Page 50 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
“Thank you.” I smiled as I took the hat, putting it on and adjusting it around my bun. I looked toward the house and Darlene smiled, giving me a thumbs up.
Stone and Smitty talked a bit more while Annie and I got acquainted, her big brown eyes blinking slowly as she looked around with an uninterested stare. I watched as Stone mounted his own horse with a grace and ease that had me jealous. He was beyond comfortable on the big animal, looking for all the world as if he had been born on horseback. Stone moved over to where Annie and I waited, a smile on his face bigger than any I had ever seen him wear. He absolutely radiated happiness. True, bone deep happiness, and looking at him, I realized that Stone Pennington would never live a life that didn’t involve riding horses. He shouldn’t. Watching him there, looking every bit the Texas rancher he was raised as, I knew it was something that would never change, no matter how much my foolish heart may have pictured him in New York.
It was a silly hope, one conjured by my subconscious during the nights I had recently spent sleeping curled against him in his bed. But a person can’t control their dreams any more than they could control their heart. And it seemed that, with every day I spent getting closer to Stone, both my dreams and my heart were getting away from me.
“Are you ready to ride, Blondie?” Stone asked with a wink as he moved ahead of me and headed for the trail that led east from the ranch and into the valley that was nestled between the low hills. Annie swung her head, watching as the other horse moved at Stone’s confident instruction of clicks, nudges, and gentle words, and she slowly plodded after them.
I was tense, sitting stiffly in the saddle, one hand on the reins and one clutching the saddle horn, waiting for the moment when Annie would take off like in the movies and I would go flying. But after a while we both relaxed into the ride, her following slowly, and me learning how to move with her, the rolling of her back much like a wave, moving in a steady rhythm, and soon I was able to enjoy the scenery. The desert landscape was gorgeous, the huge blue sky contrasting against the tans and reds of the sand and the deep browns and grays of the low hills and rocks. Stone kept up a running commentary about the plants and animals that he knew, listing off things like the yucca plant and the rabbitbrush, as well as pointing out a red-tailed hawk and an honest to goodness roadrunner, a quirky looking bird with long tail feathers and a fluffy little hair-do that was to die for.
It didn’t take long and the sandy planes began to fill up with bigger shrubs and even a tree or two, the varying shades of green popping up along the trail as we meandered our way along.
“You make a pretty great cowgirl, Penelope,” Stone tossed back over his shoulder as we passed through a narrowing of the trail. “Minus the boots, of course.”
“Why thank you, candy corn,” I teased, pulling my very best Dolly impression. Stone caught on right away, tossing his head back with a laugh. “Annie and I are becoming the best of friends, you know. Oh,” I dropped the accent, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t ask what your horses’ name was.”
“This is Big Jake.”
“Really? Like the John Wayne movie?”
Stone spun in the saddle to look at me, his eyes wide. “You know John Wayne?”
I laughed. “Yes, Stone. I grew up in New York, not on the moon. Who doesn’t know The Duke? My dad was obsessed. We’d watch the movies over and over. He had a whole collection of them on VHS. When I was younger, we even had a cat named Hondo.”
At that his mouth opened wide. “No way! My horse in Texas is named McNally!”
“Well,” I giggled. “What better way to name a pet than after a classic John Wayne character?”
He shook his head back and forth. “I can’t believe it. A John Wayne fan. I think I may have underestimated you, Miss Lund.”
“Well, people tend to do that, Mr. Pennington.” He almost hid the flinch when I used his fathers name.
“So, tell me,” he proceeded, moving the conversation along. “What was your favorite movie?”
“Oh, that’s a tough one.”
“No, it isn’t. The answer isThe Alamo. That’s the clear winner in this discussion, darlin’.” I had noticed that as our afternoon progressed, Stone’s accent thickened. Most days I hardly noticed it, but it appeared that being on horse back was drawing it out, and his Texas drawl was doing things to my lady parts that I would never have though possible from mere words. “I mean, come on. A true story about American heroes? There is no other option.”
I laughed again, trying to put a lid on my lust. A difficult task, to be sure. “That’s a valid point, although I hesitate to point out your personal bias, being from Texas and all.”
“Alright, then, smarty pants. What’s the best?”
“You didn’t say best, you said favorite. Those are two very different answers. However, for the sake of this discussion, I will concede that my personal favoriteisthe best, and that would beTrue Grit.”
“Ah. Of course. You pick the one with the strong-willed young woman who takes no shit from anyone.”
My smile was small, the discussion bringing up memories I hadn’t waded through for years. “True, Mattie Ross is a spitfire, but the real reason I love that movie is more personal than that.” I took a breath, gasping a little as our horses crested the rise and the Colorado River came into view, its broad flat surface looking like cold iron in the harsh afternoon light. “It is so peaceful here,” I said quietly. Annie and Big Jake moved to the edge of the water, obviously being familiar enough with this route that our interference was not required; we were just along for the ride.
Taking another breath, letting the quiet of the day fill me up for a moment, I sat on my horse and just looked.
I looked at a landscape I had never in my whole life expected to be near, appreciating every nuanced level of its harsh beauty.
I looked at the empty tract of land and water, wondering if we would see even one other person for the rest of our ride, and trying to remember if I had ever felt so…liberated in my entire life. So free from the day to day constraints of life and the pressures of society in general.
And I looked at Stone, waiting patiently for me to have my moment, not a care in the world beyond what I would say next.
That was a powerful feeling in and of itself. I didn’t know what to do with it.
“No,” I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the water. “The reason I loveTrue Gritthe most is because Rooster Cogburn is a flawed man. He’s the law, being the U.S. Marshall, and so he’s held to a standard above most folks, even though he’s just as human as they are. But, even with all his flaws, he’s still a man of honor and integrity and he wakes up every day and does what’s right. No matter the cost.”
