Who Wouldn't Love a Cowboy?
Fast Fiction Romantic - short stories with a Happy Ever AfterCallie Anderson knows all too well the heartbreak and pain that come from loving a cowboy. Then her editor assigns her a make-or-break article on why women are so gaga over ranchers. Jason Dowcett is mysterious and guarded, yet he might just be the man to show Callie happiness comes in not loving a cowboy, but in loving the right cowboy.
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Contents
The back roads of Montana were dustier than Callie Anderson remembered. Maybe lowering the roof on her red Mustang hadnât been such a smart idea. Or perhaps she should have stuck to the main road instead of following the shorterâbut not necessarily fasterâroute recommended by the GPS.
Sheâd left the secondary highway twenty minutes ago and now she was in the heart of cattle country. Not a building in sight, only grazing pastures, distant mountains and translucent blue sky. A far cry from her urban town house in Billings, where sheâd started her day.
Dust spewed out behind her; she could see the trail in her rearview mirror. Ahead, there was only more gravel road, leading ultimatelyâhopefully!âto the Big Horn Guest Ranch. Not that sheâd noticed any signs.
Shouldnât there be signs?
She hadnât even passed another vehicle since sheâd left the highway.
But there was something ahead. She could make out a dark shape on the road. Wait a minute. There were dark shapes everywhere. Not only on the road, but on both sides of it, too. She eased off the accelerator, clipping her speed to a more cautious forty miles an hour.
And suddenly the dark shapes were recognizable. Oh, my God. She hadnât seen this many cows in a long, long time. Over five hundred head, she figured.
They were crossing the road in a steady stream, probably being moved up to higher pasture for the summer.
The sight, the sounds and most of all the smell of them made her feel fourteen years old again. Callie closed her eyes as an overwhelming wave of nostalgia tried to suck her under.
Sheâd been afraid this would happen. Why, oh, why, hadnât she just said no to the assignment from her editor?
I want you to write an article about the eternal appeal of the cowboy, her editor had said. Why do women love them so much?
I donât, Callie had thought but not said, as she valued her career. And now she was here, in cowboy country, the last place on earth she wanted to be.
Suddenly, as if conjured by the power of her thoughts, a cowboy on an Appaloosa broke out from the herd. He sat tall in the saddle, a tan-colored hat obscuring the features of his face except for a firm jaw and nicely molded chin. The horse was beautiful with a dark mane and tail that contrasted with his light, speckled coat.
She realized it was the perfect photo op for the ridiculous article that her entire career was resting on. She stopped the car and pulled her Nikon out of its case.
Planting her cowboy boots on the driverâs seatâsheâd dressed Western for the occasion, at her editorâs ordersâshe leaned her legs against the headrest of the driverâs seat and aimed her camera at the cowboy. She quickly snapped several shots of him before reaching for the wide-angle lens to get some photos of the cattle drive, en masse. Her head was bent over her equipment when she heard a voice.
âWere you just taking pictures of me?â
The cowboy. She glanced up. He and his horse were about ten yards away. He hadnât turned his head in her direction when sheâd been snapping photos of him, so sheâd assumed he hadnât even noticed her. Which was ridiculous, she now realized. Her red Mustang didnât exactly blend in with the surroundings.
Nor did she. Slowly he perused her showy Western boots, dress and beltâevery single item brand-new. No doubt he was pegging her as city girl playing at country.
âYes, I did, for an article Iâm writing. Would you like me to send you copies?â Up close, she could tell the cowboy was in his early thirties. Bronzed skin, features sculpted from a beautifully balanced, square-jawed face, and eyes so blue she could see the color from here.
Just the sort of cowboy her editor wanted her to write about. A few close-ups would be perfectâ¦.
âNo.â
He wasnât even trying to be polite. She masked her discomfort with a smile. One of her brightest. âThat would be a shame. Theyâre going to turn out beautifully. Thatâs a gorgeous horse you have there.â
A pretty gorgeous guy, too. If he would only smile. But the scowl on his face didnât seem inclined to budge.
âYou must be that journalist from Billings.â He made the word journalist sound like slimy bug.
Belatedly it occurred to her to check the brand on the cattle that were still moving briskly across the road. Sure enough, she spotted a BH on the black hide of one of the closest animalsâBig Horn, the ranch she was staying at. At just that moment, the very same cow lifted her tail and a fat patty of excrement splattered to the road, right in front of her car.
âYou work for the Big Horn Guest Ranch,â she said, stating the obvious.
