The Rough and Ready Rancher

Brad rose to leave. “Do what you think is best. Since one of her requirements is a room in the bunkhouse, I guess I’d better get her settled in before supper.”

“No. She’s the only single woman under the age of sixty within a thirty-mile radius, and I won’t have her causing trouble among the men.” Flint followed Brad down the hall. “She can have one of the rooms upstairs.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Flint shook his head. “From now on, leave Jenna Adams to me. Let’s see how she likes dealing with someone who’s immune to the distraction of a pretty face.”

Leaving the house, Brad shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

Continuing down the hall to the kitchen, Flint called, “Whiskers, I need you to get one of the guest rooms ready.”

In an exaggerated flurry of activity, the old man stirred the contents of a large pot on the stove, then turned his attention to a ball of dough on the counter. “Ain’t I got enough to do without you comin’ up with more?”

“You sound a little hassled. Has Ryan been keeping you busy?” Flint asked, running his finger along the top of a chocolate frosted cake.

Whiskers picked up a wooden spoon to slap the back of Flint’s hand. “Stay outta that cake. It’s for supper.” He shook the spoon at Flint. “Ridin’ herd on that kid of yours is like tryin’ to keep a young buck out of a honky-tonk come Saturday night. It just cain’t be done.”

Grinning, Flint put a large amount of icing into his mouth. “You’ll have to take a nap before we eat.”

“Now, boy, you know I don’t never do more than rest my eyes a mite durin’ the day.”

Flint bit back his laughter. Whiskers’s snoring, while he “rested his eyes,” could stampede a herd of cattle.

“Where’s Ryan?” Flint asked, looking around for his son.

“Outside rustlin’ up a peck of trouble, I reckon.” Whiskers again stirred the boiling concoction in the pot. “I heard an awful ruckus comin’ from the office a while back. What got your nose outta joint?”

The chocolate flavor in Flint’s mouth suddenly tasted like mud. “The woman who’s going to train Satin.”

“Woman?” Whiskers turned to stare, openmouthed. “Was that the little gal I saw cross the yard and head for the bunkhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Have you gone loco? That ain’t no place for a lady.”

“I never intended for her to stay with the men.” Flint scowled as Whiskers headed for the stairs. “That’s why I told you to get one of the guest rooms ready.”

“Don’t just stand there bumpin’ your gums. Git out there and help that gal in with her things,” Whiskers called over his shoulder. Trudging up the steps, he continued to mutter. “Mule-headed sidewinder ain’t got the manners of a day-old jackass.”

Disgruntled by the whole situation, Flint searched for Jenna and found her in front of the bunkhouse. He stood by and watched her pull a scarred suitcase from the seat of an ancient, rusted-out pickup truck. As much as he would like to, he couldn’t ignore years of training in Texas etiquette and stepped forward to take it from her. “You’ll be staying up at the main house.”

“That’s not necessary, McCray. I’ll be comfortable in—”

“Your comfort doesn’t concern me,” Flint interrupted. He slammed the truck’s door. “I have a ranch to run, and I don’t intend to stand back and watch you turn my men into cowpunching Casanovas. You’re here for the sole purpose of training Black Satin, not to fill up your Saturday nights with romantic encounters. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Now, hold it right there, cowboy.” She poked his chest with her finger, the contact making him feel scorched. “I have no intention of socializing with your men, but if I did, it wouldn’t be any concern of yours. What I do on my own time is my business.” She wrestled the suitcase from him. “And don’t slam Daisy’s door. You’ll knock off the rust holding her together.”

She started for the house, but spun around to glare at him. “I don’t know what your problem is, but your attitude toward me sucks saddle soap. As long as I do my job, you have no reason to complain. And you’d do well to remember that.”

Flint watched her march toward the house. It shouldn’t matter to him what she did so long as his horse got trained. But the sight of her well-shaped backside and long, slender legs made his mouth go dry. Those legs of hers went all the way up to—

Disgusted with himself, Flint shook his head. Just how could he expect his men to turn a blind eye to something like that, when he couldn’t? He, more than any other man, should be immune to Jenna Adams and her considerable charms, after the way she’d duped him into hiring her.

But he’d be the first to admit she was one hell of a sight in a fit of temper. Her sparkling, gray eyes promised a passion that would consume a man when he loved her. And the husky quality of her voice had whispered over his senses like a piece of soft velvet. His body tightened. How would his name sound when she cried out as he pleasured her?

Flint took hold of the reins to his runaway imagination. Whiskers must have put locoweed in that damned chocolate icing, he decided, starting off in search of his son. He wanted to get better acquainted with Jenna Adams about as much as he wanted to get up close and personal with a rattlesnake. She would train his horse, then be on her way.

And that’s just the way he wanted it.

Two

Jenna placed the last of her clothes in the dresser, then turned to survey her room. Indian print curtains framed the tall, old-fashioned windows and matched the coverlet on the natural pine bed. On the wall above the headboard, a large dream catcher adorned with rawhide thongs and hawk feathers assured sweet dreams for the bed’s sleeping occupant. On the polished bedside table beneath lamps made from Native American pots, two Kachina dolls in the images of the eagle and buffalo stood watch.

She smiled. It wasn’t a feminine room by any means, but the bright colors against the off-white walls made it seem warm and friendly. “Just the opposite of its owner,” she muttered, heading for the stairs.

She followed a tantalizing aroma, stopping just inside the spacious kitchen to inhale deeply. “Something smells wonderful.”

Whiskers turned to give her a toothless grin. “Hope you like son of a bit—” His weathered cheeks reddened above his snow white beard. “—gun stew.”

Laughing, Jenna patted his arm. “I’ve had it before and no matter what you call it, I’m sure yours is delicious.”

He took a tray of sourdough biscuits from the oven. “Your room okay? It’s been a while since we’ve had us a lady round here, and it might not be as purty as what you’re used to.”

Jenna swallowed hard. How long had it been since anyone cared if she liked her room, or if she even had one?

“Everything’s fine,” she said around the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

“Whiskers, look what I found.” A small boy of about four flung open the screen door and ran into the kitchen.

When the child spotted Jenna, he stopped so fast he almost dropped the box he held. “Who are you?”

“Ryan McCray, mind your manners,” Whiskers scolded. “You didn’t even give this here little gal so much as a howdy-do.”

“Sorry,” Ryan said, his smile friendly. “Howdy-do. Who are you?”

Jenna laughed when Whiskers sighed his exasperation. “I’m Jenna Adams.”

“Wanna see what I found, Jenna?” He held out his treasure for her inspection. “It’s a kitty.”

Afraid to move, Jenna and Whiskers froze.

“What’s the matter?” The puzzled child looked from one adult to the other. “He’s kinda smelly, but you can pet him.”

“That’s a dad-gummed polecat,” Whiskers exclaimed.

As if in slow motion, Ryan set the box on the floor and the three of them watched the half-grown skunk climb out. Jet-black with twin stripes of white running the length of its back, it waddled around the kitchen sniffing its new surroundings.

“Don’t nobody move,” Whiskers commanded, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. When the animal ambled toward the door, he reached for the broom in the corner, eased forward and used the handle to push open the screen. “Get Ryan outta here while I take care of this varmint.”