The Cowboy's Texas Rose (The Dixons of Legacy Ranch 1)

Chapter Eleven

Rose led her weary students back up the path from the rock art site. A shiny white F-150 truck with a silvery chrome bumper was kicking up a wake of dust in the distance across the vast expanse of desert scrub, the image wavering like a mirage in the heat. It drove to the barn next to the stables, near Toby’s house, parked, and the lanky frame of the man on her mind hopped down, dressed in a plaid shirt, cowboy boots, jeans, work gloves, and his hat.

And wouldn’t you know it, a ranch hand hopped down from the passenger seat, and the two began hauling out lumber to carry into the barn. So it was under renovation. Maybe.

“That artwork is so cool,” Kelsey said, chatting with the other students and tossing Howard a flirty smile just in time to disrupt Rose’s wayward thoughts about Toby.

Now that Kelsey had seen the rock art and gotten over her fear of being eaten by a tarantula, the young woman was inspired.

“I can’t wait to study it tomorrow morning. Doctor R, can I document the panel with the head in it?”

“Three of you will work together with me, starting at Panel One, while the other three of you excavate with Howard,” Rose answered. “Then midway through the day, we’ll switch. Okay, y’all. Gather round,” she called.

They converged around the fire ring as the sun beat down on them, and her periphery snagged on Toby once more, as if her attention was hell-bent on being distracted. She smiled. Eagerness to go watch the movie tonight was mounting, and it was five miserable hours until showtime. What was she, a giddy child excited for a treat?

“Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we’ll hit the trail by seven a.m. and quit work by one o’clock. It’s too hot to be down there after that. Each of you have a stack of site forms, and I’ve shown you how to fill out the demographics. Also, you’ll want to add the site number in the top blank space and the GPS location we mapped when we were there. Remember to bring your clipboards. You need a hard surface to write on. Okay, let’s break for the afternoon. Supper’s at five, and after cleanup, grab your bullwhips because it’s movie time.”

Amid their chuckling, she turned back to her camper to grab a sweet tea and some lunch. She was starving. She unlocked the screen door and let it slap shut behind her, dumping her bag and stripping out of her desert shirt down to her tank top. She made a round through the camper, raking up windows to encourage a breeze, then hauled a crate out from the corner to excavate her ancient laptop, a four-year-old machine she’d bought used and refurbished at the start of grad school, from the stacks of papers inside…

“Oh no. Papers.”

Disappointment plummeted in her gut, and she sighed wearily. So much for going to see the movie with her crew. She’d forgotten about all of this work. They’d have to partake of Raiders without her. Toby’s impromptu tour this morning had thrown her off schedule, and she’d forgotten all about this mess of handouts to sort, label, and staple together—assignments and references for each of her students to use in the field. They needed them first thing in the morning, and even though she had five hours until the movie, a couple of those hours were going to be spent prepping dinner and washing up. That, and she needed to label each photo on her camera with the site location, photo number, meter number, and brief descriptions and make a copy to her stick drive to add to the database on the computer up at the lab.

File dumping always took forever on this dinosaur computer.

She sighed. She’d seen that flick a thousand times and counting; she’d practically memorized it. It was no big deal if she missed it. So why did she feel such dismay?

“Best eat something, call to check in on Sage, and get to work.”

She went to her tiny bunk room and stripped her boots, socks, and pants off, so that she stood only in her stretchy tank top, boy-short panties, and bra. With the curtains obscuring the windows, she took a moment to enjoy the pleasure of shedding her dusty clothes. A light breeze ruffled the curtains and wisped across her bare skin, a welcome relief. Her eyes dropped shut.

Heaven.

You won’t see Toby until tomorrow if you don’t go tonight.

Her eyes popped back open as her conscience needled her. That was what she was, in truth, disappointed about. But she couldn’t sideline her work just because she wanted some eye candy.

See? For someone who didn’t come out here to find a boyfriend, you sure are anxious to see his smile again. Smell that mysterious piney fragrance again, maybe feel those ridges on his stomach again—

“Don’t, Rosalinda.”

Don’t start desiring. Desiring leads to wanting. Wanting leads to disappointment. Disappointment to heartache. Hasn’t your past taught you anything about these kinds of guys?

But what kind of guy was Toby, deep down? Was her opinion of him changing?

She threw on a pair of cutoff jean shorts and slipped her feet into her old Birkenstocks, tying a bandana around her head to hold back the wayward curls that were already crying out for a shower. Then she opened her computer, connected her camera, and began transferring files. She dragged open her mini fridge as the little icon of a folder showed the transfer in progress and withdrew a can. Popping the top of the sweet tea, she held the cool aluminum to her cheek for a moment’s relaxation, then took out her phone and tapped her dad’s number to call Sage.

It was well into the evening by the time dinner cleanup was done. The ball of fire in the heavens had begun its ever-dependable descent to the west and cast orange across the sky, painting the underbellies of the sparse clouds crimson. It had taken two long hours to get the photos transferred and labeled before dinner prep had interrupted her. She hadn’t even touched the handouts yet.

She sighed to herself, knotting up her wild hair in a bun beneath her bandana.

“We’re leaving, Doctor R!” Meg called from the fire ring.

“Have a good time! See you when you get back!” she replied through the screen.

A knock rattled her door—speaking of aluminum cans—and she pushed it open.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Hunter asked, her seasoned grad student.