cutting horses wasn’t the same as busting broncs or riding a bull, but team penning was a close cousin to rodeo and, for a while anyway, allowed Cole to be his old self.
“Get a move on.” Waving his coiled lasso over his head, he walked Hotshot along the fence, encouraging number 497 to rejoin the others.
“You’re sweating the fat clean off those steers.”
Hearing a familiar voice, Cole turned in the saddle.
Violet Hathaway, ranch foreman and the only female on Dos Estrellas’s payroll, strolled unhurriedly toward the corral, her boots stirring up dust with each step. She wore her usual attire, a worn blue work shirt and faded jeans. Nonetheless, she looked good. Too good for Cole to tear his gaze away. Not that he tried very hard.
Careful, pal, he warned himself. Thinking of her in those terms was a waste of energy. She was off-limits and had made that crystal clear.
She stopped at the railing. “Skinny steers won’t bring in much money at the sale next month.”
They’d had this discussion before. Every time he borrowed a few head for practice.
“What are you doing here on your day off?” he asked.
Sundays were usually quiet at the ranch. Barring an emergency, Violet always stayed home—home being a cozy house on the outskirts of town. Cole had recently learned that about the ranch foreman, along with a few more interesting tidbits, such as the fact that she owned two cats and read gossip magazines.
“Tying up a few loose ends.” She grabbed the top railing and studied Hotshot with her expert eye. “He looks good.”
“Thanks. Hard to believe he was near starving three months ago.”
“Just goes to show you what regular meals and a little TLC will do.”
The drought last winter had been hard on the few remaining wild mustangs in the area. Hotshot had belonged to a ragtag group rounded up near the Salt River and brought to the sanctuary on Dos Estrellas in the hopes that he might be fattened up and adopted out. Now he belonged to Cole.
He rode the horse over to Violet, offering a smile as he dismounted. Looping the reins around the saddle horn, he rested an arm on the top railing near her hand. He and Violet were face-to-face, except that he had a good five inches on her. She was forced to lift her chin in order to meet his gaze.
Truth be told, he liked her petite stature. She was a lot of snap, crackle and pop in one small package. A very attractive package.
“It’s Sunday,” he said. “The day of rest.”
“Yeah, well, no rest for the wicked.”
He let his voice drop and his eyes rove her face. “You’re not wicked, Vi.” Though she could be flirtatious and fun when she let loose.
For the briefest of seconds, she went still. Then—strange for her, as Violet usually oozed confidence—she turned away. “I asked you not to call me that.”
“I like Vi. It suits you.”
And it was personal. Something just the two of them shared. Calling her Vi was his way of reminding her about the night they’d spent together, which he supposed explained her displeasure. She didn’t like being reminded.
She’d made the mistake of telling him that Vi was a childhood nickname, one she’d insisted on leaving behind upon entering her teens. They’d been alone, lying in bed and revealing their innermost feelings. Unfortunately, the shared intimacy hadn’t lasted, disappearing with the first rays of morning sunlight.
“Cole.” She sighed.
“What?” He feigned innocence.
“You know what. We agreed.”
“To what? Me not calling you Vi?”
“Don’t joke.”
She was definitely out of sorts today. And pale. She hadn’t been feeling well all week, which might account for her prickliness. Not that she’d complained to anyone, but he’d noticed.
“Okay.” He shrugged one shoulder. “No joking.”
Finally. A smile from her, though it was a small one. Even so, a powerful jolt shot through Cole. She really was lovely. Vivid green eyes, reddish-brown hair reaching well past her shoulders and twin dimples combined to give her an irresistible girl-next-door appeal.
No surprise she kept that bubbly personality under wraps. Otherwise, she’d be fighting the guys off right and left.
“I was wondering. If you weren’t busy later...” She let the sentence drop.
“I’m not busy.” Cole leaned closer, suddenly eager. “What do you have in mind?”
Could she have had a change of heart? They weren’t supposed to see each other again socially or bring up their one moment of weakness. According to Vi, it had been a mistake. A rash action resulting from two shots of tequila each, a crowded dance floor and both of them weary of constantly fighting their personal demons.
Cole didn’t necessarily agree. Sure, the road was not without obstacles. As one of the ranch owners, he was her boss. On the other hand, she oversaw his work while he learned the ropes. Confusing and awkward and a reason not to date.
But incredible lovemaking and easy conversation didn’t happen between just any two people. He and Vi had something special, and he’d have liked to see where it went, obstacles be damned.
Strange, he hadn’t given her a second thought before their “mistake.” One moment on a dance floor and, boom, everything had changed. A shame she didn’t feel the same.
Unless she did and was better at hiding it? The possibility warranted consideration.
“We need to, um, talk.” She closed her eyes and, pressing a hand to her belly, swallowed with obvious difficulty.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just this darn stomach flu.”
He was becoming concerned. Her bout with the flu had been hanging on far too long. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“Maybe.” She squeezed her eyes shut, appearing to be fighting another wave of nausea.
“Are you sure you feel all right?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me put Hotshot up. I’ll return the steers later.” They’d be fine for the time being, as there was both a metal shade covering and a water tank in the corral. “Give me ten minutes.”
She nodded, and he led the horse to the gate, expecting her to be standing there. By the time he opened the latch, however, Vi was gone. He caught sight of her running across the open area toward the horse stables.
Cole frowned. She was certainly in a hurry. A big hurry.
He walked toward the stables, Hotshot following along.
