Charming Texas Cowboy, page 2
He groaned. It was possible she was never going to get the hang of this obedience thing. He decided he’d take her with him on his run tonight and try to wear her out. She certainly had the energy to keep up with him, but the way she bounced around, she’d probably trip him in the first quarter mile and get them both killed.
“I think you’ve got your work cut out for you.” Adam—ranch owner, dog trainer, army veteran, and Tanner’s boss—approached the pen.
“I think I should go back to bookkeeping and leave the dog training to the professionals,” Tanner said, leaning back against the fence rail and pulling off his hat to run a hand through his sweaty hair before resettling the hat. Damn, but central Texas was hot. His home in Louisiana had been hot, too, but Texas seemed worse somehow. Like the ground collected the heat from one day and saved it up to add to the next day.
“You’re doing pretty well with her,” Adam said. “Remember how clueless she was when she first came here.”
Tanner snorted. He knew the truth. He wasn’t any better at being a dog trainer than he was at being a rodeo cowboy—or a soldier.
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Adam said.
Wait, what? Tanner had a moment of panic, afraid Adam had learned the details of Tanner’s last patrol and was going to kick him off his ranch. This place—the Big Chance Dog Rescue Ranch—and the other veterans who lived here and ran the place, had saved his miserable life. The “Rescue” in the name wasn’t just about homeless dogs. Adam was the owner, and along with the other members of the team, he’d welcomed Tanner and made him part of the family.
Tanner schooled his expression. There were a lot of things he sucked at, but keeping his shit locked down was a skill he’d learned at an early age.
Adam nearly cracked that ironclad emotional control right down the middle when he said, “What do you think about starting some therapeutic riding here?”
It took Tanner a second to put his WTF back in storage before he spoke. “I don’t think—”
Adam must have anticipated Tanner’s automatic ix-nay, because he spoke over his opposition. “Just think about it. It could be a good thing for our veterans to learn—kind of a corollary to working with the dogs. You’re the former rodeo star of the team, so I know it’s something you can do. You’re also the spreadsheet man. Figure out how much room we’d need, how much it would cost to get us started with a couple of horses.”
“I don’t think—”
“Lizzie and Emma suggested it, and I told them I’d talk to you.”
Oh thanks, Adam. Throw your girlfriend and sister into the deal and make me be the one to disappoint them.
Adam slapped Tanner on the shoulder and was gone before Tanner could finish “I don’t think” with “there’s a chance in hell I’m ever getting back on a horse.”
***
“Hey, y’all, we’re almost there!” Jen stopped her little Ford Escape next to a gas pump at the Big America Fuel center and smiled into her camera. “It’s me, Jen, ready to start a new adventure! I know it’s been a minute since I posted a video, and you’ll probably notice that it’s just me this time! Mom is carrying on with her own gig, and I’m trying something new, something that I hope is a little more authentic, and hopefully interesting and entertaining, too!”
Was that too enthusiastic? How many verbal exclamation points was too many? And did her own plan for more authenticity imply that her mom wasn’t the real deal?
Not a problem. She could edit that out and splice in something else—without worrying about how much she was paying a two-timing director and his sleazebag videographer.
An elderly man in a Big America ball cap shuffled across the parking lot as she got out to pump gas. Her phone buzzed, but she decided to let it go to voicemail. He waved as he passed by, almost as if he knew her.
By the time she finished pumping her gas, the old guy was heading back her way. She didn’t need directions, but she did need some local color for her video, and this guy looked perfectly colorful. She’d put her phone camera-side out in the top pocket of her shirt and checked to make sure it was recording. “Excuse me,” she said. “Can you tell me how far it is to Big Chance?”
“Are you a cop?” the man asked.
“No…” Why would he ask that?
“Then what’s with the body cam?” he asked, pointing at her breast.
“Oh. I’m new here, and I’m recording my trip and all the people I meet along the way.”
“Is that so?”
“Is it okay if I record our conversation?”
He seemed to be chewing on something as he considered her. “You going to put me on some TV show, or that Ticking Clock app?”
“TikTok? No, but you might end up on YouTube if you’re okay with that.”
“Oh, I like that channel,” he said. “Not sure I’ve got much use for them how-to shows about making a man look like a woman, but I sure like how-to-clean-a-fish videos. Not that I get much time to fish, what with how much I work here. Can’t seem to get them young ones to show up for work, and I’m always stuck here covering someone’s shift.”
“Gosh, that’s too bad,” Jen commiserated. “So is it far to Big Chance?”
“It’s straight down this road, about five minutes. You can’t miss it, unless you blink.” He cackled.
“Thanks so much, Mr…”
“Just call me Wayne.”
“Mr. Wayne. Thanks.” She started to turn back to her car, but he called after her.
“Hey, why don’t you take one of them selfies with me?”
“Okay,” Jen said, because why not. “Smile!”
“You send that to me, okay?”
“Um, sure.” Wayne rattled off his digits, and she sent the picture before it occurred to her to wonder why he was so anxious to have a picture with a random woman who stopped at his gas station.
Apparently because he’d figured out she wasn’t some random woman.
He confirmed her fear when he said, “Whoee! Them kids that didn’t show up to work are going to kick themselves when they find out I got my picture made with the perfectly-adequate-tits lady!”
“What?” Jen wasn’t faking her shock and dismay. It had taken less than twenty-four hours for that butthead videographer to get her naked breasts uploaded to every available website everywhere, but Jen had really believed—well, hoped, anyway—that most of the world wasn’t that interested, and by the time she’d made arrangements for her new life to start, no one would care anymore. She tried to pull out some acting and said, “I’m flattered you think I look like her, but my name’s Brenda.”
“Sure it is,” the man said with a wink. “I’ll keep your secret, but you have to promise to let me know when that video is going to go on YouTube, okay? You’ve got my number now.”
“Oh. Sure.” Crap. She hadn’t even made it into town and she was busted. Hopefully the rest of the community didn’t have as much time to surf the web.
She waved goodbye and wished the Kardashians would do something soon so her bust would stop being news, at least until she had some proof that she could do this on her own.
Here, in Big Chance, Texas, she was going to be mistress of her own domain. No one was going to tell her what to do, or how to do it, or do it for her. She was going to run her own show—literally and figuratively.
She hit Record again. “All righty then! Just a few more miles to go, and then you’ll see my new venture—a one-woman homestead!” She flipped the camera back around so her viewers would be able to see the same things she was seeing. “I’ve used my savings to buy a few acres in the middle of Texas, and I’m going to get a goat and some chickens and start a garden. I know it’ll take a few months to really get going, but by the end of summer, I fully intend to be mostly self-sufficient.
“Oh look—here’s the town.” She slowed down to make sure she got a clear recording of the sign that read “Welcome to Big Chance—the luckiest little town in Texas.”
Since she’d studied the Google Maps street view so thoroughly, she felt like she already knew her new town inside and out. “We’re coming into Big Chance, Texas, and this is Main Street. Up here on the right is the Shop ‘n Save, where I’ll be getting groceries until my own garden starts to produce veggies and my chickens start laying eggs. And there’s the Dairy Queen. I’ll probably have to visit there a few times to be, you know, neighborly. I’ll be working all those extra calories off on a daily basis, I’m sure.
“Okay, we’re leaving town and are on Wild Wager Road. There’s a sign for the VanHook Historical and Recreation Park. We’ll definitely have to check that out when we get a minute. Oh, hey! What’s that place? Big Chance Dog Ranch? Do they raise herds of dogs? Yikes, I hope it’s not a puppy mill.”
After a couple more miles of brush-bordered road, she found her turn. “Here’s Happy Beef Way,” she said. “I wonder how the beef got so happy?” She snorted. “And why did I not realize how dirty that would sound? Oh, no. I’m never going to be able to write my new address without laughing.”
She turned right onto her new road, and saw, to the left, her new neighbors. There were a lot of cattle in a ginormous pasture, lazing around in the afternoon sun, munching on grass. “Well, they do look happy. Content, at least. Oh! Here’s my place!” She stopped in the middle of the road to make sure she had the camera set perfectly to record her first live view of her new home.
She certainly couldn’t see it from the road, given the volume of honeysuckle and something tall and bushy lining the lane. “So I bought this place sight unseen in an estate sale, and I checked it out from satellite images, and it’s going to be just great. Let’s see, okay?”
She hoped her audience wouldn’t be able to detect her trepidation. She was annoyed that she was feeling anxious in the first place. That was not part of her plan. She was confident and in charge!
“Wow, this little lane is narrower and bumpier than it looked on Google Earth.” Her laugh sounded nervous, even to herself. “And has a lot more brambly stuff on the edges.”
She glanced back to make sure the U-Haul trailer was still attached to the back of her SUV, and when she looked forward again, she slammed on the brakes. “Oh.” The lane ended in a clearing. “I guess this is it.”
She really couldn’t say anything else. So what if her quaint property perfect for homesteading was really rocky, generally useless land between a couple of larger cattle operations? That was real life, right? Things were not always what you expected them to be. Especially if you were in a hurry to get out of town and start your new life and not willing to take the time to check things out.
A few yards to the right sat an old, rusted motor home. She half expected Cousin Eddie from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation to step out with a sewage tube over his dressing-gown-clad shoulder. Hopefully the motor home didn’t have mice. Or anything larger or slitherier.
Beyond the camper was a small overgrown area completely enclosed by a tall fence, which had been labeled garden in the online image. On the other side were a couple of outbuildings: a barn that listed precariously to the right and a shed, enclosed by fencing, where she planned to put a goat. The little chicken coop sitting next to the goat shed looked to be the sturdiest of everything. God, what a mess!
She cleared her throat and spoke to the camera. “Not exactly what I expected from the photos, but that’s not a problem. This is going to be great!” It really was okay, Jen told herself. To herself and her audience, she said, “I can totally do this.”
She almost meant it.
Chapter 3
One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four… It had taken a couple of miles, but Tanner’s brain was finally quiet, in sync with the rhythm of his feet striking the ground. The night was warm but no longer stifling, and the sound of crickets and cicadas—or whatever made that buzzing sound—kept his mind on an even keel. His muscles burned, drawing from the excess energy that bounced around in his head, constantly reminding him of his failures, pointing out everything that could still go wrong, the ways he could let down the few people who cared about him.
Well, running usually worked to clear his head.
He realized his steps had slowed as his brain sped up. He picked up his pace, hoping to outrun his thoughts before he ran out of road.
“Come on, Trixie, let’s step it up.”
They were about two miles from home when Trixie stopped in the middle of the road, ears pricked forward, pausing in her panting to sniff the air. Her whole body wiggled when she wagged her tail. It took Tanner a minute to detect anything over the sounds of his own pulse and breathing, but there off to the left, in the bushes that grew next to the road, something rustled.
Trixie darted toward the sound, yanking the leash from Tanner’s hand. “Trixie, come back here. You’re gonna get eaten by a damned wild boar.”
Trixie, of course, ignored him and pawed at the brush. Over the noise of her scrabbling, something cried out. Trixie looked anxiously to Tanner.
It was too dark to go digging around in the brush. There would be scorpions, spiders, and rattlesnakes lying in wait for some fool like Tanner to go stumbling in. Unfortunately the same predators would be just as anxious to take a bite out of whatever animal was crying for help.
“Okay, fine, but if something tries to kill me in there, you’ve got to promise to go for help.”
Wishing he were wearing jeans and cowboy boots—or hell, even combat boots—rather than running shoes and flimsy-assed shorts, and wondering why he hadn’t brought his cell phone—he might not have reception out here, but at least he’d have the flashlight function—he took a careful step into the tall grass at the side of the road, peering into the dim tangle of foliage.
Whatever it was, it thrashed and cried harder at Tanner’s approach. Trixie, close on Tanner’s heels, whimpered and darted back and forth, anxious to see what new and exciting creature would be revealed. She barked in excitement. Which, of course, made the animal cry and thrash harder.
“Damn it, Trixie, knock it off,” Tanner said. She didn’t knock it off. Tanner yanked a branch aside, cursing again as thorns grabbed onto his skin. He caught a glimpse of flaring nostrils above a mouth that bleated Waaaaah! loud enough to cause Tanner to flinch, lose his footing, and land on his ass in the dirt. At least Trixie shut up for a few seconds while she cocked her head and watched him scramble to his feet.
He once again tugged the branch aside and looked at the creature. Where there should have been eyes there was a mop of long, springy coils of hair. It looked like a sheep, but if it was, it wasn’t any breed Tanner remembered from his 4-H days. Which were short because his parents got him into junior rodeo as soon as he was old enough, and then he’d paid more attention to horses. And girls.
Whatever it was, it was bucking and thrashing, and Tanner might be inclined to give it a few badass points just for effort.
Trixie shoved her way past Tanner and lifted her face to sniff more closely at the animal.
“Watch out,” Tanner said, using his knee to nudge Trixie out of the way. “Mr. Sheep here might not be inclined to make friends, and if he’s got horns, we both could be sorry we stopped to help.”
Trixie whined.
“I didn’t say we aren’t gonna help. I just said we might be sorry.” Tanner peered into the darkness, trying to see if the animal was injured in any way, or simply stuck. “The good news is he’s not likely to eat us.”
Tanner reached into the tangle and slid his hand above the animal’s head, finding horns. Weird. It sure looked like a sheep but it had horns like a goat. Ugh. And it smelled like a goat. Trying not to breathe in too deeply, he grasped a horn and spoke to the terrified creature. “Come on, buddy. Want to come out here away from those stickers?” He was able to tug the beast forward a couple of steps before it stopped to complain.
Vibrating with the need to do something, Trixie let out an encouraging bark. The goat jerked his horn out of Tanner’s hand and tore his body free of the brambles, charging Trixie, who refused to back down. Instead, she turned the tables and chased the sheep…goat…four-legged Muppet until he stopped in the middle of the road and panted.
“Whoa there,” Tanner soothed.
Then the creature turned, faced Tanner, and pawed the ground. Great. He’d survived an endless tour in a war zone and an explosion that should have killed him along with the rest of his squad, endured months and months of skin grafts, and now he was about to be murdered on the side of a road in Texas by an angry sheep-goat hybrid.
He held his hands out in front of him, ready to grab at the horns as he hopefully stepped out of the way before getting gored.
Tanner had his eyes on the goat but saw the lights from an approaching vehicle in his peripheral vision. Trixie started to bark frantically, running in circles around Tanner and the sheep.
The car was coming closer—fast.
Well, hell.
“Here, Trixie,” Tanner called, and lifted the dog in one arm as he dived toward the sheep, moving all three of them out of the middle of the road just in time to avoid being turned into roadkill.
***
Jen cruised along the dark country road with her windows rolled down and the radio off, scanning to the left and right, listening and looking for Angus. “Oh, please don’t be eaten by wolves or coyotes or wild boar. Whatever the heck eats innocent animals out here, please don’t be eaten by them,” she begged under her breath, though why the stubborn goat would listen to a whispered plea, even if he was within listening distance, was beyond her. Doggone beast hadn’t done a thing she wanted him to since she’d brought him to the homestead this morning. And now he was missing. Disappeared.
One of the chorus members in her brain, who looked like her mother and sounded like Jerkface Brock on helium, started in with all of the reasons that moving to the boonies alone to remake herself was a bad idea. “You don’t need to do this. Starting a homestead is beyond crazy, even with air-conditioning and access to antibiotics. It’s too much work, especially all alone. You could keep this great life you’ve created here, if you’d just compromise a little.”
