Cowgirl Makes Three / Her Secret Rival. Myrna Mackenzie
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the rope, awkwardly at first.
“The back of your hand will almost touch your mouth as it comes around,” he said, demonstrating with his own rope. “When you release the rope here,” he said, showing her, “the momentum of your arm finishing the turn and your hand pointing this way will send the rope right over the steer’s horns.” Breaking the instructions down into simple steps, Noah finally made it make sense for Ivy as she watched him rope the dummy steer.
“Are you ready to try again?” he asked.
Ivy nodded, more determined than ever. For the first time she felt hopeful that she could master this skill. She might be awkward, but with Noah’s help, she understood the mechanics of the process. Twirling her loop, keeping it open, she paid attention to her hand and to the loop as she released it. It fell short, and she was disappointed, but it was close. Her earlier attempts hadn’t been. She sucked in her lip, her brow furrowing.
“Again,” he said.
Ivy twirled the rope again. Miss. Throw. Miss. Throw. This time it landed neatly over the horns.
“Yes!” she said, grinning at Noah. “That’s one. It was a good one, too, wasn’t it?”
He laughed. “It was a sweet little toss. A winner.”
But one toss standing on the ground wouldn’t be good enough for tomorrow’s task. “Thank you,” Ivy said. “I—you can go now. I’m just going to keep practicing until I’m consistent.”
He raised a brow. “It’s been a long day, and tomorrow will come early. You should rest. You know, there are plenty of cowboys who aren’t especially good ropers.”
And those cowboys sometimes got passed over for better ones. “I’m not going to be that kind,” Ivy said. She tossed the rope again. And again. Over and over, , until she could land it most of the time. By now Noah was leaning against the fence and watching her with a lazy-cat smile on his face.
“What?” she asked.
“Don’t your batteries ever run down?”
“Not when I need to get something done.”
“Well, you’re done now. Your arm’s going to be sore.”
“But tomorrow I’ll be on a horse. I need to try it on a horse.”
“Ivy…”
“Noah…just a few times, so that I won’t be nervous tomorrow?”
“One or both of us will fall off the horse asleep tomorrow if we don’t finish up here soon,” he muttered, but he led her to Binny, a sweet little palomino. “She’s gentle and patient.”
Which was a good thing. Roping from horseback was more complicated than being on foot. Ivy didn’t really reach proficiency, but she was beginning to be afraid that Noah was right. They both had to work tomorrow, and…he had a child waiting. The thought made Ivy feel guilty. She sighed, turning in the saddle to apologize to Noah for keeping him out so late.
“You are tired,” he said, misinterpreting her sigh. “That’s enough, Ivy.” With that, he reached up and plucked her from Binny’s back, sliding her to the ground. “Bed,” he said.
She blinked. His hands were still around her waist. He was so close. She was still tingling from the contact, and the word bed hung between them.
Noah swore, and not beneath his breath this time. He let her go. “Don’t argue with me anymore today, Ivy. Just go.” He was obviously not any happier than she was at the arc of electricity that had passed between them.
Ivy’s breathing was still erratic. “Okay,” she said in a rush. “I’m done. Don’t worry.”
But she worried for a long time before she fell asleep. If she were smart, she’d give Noah a wide berth from now on…even if she couldn’t stop thinking about how his hands had felt on her.
Apparently Noah had been thinking the same thing, because the next day he worked mostly with Darrell and assigned her to Brody. The day passed and the one after that. She and Noah spoke very little other than basic greetings. Most of her orders came through Brody.
Still, whenever she saw Noah in the distance—working, riding, lifting his daughter onto his shoulders—something about him made her stop and look.
On the third day Ivy was gathering equipment to go help Darrell repair a windmill when she saw Noah heading toward the house. The door flew open, and Lily came tumbling out, running in that frantic, wobbly way that two-year-olds run.
“Da!” she squealed, raising her arms, confident that her daddy would pick her up.
“Hey, pumpkin, how’s my girl? Did you get away from Marta?” Noah scooped up the tiny child and swung her into his arms right against his chest.
Ivy couldn’t turn away. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t stop thinking about Bo’s toddler laughter that she had never heard. And yet that wasn’t this child’s or this man’s fault.
She stared, even though the pain cut right through her, razor sharp, leaving a trail of desolation she couldn’t control. It came upon her suddenly, tracking her down, forcing her to remember that she would never, ever get to hear Bo laugh. Never.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she swiped them away. She fought the keening wail that threatened to escape her. Then Noah began to turn.
Ivy ran. She stumbled into the toolshed, scrubbed her face with her hands and began rummaging through the tools, blindly looking for…something. She didn’t even know what she was looking for.
The shadow that fell over her told her that he was standing in the doorway. “Be right there,” she said, hoping that her voice didn’t sound too thick.
“Ivy.” He knew. He’d seen.
“I just have to get a few tools. Darrell and I are going to fix the windmill out on Jessup Flats. Darrell’s waiting.”
“Ivy, I’m sorry.”
She turned, pushing her chin high. “Don’t be. She’s a sweet little girl. She’s yours. The fact that I lost my son—that doesn’t mean you should apologize for having a daughter.”
“I’m not.” He came into the room.
No. Don’t, she thought. I’m not strong right now. I need to get my feisty back on so no one can see the cracks. Hiding the cracks was all that had gotten her through most of her life.
“Then there’s nothing to apologize for,” she said. “Don’t be silly.”
“I’m never silly.” He said the word as if he didn’t know the meaning. She had to admit that she had desperately pulled that one out of a hat, trying to change the tone in a wild stab at regaining her composure and her cool. Models didn’t show emotion unless directed to.
But I’m not a model anymore.
Maybe not, but she still lived by those rules. “It’s been a long time since I helped fix a windmill. Has the technology changed?” she asked, peering into the tool bin.
“Not around here.” He reached past her, scooped up a pipe wrench and handed it to her. When both their hands were on the tool, he didn’t let go. “I thought you were away from the house, with Brody. I’m sorry for your loss, Ivy.”
Okay, he was going to insist on being nice, on doing the polite thing. Maybe that would make it easier. All she had to do was be polite right back and he would go. She wouldn’t have to keep wishing that he would touch her. Noah—with his child when she could not be around children and with his ranch when she could not live on a ranch—was the worst man on earth for her. But…she knew how to politely talk her way out of a situation, didn’t she?
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” she said. “It helps.”