The Accidental Cowboy Page 2

  He didn’t wait for her to finish, going to the nearest room and dropping his duffel on the floor, followed by his shirt, shoes, stockings and kilt. He should take a shower. He had a rank odor of travel and competition about him. Tomorrow. He’d do that tomorrow. He stepped forward, looked down and stopped.

  “Lavonda.” He choked out the name, totally awake now. “Ms. Leigh.” His voice finally reached an adequate volume.

  “Yes,” she said tentatively as she knocked on the door. “What did you need?”

  “Come in, please.” He didn’t take his eyes from the creature on his foot.

  “Did you forget to get something at the store? It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Damn,” she said suddenly with feeling. “It didn’t get you, did it?”

  “No.”

  “Good. The sting won’t kill you, but it hurts like heck. Let me think a second.” She stepped completely into the bedroom.

  His foot twitched all on its own, and the mammoth insect moved. “It would seem logical that the job of caretaker include ensuring all vermin have been eliminated?” Good, Jones, upset the one person who can help you. Maybe he could just kick out his foot, except now the beast had scrambled onto his ankle.

  * * *

  LAVONDA STARED AT the nasty, pissed-off bug as the TV news crawl flashed through her mind: Scottish professor killed by rogue scorpion as caretaker does nothing. She could stamp on it. No. It had moved up his leg toward—she’d keep her gaze from moving farther up his almost naked body. “Don’t move.”

  “I had not planned to. Maybe you could swat it away with a stick?”

  That was a good suggestion. She looked around the room. Nothing here. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Certainly.”

  He was pale, though she wasn’t sure if that was a usual lack-of-sun complexion or the bug on his foot. She had to admit it took balls—no, that was wrong. It took courage to stand still like that. She looked at the courage in question... What was her problem? The man could die... Okay, probably not from a scorpion, but still. She had started out of the room, when Cat came streaking in, howling like an animal possessed.

  “What the bloody—”

  “Cat,” she yelled as the animal landed on his foot, batting the bug away and then pouncing on it like the puma she apparently thought she was. With a triumphant meow, she squashed the scorpion. The professor sneezed. Cat sat, looking regal and pleased above the mess of bug innards.

  “I guess I don’t need that stick,” Lavonda said lamely. “Cat saved you.”

  She looked up from Cat and her prey. Jones stood in just his underwear, limned in gold from the last rays of the setting sun as it sparked off the hairs on his arms and legs, all of him very fit and substantial.

  “Perhaps...” He sniffed loudly, then sneezed.

  “Of course,” she said, and as she lunged forward to get Cat, she brushed against—oh my, that wasn’t his thigh. That was his courage. She looked up into his watering and surprised eyes. “Sorry?” Only she wasn’t. Crap. The body part in question seemed to be ignoring the fact that he had just narrowly avoided death. She scurried back. He turned and groped on the floor for his kilt. He wrapped it around his waist and buckled it on. He didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about...

  She snatched up Cat. “I’ll be back to clean up the mess,” she mumbled as she hurried from the room. She wasn’t a blusher, but she knew her face was flaming.

  Cat yowled and Lavonda loosened her death grip on the animal as she entered the dimness of the barn. It’s where Cat usually hung out with Reese, the miniature donkey. And now that Cat had found her inner killing machine, she could take care of the mice that were eating their weight in grain.

  “Cat, stay here,” she told the soccer ball–shaped feline. “Professor McNerdy can’t take you, so you need to hang here, which you like better anyway.” Cat walked away, her tail straight up in the air and swaying slowly in contempt.

  The three horses popped their heads over the stalls, hopeful for a treat, and Reese brayed loudly, smacking his stall with a tiny hoof to get some feline love. Cat ignored him and sat licking her paws. The poor miniature donkey didn’t understand that cats did what they wanted, when they wanted, and the more you wanted them to do something the less likely they were to do it.

  How long did she need to wait out here until she and the professor could both pretend that she hadn’t felt up his bucking bronc, accidental or not. Awkward with a capital A. She should think about how to make him feel welcome after this disaster. She cared for the property and the animals in exchange for staying rent free at the ranch. Humans were animals, after all, so it was her job to take care of him. She’d get back to writing press releases and taking calls from MSNBC soon enough. She might even be missing the pressure cooker of corporate work.

  “Yowl,” Cat said, looking at her accusingly with her slightly crossed Siamese-blue eyes. She nosed an empty food bowl into Lavonda’s foot. Good distraction. She focused on Cat. “If I feed you this time, you promise to take care of the mice and stay away from the professor, right?”

  Cat meowed again and batted the food bowl. Lavonda should’ve been the one promising to leave the professor alone. She dug out the plastic container where she kept the cat’s kibble. A big hole had been chewed in it and a mouse looked up from the bottom, holding a piece of food with a mousy laugh.

  Chapter Two

  “Damn it,” Jones said into his mobile two days after landing at the ranch from hell. “What do you mean you can’t make it for another month?”

  “Just what I said,” replied the experienced guide, the one who had his payment in full.

  “What about the money?”

  “I’ll return it.”

  “I had bloody well better see that money back in my account within the week.”

  “Seeing as how that account is in England—”

  “Scotland.”

  “Whatever. It may just take extra time. No reason to blow a gasket.”

  “I will expect the funds in the account within the week. I know you know how because you asked for me to electronically transfer the cash in the first place.”

  “You see—”

  “I don’t want excuses. I expect the money returned. If I must get a solicitor involved—”

  “This ain’t Nevada, and I never had to pay for that.”

  What was the man babbling about? Then his brain made the connection. “A solicitor is an attorney. I did not mean paying for sex.” Maybe he was fortunate this man could not guide him after all. “What?”

  “I said now that I think on it, I’m pretty certain the contract said no refunds.”

  “I can’t imagine that would hold up in court, since you are in breach of the contract.”

  “Whatever. I can’t take ya.” The line went dead.

  What the hell could he do now? He’d suspected there was a problem when he had been unable to reach his allegedly professional guide. He’d made assumptions about the man’s abilities and reliability. He should have done more research, and he would have if this had been one of his usual research trips. So much more than the discovery of a little piece of an academic puzzle was riding on it.

  He squinted against the sun and put the mobile back in his pocket. He’d come outside to get a better signal and to ensure there was absolutely no chance Lavonda could overhear him, no matter if she was in her own rooms. He had to be discreet about exactly where he was going and what he was doing. As far as both universities understood, the bulk of his research would investigate the Hohokam and their use of beans as an alternate source of protein, and would not involve looking for a long-lost treasure. Jones could, using a local satnav system, probably go forward with his work. He’d wanted a local guide so he didn’t run afoul of either the US government or the local Native American trib
es. His recent string of bad luck had him on edge.

  This secret expedition had to end well. In the course of his usual life, Jones would have dismissed the journals he’d found, purportedly from an early-twentieth-century Kincaid home here in Arizona. He wasn’t living his usual life, though. Everything had unraveled when his big find, the one that should have gotten him full status at the university, as well as a chairmanship, had led to a cairn filled with discarded, valueless children’s toys. Unearthing the fabled Kincaid’s Cache with its statuary and gold would redeem him in more ways than one.

  If looking for agricultural evidence was the only thing on his agenda, he’d have just called the university for a new guide. He couldn’t afford any extra scrutiny of his expedition, especially from his brother.

  “Something wrong?” Lavonda asked, strolling from the back of the house, her head tilted to the side and the bright sun sparking off her sleek fall of hair.

  “No,” he said, drawing out the word as his mind turned over potential solutions.

  “Hmm...well, you might not want to stand in the sun without a hat. Do you have on sunscreen?” Her wide-eyed gaze scanned him up and down with clinical interest.

  “I’m fine.” Not only would he have to rely on his own satnav system if hared off on his own, the guide had promised to bring the transport.

  “You leave tomorrow, right? For how long?”

  “A change of plans. I won’t be leaving tomorrow.”

  “So when will you be going?”

  “That is yet to be determined.”

  She frowned. “Humph.” It was a little pixie snort. How could he think that was cute, even endearing? Maybe he did need a hat.

  “There’s a colleague I must ring,” he lied, to move her along.

  “I’m going out to check one of the Hohokam sites. You’ll be okay here on your own?”

  He couldn’t decide what she was trying to imply. “Absolutely. What site?”

  “One with petroglyphs and a couple of metate corn grinders. Part of my duties as caretaker. I go out and make sure nothing has been damaged or needs stabilization. It’s a restricted area, but there have been problems in the past. I also keep my eyes on the saguaros. The big ones get rustled.”

  Did she want him to come with her? Did he want to go? Yes, he decided. It would be better than second-guessing his just-this-minute decision to explore on his own. In fact, going out with her would be a good way to get the lay of the land. “Why don’t I come with you? The metates could be associated with the bean culture.” The more he thought about it, the better this decision became. He could use his own satnav for coordinates if he saw any of the landmarks noted in the journal.

  “It’ll be pretty boring, and I’m walking.”

  “I’m used to physical activity.”

  “Walking in the desert is not tossing trees.”

  He ignored her comment. “I’ll need to change footwear and get my lucky hat.”

  She sighed heavily. “Don’t forget the sunscreen.”

  Maybe the guide canceling wasn’t part of his curse. Could his luck be changing?

  * * *

  “WHAT IS THAT?” Jones asked Lavonda, pointing at Reese. The tiny donkey’s long ears drooped and his stubby brush tail flicked at an imaginary fly.

  “This is our pack mule...well, burro.” Lavonda patted the animal. She didn’t want his feelings hurt. He might only be as tall as a good-sized Great Dane, but he had the ego of a Clydesdale.

  Jones’s face went from annoyed to amused and back to annoyed, but he said nothing. She’d already noticed that he was standoffish, not unlike the executives she’d worked with as a highly paid corporate communications specialist. She could suck it up and be nice. She’d definitely learned to do it before.

  “You’ll thank Reese when we unpack the water and snacks. Plus, this little guy needs the exercise and experience.” She clucked to get the burro moving. She heard the scuff of Jones’s boots following them. “Did you know that saguaro cacti only grow in the Sonoran Desert and the arms don’t appear until the plant is about seventy years old?”

  “Yes. As part of my preparations for this trip, I did internet research on the region.”

  Not friendly but factual. She could live with that.

  “Your...what did you call it?” He gestured at her pack animal.

  “Reese. And he’s a he...or was a he.”

  “Is he a native of the region?”

  She went on to explain how burros, aka donkeys, were used by miners and then turned loose to become feral. Reese had descended from those intrepid little animals. “My sister, Jessie, has a therapeutic riding program for children with medical challenges. She’s considering burros for cart work.”

  “Cart work?”

  “Pulling children in carts or buggies. Especially the younger kids who may be too small to ride a pony. The burros’ size also makes them less intimidating. They’re very, very smart and affectionate.”

  “He doesn’t seem like the type of beast a cowgirl like you would defend.”

  “I’m not a real cowgirl. Not anymore.” She closed her mouth fast. She didn’t want to talk about this with a stranger.

  “You live in Arizona on a ranch, and—”

  “That doesn’t make you a cowgirl,” she shot back. What the hell? She knew how to keep quiet even when provoked. She’d been the spokeswoman when her company had been at the center of a media crap storm, and she hadn’t let the press rattle her. Here she was ready to lose her cool with a professor studying beans. She turned to Reese and gave herself a moment to relax. This man was from Scotland. Of course he didn’t understand that being a cowgirl was more than a hat and boots.

  “Are you sure your burro is up to this outing?”

  She refocused on small talk. “Reese learned that looking pathetic would get him out of work with his last owner. The college just recently received the property as a bequest. He and Cat came with it. There’s a goat, too, but she’s out eating her weight in tumbleweeds.”

  “Quite a menagerie.”

  “At least we don’t have a javelina.”

  “Are they related to scorpions?” he asked straight-faced, though she could see that he was trying to...flirt? No way.

  “My friend Olympia’s stepson rescued one and called it Petunia. You know, like the pig in the cartoon? Except they’re not pigs, even though people call them wild pigs. They’re peccaries, a big rodent...sort of.”

  “Your friend allowed her stepson to adopt a rat?”

  She had to smile at that. Petunia and all javelinas looked like hairy, long-nosed pigs. “Much cuter than any rat I’ve ever seen, especially Petunia. I’m sure she’s back in the wild by now. That was their agreement. Actually, in the wild, they can be a problem, especially the boars that get very aggressive.”

  “Any other deadly creatures? Or ones that are called one thing but are really another?”

  “Most wild things run when they see or smell a human.” She looked at the familiar pile of boulders. “We’ll need to go up there. That’s where the rock drawings I need to check are.”

  “The petroglyphs,” he corrected.

  “The petroglyphs are scattered throughout the area, along with metates.” Did he think she was stupid because she had breasts?

  He hummed an answer, squinting up at the outcropping. “This region has been inhabited for more than two thousand years. The people created the necessary irrigation techniques. There are indications of widespread agriculture.” He sounded so stilted. “Perhaps I’ll see evidence of bean production in the drawings.”

  Really, who studied beans? Men like Jones did, along with a number of the faculty her friend and president of the college Gwen had introduced her to. That’s when Gwen had asked Lavonda to work her PR magic in addition to her caretak
ing duties. Gwen hoped a little notice by the press of the Angel Crossing campus would lead to better funding. The professors and researchers had tunnel vision when it came to their fields of study. She was glad she didn’t have to try to make his bean research interesting to the general public.

  “Perhaps,” she finally said.

  “You said this area is protected? By the college?”

  They continued their way up the slope on the barely discernable path. “The ranch house has national historic landmark status. The college had been approached about protecting the acreage with a federal designation.”

  “Why would the ranch be considered ‘historic’?”

  Could the man get more annoying? Or maybe he was really interested in the answer. She looked at him closely. His head was cocked a little to the side and softness curved his lips. Not that she was looking all that closely. “After the woman from Georgia, it was owned by Arizona’s first ‘official’ cowgirl. She might have beat out Annie Oakley if they’d ever met.”

  “That’s quite a claim, from what I understand.”

  “I’ve seen the stats and the pictures. She was good. She had a way with horses, too. She could ride anything, even competed as a bareback bronc rider...when the cowboys would let her.” Lavonda said. “When I was competing, she was the kind of cowgirl I was trying to live up to, not afraid to go up against the boys.” She shut up, not sure why all of that had come spilling out. No one wanted to hear her own ancient history.

  “You rode broncs?” He looked more than a little surprised.

  “You only have to hold on.”

  “I believe there’s more to it than that.”

  “Not much, and being short was an advantage. Low center of gravity.”

  “Interesting,” he said with a crooked smiled, then asked with an eye on the donkey, “Is there a problem with the burro?”

  She pulled on Reese’s rope to get him moving again. “I wonder what the lady from Georgia thought when they found these drawings. Or even the cowgirl?”

  “Sorry. Not my area of expertise, unfortunately.”

  Maybe he wasn’t such a stick-up-his-rear academic. He’d actually smiled and nearly laughed. She’d always been a sucker for a man who could laugh at the world and himself. Sort of like she was a sucker for a man in a kilt or out of it—whoa! He was a colleague and temporary lodger. She had to stop remembering brushing against him and the charge of something a little dark and a lot exciting. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything like that. Maybe never.