Cowboys & Horses

Chapter 1

'Welcome to our home—your home from home during your stay.'

I slid my fingers over the smooth, glossy brochure of the 'Black Mustang Working Dude Ranch'. The picture of the gorgeous dark horse on the front of it brought an immediate smile to my face. I could picture it already—galloping across the wild, open plains of the Sonoran Desert, my hair lifting in the breeze as I head towards the empty horizon on my trusty steed.

"Miss, Miss? You need to leave the plane now. You're the last passenger."

I was brought back to reality by the sickly, sweet voice of an air hostess. She had enough make-up cemented on her face to rival any thickness of concrete. I debated whether I could actually peel it off her.

"Oh, sorry," I said, jumping from my seat. "I was waiting for the mad rush to end."

I tried my hardest to ignore my burning cheeks as I collected my hand luggage and headed for the door. The butterflies churning around in my stomach were making me nauseous. I'd never been on holiday on my own before, let alone thirteen hours away.

I wandered through Tucson International Airport and found my luggage on the baggage carousel going around and around on its own. I hauled it off the belt and plonked it on the white tiled floor in front of me, narrowly missing my toes.

Trying my hardest to appear cool, calm, and confident, I squared my shoulders, lifted my head up, and marched towards the entrance lobby. I hoped it masked over the flustered mess I was actually feeling right now.

Nerves had me. Badly. Why did my mum insist this idea of hers and Zoe's was a good one? Chewing on my lip, I realised that over the course of our friendship, which had started in childhood, Zoe had always had an uncanny ability of getting me into questionable predicaments. However, when my eyes first landed on the mighty fine cowboy stood holding a board with my name on it, I mentally congratulated her on managing to best the time I'd jumped into my parent's holly bush in a bid to escape being grounded.

This guy was hot. So hot, I couldn't stop my instant reaction being to half-laugh, half-smile, and say, "Wow."

Deep brown eyes glittered back at me, a quirky smile tugging at his plump pink lips. "Miss Woods?"

I almost shivered from his drawling accent. "Yes."

He tucked the board under his arm and waited for me to approach him. My smile dissolved into a frown as my image of the handsome man coming to take my bags from me quickly evaporated.

If you wanted a definition of tall, dark, and handsome, this guy was it. Bronzed skin, jet black hair, broad shoulders, and nicely muscled arms showing through his red checked shirt—he looked like he'd just come to life from a poster.

Just as I reached him, he turned and walked towards the exit, still no offer of help for my bags, nor even a civil greeting. I would be having words with Zoe about this, that's for sure.

He strode outside, marching towards a huge black truck, leaving the glass exit doors to shut in my face. I pushed my way through them and followed him, silently simmering at his rude behaviour. The wall of heat that hit me as I stepped outside nearly took my breath away. The scorching, dry air had beads of sweat rolling down my face within seconds.

Heading to the rear of the vehicle, I was pleasantly surprised to see he'd left the tailgate down so I could load my suitcase up. I sat my hand luggage on the baking tarmac and wrapped my arms around my giant bag. Inching it up my chest, I leaned against the rear of the truck with the intention of shimmying it up my body before then throwing it in the back.

It wasn't working so well with sweaty palms, aching legs, and a tired body.

"You want a hand with your bags there?"

I glanced up to see he'd placed a black Stetson on his head. The shadow it cast across the sprinkling of stubble over his chin gave him the perfect rough and rugged look. The only thing that spoiled it was the arrogant smirk he was wearing.

I ground my teeth together. "No, thank you." I bent my knees and sprung back up, lifting my suitcase at the same time, and almost breaking my chin. "I'm fine."

A deep chuckle sounded through the air, making me even more embarrassed. Before I knew it, he'd taken my cherished possessions from my grasp and slid them into the back of his truck.

"Wouldn't want you to break a nail," he said, slamming the tailgate shut.

He sauntered back to the driver's door, shaking his head. I glanced down at my hands to look at my stick-on nails. I'd had a girly night out before my long-haul flight. What was wrong with wearing pretty nails?

Grabbing my hand luggage, I headed for the passenger side and began to seriously question how on earth I was going to survive for four weeks out here when I couldn't even lift my own luggage into the back of a truck.

***

The half an hour journey back to the ranch was silent. He cranked up his stereo with some country music whilst I mused over the brochure for the millionth time.

'With over 3,000 acres to our ranch, take some time to reconnect with nature, and more importantly, yourself.'

An ironic twist curled the edges of my dry mouth. Did I even know who I was anymore?

I shut the silky pages and looked out of the window at the bleak landscape rolling by. Everything was so...sparse. The few spots of plants and vegetation here and there looked so out of place. Aside from the grey road cutting straight through the middle of the sandy environment, it looked uninhabitable. It was beautiful, but its splendour would surely match its lethality.

We finally turned off the road and headed across the dirt, clouds of dust kicking up behind us. As the sight of a wooden gateway appeared with the name of the ranch swinging on a wooden board above, excitement began to replace my nerves. This was it—this was the beginning of my little adventure.

I leaned forwards in my eagerness, impatient to see the cute Hacienda style chalet I would be staying in. To the left was almost a little village of the guest houses. Around a dozen pink bricked buildings all sat in a circle, each having its own small gravel walkway. With dark wooden doors and dark wooden frames, they were just lovely.

He swung the truck towards the quaint houses, skidded to a stop, and jumped out. I joined him outside where he was retrieving my suitcase. Sitting it on the floor, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an old iron key that looked like something from a gothic vampire movie.

"You're in number ten," he said, pointing towards one of the larger chalets. "Do you need anything else?"

I hesitated, unsure whether it was a genuine question or not. "No, thank you."

He touched his hat with his fingertips. "Dinner is at seven. Call the main house if you need anything."

And just like that, he climbed back into his truck, and left me stood there.