“No, sir,” Coop said. “That magazine photographer feller, Jacob, wants to take some sunset pictures of theranch along the back road. I told him I’d show him the way.”
“Jacob is a good guy,” Tracy told Coop. “You’ll like him.”
“Yup, already do.”
“Another private party?” Donna asked, sidling up between Cash and Coop.
“Not at all,” Tracy said. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d help Jacob however you can when Mr. Cooper takes him along the back road for photos of this evening’s sunset on the ranch.”
Tracy had made the statement with such authority, that after the briefest of frowns and a slight hesitation, Donna said, “I’d be happy to.”
“As we say on the ranch, sooner than later.” Coop tipped his hat to Tracy and Cash.
“Sooner than later, Coop,” Cash said and offered his arm to Tracy.
Tracy slipped her hand over the bicep muscle of Cash’s left arm, and he walked her away from the café with a wave of his right hand to Sam, Kellie, and others still there. Jeff was leaving for the bunkhouse with his wranglers as they heard Sam reminding the guests to have whatever they planned to take on the camping trip ready to pack into saddlebags the next morning. It was a warm evening with just the right amount of breeze and the trip to Tracy’s cabin went all too fast.
“Would you care to come in?” she suggested. “If you have time, I’d like to ask you a few questions for my story.”
“Grab your laptop and we’ll do it at my house, where we won’t be interrupted.” Cash turned as two women called his name simultaneously.
“Famous last words,” Tracy teased him.
Cash muttered, “Delilah and Desiree, the barrel racing twins. Hell.” With an apologetic glance at Tracy, he said, “Excuse me.”
“No problem. I can catch up with you tomorrow, Cash.”
“I’ll be back for you shortly.”
Tracy didn’t believethat and didn’t reply.
She entered her cabin and shut the door. Her heart pounded but not in a good way. Moving to a window and standing back just enough to see but not be seen, she watched the women, both with long brownish-red hair, coming after Cash. They stopped mere steps from the cabin’s front porch. Obviously, they were familiar with the ranch and with Cash. His left arm, which Tracy had recently held, was seized by one of the women as the other one grabbed his right arm. With so many redheads vying for his attention, evidently Cash had a type. Tracy wondered who would be the one to catch him. Certainly not her.
“We want to see it, Cash.” The voice and a giggle from one of the women drifted to her.
“Please? We brought our suits,” the other one assured him.
Tracy had heard and seen enough. With a knot in her stomach, she walked away from the window. She sat down at the desk and turned on her laptop. She made some notes from her Taco Tuesday dinner with Coop and Cash. But she couldn’t concentrate enough to write them into the story, so she shut her laptop down. While no man had ever shaken her mentally and emotionally like Cash Cooper, she instinctively knew Cash was in his element with the women who’d come for him.
Be back for her? Fat chance.
Catch Cash Cooper? Since when did she wonder about catching a man? Since meeting Cash. The three women she’d seen vying for his attention so far apparently knew what they were doing. Tracy hoped she came off as worldly, but in truth she was anything but. She’d grown up in Wild Horse, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t even considered a town, it was a village.
Tracy couldn’t resist peeking out of the window again. Delilah and Desiree had convinced Cash to go with themand they were off in the distance now. She wondered what they wanted to see and what kind of suits they’d brought. The barrel racers had the look of experienced women and were probably the most popular girls in their high school. Although he had shrugged out of their grasps, Cash was indeed leaving with them.
Tracy had attended Kit Carson School which, in a town with a population of three hundred, was kindergarten through twelfth grade. She’d planned to leave Wild Horse as soon as she graduated. But the summer after her sophomore year, Grandpa Lew’s health began to fail. Thus, her grandma had been the one to teach her to drive. Shortly after she’d graduated from Kit Carson School, her grandpa had fallen outside their home and died. Grandma had urged her to move to Denver or to Colorado Springs or anyplace Tracy could establish the writing career she wanted. But no, her grandmother would not move with her. For reasons known only to Grandma, Tammy Dalton adamantly refused to leave her house.
Look to these walls, Tracy, she recalled Grandma saying in the living room of their two-bedroom house next to a tool shed on an acre of land.It’s our nest egg. I will stay behind and guard it for you.
Tracy had stayed too. She’d begun studying online to earn her bachelor’s degree, not sure when or if she’d ever get to use it. She’d streamed endless podcasts, videos, and documentaries soaking up big city facts and fashions so she could blend in—if she ever got the chance to live in the city. Then one day, into the village lumbered Winston.
Winston Smith had been a school bus driver spanning the fourteen-mile distance between Wild Horse and Kit Carson, so the Daltons had known of him for years. Tracy figured he was probably a decade or more younger than her grandmother. That sort of concerned her. Then again there weren’t many singles in Kit Carson, much less Wild Horse. When Tracy was in her last year of her online college program, Winston had stopped by the house to say hello. Saying hehad retired and was bored, he seemed harmless and began showing up on a daily basis.
Tracy had worked on finishing up her degree, while also writing for the local newspaper. Winston had helped Grandma Tammy revive her garden which had been taken over by weeds after Grandpa Lew had passed. After a few trips in and out of the old shed, where the garden tools were stored, Winston had shown up with paint. Though the paint was foul smelling he didn’t seem to mind and used it to paint the shed. Where the window had given way to dry rot in the shed, Winston had gone to the trouble to board it up and painted it as well. Tracy had to agree with her grandmother; it was an improvement.
Then Winston had brought those two chickens. She and her grandmother knew nothing about chickens. But the ones Winston had come up with had been so crazed, crowing, and nipping at his legs, Tracy wondered if he’d found them in the wild somewhere. He’d warned Tracy and Tammy thehenswere dangerous when protecting their eggs and to stay away from them. He’d do the egg gathering. Thus, Tracy had been truthful with Cash as to her unfamiliarity with chickens, except for being told they could be dangerous. She and her grandma didn’t go near the tiny coop Winston had built. He gathered the eggs, thehenscrowed, and Tracy had let it drop when she should have Googled chickens.
But thanks to Cash, Tracy now knew those so-called chickens were roosters and could not have laid those eggs. Winston had bought the eggs to endear himself to Tammy. In Tracy’s opinion, Winston Smith was working too hard at something. Or was he just a nice guy who was too embarrassed about the roosters not being hens that he’d tried to cover up his mistake?
