Mountain Country Cowboy. Glynna Kaye
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do with anything.
After the last ride of the day, with satisfied guests sent home or back to their quarters to await dinner and with horses unsaddled, groomed, fed and turned loose in what passed for pasture at this high elevation, she was more than ready to call it a day. And put some distance between herself and the opinionated cowboy, as well.
But she had to stick around the barns until Cash returned from retrieving his son from her folks’ place. They needed to have a talk concerning that turn of events. Her mom, having seen Joey racing his toy cars along the leather seat of the surrey before the first ride of the day, had taken him under her wing—despite Rio’s protests. Baking cookies. A walk with Rags. Coloring pictures. Kids always took to Mom, and while she appreciated her mother’s consideration for the little boy, Cash couldn’t go fobbing his kid off on other people. Especially not on her mother, who still needed regular rest.
“He probably has an opinion about that, too,” she said to one of the cats that was carefully cleaning a front paw a few feet away from her. With a sigh, she continued filling the water tank in the main corral.
Cash’s first observation of the day, of course, had to do with the inadequacy of the Hideaway’s facilities to meet the expectations of the ritzy clientele of the last place he’d worked. Next had been his insistence that anyone under eighteen wear a riding helmet despite the waiver stating the requirement was for those under sixteen. And he further changed things up by deciding one of the mares would handle better with a snaffle bit rather than a curb and that one of the geldings needed to sit things out until his bad habit of crowding the horse in front of him was corrected.
All the latter things were good. He knew his stuff. But already he was taking over.
Having turned off the spigot, she slowly cranked up the hose as she listened to the chattering of summer hires coming from the main barn while they attended to their end-of-day chores. More than once, to her exasperation, she overheard the name Cash.
It wasn’t her imagination, either, that the guests on the two rides that day had deferred to him more times than not. That they directed their questions and comments to him rather than to her. Granted, he looked the part of an experienced horse wrangler with those well-worn boots, the Western hat low on his brow and that slow smile loaded with charm. Unlike him, she preferred to don a riding helmet to encourage the younger crowd to willingly accept the headgear rules. So maybe she didn’t look as authentic as their guests thought she should?
Obviously, too, summer hires Sue, Kaitlyn, Micki and Deena, not many years her junior, had fallen head over heels for Cash, and he wasn’t helping matters with the way he teased them and listened attentively to whatever they had to say. Which, to her way of thinking, was way more than needed to be said. Even Ned, Leon and Billy seemed to be developing a hero worship of sorts, setting cowboy hats at the same rakish angle as their new idol. When she’d complained to Delaney at lunchtime, she got no sympathy. Just a grin and a sounds like someone’s jealous to me retort that irritated her further.
She was not jealous. She was a woman who had a job to do and people to supervise to make sure Hideaway guests had the best experience possible. But suddenly the whole world was being forced to rotate around Cashton Herrera.
“I know you said you wanted to see me, but you look like a thundercloud fixin’ to break loose.”
Startled, she looked up at Cash as he pushed off from where he’d been leaning his muscled forearms on the corral fence. How long had he been standing there while she was lost in her thoughts? Thoughts about him.
As he unlatched the corral gate, she gave the hose crank one final jerk. “Enter at your own risk, cowboy.”
He slipped through the gate and fastened it closed, then walked toward her with that confident cowboy stride of his. Broad shouldered. Narrow hipped. No wonder he had the girls swooning. She deliberately looked away. Any man she’d ever again take an interest in had to have more going for him than that. The superficial looks and charm no longer hacked it.
“So what’s up, Prin—”
“Where’s Joey?”
He halted a few feet away, a smile surfacing in spite of her clipped words.
“He’s playing with Chloe and Tessa. And yes,” he added before she could voice the question, “they’re supervised.”
Chloe was Luke’s younger of two daughters by his first wife, and Tessa was the child of the former Sunshine Carston, town council member, artists’ cooperative manager and Grady’s bride as of last Valentine’s Day.
She placed her hands on her hips. “It’s not going to work, Cash.”
“What isn’t?”
“Not having a regular caregiver in charge of Joey until after school is out. Besides, Anna usually has a full plate of summer activities—horse shows, church youth group outings, chores around the Hideaway.”
“We’ll work around them.”
“How? My mom can’t be taking on your kid to raise. No way. She’s—” Maybe she shouldn’t go there. Mom’s health was family business and didn’t concern an outsider.
“She’s what?”
“She has more important responsibilities than playing babysitter.”
Cash frowned. “I didn’t ask her to help. You were there. She offered. Joey would have been fine right where he was.”
“You think so?” She gave him a disbelieving look. “Take it from me, that kid isn’t going to be satisfied with sitting by himself for the next week, no matter how much you’d like to believe it. It’s a matter of time before he gets bored and restless, and the next thing you know—”
“We made a deal.”
“A deal.”
“Right. I explained how I need to make a go of this job and that I need his help. That he has to stay out of trouble. He was good with it.”
This man was clueless. “He’s eight years old.”
“And smart as a whip.”
“I’m not disputing that. But a deal? I can see what you’re getting out of it, but what’s in it for him?”
“Well...” Cash looked momentarily perplexed, then his voice firmed. “Whatever time I have free on Sundays is his. Whatever he wants to do. Within reason, of course.”
“So ten to twelve hours a day, six days a week he kicks his heels and twiddles his thumbs all by his lonesome while you go about your business.”
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