No Ordinary Cowboy. Mary Sullivan
Читать онлайн книгу.
the rider mounted the horse, Amy watched a flash of excitement light Hank’s face. The men started to cheer. The rider held on to the reins with one hand as the horse bucked and reared, trying to unseat him.
“That’s a chiropractor’s worst nightmare,” Amy shouted above the roar of the men, shaking her head.
Hank looked at her, his sparkling eyes alight with fun, like a kid’s.
Amy noticed all the men looked like a bunch of overgrown, overexcited boys.
Heel flew from the horse, slamming to the ground in a cloud of dust, and all the men groaned. In a split second, he was on his feet, cursing, then laughing, retrieving his hat and setting it back onto his head. Tough guy.
“Exhilarating,” Hank murmured.
“We should look at the rest of the ranch now,” Amy said, leaning close to Hank.
He nodded but didn’t answer, keeping his gaze on the horse.
One of the cowboys got the bronc back under control. “You want to try him next?” Angus asked Hank.
Hank set one hand on top of the chest-high fence, one foot on the second rail, and vaulted over it, looking like a six-year-old who’d gotten his first pair of skates for Christmas.
“Hey, we’re supposed to be here on business,” Amy called, but he either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her.
The bronco stood with his legs locked while Hank mounted him. As the horse reared, Hank held on to the reins with one hand, and let the other arm fly straight and high above his head.
The horse bucked.
Amy expected him to fall off. He didn’t. She held her breath.
“Hoooooeeeee,” one of the cowboys sang.
“Ride him, Hank,” another yelled.
Amy watched his muscular body get tossed around like a feather on the horse’s back, and she felt a stirring of fear in her belly.
Hank anticipated the horse’s every move, his big thighs gripping the animal’s sides. The horse dipped, he dipped. The horse reared, he followed, his expression fierce.
In spite of herself, Amy watched in fascination. Excitement replaced her fear.
As the crowd cheered and the bronco’s hooves pounded, Hank jumped from the animal’s back. The bronc ran to the opposite side of the corral, then stood with sides heaving like leathery bellows.
Amy stared at Hank. He seemed barely winded. Picking up his dirty white Stetson from the dry ground, he rapped it against his thigh and set it on his head, a broad grin creasing his face.
Her knees got weak. There he went again with that magical smile.
Hank crossed the corral toward Amy, his stride long and confident—in his element, like a cowboy of old, taming beasts and all obstacles.
When he looked at her, Hank’s step faltered. He stared at her with a heat that might, just might, match her own.
When he reached her, he leaned close and whispered, “You okay?”
The men in the corral and lining the fence turned as one to watch her. Amy stared back. Young and old, tall and short, handsome and homely, every one of them had one thing in common with Hank—a lean, stringy strength earned through hard labor.
They surrounded her, nudging Hank out of the way, all speaking at once.
“Well, look here.”
“You new to these parts?”
“Hey, ma’am, I’m Ash.”
“Aren’t you a beauty?”
Did people really say those things in the twenty-first century? Still, in spite of their testosterone-driven competition and manly posturing to get her attention, these men charmed her.
Then Hank gripped her elbow hard and pulled her toward the truck.
“But, I—” She peered over her shoulder at the men who smiled and waved to her.
“We have to get back to those kids,” he grumbled.
She resisted his pull. “But I—”
“We’re out of time. Need to get home.”
Amy dug in her heels. “We’re here to check out the business. I’m not leaving until we do.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“WHOA, HANK,” Angus called. “Not so fast. If Ms. Graves wants to hang out for a while, we’d be happy to entertain her.” He approached, took Amy’s elbow and led her toward the corral.
Angus’s eyes sparkled when he looked down at Amy. She smiled up at him.
Hank choked. For a peace-loving man, which he most certainly was, he was strongly tempted to rearrange Angus’s charming face.
“I’m about ready to practice my rope tricks,” young Ty Walker yelled from across the yard, his smile wide and hokey. “Amy can watch.”
Someone should tell him he looks goofy when he smiles like that, Hank thought. Like a lovesick moose.
“I can drive her home later if you want, Hank,” Hip said.
Over my dead body, Hank thought, and stood beside Amy.
Ty picked up a rope and tied a honda, then passed the plain end through the honda to make a loop. He started to spin it nice and slow. Like any cowboy worth his salt, he spun and worked the rope to an impressive four-foot loop, which he tossed over his head and down his body until it spun around his waist.
Ty smiled his goofy grin while he watched Amy. She clapped and laughed, her pretty smile sparkling in the sun.
Angus put a hand on her shoulder, a hand that would be broken in about two seconds if he wasn’t careful. Hank’s mind was turning to violence at every turn.
“That’s called a body spin, but the prettier term is wedding ring,” Angus said.
Amy nodded and smiled at him.
Hip ran forward with a rope of his own.
“Watch this, Amy.” Hip started spinning a flat loop in front of his body. When he’d worked the rope to a good-size loop he passed it to his right hand and around his back, picking it up with his other hand and bringing it around front again on the other side.
“That’s a merry-go-round,” Angus said.
Hip threw the loop high over his head and kept spinning it. “Look, Amy,” he shouted.
Hip was a good twenty years older than Amy. Disgusting way for a middle-aged man to behave in front of a young woman.
Show off. Braggart. Good word.
A split second before Hip threw the loop toward Amy, Hank realized his intention and spun Amy around out of the way, then pulled her flush against his chest, but Hip was too fast and his aim too accurate.
The loop settled over Amy, but also caught Hank, the rope tightening around them with the gentle persuasion of a mare nudging her colt home.
Hank heard shouts and whoops of laughter from the men, and heard Angus say, “Nice hoolihan, Hip,” but all Hank saw was Amy.
She’d raised her arms when he’d pulled her toward him and her hands rested high on his chest. They rose and fell with his quick breaths, branding him.
The sounds around him drifted away. He lost himself in Amy’s green eyes.
His hands held the back of her waist, drifted down to her hips. He thought of ripe pears and his blond guitar.
She smelled warm, like the sun, like mango and papaya and coconut.
Her skin looked soft enough to lick.