The Complete Cowboy-Romance Experience

It was a brisk morning in early summer at the Whiskey Creek Ranch, a dude ranch/working cattle ranch in the Montana Rockies. Another week had begun and the staff was ready. It was orientation for the next batch of guests, and the mountains surrounding the valley held witness as a group of greenhorns gathered for instructions.

Two men and three women circled around a cowboy, listening as he explained the rules of trail etiquette. Vivienne wondered if the cowboy’s demeanor was as insulting to the other four guests as it was to her. She was in support of safety rules and being polite, but this guy spoke to them like they were children.

“Again, my name is Dewey,” the cowboy wrapped up his speech, “and I am the lead wrangler. I am here to serve your every need.” Dewey turned away, hoping the guests hadn’t seen his look of disdain. Growing up on the Fleck family’s cattle ranch had been the dream life, but for Dewey, the dude ranch part was a nightmare.

Once adjourned, the group headed for the barn. Dewey studied one of the nubes as she walked down the stairs ahead of him. He felt surprised to see how comfortable this big-city girl from back east was in her jeans and blouse. Most women who came to Whiskey Creek did not know how to ride, let alone dress. Perhaps this guest was telling the truth when she claimed she was an accomplished rider.

Yeah, right. Dewey laughed at his thoughts. They never are. Then his thoughts drifted in another direction. Tall and slender, with dark hair and prominent, intelligent eyes. Cowgirl or not, this guest, what did she say her name was? She sure is a looker.

Dewey’s evaluation came to an abrupt halt when his eyes traveled down to the guest’s feet; running shoes! There it is, he thought with an audible “Humph.”

The absence of proper footwear added to his suspicion that this woman was just another know-it-all. Someone to avoid and yet, to keep her safe he’d be forced to pay attention.

Aware that she was being sized up, Vivienne popped opened the rear hatch of her SUV. “Let me get my boots,” she spoke directly towards Dewey, looking smug as she pulled on her well-worn ropers. That will shut him up. She thought.

When Vivienne arrived for her one-week vacation, she had encountered a strikingly handsome cowboy. Not just a cliche. This guy, with his tall, muscular frame and ringlets of blond hair peaking out from beneath his cowboy hat, stood apart from the rest of the wranglers. He was the real deal. And then he opened his mouth. She sensed arrogance and a condescending personality. A huge red flag sprung up and turned off her interest.

The guests met up outside the corrals for their horse assignments. Though Dewey had picked out Rowdy, a dependable mount, to babysit the city slicker, he changed his mind. He was tired of pandering to these guests. Vivienne seemed like the type who wanted to show off, so Dewey had Winston saddled up for her instead. Winston was a four-year-old green broke chestnut gelding they had only started training that spring.

Out on the trail, Vivienne adapted to Winston’s shortness of stride compared to the thoroughbreds and warm bloods she grew up riding, but she was finding it harder to predict his quick reaction to any rider movement. Trying to stay as still in the saddle as possible, Vivienne felt awkward.

“Loosen your spine. Don’t be so stiff. The horse can feel that.” Dewey rode up alongside Vivienne. “And don’t lift your legs. When you pick up your legs, your buttock clenches. Winston can feel that, too. Put a little more weight on the saddle, that will lift the weight of your legs off his sides. Then let the reins out a bit.”

Vivienne wanted to tell Dewey to shove off. She was capable of figuring this out. She and Winston needed more time together. Grudgingly she shifted her weight back as per Dewey’s instructions. She was not comfortable loosening her grip on the reins. Winston was ready to bolt and letting go of the contact didn’t seem wise.

“Trust me, Vivienne. Is that your name?” Dewey sensed Vivienne was second guessing his instructions. “I gentled that horse myself. I promise Winston won’t take off.”

Despite his scornful words, Dewey’s soothing tone and calming presence made her relax, and to her relief, Winston slowed and stopped jigging and sidestepping. Vivienne leaned farther back, and Winston came to a stop. To her, it was a foreign concept to stop a horse without using the reins, but she was getting the hang of it. “When in Rome…” she shrugged.

“There, you see? You communicated clearly. Winston, read your intentions. It’s not magic.” With his condescending eye, Dewey observed Vivienne had skills but wasn’t ready to give her credit.

“I know how to communicate. It starts with an open mind.” Vivienne didn’t appreciate Dewey’s tone. “You could have given me better instructions before throwing me and Winston together to figure it out on our own. That is just dangerous.”

Dewey felt chastised. He rarely had his professionalism questioned. He’d allowed his ego ahead of the safety of a guest and the ranch’s reputation. Get your head on straight. He said to himself.

Later that afternoon, Vivienne stood outside the ranch arena.

“Whoa. Easy, girl.” It was Dewey, standing in the middle as a nervous young horse circled.

“When he’s not out guiding trail rides, Dewey trains horses.” A staff member explained. “He starts the training by getting the horse used to touch.”

Dewey shot a crooked eye toward the small audience as the circling horse came to a stop. Then he began petting and rubbing with bare hands over the horse’s back and down her legs all the while cooing in hushed tones.

“No brushes?” Vivienne peered through the fence rails to observe the training. “Fascinating.”

“He uses his hands rather than brushes for the energy exchange. It makes the communication more direct, more intimate.”

“More intimate.” Vivienne repeated.

The training process continued as Dewey stood alongside the equine, rubbing her withers above the highest point on the shoulder blade with his fingertips in a circular motion. The horse stretched her neck out and wiggled her upper lip. Vivienne giggled at the comedic display. Conjuring up an image to risqué to share with anyone, Vivienne couldn’t help but think how it would feel to be that little horse getting all that attention.

“That’s enough for today.” Dewey spoke to the horse, then noticed Vivienne had joined the audience. He didn’t take to strangers watching him work, but he was glad she was there to witness a more honest version of himself.

Over the next few days, Vivienne and the other guests reveled in their vacation. Along with trial rides to the ridge where they enjoyed barbeque lunches, they went on short cattle drives that ended in dinner from a chuck wagon and songs and stories around the campfire.

One evening nearing the end of the week, Vivienne noticed someone riding in the arena doing fast paced maneuvers. She was positive it was Dewey on Winston.

“What is he doing?” Vivienne asked as she approached a group watching.

“Reining patterns,” came a passive answer.

Seeing Dewey take the horse through intricate moves, seemingly without effort, amazed Vivienne. First, Dewey galloped Winston across the arena, then he sat back and the horse slide to a stop with his haunches on the dirt, his hind legs tucked under his belly.

When the horse had gathered himself and stood up square, Dewey put him in a spin, making one and a half revolutions, followed by a bolt forward and a gallop into a simple figure eight. Dewey and Winston repeated this pattern a few times. The rider’s cues were indiscernible. The horse’s moves gave the illusion he was deciding on his own. Vivienne thought, “I bet that cowboy could move me with subtle cues, too.” And the heat she felt in her cheeks migrated deeper inside her body.

“I did not know Winston could move like that,” she whispered to no one in particular.

“Whoa!” Dewey said softly, with his weight deep in the saddle, and Winston came to a sliding stop. The horse stood still, waiting for his next cue, and Dewey leaned forward and patted his neck, then urged him into a walk for a cool-down. Dewey looked up, and it delighted him to see Vivienne was still watching.

“What do you think of little Winston now?” Dewey asked as he dismounted by the arena fence.

“He is quite athletic. He trusts his rider.” Vivienne professed, wishing she could trust Dewey like that.

“With emphasis on harmony and communication,” Dewey lectured as he led the horse to the barn, “it’s supposed to look like a dance. With some practice Winston could trust you, too. After all, he is still only green broke.”

“You think so?” Following Dewey and Winston, Vivienne thought about her first ride. “It felt like me and Winston weren’t even doing the same steps, let alone hearing the same music.”

Her comment earned her a chortle deep in the throat of the patronizing cowboy. The sound resonated delightfully around her heart.

Then Vivienne’s train of thoughts jumped over to another track. “Wait a minute,” Vivienne stopped Dewey and pulled him to face her. “You put me on a green broke horse? You knew Winston might not connect with me. Were you trying to see if I’d fail?”

“Yes,” Dewey admitted. “I figured you wouldn’t even make it to the meadow gate. You impressed me. You handled Winston well. I figured you and he’d be fine after that.”

Vivienne reacted to this confession at first with anger, but then she warmed at what was almost a compliment. It irked her she needed Dewey’s approval. She couldn’t admit she wanted more than that. The desire to please him felt out of place. “Well, I guess I was fine. Winston and I worked it out.”

“You did more than that.” Dewey was almost proud of Vivienne. “When you can connect with a horse deeper than the surface level, its…”

“It feels like magic,” Vivienne finished the sentence. Locking eyes with Dewey, she felt a deeper connection with him as well.

“I guess it does.” Dewey liked Vivienne’s description.

Dewey and Vivienne stared at each other. They were communicating well for the first time since they met, and neither wanted to break the spell.

The routine at the Whiskey Creek Ranch included filling the last day of vacation week with group celebrations. The resort staff were busy directing the festivities, and the ranch hands spent the better part of the day managing the stock. It was evening now, just before the last dinner. On the off-chance Dewey would still be in the barn, Vivienne grabbed a few carrots, thinking she could check on Winston.

It disappointed her to discover the interior of the barn was dark. The building appeared empty and in the twilight Vivienne saw well enough, so she left the lights off. She brought a couple of brushes to Winston’s stall and groomed the gelding as he snuffled and chewed on the carrots. She ran the curry comb in small circles across the horse’s back, shoulders and haunches, and let her imagination go.

Feeling warm inside, she remembered how Dewey had handled the filly brought to the ranch for training with kindness and in a gentle manner. She remembered Dewey’s voice had soothed both her and the gelding when she and Winston struggled in the beginning. Admiration and gratitude washed through her. Vivienne allowed the peaceful feeling to run down her arm and into her hand. Winston even stopped chewing to enjoy the energy exchange.

Deep in syncopated thought, Vivienne jumped when she heard from behind her, “Boy, I sure wish I was that horse.”

She spun around and caught sight of a human silhouette leaning against the support beam pole with his arms folded across his chest. From the aura rather than her sight, Vivienne recognized Dewey. His mere presence caused a tingle inside, leaving her without a clever comeback.

“That is one back rub I wouldn’t mind being on the receiving end of.” Dewey stepped in and the horse fidgeted, maybe because he felt crowded having more than one person in his stall. Vivienne also felt an energy shift. Dewey stood closer to Vivienne and patted the gelding on the neck but never took his sights off her. Then he murmured, looking straight into her eyes, “One lucky horse.”

Dewey’s unexpected appearance had robbed Vivienne of the ability to speak. His proximity threatened to take away her air, and she stood as if frozen with the grooming tool in hand, resting motionless on the horse’s rounded hip.

Dewey reached for Vivienne’s hand, covered it with his and said, “How were you doing it? Like this?”

Vivienne’s fingers held the brush, Dewey’s fingers held Vivienne’s. Together, they moved the curry in a circular motion. The energy passing between them was electric. When Dewey stopped their hands from moving, the brush fell from Vivienne’s grip. Distracted by the brush which was now laying in the shavings on the floor, Vivienne next found Dewey was holding her fingers against his lips.

“These must be magic,” Dewey said with a huskiness in his voice that she felt rather than heard.

Dewey looked at Vivienne from deep beyond the surface of his eyes, and she felt a safe, comforting power when his thumb pressed the inside of her palm as if he was rubbing a worry stone. She didn’t resist as he invited her into an embrace. From there, they were kissing, their lips fitting as if they had practiced.

Vivienne received the soothing warmth of Dewey’s body through the cotton fabric of the dress she had put on for dinner. Losing her presence of mind while they kissed, Vivienne was only aware of Dewey. His essence and hers were two wisps of fog atop the mountain, whose tendrils swirled around the highest peaks, then collectively floated down the slope.

Like the shutting of a faucet, the imagery trickled away. Vivienne heard the blood whooshing in her ears, and her senses returned. When she opened her eyes, there she was, in Dewey’s arms, as he looked down at her assuredly.

“Can you stand?” Dewey was talking, but the words in Vivienne’s ears sounding like a recorded tape dragging too slowly across the heads. Before she could process the question, Dewey was gone and she was propped against the little horse.

Leaning against Winston, Vivienne found her voice. “Of course I can stand.” By that time, Winston had grown impatient and stepped away from her weight.

As Vivienne realized she was falling, the barn became flooded with light and a staff member came in. “Are you alright?”

Vivienne struggled to clear her head. “Dewey?” she asked.

“Dewey is not here.” The concerned employee answered. “Did you faint?”

“I’m okay, now.” Vivienne stood up and searched the interior of the stall, but only saw Winston. Where had Dewey gone? He had been there with her and Winston, in that stall. She couldn’t have imagined a kiss that sensational.

“What are you looking for?” the confused ranch hand asked.

“I, I… don’t know.”

“Maybe you had too much celebratory champagne. hmmm?”

Vivienne shook her head, wondering if condescension was the standard way Whiskey Creek Ranch approached all their guests.

“Can I help you to your cabin?”

“I’ll be fine.” Vivienne assured the ranch hand.

Back in her room, Vivienne breathed deeply and rested her forehead on her palms as she tried to sort out the strange sequence of events. Had she imagined that moment with Dewey in Winston’s stall? An experience that powerful couldn’t have been only in her mind. So where had he gone and why had he fled? Was it because he heard someone coming?

The transition day at the Whiskey Creek Ranch began with a flurry of activity as the departing guests prepared for their exit. Awaiting the next sessions of visitors, the staff were in full motivation to get everything done on time. Vivienne took a moment to reflect.

After the encounter in the barn, Dewey had disappeared. Vivienne continued to question whether they had kissed at all. When she spotted Dewey the next morning in the arena, he was with the filly. Vivienne strolled over to observe.

Dewey was concentrating on the young horse when he noticed he had an audience. He coaxed the little horse over to the edge of the arena.

“I hope you had a great time at the Whiskey Ranch, Miss Vivienne.” Dewey said, without commitment. “When you receive the followup email, I hope you will leave us an honest review.”

There was no judgement in his statement, no condescending tone. Before she could respond, Dewey directed the horse forward.

And the horse you rode in on. Vivienne whispered with a wistful heart and a smile as she watched the cowboy ride away. Her experience at the Whiskey Creek Ranch would be difficult to put into words of review.

Just before she turned to go, Dewey glanced back. He gave a nod, and tipped his hat. His smile was genuine and Vivienne thought she saw a twinkle in his eye. 

She had come to Whiskey Creek to have a working cattle ranch experience. She left with a memory of a summer fling to satisfy her romantic fantasies for a lifetime.