Untamed Cowboy (C Bar C Ranch Book 1) Read online

  He darted a glance toward Sourdough on his left, Woollie on his right. Two of his own gender, witness to his demoralization by a female younger than himself.

  But he said nothing more. Giving Carina a curt nod, he spun on his heel and headed toward the branding fire.

  She watched him go. Rebellion didn’t flare up often in the Lockett ranks; when it did, she had to fight to keep it from running wild. Like a bronco that needed busting, Orlin Fahey needed to be tamed. For now, at least, she’d succeeded.

  “He’s about as worthless as a pail of spit, ain’t he?” Woollie commented.

  “Yes,” she said and strode back to her mount.

  “He had the scoldin’ comin’, for sure,” Sourdough said.

  Flour from the biscuits he’d become known for powdered his apron, but his hands were clean as he handed her a piece of brown paper holding apple slices, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Just the way she liked them.

  “Thank you.” She took the treat. Every outfit had a troublemaker, it seemed, but loyal and hardworking men like Woollie and Sourdough made up for them. She was grateful for their devotion to the C Bar C. To her. They were her family, and she was their boss, a relationship that had grown to suit them all.

  Woollie’s gaze slid from Orlin toward the herd milling on the horizon. “Jesse says the morning’s gather was good. Almost a hundred head.”

  Carina’s thoughts shifted with his. Taking care of Orlin Fahey’s sloth was one detail on a long list she had each day. Now that he’d been dealt with, she dismissed him from her mind.

  “Let’s take a look.” She climbed onto her Appaloosa mare, took the reins in her free hand, and headed out with him.

  It was one of her favorite things to do. Watch the size of her herd grow every day. Cows always strayed over the open range when they grazed, and since the roundup was held on C Bar C land, most of the stock the men found was hers. More beef on the hoof meant more money in the bank, and God knew she needed every dime.

  They rode past the crude rope corral holding what remained of the remuda. The cutting ponies were gone, chosen by riders already hard at work singling out C Bar C calves and steers for branding. As she drew closer to the milling herd, Carina’s gaze skimmed over the men working it, some of them her own, others from neighboring ranches to claim their strays.

  She halted on a low rise to watch them, and her attention snagged on a cowboy who rode hard after a steer trying to break loose from the herd. He guided his pony with his knees while he spun his lariat in midair. He drew closer, threw the hemp over the animal’s horns and pulled the loop tight. Riding almost parallel, he slapped his rope against the escaping animal’s flanks, then expertly angled his horse and flipped the steer into a bone-jarring somersault.

  Horse and rider skidded to a stop. The stunned steer lay still on the ground. The cowboy freed him from the rope; the steer heaved to his feet and headed back to the herd with all signs of defiance gone.

  Woollie grunted his approval at the cowboy’s skill. “He’s good.”

  “Who is he?” she asked, her gaze still on him while she chewed an apple slice. He re-looped his rope into neat coils, getting himself ready for the next steer who tried to best him. His Stetson shadowed his features, but Carina was certain she would’ve remembered him if they’d met.

  “A drifter who rode in this morning. Name’s Penn McClure.”

  “Tell me he’s C Bar C.”

  “He is.” A smile appeared through the graying curly beard that had given Woollie his nickname. He looked pleased with himself. “I figured we could use him as short as we were.”

  She nodded. The drifter’s expertise, his strength and speed, made him a valuable asset to her outfit. He could likely do twice the work of someone like Orlin Fahey, and she was lucky to have him on the payroll.

  Her gaze lifted from McClure to linger over the day herd again. By the end of the afternoon, calves separated from their mothers would be reunited. Cattle, some doctored, some dehorned, would be sorted into groups according to brand. Riders would be stationed throughout to keep them together before they were trailed back to their home ranges.

  Carina took it all in as the bellows of the cattle and bawling calves surrounded her. Dust hung in the air, already hot from the sun and acrid with the scent of burned hide from the branding irons. Men shouted above the ruckus. They worked hard and sweated harder, and Carina reveled in the whole event.

  This was Callie Mae’s heritage, even more than her own. From the time the C Bar C bore Carina’s name on the deed, she’d worked tirelessly to grow the operation into something her daughter would be proud to own someday. The roundup promised to be a success and brought Carina another year closer to seeing it done.

  “She should be here with you,” Woollie said.

  Carina refused to look at him. It was uncanny how he could read her thoughts as if she’d scrawled them on paper. Most times, she didn’t mind he knew her so well. But other times, like now, she did.

  “She’s only ten, Woollie,” Carina said. “Not yet.”

  “As I recall, you were that age when your pa brought you out here.”

  His swift reminder stung. The truth in it, too. “Yes.”

  Being a part of the Lockett roundup had been as natural to her as breathing. An integral part of her childhood. Her life, her soul.

  But Callie Mae was different.

  “She’s the second C in your brand.” Woollie squinted an eye over the herd. “You’re the first. It’s up to you to make sure she’s as much a part of this ranch as you are. Reckon you can’t start her too young.”

  Rebellion stirred within Carina. He felt she coddled Callie Mae too much, she knew. Most times he had enough sense not to say so.

  “You telling me how to raise my child, Woollie?” she asked coolly.

  A moment passed. “No, ma’am.”

  “Funny. I thought you were.”

  “Guess you thought wrong then.” He gathered up the reins. The tight set to his mouth revealed he understood who was boss between them and that he’d crossed the line. “I’ll go down and check on Jesse. He’s looking mighty busy over there by the fire.”

  Her irritation stayed after he left. The tallyman could handle the job of keeping track of the branded and castrated cattle just fine without Woollie’s help, but Woollie needed the excuse. Callie Mae tended to be a sore spot between them. And more often of late than ever.

  It didn’t matter if he had a different opinion about how she should bring up her daughter. Carina didn’t have a husband, so Callie Mae didn’t have a father. Not in the usual sense, anyway. Grandpa was the only man Callie Mae could claim in her life, but he was getting on in years, doted on her far too much and didn’t really count.

  No, Carina was the sole parent in the family, and she made the decisions. She put bread on the table and a whole lot more besides. Callie Mae would grow up to be a fine ranchwoman some day. A cattle queen like herself. By then, the C Bar C would be one of the finest ranches in the state of Texas.

  A few more days, when the roundup was over, she’d finally head home. Suddenly, the time she’d have to wait to see her daughter seemed like forever, and an unexpected yearning budded inside Carina, one that warred with her devotion to her ranch. A wish for a simpler life that would keep her at the homestead more often.

  To be a mother, all the time. Not just when she could.

  Troubled, she finished the last of her apple, hardly aware of the cinnamon-sugar taste the fruit left on her tongue. Time. There was always precious little of it when she had a ranch to run, men to feed, a payroll to meet.

  A daughter to raise.

  Carina squared her shoulders. Motherhood was only a small part of her responsibilities. One day, Callie Mae would understand why Carina had to be gone so much. When her daughter carried the weight of the C Bar C on her shoulders, she’d tell her children the same thing. She’d have no choice. It was a sacrifice she’d have to make for their future.

  Th
e Lockett legacy.

  Callie Mae’s.

  Her own.

  Once again, Carina’s gaze swept the vast Texas range. Pride swelled through her.

  And this big, noisy herd would make it happen.

  Four Days Later

  Carina couldn’t remember being so dog tired. Maybe she’d never been, considering how hard she pushed herself the past few days, last night’s rainstorm being only half of it. A couple good claps of thunder had spooked the herd and sent them into a stampede. She’d worked the whole night through helping her men gather them up again.

  But they got the job done and without losing a single head. For her trouble, though, she’d gotten drenched, chilled, splattered with mud, and never had a long, hot bath sounded better than it did right now.

  “Good to have you back, Miss Lockett.”

  TJ Grier ran up to meet her as she cantered closer to the ranch corral, and she smiled tiredly at the lanky wrangler. At fifteen years of age, he worked as hard as any of the men. Was as devoted as the best of them, too. Carina hoped he’d stay on at the C Bar C once he was full-grown.

  “I’m glad to be home, TJ.” She dismounted, feeling nine days’ worth of saddle-riding deep in her bones. “Everything go all right while I was gone?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Just fine.” He waited respectfully while she dragged her saddlebag off the back of the Appaloosa. “Reckon the roundup went all right, too?”

  “It did.” She draped the bags over her shoulder. “Next year, you’ll be ready to join us.”

  He gave her a grin as wide as the moon. “I’d like that, Miss Lockett. I sure would.”

  “Good. Next spring, don’t let me forget I said so, you hear?” She was only half teasing. At the moment, she wasn’t sure she’d remember her own name, she was so tired.

  “No, ma’am. I won’t forget.” He gripped the mare’s bridle, ready to lead her into the barn, and indicated the mud caked to the spotted hide. “Looks like she could use a good brushing down.”

  Carina nodded and recalled the midnight rains. “We got caught in a storm. Give her some extra oats when you’re finished. She’s earned it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The rest of the outfit will be riding in later this afternoon.” She’d left the men in Woollie’s charge so she could head home early, compelled by a longing to see Callie Mae—and to indulge in that hot bath. “Let Woollie know not to disturb me if he can help it.”

  Not that she expected he would. After their long hours working the roundup, she’d given the men some time off in appreciation. They’d head to Mobeetie, the closest town from the C Bar C, for a little fun and a lot of hard drinking. They wouldn’t be in any shape to get much work done tomorrow.

  Looking forward to some time off of her own, she turned and began walking toward the house.

  “Reckon you’ll want to know you got visitors, Miss Lockett,” TJ called from behind her. “Callie Mae’s grandmother, for one.”

  She halted in mid-step.

  Damn. Damn.

  Carina bit back a string of oaths. Everyone on the ranch knew she despised the woman, but she refused to let the wrangler see her disdain. Men were worse than a flock of hens when it came to gossip, and for Callie Mae’s sake, Carina didn’t want them squawking up a henfest on her account.

  But for Mavis Webb to see her now, fresh and dirty off the roundup…

  “Thanks, TJ. I appreciate you mentioning it.”

  Teeth gritted, Carina resumed walking. Unable to help herself, she swiped her hat from her head and slapped it against her thigh, loosening a plume of dust from the wide brim. With the other hand, she attempted to restore her hair to neat order, but sweat and grime and the need for a good washing robbed her of success.

  She pushed her hat back on again. To hell with it. Mavis, with piles of her dead husband’s money and her hoity-toity way of thinking, didn’t approve of Carina anyway. Especially not as boss of the C Bar C, no matter how she looked or how good a job she did. If it wasn’t for Callie Mae being the old witch’s only grandchild, Carina would forbid the woman from stepping foot on the ranch. Ever.

  Her mood soured. Trouble was, the woman was entitled to come for a visit now and then. Callie Mae enjoyed it when she did.

  Carina rounded the corner of the barn, and there sat the Webb carriage in the drive, black and shiny and disgustingly expensive. Mavis probably took Callie Mae for a ride in it this afternoon, which her daughter would’ve eagerly agreed to, a suspicion confirmed by the sight of the pony stand-hitched in the yard. Forgotten.

  Displeasure soured her mood further. Callie Mae knew better than to be careless with her horse, something Carina never tolerated.

  She headed toward the back of the house to avoid entering from the front. She needed a few minutes to clean herself up before meeting the woman, and on the way, she noticed the weeds choking young bulbs in the flower beds along the foundation. Her patience strained further.

  Carina had been clear in telling Callie Mae she’d wanted the weeds pulled while she was gone. Nine days was plenty of time. No excuses.

  She’d never thought her daughter was lazy, but damned if she wasn’t showing signs of it. Callie Mae had been doing chores since the time she understood the concept. Why was she disobedient about doing them now?

  Because Carina wasn’t there to see that she did?

  She tamped down the guilt. Grandpa had been home in her place, she told herself firmly. After her parents were killed when she wasn’t much older than Callie Mae was now, Wesley Lockett took over Carina’s raising, and he helped with Callie Mae, too, whenever Carina needed him to.

  Which was just about every day.

  Callie Mae had a mind of her own, for sure. Was she getting to be too much for Grandpa to handle?

  Carina had often thought Callie Mae’s independence was a good thing. She tended to air some sass from her mouth now and again, but then, all children did. And if there were times when she and Callie Mae didn’t agree, well, daughters disagreed with their mothers occasionally.

  Didn’t they?

  Carina didn’t like feeling uncertain, and she set her hands on her hips in frustration. Where was Grandpa anyway?

  Her gaze scoured the yard. Beneath an ash tree’s shade, a small table held his checkerboard, but no one sat at the chairs to play. The yard and outbuildings were quiet. Even Callie Mae’s pet mutt was nowhere to be seen.

  Her irritation simmered. Most likely Grandpa was inside keeping Mavis Webb company, though he detested the woman as much as Carina did. Still, it’d be the sociable thing to do, and he’d want to keep an eye on Callie Mae besides.

  Carina climbed the back steps, opened the door and went inside. Juanita, her housekeeper, wasn’t in the kitchen, but a pot of spicy chili simmered on the stove. Voices from the front room confirmed the presence of visitors. Carina dumped her saddlebags on the table, washed up as best she could, then braced herself to go in and join them.

  But she stopped short in the archway. Mavis sat on the couch, looking as elegant as usual in an olive-green dress featuring a fashionable bustle. A straw bonnet trimmed with an ostrich feather perched on a nearby side table. She chatted animatedly while she shared the open book in her lap with the young girl beside her.

  A child Carina hardly recognized.

  Her own.

  Chapter 2

  Callie Mae wore a party frock that had enough shiny, peach-colored fabric draped in gathers and ruffles to make two of her plain calico ones. Delicate pin-striped hosiery covered her legs; shiny patent leather shoes sheathed her feet. Her cinnamon hair was arranged in perfect coils around her head, a wide taffeta bow perched on top, and she looked more like a child of royalty than the daughter of a cattlewoman.

  Her grandmother’s doing, and a gully washer of resentment shot through Carina.

  “Hello, Callie Mae.”

  Callie Mae started in surprise and bolted to her feet, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

/>   Which maybe she had. Like enjoying the spoiling she knew she’d never get from Carina, and until Carina could decide what Mavis was up to, she couldn’t help feeling disgruntled that Callie Mae had gone along with it.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  Carina banked a reaction that she hadn’t called her “Mama” as she always did. “Mother” sounded formal, grown-up. What possessed her to start calling her that?

  Carina strolled into the room, managing a smile along the way. “I’m back, sweet.” She held out her arms. “I’ve missed you.”

  Callie Mae grinned, then, and rushed toward her. Carina bent to take her slender body against her, relishing the embrace she’d looked forward to for nine long, hard days. Her daughter smelled faintly of rosewater, Carina noted, though neither of them owned a single drop.

  Abruptly, Callie Mae gasped and pushed away. She held out the dress’s full skirt, giving it a worried inspection. “Don’t hug me so tight, Mother. You’ll make wrinkles.”

  Carina straightened slowly from the rebuff. “You’d best take it off anyway, Callie Mae. You’ve got some unfinished chores to tend to.”

  “Chores!” She looked aghast, as if she’d never done one in her life. “But I don’t want to do chores. I want to wear my new dress and stay here with Grandmother.”

  Carina’s patience slipped; she tugged it back into place. She was reluctant to ruin her homecoming with a scolding the minute she walked in the door, but the matter needed addressing. “You’ve got weeds to pull, and Daisy’s standing in the yard. She needs to be corralled and brushed down. You’re responsible for her, and I shouldn’t be reminding you that you are.”

  Mavis set aside her book and stood with a condescending smile. “Isn’t there someone who can do this work for her, Carina?”

  Carina stiffened. She didn’t bother to attempt a sociable greeting. “No. There is not.”

  “Certainly one of the ranch hands around here is quite capable.”

  “My daughter is capable.”

  “My granddaughter should not be forced to work like an adult. She’s only a child.”