Liberty Starr

She might have taken him for just another cowboy, the way he stood on the side of the highway next to a ten-year-old Silverado that had seen better days. She pulled the Wrangler over. Aramis leaped from the back to the front seat and eyed the stranger. He was tall and wore his Stetson low. He'd taken his shirt off. A trail of dark hair shot down his torso like the shaft of a downward-pointing arrow. His faded jeans rode low and snug. Shadowed by the Rockies, he looked right at home. As if the only space large enough to hold him--the only place he could ever truly be at ease--was outdoors.

That's why she might have taken him for just another cowboy, except that his eyes seemed uncommonly discerning, as if he already knew all there was to know about her. It was unnerving.

"Need some help?"

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I could use a ride."

She sighed. The last thing she needed right now was a cowboy down on his luck. "How about if I call someone for you?

He shrugged. "Don't know anyone."

"Well, where are you staying?"

"Haven't figured that out yet." He grinned and crouched low, calling to her dog. "Come here, boy."

Aramis shot out of the car.

"Sit." Aramis sat. "That's right." Aramis's tail thumped wildly. "Good dog!" He scratched the dog's ears. "He's well-trained. Siberian Husky?"

She got out of the car and walked toward the cowboy. "Yes."

"What's his name?"

"Aramis. So, what brings you to this part of the country?"

"I figured someone would give me a job. I'm good with horses. You know, roping, ranching."

"You do any rodeoing? Rodeo comes back our way in a month. I might be able to help you hook a job."

He pushed his Stetson back, revealing dark wavy hair that hadn't seen a barber in some time. She could see his eyes more clearly now and felt like he was drinking her in.

"Yeah, a bit."

"If you don't have a cell phone, I can call the garage for you."

"No phone. A little cash. No friends. You could be my first." He grinned again and gave Aramis a playful pat on the rump. "Your dog seems to like me. You know what they say. You can't fool a dog." He waited.

She hesitated.

"Seems a little unneighborly to leave me here. Wouldn't it be just as easy to take me into town as to call someone? Sign back there said it was seven miles. Too far to walk in this heat."

He stepped out of the shadow. His eyes were cerulean, like the Colorado sky, his skin deeply tanned. He was, by any definition, magnificent. In this part of the country where Utes, Hispanics and Caucasians had settled more than two-hundred years ago he could have easily been taken for a local. She dug the toe of her boot into the side of the road. He looked like a cowboy, but there was something unusually intense about his manner underneath the casual surface.

She peered into the cloudless sky, then over at Aramis. No one was likely to travel this stretch of the highway any time soon, and it was unseasonably hot for early June. What could happen in seven miles?

She walked back to her car and patted the seat. "Aramis, come!" To the cowboy she said, "Hop in."