Cowboy Enchantment Page 2

  “Char,” Erica began, but the images brought on by her sister’s description of Rancho Encantado were too alluring to banish; a new hairdo sounded wonderful, and a wardrobe fix sounded even better. And it was a ranch, after all. It had been ages since she’d been on a horse. She wondered if there were cowboys.

  Charmaine slapped a plane ticket down in front of her. It seemed to glow with light from within, and Erica’s eyes widened.

  “I’ve already bought your ticket. Now I dare you to tell me you’re not going,” said Charmaine.

  “I don’t know, Charmaine. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

  “Don’t you ever do anything on impulse? Wouldn’t it be fun to have fun? You’ve given McNee, Levy and Ashe what could have been the best years of your life. If anyone gives you a hard time, tell them to stuff it.”

  It was the “could have been” that stopped Erica from protesting again. She was thirty-two years old. She’d given up expecting to be married or to have children, and she’d seldom traveled except on business. She had so far fulfilled none of the fantasies that had sustained her through her youth, and maybe she never would. Her life was slipping by, and she was wasting it on meetings and phone calls and reports. She had become a professional success, but her personal life was edging toward failure. The thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

  She hid them by getting up, walking to the rain-streaked window and blowing her nose again. She had composed herself by the time she turned to face Charmaine, and in the moment her eyes met her sister’s, it occurred to her in a lightninglike flash that sometimes ordinary times called for extraordinary action.

  “What…what time does that flight leave?” she asked unsteadily, eyeing the ticket on her desk.

  Her sister let out a giant whoop and ran to wrap Erica in an impetuous hug.

  “I never thought you’d go!” Charmaine said. “I didn’t think I’d be able to persuade you.”

  Erica smiled thinly and returned the embrace. But already she was planning ahead to the one thing she wanted out of this vacation: to meet the perfect cowboy and indulge herself in a madcap fling.

  Of her life fantasies, that one was the most precious of all, and Rancho Encantado might be her last chance to make it happen.

  Chapter Two

  The cowboy, this perfect cowboy, was dark-haired and powerfully built. His hair hung slightly too long at the nape, and his jeans were streaked with dust. He wore a white T-shirt that showed off his tanned, sinewy arms, and his torso tapered into muscular legs that looked as if they’d be equally at home straddling a horse or a woman. The jeans were tucked into boots, tooled leather ones. Dusty boots, which he planted firmly in the dirt as he led the horse toward the stable.

  This cowboy was no daydream. He was real. As this realization dawned on her, the air seemed to wrinkle, and Erica felt herself tilt toward him as if pulled by gravity. She gripped the edge of the Rancho Encantado check-in desk, feeling weak in the knees. Well, she had flown into Las Vegas more than two hours ago and had eaten no food on the plane, so no wonder she was shaky on her feet.

  Her eyes were still on the cowboy. “Who is that?” Erica said, her voice a mere murmur.

  Justine, standing beneath a sign that read NO CELL PHONES PLEASE, glanced up from Erica’s registration card. “Oh, that’s Hank. My brother. He’ll be your riding instructor if you choose to take lessons.” She tossed her one thick silver-blond braid behind a shoulder and returned to her task.

  Erica’s mouth had gone as dry as dust; her mind skittered over the possibilities. She had arrived at Rancho Encantado only minutes ago, and already she’d seen the man of her dreams. It would be counterproductive, she figured, to mention that she’d known how to ride since she was ten.

  “You might as well sign me up for those riding lessons,” she said as nonchalantly as possible, considering the fact that her entire body was vibrating at a new and higher frequency.

  “Group lessons or private?”

  “Private, please.”

  Justine checked a box on the card and dropped it into a folder.

  Erica cleared her throat. “I suppose a handsome guy like Hank is already taken, right?”

  “Women ask me about him all the time,” Justine said, her mouth twitching with amusement. “As it happens, no, he’s not.”

  “I see,” Erica said.

  “But he’s not interested in getting to know people in a more personal way, either,” Justine added.

  “Mmm,” Erica murmured, but Justine’s caution didn’t worry her. She didn’t have to get to know him well; all she wanted was a fling.

  Justine handed her a printed schedule. “Okay, Erica,” she said. “You’re all set. Your wardrobe consultant, that’s Sue. Hairdresser and makeup artist, Tico. Yoga with Ananda, riding with Hank and…oops, our physical fitness instructor is all booked.”

  “That’s okay. There’s enough going on to keep me busy. Say, I hope I haven’t created a problem for you by arriving in the middle of the week. I had some things I had to clear up at work before I could leave.”

  “Most guests arrive over the weekend, but sometimes we have people like you whose job responsibilities make it impossible for them to arrive until midweek. We always accommodate.” Justine slid a room key across the counter. “I’ll let you get settled in your room, and then you can join me for dinner.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to be a bother. Shouldn’t I be eating in the communal dining hall with the other guests?”

  “I thought it would be fun for me to have company at the Big House for dinner and for us to get better acquainted. Plus, I’m being selfish. I’m hoping you can distract me from the many trials and tribulations of running a place like this.”

  “It’s a deal! I’ll look forward to letting you fill me in on the lost legend of Rancho Encantado.”

  “If only. The thing is, the legend is lost. What’s left of it has been handed down by word of mouth through the years, and I know only enough to say that it has something to do with unexpected transformations. Since we specialize in makeovers, the legend fits in with what we do. That’s all we need to know.”

  “I suppose there’s no ghost, either?” Erica couldn’t help asking.

  Justine smiled. “Some people claim to have seen him, but he’s certainly never shown himself to me. If he had, I would have put him to work.”

  “It’s a man?”

  “They say it’s Padre Luis, a priest who was instrumental in building a school and hospital here. I understand he was much revered by the miners and their families. I’d like to see Padre Luis, but oh, well. I have my fill of personnel problems without adding a priestly ghost to my list.” She called toward the employee lounge, “Tony, will you please show Erica to her suite? Unless Padre Luis wants to do it, that is.”

  “Sure thing, and as for that priest, I’ve never seen him either. It’s a rare person who has, I think.” Tony, the withered little old man who had picked her up at the airport earlier, emerged from the lounge looking as if a strong wind could blow him away. Nevertheless, he insisted on hefting Erica’s bag and transporting it to her quarters.

  “This tiny bag? It’s not a problem for an old cowhand like me,” he claimed with a ready grin.

  During their ride from Las Vegas, Tony had treated her to a discourse on their surroundings. Now he was eager to fill her in on the geology of the desert, knowledge of which was, according to him, necessary information if she was to enjoy her stay.

  “First you got your mountains,” Tony said, jerking his head toward the tawny snowcapped peaks as they left the reception building. “Then you got your valleys, like this one. You may notice that it’s green here. That’s because there are seven springs in the area, some in the mountains, some right here. The water keeps everything well irrigated.”

  “You’d almost think we weren’t surrounded by desert,” Erica observed. She’d been surprised to see cattle grazing peacefully as they’d driven through the gates.

&
nbsp; “Yeah, I know. That’s the beauty of this place. Well, in the desert, after your valleys, there’s your basins—they’re low places with no outlets, as opposed to a valley, which is a low place with outlets. Basins collect white mineral deposits and become salt flats like the ones dotted with pools of brackish water that we passed after we turned off the interstate. At the edges of some of your basins, there’s rolling dunes, some of ’em right pretty.”

  “Like at the beach,” she supplied.

  “Except there’s no ocean. Now, apart from all the things I’ve mentioned, scattered around the desert you’ll happen upon such oddities as cinder cones and black lava flows from the days of volcano activity. Oh, and not to forget the strange shapes of the eroded rocks. It’s not always a welcoming place, this desert.”

  “I guess that’s why there aren’t many towns. People didn’t want to settle here.” Erica recalled vaguely from history lessons that the nearby Cedrella Pass had been one of the main southern routes to California during the gold rush.

  “Oh, people settled here. We’ve got the ghost towns to prove it.” Tony cackled with laughter. “Miners came, found gold, silver, minerals. We’ve got an old abandoned borax mine over on the hill. Shipped a lot of borax out of here in its day.” He pointed toward the north, and she saw bits of equipment strewn over a distant hillside.

  She lost sight of the hill when they entered a grove of stately date palms surrounding a series of rock-lined pools. OASIS HOT POOL, said a sign near the biggest one, and several people were soaking in it, almost obscured by rising steam. “These are some of the seven springs right here,” Tony said. “That big pool stays at a constant temperature of 107 degrees, winter and summer.”

  Erica took in the rustic benches placed here and there among the palms and a flock of guests drifting down the path toward the recreation hall wearing blue robes bearing the Rancho Encantado crest. “The weather is pleasant at this time of year,” she said. “I don’t think I needed to wear wool.” She’d traveled in a business suit.

  “Oh, the temperature in the desert sometimes gets up to 120 degrees in the summer,” Tony told her, “but at this time of year you don’t have to worry about heat stroke. Could have some spring storms with rain, of course, later on.”

  When they emerged from the palm grove, she was immediately struck with the grandeur of the scenery. The snowcapped blue mountains in the west loomed beyond a series of golden hills undulating in gentle folds. On the east side of the valley, jagged peaks rose abruptly to a height of eleven thousand feet, their parched flanks eroded into canyons from which boulders and rocks had emerged over the ages to form huge alluvial grades.

  “So what do you think of Rancho Encantado so far?” Tony asked with a grin.

  “It’s a little overwhelming,” she said honestly, at a loss to explain the infusion of energy she’d felt as soon as she stepped out of the van. She could not imagine how this down-to-earth old cowhand would react if she told him that the earth here seemed to throb with a certain energy, that the mountains seemed to be bending toward her in a gesture of inclusion. Amazingly her hair was infused with curve and body from the dry desert air so that it bounced around her ears and rose around her cheeks to frame her face. For the first time, despite her aversion to New Age anything, she began to wonder if there really was anything to that vortex stuff Charmaine had mentioned.

  She knew from Rancho Encantado’s lavish brochure that the guest quarters were located in a series of low adobe buildings with names like Tumbleweed, Cactus Flower, Sagebrush. Erica’s suite was in Desert Rose. As in the other fourplexes, all the suites opened onto a central courtyard, which in the case of Desert Rose was occupied by a rock garden planted with giant cacti.

  In one corner, Erica noted, a gnarled Joshua tree shaded a gray cat, which sat washing itself in the waning sunlight. When the cat spotted her, it stared at her for a moment before quickly slipping away toward the line of eucalyptus trees that separated Desert Rose from the stable. Seeing the cat disappear so readily gave Erica an eerie feeling, which she told herself was ridiculous. She was suffering from jet lag, no doubt, and could attribute the strange sensations and thoughts she was experiencing to that.

  “Here we are,” Tony said cheerfully as he held open the door to her suite.

  Erica was pleased to see that her quarters were small but luxurious. A sitting area opened into a bedroom with a large bed, handcrafted in classic Southwestern style. The bathroom was elegant and had a huge tub. Tony pointed out that the minibar was stocked with several varieties of what Charmaine called designer juice—mango-kiwi, strawberry-passion fruit, guava-coconut.

  “You’ll plug in your computer at the desk. The phone blinks with a blue light instead of ringing, so as not to disturb your peace. If you change your mind about those slot machines, my phone number’s next to the phone. I’ll be driving a vanload of guests to the Lucky Buck Saloon this evening.” Tony winked at her as he went out and closed the door behind him.

  Erica’s one suitcase had already been delivered to her room, and the clothes hung in the closet. Thus she wasted no time before shucking her wool suit and digging out one of the only two pairs of jeans she owned. They were relics from her years in graduate school, but Charmaine had encouraged her to bring them.

  “You can’t go to a ranch without jeans,” her sister had argued. Erica had bowed to Charmaine’s fashion sense, which was usually infallible. What difference did it make what she wore? She was going to get a makeover, wasn’t she? But if she wanted to be a cowboy’s sweetheart, she’d have to start somewhere. Blue denim seemed as good a place as any.

  HANK MILLING swung down from the saddle and whipped out his trusty Bowie knife. The woman was tied to the railroad tracks, a huge locomotive barreling toward her. In two strides he’d reached her. She held out her arms and—

  No. Definitely not. Hank settled back in his chair and tried again.

  Hank galloped across an arroyo and reined in his horse near an enormous mesquite thicket. He pushed his Stetson hat off his forehead and studied the gal who was backed against a boulder, terror lighting her big blue eyes.

  He saw immediately why she was frightened. A huge rattlesnake was coiled in the thicket, its rattle sounding a warning.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, yanking his six-shooter out of the holster at his hip. He fired at the rattlesnake and neatly decapitated it in one shot. He twirled the pistol, showing off.

  “I guess you need a ride back to town,” he said to the gal, who was buxom and wore scanty shorts. Her hair was long and blond, her hands and feet tiny. He was close enough to detect that she smelled like honeysuckle, his favorite scent ever since the summers he’d spent in Virginia visiting his grandparents’ horse farm. She looked like someone he’d like to cuddle up to in his lonesome desert camp out under the stars while coyotes howled in the hills all around.

  “Well, I—”

  The gal had barely begun to speak, no doubt planning to tell him how grateful she was for his help, when his reverie was interrupted by a baby’s fussing. Damn. He’d just reached the best part of his daydream, the part where he scooped the gal up onto the back of his saddle and rode off toward camp.

  The baby’s fussing turned to crying. Hank sighed and went into the little kitchen off his quarters adjoining the Rancho Encantado stable. Mrs. Gray, the stable cat, had followed him in earlier, which had surprised him, because she had three kittens to tend, but maybe she was looking for a handout.

  “I’ll take care of you later,” he told her, but she only stared at him, unblinking.

  He twisted the top off a can of chicken-and-rice baby food and emptied it into a dish. How his daughter could eat such pap was beyond him, but then, babies had been a complete mystery to him before he’d taken over her care, and he freely admitted that he didn’t always understand this one. Now Kaylie was seven months old, full of spunk, brimming with energy, and it was all he could do to keep up with her. Working full-time didn’t help, but he was luck
y that Justine had allowed him to stay on here, which meant he was provided with a home, a job and a baby-sitter. In turn, he tried to do as much as he could around the ranch to help her out.

  He approached the alcove off the bedroom. Kaylie stopped crying when she saw him and began to pedal her legs energetically. When he grinned at her, she grinned back, and Hank’s heart went soft and warm with love for her.

  He picked Kaylie up, straightening her playsuit as she settled into his arms next to his heart. She gazed up at his face with expectant round eyes.

  “How’s my girl, huh? Ready for your dinner? And then I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got to go out and teach another city slicker how to ride.”

  Kaylie snuggled her face into his neck, and he inhaled the sweet talcum-powder smell of her. He hadn’t known that it was possible to love a child so much, that was the truth of it. And maybe, if his ex-wife hadn’t died so tragically, he never would have. He had certainly never wished for anything bad to happen to Anne-Marie, but his relationship with Kaylie would never have come about while Anne-Marie was alive. She had not only moved here from Chicago, where they had lived when they were married, but had been adamant that she didn’t want Hank in their lives. It had been an awkward situation, considering that his sister Justine was Anne-Marie’s best friend.

  He inserted Kaylie into her high chair and pulled a kitchen chair up in front of her.

  “Okay, cutie, open up. Over the teeth, past the gums, look out, tummy, here it comes,” he said, spooning up a bit of food. Kaylie opened her mouth wide to accept the spoon, looking like a hungry little bird.

  His feelings for Kaylie made all the rest of it worthwhile—his displacement from home, the heavy workload, the lack of someone special in his life.

  Oops, correction.

  “You’re someone special in my life,” he told Kaylie, speaking past the lump that knotted in his throat whenever he thought about how lonely he was. “You sure are.”