Cowboys Don't Cry Page 2

  She put out a hand to stop him. "I said hold still. Don't try to get up yet."

  She even sounded sort of angelic, her voice was gentle on his ears, caressing almost. Did angels caress? He wanted to ask her, but he couldn't. He still hadn't caught his breath.

  All he could do was lie back, give her a muzzy smile and shut his eyes again. His head buzzed.

  "He ain't fainted, has he?" This voice was gruff and distinctly non-angelic. Ev.

  Hell.

  Tanner forced his eyes open again. There were other faces crowding into his line of vision now—Ev's, grizzled and worried; Billy's, dismayed; Bates's, resigned.

  So much for heaven.

  But—he gave his head a small painful shake and tried to focus his gaze—then who was she? Because she still hadn't gone away, this redheaded angel of his.

  Tanner levered himself up on his elbows in the mixture of mud and slush and barnyard muck to squint at the woman who was apparently neither a figment of his imagination nor a result of his having fallen on his head.

  "Be very careful," she said to him. "You might've broken something."

  "Prob'ly did," he said with a gasp, grateful at least that he could finally speak. "Serve me right."

  "I told him so," Bates murmured.

  "He done better'n Gibb," Billy said stoutly.

  "Did," the auburn-haired vision corrected absently.

  And hearing her, Tanner moaned.

  "What's wrong?" she asked him quickly.

  "You're the schoolteacher?" He couldn't believe it and knew at the very same moment it was dead-certain true.

  His former angel smiled. "That's right. I'm Maggie MacLeod." She held out her hand to him.

  He didn't take it. He'd probably have pulled her right down into the muck if he had. Besides, his own were jammed deep in muddy gloves and he wasn't taking them off for the sake of politeness.

  Anyway, he didn't want to shake hands with her.

  Not just for one reason now, but for a multitude.

  This was his new boss? The proper lady schoolteacher? The boot-faced drill sergeant he'd been expecting?

  They sure as hell weren't making schoolteachers the way they used to. So much for battle-axes like old Far-ragut.

  But in her way, this one was far worse. She was the prettiest damned woman he'd seen in a month of Sundays. And he was lying flat on his back in the mud in front of her! Suddenly Tanner was burning with embarrassment.

  Gritting his teeth, he got to his feet. He would have fallen flat again if Ev and Bates hadn't grabbed him and hauled him up unceremoniously between them.

  Being vertical wasn't as much of an advantage as he'd hoped. Maggie MacLeod was almost as tall as he was. The top ot that beautiful head of hair was exactly at his eye level. He shook Ev and Bates off and planted his feet squarely.

  "You're early," he accused.

  "A little." She didn't apologize. But she did smile. And he couldn't help it—it still looked like an angel's smile. There was even a very tiny, very kissable dimple just to the side of her mouth. "I didn't know how long it would take to get here," she was saying when he jerked his attention back to her words. "Some of the gravel roads aren't the best this time of year, you know. I did better than I expected."

  And worse than he had hoped.

  Tanner grunted. He reached up, intending to jerk his hat down and scowl at her from beneath the brim in the fierce, intimidating look he used whenever he wanted to exert his authority.

  His head was bare. He could see his hat lying in the mud clear on the other side of the corral. He swallowed a curse. His hair tangled damply across his forehead and he couldn't even shove it back without making himself a bigger mess than he already was. His fingers flexed and tightened in frustration.

  Maggie MacLeod was still smiling, but was also looking at him a little doubtfully. "I have an appointment with Miss Crumm's foreman. Someone called—" she hesitated "—Tanner?"

  "That's him," Billy said brightly, poking Tanner in a very sore rib just in case she hadn't already guessed his identity.

  Her smile faded momentarily and Tanner felt a split second's hope that she'd take off running in the other direction. Or that maybe, if she wasn't a part of his dream, he was a part of hers and any minute they'd both wake up.

  But, Maggie MacLeod said briskly "So it is." She started to offer him her hand again, took a look at the mud and stuffed her fingers into the pocket of her trousers. "Well, it's nice to meet you at last." She waited, expecting a response, apparently.

  "Yeah, you, too," Tanner managed after a moment.

  "You didn't come to the lawyer's office, I don't believe?"

  "Had work to do. Ranch doesn't run itself."

  "Yes, that's what Mr. Warren said. Is it—" she hesitated again "—Mr. Tanner or..."

  "Just Tanner," he said flatly. He glanced at Ev almost desperately. "What time is it?"

  "Almost 3:15."

  "Our appointment was for four," he said to Maggie.

  "Yes, but—"

  Tanner jerked his head in the direction of the ranch house. "You can wait in there. I'll be up at four." Surely he could get his act together in half an hour.

  Turning on his heel and thanking God his knee didn't go right out from under him, he stalked across the corral, snagged his hat and continued on toward the ebony mare.

  "Come on, sweetheart," he said, reaching for the reins again. "You an' I got some work to do."

  She didn't wait "in there." She stayed right where she was. She went only so far as to scramble up onto the top rung of the corral fence and settle herself next to Billy. And there she stayed, watching his every move.

  He ignored her.

  He climbed back into the saddle and put her right out of his head. He didn't even notice her gasp when the mare shot up into the air and twisted so that he nearly fell off. He didn't pay a bit of attention to her rapt gaze or the way her head moved to watch as he and the mare plunged from one end of the corral to the other. He hardly saw the way she flipped her long red hair back out of her face when the wind whipped it around, or the way she winced and sucked in her breath when he got thrown to the ground.

  He got thrown three more times.

  He could've got thrown a hundred and he wouldn't have given up. Hell, it wouldn't have mattered if the mare had broken every damned bone in his body and killed him in the process.

  He wasn't quitting in front of Maggie MacLeod.

  Still, each time he hauled himself out of the mud, his shoulder seemed a little less stable and his leg was worse. His ribs began to feel as if the mare had done a tango on them. And the last time he landed, he bit his tongue so hard that he could still taste the blood. Gritting his teeth, Tanner staggered to his feet and headed over to where Ev held the horse.

  "You don't have to do this," Bates said quickly.

  Tanner took the reins. "Yes, I do."

  "Not 'cause of what I said," Ev said quickly. "I didn't mean for you to kill yourself."

  "I'm fine."

  "'Course you are. That's why you're limping an' spit-tin' blood."

  Tanner ignored him, still not glancing at the woman on the fence, yet feeling her eyes on him anyway as he swung once more into the saddle.

  Blessedly, the mare was as tired as he was. And this time when he got on her back, she did nothing more than give a couple of half-hearted bucks and a shimmy, then she tossed her head and trotted easily around the corral.

  "I tol' you so," Billy crowed. Ev grinned, and Bates looked downright impressed.

  Tanner couldn't tell what Miss Maggie MacLeod thought. She didn't say a word and he didn't glance her way. It was all he could do to keep from grimacing at every step the mare took. But he rode her around twice more before he urged her over to the far side of the corral and slid carefully out of the saddle.

  Leaning against her, he talked to her, soothing her. She needed that, but so did he, in order to give his trembling, aching leg time to adjust once more to solid ground. Even so i
t damn near buckled when he took his first step.

  "You okay?" Ev asked him.

  "Swell." He winced, then walked gingerly, masking his limp with as much nonchalance as he could muster as he led the mare toward the barn.

  He waited until he got there and could support himself with his hand against the doorframe before he turned and faced Maggie MacLeod.

  He glanced at his watch. It was quarter to four. "I'll be up to the house as soon as I've got her settled. Put on the coffee and we'll talk."

  Tanner had never played football, but he didn't have to be a quarterback to know that there was truth in the cliche about the best defense being a good offense. He also knew he needed one. Bad.

  "She's really beautiful, ain't she?" Billy asked him, skipping along ahead of Tanner, but glancing back at Maggie, who was walking toward the house.

  Tanner didn't have to glance back. Imprinted on his mind from a mere few seconds of watching her was the way she moved. He could shut his eyes right now and still see the feminine sway of her hips in those soft, elegant trousers. He swallowed and brushed past Billy into the bunkhouse. "She's all right," he allowed.

  Bates, following along after him, snorted. "All right? She's a fox."

  "You don't have to drool," Tanner snapped.

  "Hey—" Bates lifted his hands and stepped back "—I was only saying. I'm not poaching." He looked Tanner up and down. "You want her, you can have her."

  "What the hell would I want her for?" Tanner grumbled. He pulled off his shirt, wincing as his shoulder popped.

  Bates grinned. "What would you want her for? You don't know? Hell, Tanner, I knew you were a little slow sometimes, but I thought even you knew what to do with a woman!"

  "Shut up, Bates," Tanner said with a geniality he didn't feel. He stripped off his shirt and yanked a clean one out of the closet. Most of his clothes were up at the house, since he'd moved up there last year. Now he was glad he kept a few things down here. He padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower, then paused to consider his face in the mirror.

  He was grimy and sweaty and filthy. Under the dirt he could see the beginnings of a braise on his cheekbone where one of the stirrups had caught him when he was flying through the air. And there was a cut over his left eye, but the blood had pretty much dried. The cut inside his mouth wasn't worth worrying about.

  He turned his head, looking at his face dispassionately. He wasn't what any woman would call really handsome,

  though they didn't exactly ran in the other direction. He had a lean face, weathered. His eyes were blue and deep set beneath dark brows. He needed a shave. He scowled at his reflection.

  He frowned too much, Abby told him. "Smile, Tanner," she was always telling him. He made himself smile. It could have been worse.

  Once he got the mud off and the whiskers, he'd clean up pretty good.

  Of course, he needed a haircut. He rarely bothered to get his thick, shaggy hair trimmed. There were always more important things to do whenever he got to town. Maybe he could yell for Ev and see if the old man wanted to take a few whacks. And then Maggie wouldn't think—

  Whoa!

  He stopped dead, staring at himself in the mirror, making himself ran that thought through his head again. Maybe Maggie wouldn't think—

  Again he stopped.

  Finish it, he commanded himself.

  Maybe Maggie wouldn't think he was such a bum.

  Damn it, what did he care what Maggie MacLeod thought of him?

  He flipped the shower off again, instead simply ducking his head under the tap of the sink, scrubbing his face and hair until most of the grime was gone.

  He took an old razor out of the medicine chest, studied his whiskery cheeks, then put the razor back again.

  There was no reason to spruce himself up for Maggie MacLeod. He was working for her, not courting her, for God's sake.

  Tanner hadn't courted anyone in years. Wasn't ever going to again!

  The very notion that he might, even in his subconscious, have considered it, infuriated him. Scowling, he stalked back into the other room.

  "Hand me that shirt," he said to Billy.

  "I thought you were going to— Aren't you going to—?" Bates glanced toward the shower, then back at Tanner's still-sweaty torso. He shut his mouth.

  Tanner buttoned the shirt and jammed it down into his jeans. If the faint odor of horse and mud clung to him, that was too damn bad. If Maggie MacLeod thought she was going to like ranch living, she'd better get used to the smell.

  He shoved away the thought that Abigail would have had his hide if he'd ever dared show up at the house like this. The Three Bar C might not be the center of the civilized world, but Abigail had been a hat-and-gloves-type lady.

  Tanner had known better than to take his sweat-and-mud-stained body anywhere near her. She'd demanded civilization even from the likes of him.

  But Maggie MacLeod wasn't Abigail.

  She was a thorn in his side and he was going to do his damnedest to get rid of her.

  He was glad he'd stayed awake all last night preparing a series of rational arguments that would convince a dried-up, prune-faced schoolmarm that the Three Bar C was no place for a lady. He prayed to God the same arguments would work as well on Miss Maggie MacLeod.

  As he strode across the yard and climbed the stairs to the porch, the wind shifted and he caught a good whiff of the corral smell he was bringing in with him.

  Maybe he wouldn't need rational arguments at all, he thought with a grin. Maybe just one look and one deep breath would be enough to send her packing.

  A guy could hope.

  Two

  With his hand on the doorknob, Tanner hesitated, wondering if she'd expect him to knock. Did she know that he and Ev and Billy had been sharing the house with Abigail since last summer?

  But before he could decide what to do, he heard her call out, "Come in."

  She was sitting in Abigail's rocking chair near the fireplace, and while he'd been concentrating on walking without a limp, now he stopped dead, jolted at the sight.

  No one ever sat in that chair except Abby.

  He opened his mouth to protest, then realized that it didn't matter anymore. Abby wouldn't care.

  Abby had wanted it this way, he reminded himself grimly.

  And the worst thing about it was Maggie MacLeod looked comfortable there, as if she belonged.

  She looked warm and cozy. Settled. His jaw tightened.

  Someone—her probably, for Tanner couldn't imagine anyone else having done it—had laid another log on the fire, and now it burned cheerfully, crackling and snapping, just the way Abby had always liked it. On the end table next to her she had a tray with a coffeepot, mugs and cookies.

  Where'd she get cookies? Tanner wondered irritably.

  He took off his hat, rolling the brim between his palms, and stood scowling at her. Maggie got to her feet and came toward him, smiling. Without her coat on, he could see that her figure was as every bit as angelic as her face. Those elegant trousers that had swayed when she walked were a dark green, soft wool. She wore an off-white sweater with a sort of loose rolled collar that offered glimpses of the lightly freckled creamy skin of her neck. And below that her breasts lifted the soft angora of the sweater—

  "—glad you survived your encounter with the bronc."

  He blinked, jerking his gaze away from her breasts, swallowing hard and discovering that she was once more offering him her hand and waiting expectantly.

  A tide of hot blood coursed up his neck. She must think he was an idiot! He loosed his fingers from the brim of his hat and took the hand she offered him.

  Her grasp was firm and warm and soft. Womanly skin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt skin that silky. It made him more aware than ever of the rough calluses on his own. He drew his hand away quickly and stuffed it in his pocket.

  "Just part of the job," he said gruffly.

  The skeptical look she gave him made him shift from one foot
to the other uncomfortably. But then she smiled and shrugged. "I'm sorry you felt you had to hurry."

  Her gaze flicked from his stubbled cheeks to his dirty jeans and he saw immediately the interpretation she had put on his lack of grooming.

  "I didn't hurry! I mean I—" Damn it, he might've known she'd miss the point!

  Showing up unshaven and reeking of a barnyard didn't mean he was dying to be at her beck and call, but he could hardly say that. His scowl deepened. He crushed the brim of his hat with his hands.

  "In any case, I appreciate your taking the time for me, Mr...."

  "It's not Mr., ma'am. I told you, just Tanner."

  "Is that your first name, then?"

  "No."

  She smiled and he saw that damned dimple again. "What's your first name?"

  He frowned. "Robert."

  It sounded odd to say it, to hear it said aloud. He'd been Tanner for so many years that he could hardly remember being anyone else. Even his brothers called him Tanner. His father hadn't, of course. But Bob Tanner, Sr., when he'd called his eldest boy anything, had simply called him "Son." Certainly no one had called him Robert for years—not even...

  Deliberately he shut off the thought. No one had called him Robert since his mother, in fact, and she'd died when he was seven.

  Maggie MacLeod smiled at him now and took his arm. "Come and sit down, Robert."

  He might've known.

  "Everyone calls me Tanner, ma'am," he corrected her firmly, but he had the feeling she didn't hear him.

  He sat down, not on the sofa as she indicated, but on the hearth, leaning back against the rough stone and watching her warily while she poured two cups of coffee. His arm still tingled where she'd touched him. Surreptitiously he rubbed it against his side.

  Maggie looked up. "Is something wrong?"

  He colored furiously and sat up ramrod straight. "No, ma'am."

  She nodded easily. "If you're not comfortable there, you might prefer the sofa," she suggested.

  "Here's fine." It was as far away from her as he could get.

  "Suit yourself."