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Dances with Wolf
A Big Sky Love Novel
By Farrah Taylor Entangled Publishing, LLC
Copyright © 2015 Farrah Taylor
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63375-175-0
CHAPTER 1
Abby Macready opened her green canvas duffle and peered inside. She hadn't seen her first horse of the day yet, but she'd made a couple of extra soft rope halters with Lolly, Jess Olsen's mare, in mind. No metal rings to press against Lolly's muzzle, nothing to remind her of the abuse she had likely endured in the past.
Abby hadn't had enough time to figure out what might have gone on with Lolly, but today she'd stand quietly in her stall and take in what the horse was trying to tell her. When the time was right, she'd run her hands all over Lolly's sweet chestnut jowls. If the animal were willing, she'd hold Lolly's face in both her palms and breathe softly into her nostrils, picking up the rhythm of her respiration.
This was horse talk, and Abby knew she was good at it, a whole lot better than she was at talking to people. Especially men. She zipped up the bag and tossed it into the back of the truck. Stella, her yellow Lab, panted through the open window. Abby got in and fired up the ignition.
At the top of the rise, she paused and took in her surroundings: the azure-blue sky, the snow-capped mountains of the Swan Range, the ribbon of Highway 35 that led through patchwork fields of canola and knee-high new grass all the way to the Olsens' ranch.
I've got the view, she thought. Now all I need is someone to share it with.
It was almost nine a.m. If she didn't get moving, she was going to be late. With a sigh, she put the car in drive and headed down the hill.
Three days ago, when Jess Olsen had called her to take a look at his new mare, her first inclination was to say she was all booked up. Bridget, his daughter, was Abby's oldest and best friend, and he and his wife, Karen, were equally close with her parents. As a kid, Abby had spent as much time on the Olsens' front porch as she had in her own backyard, and not much had changed now that she and Bridget were adults — the Olsens were her second family.
The Olsens weren't a problem, unless you counted their oldest son, Wolf. Abby wanted to steer clear of him, but it was beyond her control — the Rodeo King was back in town. "Let's just hope he's sleeping in," Abby told an indifferent Stella as she drove onto the Olsens' rough-graveled driveway.
There were no unfamiliar trucks parked under the tamaracks at the foot of the driveway. Abby breathed a sigh of relief. If she could put off seeing Wolf for a little longer, maybe she'd be able to tame the fantasies that were running wild in her mind. What was he like now? Did his shaggy blond curls still lap over the collar of his faded denim shirts? Were his arms still strong and tanned and scratched up with the souvenirs of unruly horses? Would those cobalt-blue eyes, shimmering like a glacial lake, still pierce her to the core?
And, if she let him into her life, would he hurt her all over again?
Lolly leaned against the stall as Abby approached, then rolled her eyes back and snorted, tossing her head and kicking. Agirl with spirit, Abby thought, liking the mare already.
She pulled in a bale of hay and sat on it while she watched Lolly's antics. Thank God, Jess had taken her advice and put Lolly in this large stall, away from the other mares she'd managed to nip into submission out in the pasture. In a few short weeks, Lolly had developed her own little band of loyal renegades, and Abby wasn't prepared to work with each and every one of them. Lolly alone was the ringleader, and Abby was going to have to get to the bottom of her troubled psyche.
She waited until Lolly stuck her head over the stall door. The mare was still breathing heavily but had stopped rolling her eyes back into her head. Abby stood in front of her for a few minutes and let the mare take her measure. She leaned one hand casually on top of the Dutch door. Lolly stopped breathing but leaned forward to nip Abby's hand.
"Hush, baby," Abby whispered. She reached into her pocket and broke off a nubbin of carrot, laid it on top of the stall door, and retreated. Lolly took the carrot and crunched slowly, never taking her eyes off her new trainer. While the animal ate, Abby reached into her back pocket and withdrew a bandana. She ran it softly over the horse's forelegs, humming as she whisked the kerchief slowly up and down. Lolly twitched once, twice, then accepted Abby's touch without protest.
Patience was Abby's mantra, except when it came to men. She had no use for most of them, especially the ones who treated their horses worse than their 4x4s.
The mare leaned forward for another carrot. Abby finally looked up at her, eye to eye. Lolly nodded her head in satisfaction, then stepped one foot closer to Abby's outstretched hand. As she reached for the treat, Abby slid one hand around the mare's neck and brushed the far side of her head with the bandana. Lolly moved her nose toward Abby's other hand.
"So," Abby whispered. "Baby's almost ready for a halter after all."
Before she had time to feel pleased with herself, out came a deep, low whistle from across the barn. Lolly startled. Abby backed up slowly against the stall door and carefully exited, cursing under her breath. Jess Olsen knew better than to interrupt a whispering session. This would cost him.
Abby turned around and saw that it wasn't Jess — it was Wolf. He was leading a big, muscular thoroughbred down the barn's center aisle, and then he was standing before her, all six-foot-one of him in his faded Wranglers, the predictable show-off dark teal crocodile Tony Lamas, and a tight black T-shirt with a Laramie Round-Up logo. One hand on the reins, he ran the other through his hair. The thought of running her fingers through them entered her mind; she willed it away as a pleasant heat spread through her body.
"Abby Macready," he said. His smile looked sincere. "Long time, no see."
"Can't you see I'm working here, Wolf?" Jess had to have told Wolf not to take Lolly by surprise, especially with another horse in tow. Abby had been making progress, but now the horse had shied as far away from her as the tiny stall would allow. Lolly was back to square one, or worse.
"And a friendly top-of-the-morning to you, too," Wolf said.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Good morning." She closed the stall door and faked a smile, looking straight at him. His eyes were even bluer than she'd remembered, if that was possible. And his shoulders were broad and muscled, their sinewy architecture clear even under his T-shirt. But she told herself to forget how hot he was — that could only lead to trouble.
"You've made progress with her already," Wolf said. She couldn't tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.
"Thanks."
"Dad told me what you were up to, but really — is this old nag worth your time?"
"It's what he hired me to do. And this horse — hell yes, she's worth it. She's got some real endurance potential." Abby finally raised her eyes to meet his.
He took another step forward, his mare following him, and said, "Endurance potential? She wouldn't last three days on the circuit." Lolly snorted, ripping the bandana from Abby's hand and dropping it on the straw-strewn floor.
"Hey, step back, will you?" she said, unable to keep the heat from her voice. "This is no down-on-her-luck rodeo mare. Can't you tell she's afraid of you?"
"Didn't mean to offend either one of you ladies." With brisk efficiency, he unsaddled his horse in the stall farthest away from Lolly. "It's okay, girl," he whispered to her, his voice sweet and melodic. "Let's be on our way now."
Abby couldn't resist. "You sure you don't want to hang around and spook her some more?"
"Sorry about that, really." He looked down at his boots and kicked at the dirt. "I didn't mean to frighten the horse or interrupt your work."
"It's fine."
"And I really appreciate you helping Dad out. He's not getting any younger, and I can tell he really admires what you're doing."
"Well, I'm not just 'helping out.' This is what I do for a living now. It's my job." She sounded more defensive than she intended.
Wolf's blue eyes flashed in the single ray of sun that shot through the barn's porous roof. She told herself to breathe, breathe as her heart jumped. "I know," he said. "I hear you're pretty damned good at it."
She felt the color rise to her cheeks despite herself. "Yeah? Well, thanks."
His mare content in her stall, Wolf took a step closer to Abby, and to Lolly, who had calmed down. Abby could tell he was trying to keep his footsteps light, his movements careful and controlled. Better late than never.
"They say you're halfway decent at yours, too," she said.
"I do all right." He smiled.
"Please. You're all anybody ever talks about around here. Even though you barely have time to come home anymore." As soon as she said them, she wanted to take the words back, and the neediness they implied.
He looked taken aback but recovered quickly. "I'm not going to lie — the rodeo schedule is rough. I bought a place in Choteau last year, but I don't think I've spent more than a couple weeks there since."
"But all that travel," she said. "It sounds pretty glamorous."
"Maybe, if you consider the Days Inn the lap of luxury." He laughed, and Abby's heart opened annoyingly at the sight of his beautiful smile. "I do still love the sport. That part never gets old." Abby wondered what did get old for him — was it just subpar hotel rooms, or something more? He looked tired, or melancholy, or maybe both.
"That your main ride, there?" Abby nodded toward the stall.
"For the last three years, yeah. That's Bullet. Great little roping mare." He glanced behind him with clear pride. "Love her to death, and she's a joy to ride. I wouldn't be where I am without her."
"I didn't think cowboys ever got attached, to anything or anyone."
He laughed. "Maybe. But if anything happened to Bullet?" He shook his head. "I don't even want to think about it. I don't go anywhere without her."
"I can see that."
Taking another careful step toward Abby, he angled his head and appraised Lolly. "This one's got a fierce pair of eyes, doesn't she? Reminds me of a bull I rode once. Mr. T."
"She reminds you of a bull?"
"Just her eyes. The intensity. Like she's gonna do things her way or not at all."
A girl with spirit, Abby thought again. "Maybe, but if you listen to her, if you treat her gentle, she might surprise you." She dug her toes into the sawdust.
He nodded slowly. "Mind if I watch for another couple of minutes?"
"It's a free country," she said, turning her attention back to the horse, making sure he didn't see her smile.
* * *
Abadabun. Wolf rarely used her full name, but he had never thought of her as an Abby. It just didn't seem to fit her. She was quirky — private and mysterious, not some regular old "Abby" but someone special and different — Abadabun. He'd always remembered the way she'd peek at him from under those thick eyebrows, an unforgiving, dead-honest look when she was brave enough to aim it in his direction. Her attention made him feel exposed, like she knew something about him that he didn't know himself.
She could be almost scary sometimes, although not half as scary as his sister Bridget when she found out that he'd acted on a whim and invited Abadabun to prom. And when he'd bailed on her and couldn't tell anyone the reason why? Well, he was glad to be three hundred miles away by the time his sister found out. Even now, six years later, he knew Bridget held a grudge about it. And if Bridget felt that strongly, what did Abby think?
Wolf chuckled to himself at the realization that the prom-that-was-not-to-be was the closest thing he'd ever had to a proper date. On the rodeo circuit, he didn't have time for much more than one-night stands. He'd grown tired of them, so tired, but he hadn't come across a single girl worth getting to the second night with. Women were a distraction, and he'd become an all-round champion at the age of nineteen for one reason: his ability to focus on one thing, and one thing only. Now twenty-four — senior-citizen age in rodeo competition — with the scars and aches and pains to show for it, Wolf no longer had the flexibility or endurance to ride bulls and broncs that he would've ridden even two years ago. He was still number one because of the rigor of his mental preparation. And because he wanted it more than anybody else.
Now he wondered if he had his priorities in the right order. Abadabun had jet-black hair, shiny and thick, and longer than she'd ever worn it as a kid. Big brown eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. Smooth brown skin that looked soft to the touch. And her body? Well, she was no child. Not anymore.
"Well, thanks for letting me watch," he said, flashing a smile. "I may have learned a thing or two."
"See you around," she said.
He waved a wordless good-bye, his back to her already as he headed toward the house. Oh, the things he'd like to learn from her — his imagination ran wild. But Abby was untouchable. She was Bridget's best friend, a second daughter to his mom and dad, and beloved by the entire community for her grit and generosity alike. As for Wolf, his reputation preceded him: he was a cowboy, a play boy, a rolling stone in an unstable profession. If he hurt Abby a second time, his family would fry up his Rocky Mountain oysters for breakfast, and his sister would be the one stoking the coals and oiling up the skillet.
CHAPTER 2
Abby parked her truck in the circle of ranch vehicles and strode toward her house. Stella chased her shadow up the stairs, barking exuberantly.
"Atta girl," Abby said. Her hand skimmed the stack of mail on the hall table. Lilacs in a milk-white glass vase drooped in the heat. Their fragrance swept through the room like a sad song on the radio.
"I'm home!" she shouted.
"Obviously," said her mom. She came down the wide stairs slowly, pulling Abby into a hug once she'd reached the bottom. There was no special occasion; Abby's mom was always bestowing her with hugs and kisses — an only-child thing, perhaps. "Good day?" she asked.
"Okay, I guess. You remember that mare I told you Jess Olsen was having so much trouble with?"
Her mother nodded, then reached forward to brush Abby's hair from her eyes. "She give you some trouble?" she asked.
"Not really. She's a sweetheart. She's just got a mind of her own."
"That's a pretty apt description for her trainer, I'd say." Her mom laughed. Abby pretended not to hear her. Sometimes the compliments and the hugs and the kisses could be a bit much.
"So anybody else at the Olsen homestead today?" her mom prodded.
"Bridget wasn't there. Luther and his dad were out fixing fences." Then she put on the most innocent voice she could muster and added, "But somebody did duck in and say hi."
Abby cast a look in the gold mirror over the hall table, then turned to face her mother. She could feel the burn start in her chest and course uninterrupted up her neck and into her cheeks. It took a lot to make this Salish girl blush. Her skin turned pure copper when she was angry or upset. Copper as in metallic, shiny, a conductor of heat and electricity.
"Let me guess." Her mom smiled warily. "Wolf is back."
"Bingo. How'd you know?"
"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but Karen Olsen stopped by specially about an hour ago, to ask me a favor."
"I'll just bet. She wanted to make sure Wolf was included on the guest list for Dad's party."
They'd be celebrating Doc Macready's sixty-fifth birthday in just a few days, and since he was the most beloved obstetrician in the Flathead, it promised to be the biggest bash of the season.
Abby's mom clapped her hands. "He's taken the week off the circuit to be here for your dad, and to meet his sister's new boyfriend."
"Mark didn't just start dating Bridge, Mom. They practically live together. Not that Wolf would know. He hasn't been back here for more than a long weekend since he left."
"I didn't realize you were keeping track."
"I am only because I love Bridget, and because the Olsens are like a second family to me."
"Abby ..." her mom said.
"What? The whole Flathead worships the ground he walks on, just because he's some big rodeo star now. But he's not exactly the world's greatest brother. Or son. If you ask me —"
Abby stopped and caught another glimpse of her face, still a feverish red beneath her brown skin, in the mirror.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Dances with Wolf by Farrah Taylor. Copyright © 2015 Farrah Taylor. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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