Slow Hand (Hot Cowboy Nights, #1)(31)

“How’d you know it was a mare?”

“I have eyes, don’t I? It’s pretty obvious she’s missing some vital male anatomy.” She stroked the horse’s muzzle. The animal nickered back. “What’s her name?”

“Sunshine.”

“I’ll take her.”

“I don’t know about that, Nikki.” He pulled on the brim of his hat with a frown. “Mares can be—”

Her hackles instantly rose. “Hormonal? Touchy?” She arched a challenging brow. “Bitchy? Is that what you mean?”

His mouth kicked up in that taunting kinda way. The way that made her want to slap him and kiss him all at the same time. “I was about to say sensitive.”

“Oh.” She instantly deflated.

“And don’t let that one fool you. She’s worse than most. She’s grown spoiled and lazy.”

“Why do you keep her then?”

A strange look passed over his face. “I don’t know. Maybe because she’s bred up the wazoo…maybe because she was born here. Dirk originally trained her and then gave her to…a friend.”

“Dirk trained horses?”

“Yeah. He used to be one helluva bronc rider too, but that’s all over now.”

“I s’pose he can’t ride at all anymore, huh.”

“Not true. He rides when he has too, but he avoids it because it’s a bitch for him getting on and off. On top of that, the prosthesis tends to throw him off balance. Still, when he wants to, he can ride circles around most anyone.” He threw a halter on a big sorrel gelding. “Redman’s not so flashy, but he’ll suit you.”

“But she likes me, Wade.” She regarded the mare wistfully. “We’ve already bonded.”

“Women and horses.” He shook his head with an exasperated sound. “Just trust me on this, Nikki. I know what I’m about. Sunshine hasn’t had a saddle on her back in four years. You’ll ride the gelding or you don’t ride.”

She jutted her chin as if to challenge him, but thought twice. It wasn’t worth fighting him just to fight. He was right after all. She hadn’t been on a horse in several years and even then, she had ridden English rather than Western. Still, how different could it be?

Two hours later, he proved right about something else—the thong she’d chosen that morning just in case he honed in on her backside again. It chafed like hell between her butt cheeks.

*

After riding fence for miles, they finally caught up with Wade’s father and brother in the north pasture, surrounded by countless lowing cattle. “I’ve never seen so many cows. How many are there?” she asked in amazement.

“At last count, around four hundred head, but Dirk could tell you for sure. At one time we ran almost a thousand, but had to scale back substantially a few years ago when prices bottomed out and we had to let some hands go.”

“Do you have any extra help now?”

“Dirk and the ol’ man handle most of it with my help on the weekends, but we also hire a couple of part-timers during calving and branding seasons.”

“And how many horses do you have?” she asked.

“Only about thirty now, also a fraction of what we used to keep in the old days when Dirk also worked them to sell. He gave it up when he lost his leg, but then again, horses aren’t as profitable as they used to be either. Now he mostly uses the ATVs to move cattle—except when we have to push them up into the mountains for summer grazing. We still have to use the horses for that.”

“And to bring them back down again?”

“Yeah, like now when they don’t all come down on their own.”

At their approach, the older man looked to Nikki and tipped his hat. Wade made the introduction. “Nikki, this is my father, Justin Knowlton.”

She dismounted, and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

A broad smile broke his craggy face. “Pleasure’s all mine, miss…”

“Nicole Powell, but please just call me Nikki.”

“Just like Wade to avoid all the work and show up for the party,” Dirk mumbled.

“It’s hardly done,” the older man said. “There’s at least a dozen strays still out there if I counted right—unless the damned wolves got to ’em.”

“Wolves?” Nikki felt her eyes bulge.

“Yeah,” Dirk said. “The damned Wildlife Service reintroduced them to these parts ten years ago and now they prey on our stock like it’s a friggin’ buffet table. And if you shoot one of the sombitches, you’re likely to face an inquisition.”

“Not that that’s ever stopped you,” Wade said.

“Hell no,” Dirk replied with a grin. “Only good wolf on this ranch is a dead one.”

“Where do you think the strays are?” Wade asked.

“Spotted a few up toward Bulldog Mountain.” Dirk scowled up at the sun. “Not much daylight left. Late as it is, we’ll probably need to overnight at the spike camp and drive ’em down in the morning.”

“Spike camp?” Nikki asked.

“It’s a cabin a little farther up into the mountains,” Wade explained. “We mostly use it now for hunting elk and big horns, but it’s handy when we have to recover cattle from the mountain. Dirk and I’ll go up there. You can go back to the ranch with the ol’ man.”