Show No Mercy

1 Landers, Wyoming Nine years later"Okay, problem child. Back you go," Jenna McMillan murmured when a white-faced calf made a break from the herd. Then she hung on and let the sturdy bay she was riding have his head.A week ago, on the first day of the cattle drive when they'd started moving her dad's herd down the mountain, Jenna had learned that the gelding didn't need her help. The horse knew exactly what he was doing and like he always did, he cut that little doggie off at the pass.Not so long ago, Jenna had known what she was doing, too.Now, not so much,she thought.Dewey Gleason rode up beside her and flashed her one of his contagious grins."What are you smiling at you old trail dog?" She tried to sound put out with her dad's long time foreman, but she couldn't stall her own grin."You, baby girl. I'm just smiling at you."Dewey was one of those born on a ranch, work-on-aranch, die-on-a-ranch cowboys. The genuine article. He'd been with her dad for close to thirty years now. Dewey sat a saddle like a train sat a rail. Jenna strongly suspected that her rusty horsemanship was the source of his amusement."So I make you laugh, do I?" she asked. "You and the boys weren't laughing last night when I cleaned you all out at the poker table." Cleaned out to the sum total of eleven dollars and twenty-three cents from the lot of them.Big spenders all, she thought, remembering Dewey counting his pocket change and deciding whether to call."I ain't laughin', Jenna Rose. Just thinkin'.""Now there's a scary notion.""I was thinking," he went on, "that before you went off to see the world and write your news stories you were a real cowgirl," he said, but not unkindly."Tell me about it," she agreed, shifting in the saddle to relieve the trail-weary ache in her butt.Yeah, once she'd been a real cowgirl. Now she was just playing at it. Playing and passing time as she rode along with the real drovers. Still, her pride was wounded."Do I really look that green?"Dewey shifted leather reins from one gnarled hand to the other. "You'll always look good to me, Jenna Rose," he said, then true to form when he realized he was waxing a little sentimental, Dewey blushed to his ear tips."You're still an old softy, Dewey Gleason."Jenna would always have a soft spot for him. He'd taught her to ride. Taught her to rope. Taught her that the measure of a man wasn't determined by education or how much money he had.Yup, Dewey was the real deal. She loved that about him.Like the gentleman he was, when another stray tried to run, Dewey tipped his fingers to the brim of his old stained Stetson before kneeing his mount and giving chase.Her gelding decided to follow. The bay lunged and did a little crow-hop, almost unseating her.Almost.See, Dewey,she thought, dredging up a small kernel of satisfaction,[read more]