The Accidental Cowboy. Heidi Hormel
She frowned. “Humph.” It was a little pixie snort. How could he think that was cute, even endearing? Maybe he did need a hat.
“There’s a colleague I must ring,” he lied, to move her along.
“I’m going out to check one of the Hohokam sites. You’ll be okay here on your own?”
He couldn’t decide what she was trying to imply. “Absolutely. What site?”
“One with petroglyphs and a couple of metate corn grinders. Part of my duties as caretaker. I go out and make sure nothing has been damaged or needs stabilization. It’s a restricted area, but there have been problems in the past. I also keep my eyes on the saguaros. The big ones get rustled.”
Did she want him to come with her? Did he want to go? Yes, he decided. It would be better than second-guessing his just-this-minute decision to explore on his own. In fact, going out with her would be a good way to get the lay of the land. “Why don’t I come with you? The metates could be associated with the bean culture.” The more he thought about it, the better this decision became. He could use his own satnav for coordinates if he saw any of the landmarks noted in the journal.
“It’ll be pretty boring, and I’m walking.”
“I’m used to physical activity.”
“Walking in the desert is not tossing trees.”
He ignored her comment. “I’ll need to change footwear and get my lucky hat.”
She sighed heavily. “Don’t forget the sunscreen.”
Maybe the guide canceling wasn’t part of his curse. Could his luck be changing?
* * *
“WHAT IS THAT?” Jones asked Lavonda, pointing at Reese. The tiny donkey’s long ears drooped and his stubby brush tail flicked at an imaginary fly.
“This is our pack mule...well, burro.” Lavonda patted the animal. She didn’t want his feelings hurt. He might only be as tall as a good-sized Great Dane, but he had the ego of a Clydesdale.
Jones’s face went from annoyed to amused and back to annoyed, but he said nothing. She’d already noticed that he was standoffish, not unlike the executives she’d worked with as a highly paid corporate communications specialist. She could suck it up and be nice. She’d definitely learned to do it before.
“You’ll thank Reese when we unpack the water and snacks. Plus, this little guy needs the exercise and experience.” She clucked to get the burro moving. She heard the scuff of Jones’s boots following them. “Did you know that saguaro cacti only grow in the Sonoran Desert and the arms don’t appear until the plant is about seventy years old?”
“Yes. As part of my preparations for this trip, I did internet research on the region.”
Not friendly but factual. She could live with that.
“Your...what did you call it?” He gestured at her pack animal.
“Reese. And he’s a he...or was a he.”
“Is he a native of the region?”
She went on to explain how burros, aka donkeys, were used by miners and then turned loose to become feral. Reese had descended from those intrepid little animals. “My sister, Jessie, has a therapeutic riding program for children with medical challenges. She’s considering burros for cart work.”
“Cart work?”
“Pulling children in carts or buggies. Especially the younger kids who may be too small to ride a pony. The burros’ size also makes them less intimidating. They’re very, very smart and affectionate.”
“He doesn’t seem like the type of beast a cowgirl like you would defend.”
“I’m not a real cowgirl. Not anymore.” She closed her mouth fast. She didn’t want to talk about this with a stranger.
“You live in Arizona on a ranch, and—”
“That doesn’t make you a cowgirl,” she shot back. What the hell? She knew how to keep quiet even when provoked. She’d been the spokeswoman when her company had been at the center of a media crap storm, and she hadn’t let the press rattle her. Here she was ready to lose her cool with a professor studying beans. She turned to Reese and gave herself a moment to relax. This man was from Scotland. Of course he didn’t understand that being a cowgirl was more than a hat and boots.
“Are you sure your burro is up to this outing?”
She refocused on small talk. “Reese learned that looking pathetic would get him out of work with his last owner. The college just recently received the property as a bequest. He and Cat came with it. There’s a goat, too, but she’s out eating her weight in tumbleweeds.”
“Quite a menagerie.”
“At least we don’t have a javelina.”
“Are they related to scorpions?” he asked straight-faced, though she could see that he was trying to...flirt? No way.
“My friend Olympia’s stepson rescued one and called it Petunia. You know, like the pig in the cartoon? Except they’re not pigs, even though people call them wild pigs. They’re peccaries, a big rodent...sort of.”
“Your friend allowed her stepson to adopt a rat?”
She had to smile at that. Petunia and all javelinas looked like hairy, long-nosed pigs. “Much cuter than any rat I’ve ever seen, especially Petunia. I’m sure she’s back in the wild by now. That was their agreement. Actually, in the wild, they can be a problem, especially the boars that get very aggressive.”
“Any other deadly creatures? Or ones that are called one thing but are really another?”
“Most wild things run when they see or smell a human.” She looked at the familiar pile of boulders. “We’ll need to go up there. That’s where the rock drawings I need to check are.”
“The petroglyphs,” he corrected.
“The petroglyphs are scattered throughout the area, along with metates.” Did he think she was stupid because she had breasts?
He hummed an answer, squinting up at the outcropping. “This region has been inhabited for more than two thousand years. The people created the necessary irrigation techniques. There are indications of widespread agriculture.” He sounded so stilted. “Perhaps I’ll see evidence of bean production in the drawings.”
Really, who studied beans? Men like Jones did, along with a number of the faculty her friend and president of the college Gwen had introduced her to. That’s when Gwen had asked Lavonda to work her PR magic in addition to her caretaking duties. Gwen hoped a little notice by the press of the Angel Crossing campus would lead to better funding. The professors and researchers had tunnel vision when it came to their fields of study. She was glad she didn’t have to try to make his bean research interesting to the general public.
“Perhaps,” she finally said.
“You said this area is protected? By the college?”
They continued their way up the slope on the barely discernable path. “The ranch house has national historic landmark status. The college had been approached about protecting the acreage with a federal designation.”
“Why would the ranch be considered ‘historic’?”
Could the man get more annoying? Or maybe he was really interested in the answer. She looked at him closely. His head was cocked a little to the side and softness curved his lips. Not that she was looking all that closely. “After the woman from Georgia, it was owned by Arizona’s first ‘official’ cowgirl. She might have beat out Annie Oakley if they’d ever met.”
“That’s quite a claim, from what I understand.”
“I’ve