Cowboy for Keeps. Cathy McDavid
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his baby.”
“Which hasn’t affected my feelings for him. I care for him, I really do. And I imagine I always will. But not enough to marry him.”
“You could do worse.”
Dallas stiffened. Now Conner sounded like Hank.
“My mother spent five years married to a man she didn’t love. He wound up walking out on her and my brother and me. It sucked, and it’s the last thing I’d want for my child. Given a choice, I’d rather call off the wedding than go through with it, only to wind up divorced a few years later.”
“Sounds like you’re justifying the breakup.”
She scowled at him. “I am not.”
“A father has a duty to fulfill.”
“My father? Or are you referring to Richard? Forget it,” she said, before Conner could answer. “Richard will do his duty. We just won’t be married.”
“I admire you. It’s a big risk you’re taking. Most women would be scared.”
“I’m scared, all right. Petrified. But I have the support of my family and friends. And my work. Photography is something I can continue while I’m pregnant, and after the baby’s born.”
He made a face.
“What?” she demanded.
“You’d bring a baby along on a wagon ride?”
“Not all my shoots are in the mountains.”
“Or from three thousand feet up?”
He’d remembered the photos she took last year that now appeared in a calendar. “Guess I won’t be hot-air ballooning for a while, either.”
He was right. Her entire life would soon be completely different.
Was she making the right decisions for everyone concerned? Most important, her baby?
She and Conner reached the top of the hill. He drew the horses to a stop so they could rest.
Dallas had lived in the Scottsdale area her entire life and considered herself familiar with the landscape, having photographed it countless times. Even so, the view sent a rush of awe coursing through her.
“Cool, huh?” Conner grinned as if he’d discovered this view himself.
“Way cool.” Without thinking, she bent and reached for her camera bag on the floorboard beneath their feet. The strap evaded her grasp, and she had to abandon her efforts. “Is it possible for us to get out? I’d love some shots.”
“No problem. The girls could use a rest.”
He reached around her and set the brake. Gripping her hand, he steadied her as she climbed down the side of the wagon. Only when she was safely afoot did he wrap the reins around the handle and descend. Dolly and Molly didn’t budge, except to give each other a disinterested sniff.
While Dallas clicked away, Conner waited beside the horses, gripping Molly’s bridle.
“You were right. The view is amazing.” Dallas was already mentally composing the list of contacts she’d send the photos to in the hopes of making a sale.
Conner materialized beside her. “Watch you don’t get too close to the edge.” He took her elbow, drew her back a step.
A step that brought her up close and personal with him.
Tall. Broad. Strong. Masculine. The words blinked in her mind like a flashing neon sign. Conner was all those things and more.
“I’ll be careful,” she assured him. Careful to keep a watch on her heart. He could easily steal it.
She returned to the wagon bed and reached in the ice chest for a bottle of water. What she really needed was space. No reason to put ideas in either of their heads.
Dallas might be over Richard, but she was still vulnerable. She didn’t need a man messing with her priorities. Derailing her plans.
She’d seen the results of that firsthand with her mother.
Moving to a different spot, she continued snapping pictures. The mountains, harsh and primitive, erupted from the earth like an offering to the heavens. At their base, the city, with all its modern wonders, spread out in every direction, devouring the landscape.
These were the kind of photographs Dallas sought, the ones that told a story.
Conner appeared in her viewfinder, unaware that the camera had found him. He stood staring at the city. Behind him, a rocky brown ridge rose like a wall. Cacti and shrubs grew out of it, clinging to existence against impossible odds.
Molly, her head beside Conner’s, also stared at the city, with a look of ancient wisdom in her eyes.
It was as if the past and present were colliding right there in front of Dallas.
Talk about a story.
Chills ran up her arms as she snapped a quick shot. Then a half dozen more. Instinct told her these would be her best pictures of the day.
“You done?” Conner asked.
“I am.” God, she loved her work.
The drive to the box canyon took another hour and a half, during which Dallas and Conner chatted amiably.
In the canyon, he tethered the horses to a tree and then fetched water for them from a natural spring. They drank lustily, emptying one bucketful after another.
Dallas unloaded the ice chest, adding the trail mix and protein bars she’d brought to Conner’s canned tuna fish, crackers and apples. It was, in her opinion, a perfect lunch.
Afterward, they walked the length of the box canyon. He watched over her as she got all the pictures she needed and then some. Several shots included him, but none were as compelling as the ones from the top of that first hill.
When they finally pulled out, about two o’clock, Dallas’s eyelids were drooping. Sleeping was impossible with the wagon bumping noisily along the narrow trail.
“Thanks again for taking me today,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
Hers, too.
“Can you imagine what it must have been like, crossing the country in a wagon? How incredibly tough those people were to have endured the hardships they did.”
Her comment sparked a lively discussion about pioneers heading west, which eventually segued into one about the history of Mustang Valley. Before Dallas knew it, they were ascending the first of the large hills.
She scanned the horizon, always on the lookout for more photo ops. All at once, a metallic twang sounded, like a coiled spring being released.
Conner glanced down and swore, then yanked on the reins. “Whoa, girls.” To Dallas, he said, “Pull the brake.”
“What’s wrong?” She responded to the urgency in his voice, her fingers grabbing for the brake handle as a spear of alarm sliced through her.
Chapter Four
Once the draft horses were at a standstill, Conner peered over the side of the wagon and assessed the damage. He didn’t like what he saw.
In a matter of seconds, the entire flat iron tire had separated, remaining attached to the wheel by a single bolt.
“Conner?” The concern in Dallas’s voice reminded him that he hadn’t answered her question.
“We’ve damaged a wheel.” He reached behind her and checked the brake, making sure it was set firmly. Handing her the reins, he started to climb down. “Stay put.”
“Wait!” She perched on the edge of the seat. “What if the horses bolt? I’m not sure I