Free One Fine Cowboy by Joanne Kennedy Page B

starting to see him as a human being—not just a cowboy. That was the problem with stereotypes—once you got to know people, those preconceptions were no defense.
    And the stereotype—the “stupid cowboy” label—was all she had to protect herself from the guy. As long as she believed he was a rude, crude, steer-rasslin’ ignoramus, she was safe. But so far, he’d shown compassion for the horse, courage in the face of danger, and a surprising willingness to forgive and move on despite her stupid mistake with the whip.
    Maybe she should wake him up so he could do something to piss her off. He was a man, after all. He was bound to screw up somehow. She tensed her thighs, getting ready to shake him awake, but he mumbled in his sleep and creased his brow, clearly feeling the pain of his head wound even in his dreams.
    Sighing, she muted the sound on the television so as not to wake her patient. He’d been watching Animal Planet. Well, they had that much in common, anyway. Nature documentaries were about all she ever watched.
    She settled down to watch one on Japanese snow monkeys. The monkeys were adorable, frolicking in a hot spring, playing in the snow, grooming each other…
    She felt her eyes drifting shut and blinked herself awake. No sleeping. She had to stay alert so she could wake Nate up in an hour. She didn’t know what happened if you slept too long with a concussion, but she remembered some vague warning. She rubbed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the monkeys. They were showing a mother and baby now, the baby snuggled in its mother’s arms, warm and safe and sleepy… sleepy…
    She flicked the channel to a UFC fight on the Spike network where some neckless behemoth was making mincemeat of a guy covered in tattoos. Who could sleep through that?
    She could, apparently. Her eyes just wouldn’t stay open.
    What she needed was some caffeine. A Coke.
    She put both hands under the pillow and gently lifted Nate’s head. He mumbled a sleepy protest and she froze, then scooted out from under him when he subsided back into sleep. Sliding a second pillow beneath the first to prop his head up, she padded out to the kitchen for a can of Coke from the fridge.
    Perching on the edge of the sofa, she sipped her soda and watched the rest of the fight. Next came a series of commercials for beer, pheromone-laced deodorant, condoms, and energy drinks. The kind of guys who watched the Spike network probably used all four products at once.
    The next fight was between two short, stumpy men who tumbled to the mat and stayed there, flailing around on the floor in an effort to grapple each other into submission like two spiders fighting in a jar.
    Boring. Her eyes drifted shut, and this time, she was too sleepy to stop herself.
    ***
    The birds were just beginning to greet the morning when Nate awoke. The house was quiet, the only sound his own breathing and Butt’s, their sighs alternating in gentle counterpoint. He smiled, feeling the warm body snuggled against him. Butt had to be the homeliest mutt God ever made, and possibly the most useless, but she was his partner, for better or for worse. He reached down to stroke her coarse fur.
    But it wasn’t coarse. It wasn’t even fur.
    It wasn’t Butt.
    He propped himself up on one elbow and opened his eyes. Charlie lay spooned against him, her body curled close to his. She was sleeping, her face gentle in repose, the perfect lips slightly parted, the dark hair tousled into freeform disarray.
    His hand hovered above her hip. He hadn’t meant to touch her. He’d thought he was petting the dog. But now that he realized what he’d done, he wanted to do it again.
    Slowly, he lowered his hand and traced the tuck of her waist, the swell of her hip. He drew back when she shifted her weight and let out a tiny moan—or maybe it was more of a purr. She settled back into sleep and he stroked her again, savoring the graceful curve of her body.
    He shouldn’t be doing this. She