Once Upon a Cowboy Read Free Page B

words clamoring to be spoken. Jamming his Stetson low on his brow, he gritted his teeth. Blasted female. "I was saying, gol'durn it, that of course a cowboy always keeps his word."
    She beamed. There was no other word for it. Even the smattering of freckles across her pert upturned nose glowed. "I knew it. A cowboy, a real cowboy is always true to his horse, true to his woman, and true to his word."
    Gabby slapped a gloved hand to his chest. "God bless America!" he exclaimed.
    "Oh, shut up, you old buzzard," Holt muttered and dismounted.
    He stepped in Cami's direction, grabbed one of the wide brass horns of her longhorn belt buckle and hauled her in close. He lowered his head until their hat brims collided.
    She stared up at him, her expression all sweet and innocent. Not that it fooled him. Hell, no. The light flowery scent of her warred with the more familiar odor of sweat and horses. Lord, she was a pretty little thing. But pretty little things were about as welcome on his ranch as curds in the buttermilk. Especially after Gwen.
    He didn't dare allow another pretty little thing on his spread. Not when his last experience almost cost him the ranch his family had owned for 109 years. Not even when this one had eyes bluer than blue, dimples he could get lost in, and—dear God—those freckles. His mouth tightened and he spoke quietly in her ear, determined to ignore the way her silky black curls blew against his face and tickled his jaw.
    "Listen up real close, Tex. You help those fine folks settin' on my porch off of it and on their way. And then you and I are going to exchange a word or two about that resumé you sent and that contract we signed. Got it?"
    She nodded energetically, her brim clipping his and knocking both their hats askew. "Got it," she said. "I'll take care of it right away, boss." She swung around. The wickedly curved horn on her buckle caught him in the gut and snagged his shirt.
    "Son of a—"
    The sound of rending cotton and popping snaps brought her up short. "Oh, dear," she said with a gasp and turned back.
    "Whoa, Nellie!" Holt dodged a swipe from the opposite horn, moving away before she could do any real damage.
    "Put a rope on that maverick she's wearing," Gabby suggested, "before it turns you from a bull to a steer."
    Holt examined his gaping torn shirt and the long, angry scratch scoring his stomach. Anger stirred and he nailed her with a look. "This is not a good start to our relationship," he announced.
    She gulped, her gaze fixed on his injury. "Is that... blood? "
    He took one look at her suddenly white face and slapped a hand to the scratch. "No, it's not," he lied without compunction. "It's ooze."
    "But, it's red." She swayed. Gently. From side to side.
    "Right. It's red ooze." As much to distract her as for his own peace of mind, he held out his free hand. "The buckle, Tex. Give it over." He gave the order in his most implacable tone of voice.
    A hint of color returned to her cheeks, his diversion tactics apparently working. "But my pants..."
    "Those britches of yours have enough starch in them to stand on their own. They'll stay up just fine, belt or no belt. Now give it to me before you put someone in the hospital."
    With a great show of reluctance, she unhooked the belt and slid it through the loops. "I'm real fond of this buckle," she said wistfully. "I've dreamed of owning a buckle like this for a long, long time. Don't you like it?"
    Now she'd done it. Gone and made him feel like a heel. A heel making a fuss over a little bitty nothing of a scratch. Shoot. "It's a fine buckle," he found himself saying.
    He avoided looking at Gabby and Frank. He knew if he did the two would get to laughing and he'd be forced to discourage them, undoubtedly with his fists. Matters would slide downhill from there, and more ooze would be spilled. Plain and simple, keeping his attention focused on Tex seemed the wisest course of action for all concerned.
    "Really?" she said. "You really think it's a