The Rough and Ready Rancher (4 page)

She adjusted the shotgun chaps she'd put on before coming downstairs. “Speaking of Satin, I'd better get started.”

Flint's mouth went dry when he noticed the way the leather hugged Jenna's slender thighs and framed her blue-jeans-clad buttocks. He shifted from one foot to the other and swallowed hard. It was all he could do to keep from reaching for her.

For the life of him, he couldn't forget what had taken place last night on the porch and in the hall. Her legs had felt incredible tangled with his when he'd kissed her. And the memory of her, half-naked, lying in his arms on the floor, had already driven him to a cold shower this morning.

Flint observed the way the open seat of the chaps emphasized the movement of her firm little bottom as she walked toward the back door. He thought his mouth might drop open.

“Dinner's at twelve,” Whiskers called after her. His eyes dancing merrily, his toothless grin wide, he turned
back to Flint. “Unless the big bad wolf gets ahold of her first.”

It took every ounce of effort Flint could muster to keep from turning a deep crimson. He should have known Whiskers would notice his discomfort. The old man had the eyes of a hawk.

Whiskers laughed. “I'm glad to see you takin' an interest in that little filly. She's a danged sight more tolerable than the one you used to be hitched up to.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Flint lied. He removed his hat from the peg beside the door. “I have no interest in Miss Adams aside from her training Black Satin.”

“Is that why you look like you're gonna make her your next meal?”

Flint turned to glare at his housekeeper. “Dammit, Whiskers. I don't—”

“Save it, boy. I've had the oven on this mornin' and there's already plenty of hot air in this kitchen.” Whiskers moved to the table to stack plates. “If I was forty years younger, I'd lasso her myself. Mark my words, that little gal's a keeper if ever I seen one.”

“I have no intention of keeping her or any other woman.” Flint's scowl deepened. “If you'll remember, I gave it a try and it turned out to be a disaster.”

Whiskers waved a spoon at Flint. “Any time you play with a wildcat, you're bound to get scratched. I told you about that woman before you ever got yourself hitched up to her. She's the very reason you're gun-shy now.”

“I'm not gun-shy.” Flint shook his head. “I just don't intend to make the same mistake twice. That's all.”

“There ain't no way you could with Jenna.”

“Just when did you become an expert on women?”

Whiskers put the dishes in the sink and poured them each a cup of coffee. Motioning for Flint to take a seat, he low
ered himself into a chair on the opposite side of the big oak table. “You can tell a quarter horse from a Thoroughbred, cain't you?”

Flint knew he should let the matter drop, but instead of walking away, he sat down. “What do horses have to do with women?”

Whiskers grinned. “Jenna's like a quarter horse—”

Flint laughed. “I'm sure she'd be flattered by the comparison.”

“Are you gonna shut your trap and listen?”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“Well, like I was sayin', she's pretty, but she's got a lot of heart, too. She don't let things make her skittish when there's a job to be done.” Whiskers nodded. “Yessiree, when the chips are down, she'd be right there givin' all she had and wouldn't give up until she couldn't go no more—just like a quarter horse.” The old man's voice took on a disgusted tone. “On the other hand, Nicole was a true Thoroughbred. A real beauty to look at, but flighty and temperamental as hell. Give her a cross-eyed stare and she couldn't even make it to the startin' gate, let alone run the race.”

“But there's one thing you're forgetting,” Flint reminded him.

Puzzled, Whiskers scratched his beard. “What?”

“I don't need a woman. I'm happy with my life. I have Ryan and the ranch—”

“Horse spit! You and Ryan rattle around this place like BBs in a boxcar. A house this size needs a whole passel of kids. And you need a little gal like Jenna to cozy up to so you can get 'em.”

His cup halfway to his mouth, Flint stopped to glare at the old man. “Have you lost your mind, Whiskers? I just met the woman yesterday.”

“And you've been in a hot fizz ever since,” Whiskers shot back.

Flint gritted his teeth, then lied right through them. “I have not. As far as I'm concerned, Jenna Adams is an employee—the same as Brad or any of the others.”

Whiskers shook his head and got to his feet to start the dishes. “I never thought I'd live to see the day I'd be callin' Flint McCray a liar.”

Without a word, Flint placed his cup on the table, rose from his chair and left the house. He stopped in the middle of the ranch yard, his hands clenched into tight fists. He took a deep breath in order to calm himself.

But in all honesty, being called a liar wasn't what had Flint's anger close to the boiling point. It was the truth in Whiskers's words. The old man's observations had been right on the money. He had been tied in knots since Jenna's arrival. And Flint didn't like at all that it was so damned obvious.

 

Jenna shortened the
lunge
line until Satin became more manageable. She loped him in a tight circle around her for a few more minutes, then tied him to a post for grooming. She recognized the signs of an active mind and an over-abundance of energy. But unlike some horses she'd trained, he wasn't rebellious and difficult.

He did have a tendency to become aggressive and try to charge when excited or frightened, but she knew it stemmed more from him being a stallion and pasture raised, than from a hatred of humans. Once he learned there was nothing to fear, she would train him to channel his spirited nature into a constructive pattern and turn him into a champion reining horse.

“Hi,” she said when she noticed Flint standing at the fence. She'd wondered how long it would take him to check on the progress she was making with his prized stallion.

“How did it go this morning?” he asked after she'd turned the horse into the small pasture behind the corral.

“Pretty good.” She coiled the rope she held. “He has a lot of potential.”

“He seems to have settled well.”

“High-energy horses usually do, if you can keep them from getting bored.” She turned to watch the stallion gallop across the pasture. “That's why I prefer a varied program for horses like Satin. His temperament can't tolerate the monotony of constant drilling exercises.”

“What do you have planned this afternoon?”

“Nothing.” She let herself out of the enclosure. “He's had enough for now. Tomorrow I'll repeat what he's learned today and introduce a new activity or two.” She shrugged. “The next day I may only work with him for a half hour or so.”

Flint scowled. “Isn't that wasting time?”

“No.” She started for the house. “It's a precaution.”

He caught her by the arm. “Since my money is paying for this, would you care to elaborate?”

Jenna felt the tingling begin where his hand clasped her upper arm, then make a beeline to the pit of her belly. Why did he have to do that? Why couldn't he just leave her alone and let her do her job?

Her gaze locked with Flint's a moment before she pried his fingers, one by one, from her arm and turned to walk away.

“You didn't answer me. I want to know why you're wasting the afternoon.”

She needed to escape his disturbing presence in order to regain her equilibrium. But Mr. Can't-Leave-Well-Enough-Alone wasn't about to cooperate.

She turned to face him, her voice terse. “Satin has a high mental energy as well as physical. That has to be taken into account when planning his training.” When Flint's
scowl deepened, she blew out an exasperated breath. “Wouldn't you say you're a person with a lot of drive?”

“Yes, but—”

“How would you like to have a job doing the same repetitive task day after day?”

“I'd quit.”

“Exactly. You'd get frustrated with the lack of mental challenge.” She pointed to the pasture. “Satin's like that. He needs to be kept guessing as to what we're going to do next. It keeps him interested and his attention on the task at hand.”

His mouth twitched a moment before a roar of laughter rumbled up from his chest. “You mean to tell me you practice horse psychology, too?”

Jenna felt like punching him. “If I were you, I wouldn't think it was all that funny, McCray. From what I've seen, you and your men haven't done such a great job with him.”

His grin disappeared. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Satisfied she had his attention, she smiled sweetly. “You called
me,
remember? Evidently you recognized he was beyond your limited realm of experience.” She started for the house. “Leave his training to me and you'll have a champion. Interfere and you'll be stuck with the results.”

Flint stood rooted to the spot. He watched Jenna march the distance to the back door, but he didn't dare move for fear of exploding. He'd been raised in the saddle, and she might just as well have called him a greenhorn.

He spun around and went to the pasture where the working horses were kept. He caught and saddled his favorite gelding, then loaded fencing supplies and a hammer into a set of saddlebags.

When he swung up into the saddle, Brad called, “Where are you going? It's dinnertime.”

“To blazes with dinner,” Flint growled.

He touched his spurs to the horse. He'd ride fence, check
to see if he could find any sign of who might be causing all the trouble and hopefully forget he'd ever heard of Jenna Adams.

 

Dealing with Flint McCray was like trying to convey a message to a rock, Jenna thought as she climbed the stairs to her room. Shout at it, try to reason with it, even ignore it. The results were the same. Stubborn and immovable, the damn thing just sat there waiting to trip you up.

She closed the door behind her, then stripped out of her chaps and dusty clothing. Maybe a good sit-down, soak-until-you're-pruny bath would help her relax. She walked into the adjoining bathroom, turned the water taps on and eased herself into the big, claw-footed bathtub.

Since her arrival on the Rocking M, her emotions had been yanked around like a yo-yo, with Flint controlling the string. He'd accused her of deceiving him to get the job, scoffed at her training abilities, kissed her in a way she'd never been kissed before, then accused her of pushing herself at him. Now they'd come full circle. They were back to scorn and doubt.

Jenna reclined against the cool porcelain. Why did she find it so hard to resist Flint?

She closed her eyes and tried to remember the reason she'd come to the Rocking M, the job she had to do. But images of Flint kept flashing through her mind. His mouth descending on hers. His warm, firm flesh beneath her fingers. His body pinning her to the floor.

She sighed. The man could drive a saint to sin with his kiss and a pacifist to violence with his stubbornness.

Unfortunately, any way she looked at it, Flint was the most infuriating and, at the same time, seductive man she'd ever met.

 

Flint rode into the ranch yard well after dark. Bone tired, he slowly dismounted and led his horse into the barn. He'd
searched every inch of Widow's Ridge for anything left by the rustlers that the sheriff might have missed, tightened strands of barbed wire and repaired the hinges on every gate he came to, whether they needed it or not. He'd worked off his anger, but hadn't found a clue as to the rustlers' identity or been able to tire himself enough to forget his new horse trainer and the way she made him feel. The woman had the unbelievable ability to make him furious enough to choke her, and hard as granite, all at the same time.

In retrospect, Flint had to admit he wasn't as angry with Jenna as with himself and his reaction to her. For some unfathomable reason, when she stood up to him and managed to hold her own in an argument, he found it incredibly sexy and arousing.

She met him as an equal, using the admirable weapons of logic and reason to get her point across. Things a man could identify with, understand.

And that was what threw him off balance. He wasn't used to those qualities in a woman. His ex-wife hadn't possessed them. Nicole had relied on tears and tantrums to get her way.

“Flint, we need to talk,” Brad said, entering the barn.

Flint studied his foreman's tense expression. Whatever Brad had to say would be better faced over a drink. “Let me wash up first. I'll meet you in the study.”

“I'll pour the Scotch,” Brad said, walking from the barn.

Fifteen minutes later Flint sat behind his desk, his hand gripping a glass of amber liquid. “They got another twenty head last night?”

His face grim, Brad nodded. “I hate to say it, but it's my guess someone here at the ranch is involved.”

Flint's mood darkened. “There's no other explanation. Whoever's doing this has to have somebody here feeding
them information. I didn't decide to bring that herd up to the east pasture until late yesterday afternoon.”

“What I can't figure is who it would be or why,” Brad said. “All the boys have been with us for some time, and I haven't heard any complaints about the work or the pay. If one of them had an ax to grind, you can bet I'd have wind of it by now.”

“Well, whatever the reason, it's crystal clear somebody's out to destroy the Rocking M,” Flint said dispassionately. “And me in the bargain.”

A
trickle of sweat slid down Jenna's spine, and she rotated her shoulders to dispel the odd sensation. When the rivulet slipped below the waistband of her jeans, she decided this was as close to hell as she ever cared to get.

A gentle breeze ruffled the leaves on the tall oak tree at the side of the house, but did little to diminish the oppressive, midafternoon heat. For more than a week temperatures had been soaring as a heat wave baked the panhandle with blast-furnace intensity, and she'd even had to change her working schedule with Satin to early morning in order to keep from overheating.

His round little cheeks flushed from the heat, Ryan asked, “Are you gonna play? It's your turn.”

Jenna glanced at her cards. “Do you have any fours?”

“Go fish!”

She smiled at his triumphant giggles and reached to take a card from the pile between them. But movement in the
distance caught her attention, and her smile faded. She had no idea who the rider was, but he should be shot for running a horse flat out in this kind of heat.

When the animal drew closer, Jenna's eyes widened and her breath lodged in her throat. The stirrups of the saddle slapped wildly against the horse's ribs, the seat ominously empty. The sight of a riderless horse usually indicated a cowboy in trouble and was a major source of anxiety in big-ranch country, especially in this kind of heat.

Jumping to her feet, Jenna threw her cards on the picnic table. “Go get your dad, Ryan.” Knowing that many horses headed for the barn or corral after finding themselves without a rider, she ran toward the enclosure where the working stock were kept.

She was waiting when the gelding came to a shuddering stop in front of the closed gate, his chest lathered with sweat, foam dripping from around the bit in his mouth. Approaching slowly to avoid startling the agitated animal, she reached up and took hold of his bridle to keep him from shying away. She cringed when she noticed the reins, wrapped around the saddle horn. It was an undeniable indication the rider's departure from the saddle had been sudden and quite unexpected.

“What happened?” Flint called, his long strides closing the distance between them. “Where's Jim?”

“I'd say he's somewhere between here and wherever Brad assigned him to work,” Jenna answered. Running a reassuring hand along the gelding's neck, she eased to the horse's heaving side to loosen the cinch. “Did Brad go over the schedule with you this morning?”

Flint nodded, his features grim. “Jim was supposed to check the grazing conditions up at Devil's Gorge.”

“What's up, Flint?” Whiskers asked when he and Ryan reached the pair.

“Looks like Jim's gotten himself into a wreck,” Flint
said, heading for the barn. When he returned, he placed the saddle he carried on the top rail of the fence, then caught one of the horses in the corral. “I'll ride up there—”

Jenna started through the gate to catch one of the other horses. She couldn't bear the thought of staying at the ranch when she might be of some help to the friendly young cowboy. “I'm going with you.”

Flint blocked her path. “No, you're not.” He shook his head as he led the bay from the enclosure. “This isn't a pleasure trip, Jenna.”

“Don't be a stubborn jackass, McCray.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “You've got a man down out there somewhere with God only knows what kind of injuries, and the sooner he's found, the better.”

His eyes narrowed, he stopped his preparations to stare at her over the horse's back. “My main concern is finding Jim. Once I cross the dry wash up there, I'll be traveling over some of the roughest country this side of hell. It isn't even accessible by truck. I for damn sure don't need the added responsibility of watching out for you.”

She raised her chin. “I can take care of myself. Besides, two riders can cover more ground than one.”

“She's got herself a point,” Whiskers agreed. “You're gonna have to bring Jim out on horseback. If he's busted a leg or something, you might need the extry help. Me and Ryan can meet you with the truck this side of the dry wash, in case he needs to see a doctor.”

Flint didn't like his options one damned bit. Why did his only source of help have to come in the form of a petite, desirable blonde? His reaction to her made him as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. And after making a fool of himself several times in the first twenty-four hours of her arrival on the Rocking M, he'd made it a point to avoid her like the plague.

He'd kept himself busy during the days with hard, back-
breaking work in order to ease the ache he'd had since that first day. But at night, when he lay alone in his bed, the physical exhaustion did little to erase the taste of her sweet lips, the feel of her softness pressed to his body.

Flint frowned as he checked his watch. Damn! He didn't have a choice. He couldn't wait for his men to get back from their assigned areas of the ranch to start a search. There wouldn't be enough daylight left, and Jim might be in need of immediate attention.

Cursing under his breath, Flint jerked the sorrel's reins from Jenna and handed them to Whiskers. “Cool down Jim's horse.” He ignored the old man's knowing grin and turned back to Jenna. “I'm going up to the house for some medical supplies. If you're not ready to go by the time I get back, I'll leave without you.”

Whiskers rolled his eyes. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a gal.”

Flint ignored the comment and headed to the house. What he wanted to do with Jenna wouldn't require words, but it for damned sure would be sweet. Shaking his head, he entered the study, collected the first aid supplies and packed them into a set of saddle bags. He needed to keep his mind on what had to be done.

When he returned to the corral, he shoved a rifle into the boot on his saddle, then tied the saddlebags and an extra saddle blanket to the back. “I'm warning you right now,” he said, a muscle along his jaw tightening. “If you can't keep up, you're on your own. I'll go on without you.”

Jenna mounted the buckskin she'd saddled. “Don't worry. If I take a fall, you can always do the decent thing and put me out of my misery.”

He sucked in a sharp breath and thought about the misery
he
was experiencing. Beads of sweat that had nothing to do with the afternoon heat popped out on his forehead and upper lip. One look at Jenna's slim legs wrapped around
the buckskin had his jeans feeling way too small, and his throbbing body reminded him he was about as miserable as a man could get.

“Don't tempt me,” he growled. Hoping his face revealed none of the battle raging within his taut body, he shoved his boot in the stirrup and gingerly swung up into the saddle.

Whiskers watched Flint and Jenna nudge their horses into a lope and head in the direction of Devil's Gorge. Disgusted, he shook his head as he looked down at Ryan. “When you get to be a young buck and wanna start courtin', remind me to be the one to teach you bout how to chitchat with a gal.”

 

Flint focused on the heat waves shimmering in the distance as he and Jenna made their way toward Devil's Gorge. When a slight breeze whispered past, mesquite branches stirred and prairie grass swayed, but instead of relief, the flurry of hot air only made the heat more stifling.

His concern for Jim grew the farther they went. Flint had hoped to meet the man somewhere along the trail. Maybe a little red-faced at losing his seat and having his horse head for home, but nonetheless, moving on his own steam. But the closer they got to the gorge, the less likely that eventuality became.

Apparently, Flint's worse fears were going to be confirmed. Jim was most likely down and not moving at all.

A heavy cloak of guilt settled over Flint. He should be shot. He'd tried to insist Jenna stay behind, when in truth he could use all the help he could get in his search to find Jim.

But along with worrying about Jim, Flint had also been concerned with the torment his own nervous system suffered every time he got close to Jenna. That's why he'd
exaggerated a little about the area being the roughest country this side of hell.

Okay, he admitted to himself, he'd exaggerated a lot. But the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to spend. And that was something he wasn't exaggerating.

Jenna followed Flint as he crossed the wash and threaded his way through the outcropping of knife-edged rock. He hadn't spoken more than twice since they'd left the ranch, and that was just fine with her. For the past few days, Flint McCray had all the personality of a wooden fence post, and she'd just as soon try to communicate with one as to hold a conversation with him.

Oh, she hadn't expected him to fall all over himself with gratitude when she'd offered to help him search for Jim. But she hadn't thought he would act like a badger with a hangnail, either.

She wouldn't have persisted in coming along, but a downed cowboy in this kind of heat could dehydrate rapidly, and finding him as soon as possible could mean the difference between life and death. She'd come along for Jim's sake, not because she wanted to spend more time with Mr. Congeniality.

“How do you manage to get cattle in here, McCray?” she asked, guiding her horse around another boulder.

“We bring them in from the east. There's a narrow pass about four miles from here. This is a shortcut.”

They rode in silence for several more minutes, before she pointed to the vultures tracing slow circles in the sky not far ahead. “That doesn't look good.”

“Damn! I was afraid of this.”

Nudging their horses into a lope, they approached the spot directly beneath the birds.

“There he is.” Jenna winced at the sight of the still, crumpled body. Praying they weren't too late, she jumped
from the buckskin and ran to the man's side. “Jim. Jim, wake up.”

Flint knelt and placed his fingers against the young cowboy's neck.

“Is he—” She couldn't bring herself to voice her fear.

Flint shook his head. “His pulse is strong. But I'd say he's well on his way to dehydrating.” Taking a canteen from his saddle, he wet Jim's bandanna. “Here, see if you can bring him around so we can get some water into him.”

Jenna knelt so her body shielded the man's scorched face from the blazing sun. “Come on, Jim.” She bathed his parched skin with the cloth. “You've got to wake up.”

She watched Flint retrieve the saddlebags from his horse, then open Jim's shirt to run his hands along the cowboy's torso. “I'd say from that bruise on his side, he might have a couple of cracked ribs.” His face grim, Flint nodded at the odd angle of Jim's lower leg. “And his leg's broken just below the knee.”

When Flint used his pocket knife to cut Jim's jeans and peeled back the fabric, he muttered a succinct curse. The sight of the twisted leg caused Jenna to turn away and swallow against the bile rising in her throat.

“You going to be all right?” Flint asked.

“Yes.”

She turned back to face him, and her expression told Flint she was relying on pure grit to do what had to be done. “Good, because the swelling around his boot is cutting off the circulation to his foot. I'm going to need you to hold his leg steady while I try to get it off. Think you can do it?”

Her face pale, Jenna's resolute gaze locked with his. “Yes.”

The sparkle of determination in the clear, gray depths of her eyes, the squaring of her slender shoulders, convinced Flint that Jenna was a pressure player. She wouldn't turn
tail and run, no matter how unpleasant the situation became. Even if she had to rely on sheer raw nerve, she'd see the job through to the end.

Unbidden, Whiskers's sage words whispered through his mind.
When the chips are down, she'd be right there givin' all she had and wouldn't give up until she couldn't go no more.

On impulse, Flint reached out, placed his hand at the nape of her neck and pulled her forward for a quick, hard kiss. “Hang in there, darlin'. You're doing just fine.”

His lips, pressed even briefly to hers, sent a shockwave straight to the pit of his belly. He'd only meant it as a gesture of encouragement, but his body wanted to argue the point.

“Ready?” Flint asked, determined to ignore the tightening in his groin.

He watched Jenna clamp her lips together, then reach down to steady Jim's leg. He could tell this was hard for her, but she wouldn't give up. He admired that kind of grit.

Flint split the side seam on the boot's shaft. “Hold him tight, while I try to ease this off.”

Regaining consciousness, Jim groaned. “Hurts…like hell.”

“Just a little bit more, partner.” To help distract the man from his obvious pain, Flint asked, “What happened?”

“Coming back from the gorge…I caught sight of a coyote dragging a calf hide.” Jim's breath caught as Flint worked to free the swollen foot. When the pain eased a bit, Jim continued, “Like a damned fool, I dallied the reins around the saddle horn, pulled my rifle and gave chase. I never figured on running across a buzzy-tail, though. One whiff of that rattlesnake and old Red went berserk. He piled me in two jumps, then kicked me in the ribs for good measure.”

Flint worked to free Jim's foot. “Did you get the coyote?”

“Hell, no!” Jim chuckled feebly. “That old prairie wolf turned around pretty as you please and watched the rodeo. Then I swear it sounded like he had a good laugh as he trotted off.”

“He probably did. I imagine you and Red put on quite a show.” The foot finally pulled free of the boot, and Flint blew out a relieved breath. He handed Jenna his canteen. “Here, try to get some water into him.”

When she placed the canteen to Jim's cracked lips, he took a sip, then gazed up at her. “Damned nice to wake up lookin' into the face of an angel.” Paling, his lopsided grin suddenly turned to a grimace.