The Cowboy Who Broke the Mold by Cathleen Galitz

Estelle passed through the swinging doors of the Atlantic City Mercantile and into the black Wyoming night.
    Stepping up beside Jud at the bar, Bill Madden ven- tured a question. “So what do you think of our new teacher now?”
    “She’ll do, I guess,” was Judson’s terse response.
    Still smarting from his confrontation with Estelle, he was inclined to think all women were more trouble than they were worth. It would probably be wise to just call it an early night.
    “I knew if you’d just withhold judgment until she’d had a chance to prove herself, you’d—”
    “And I’m telling you to wait and see what happens when winter hits full-blast and life-of-the-party Ms. Ra- ben discovers subzero weather is more than what she’d bargained for. When, come midterm, our kids are left without a schoolteacher and there’s damned little chance of finding a replacement!”
    “You’re too young to be such a curmudgeon,” the superintendent said, slapping Judson on the back with a familiarity that, considering his present state of mind, was a tad risky.
    “She’s terrific! The kids all adore her, and every par- ent I’ve talked to purely gushes with praise for her.”
    Judson wasn’t listening. He was looking thunderously at the table where Carrie sat as the belle of the ball. By the way she had reacted when she thought he was drink- ing a beer on the ride from Rock Springs, he’d assumedthat she was a teetotaler like himself. He’d also paid attention at dinner, noticing that she had stopped at one glass of wine. He remembered her telling the waiter that she seldom drank, and unless he’d been mistaken she hadn’t been drinking anything else but punch the rest of the evening.
    So that dazed look on her face just didn’t add up— not until Judson caught sight of a silver flask from under Cody Trent’s jacket. Suddenly it was as plain as that stupid jackalope on the wall that he was spiking the punch. The way he kept pouring it down Carrie between dances made Judson wonder how the poor thing was able to stand at all. It was obvious to him that a certain stud was intent on taking advantage of their pretty new schoolteacher.
    Catching a glimpse of bewilderment glistening in eyes the color of a spring meadow, Judson felt a hot gush of protectiveness well up inside him. Damn it all to hell! When had he gone and gotten so soft in the heart? What difference was it to him whether this little greenhorn was in over her head or not?
    Judson didn’t take time to consider the answer to those questions. Pushing back his hat, he wondered how in hell he was ever going to pluck this innocent, little lamb from the midst of a pack of wolves without getting himself killed in the process.
    Snuffy and her husband were off jitterbugging with gusto, leaving Carrie surrounded by men vying for her attention. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why she was suddenly feeling so giddy. Her head was spinning as she smiled demurely at the blur of faces around her.
    “I don’t remember any of my teachers looking likeyou,” simpered Ted Barrows, a young man destined to inherit one of the most successful ranches in the county.
    Pulling up a chair, Judson ignored the hostile glares he received from the other men as he edged in beside Carrie. Leaning close to her, he whispered in her ear, “I think you’ve had enough for one night. Why don’t you let me walk you back to your room?”
    At the sight of Judson’s arm draped about the object of his desire, Cody Trent bristled. “Excuse me, but Car- rie and I was just about to scoot a boot on the dance floor.”
    Judson pushed his Stetson casually back to better re- veal eyes the color of gunmetal. “Why don’t you just scoot your butt out the door instead?”
    Cody jumped to his feet. “And why don’t you just try to make me, chief?”
    Standing, Carrie placed herself precariously between the two men. Her head was swimming.
    “Maybe you’re right, Jud,” she interjected