spend a while looking around, and I need to write up my report.” She led Reese up the incline toward the drawings that decorated the wall just to the left of an overhang of red and dusty beige rock.

“Report?”

“I might be a ‘civilian’ but I am more than capable of providing the college with my assessment of the area.”

He nodded, then asked, “Are there multiple locations with drawings and obvious signs of habitation?”

“This one is the closest to the ranch. There are more extensive ones a day’s walk away. Others aren’t in restricted areas, so I get to those in the ranch pickup or on horseback.”

He looked away before he said, with a return to clinical stiffness, “My research focuses on the diet of late Bronze Age man—”