The Rancher's Bride

It should be safe from the flash mob otherwise known as Mom’s Mutts on the grooming shelf to his right, he thought, dreading the arrival of the gaggle of ranch dogs. People were forever dropping their unwanted pets out in the country, and for some reason they always seemed to gravitate toward the Spring Hill Ranch. They settled in as if the place was some kind of canine retirement home.

“I’ll start at one end and you can start on the other.” He guided her to the feed room located next to the tack room. It was double the size of their tack room, double the height, too, with bales of hay stacked to the ceiling. This was horse hay, though, which meant the sweet smell of alfalfa filled the room. “They each get one flake.”

“Flake?” She looked perplexed standing there in her designer pants.

“Yup.” He went to the closest bale, pulled out his pocket knife, slit the baling twine. It came apart with a pop and a twang, the hay still warm on the inside. They’d just loaded it into the feed room yesterday. “It should be as wide as this.” He slipped the knife back in his pocket, held up his hands, and touched his two thumbs together so she could observe the space between them.

“What about the pitchfork?” She glanced around as if looking for one.

He didn’t want his lips to twitch with a smile, but they did. “Nobody uses pitchforks to feed horses anymore.” He grabbed one of the soft, green flakes. Well, that wasn’t precisely true. He supposed some old-timers might still use them, but not here where everything was state-of-the-art.

He brushed by her, pausing for a moment near the door to watch. She approached the bale as if it was a complicated puzzle, reached down, picked up a flake, and then did exactly as he’d thought she’d do as she straightened. She held the thing up to her chest like a giant library book, gasping as stalks of alfalfa slipped right down that fancy shirt of hers.

“Ack.”

She dropped the flake of hay, brushing at the front of her shirt as if ants had crawled down her bra.

“You might want to watch that,” he said, balancing his own flake in the palm of one hand, ? la pizza delivery boy. “If it gets down your shirt, you’ll have to take that shirt off.”

“Excuse me?” Her head popped up, pretty blue eyes wide.

“That’s the only way you’ll get it out of your clothes.” He smiled, though he knew he should leave her alone. He just couldn’t resist messing with her. “Once it’s down your shirt, it’ll keep poking at you all day.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” He lifted a second wedge of hay he held while still balancing the first. “If you need a place to strip, you can do it right there.” He winked. “I promise not to watch.”

Her cheeks turned pink, her sexy mouth pressed together. It was exactly the reaction he’d been looking for. She didn’t smile at him flirtatiously. Didn’t seem to welcome his invitation to undress in front of him. Not, he quickly reassured himself, that he was looking for that. No, no. He’d just been curious. Obviously, she hadn’t come to Texas to snare herself a cowboy bachelor.

Disappointed?

Absolutely not.

“The day I undress in front of you is the day the Tooth Fairy does the Macarena on your nose.”

He found himself laughing despite himself.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me,” he said, heading off to feed.

“There won’t be a next time,” she shot back, and for some reason the words only made him smile all the more.

He kinda liked her spunk.

* * *

“STUPID, IMPOSSIBLE MAN,” Jorie grumbled, listening for Ryan’s footsteps outside as she quickly stripped out of her blouse. “‘Next time maybe you’ll listen to me,’” she mimicked, freezing for a moment when she heard a noise. It was just a horse snorting, though. Ryan was still busy feeding horses. She had no idea if he’d noticed her absence, and didn’t care. He’d figure out what she was doing soon enough, she thought, shaking the silk fabric.

How in the heck was she going to adhere to Odelia’s wishes to learn more about horses if she couldn’t even feed them without messing it up?

Bits of green hay rained down like confetti. She had the stuff down her bra, too. Leaning forward, she scooped the cups out.

“Yuck.”

A knock startled her.

“Go away,” she called out.

He’d probably come to gloat. Evil man.

He knocked again. Louder.

“I said—”

The door opened.

“Hey!” She jerked her blouse in front of her.

“Are you okay?” Odelia asked, the woman’s eyes filled with concern. “Ryan mentioned something about an accident.”

The breath gushed out of her. “I thought you were Ryan.”

“What happened?” Odelia slipped into the room, her eyes darting over Jorie quickly.

“I had hay down my shirt.”

Odelia’s face cleared, a hand lifting to her heart. “That’s it? I thought it was serious.”

“This is serious,” Jorie quickly contradicted. “I feel like I’ve rolled in a briar patch. I’ve got hay in places I didn’t know I could have hay in.”

The hand over her heart lifted to her mouth, Odelia’s mirth clearly visible. “I can’t believe that no-good piece of work otherwise known as my son actually let you feed.”

“I insisted,” Jorie admitted. “I know you want me to learn more about horses and so I thought this might be a simple introduction.”

“It might have been if you hadn’t been in your work clothes. Ridiculous man.”

Jorie was ever so tempted to let Ryan take the fall. She really was. “Actually,” she said, still holding the shirt in front of her. “He did warn me. Kind of.”

“Come here,” Odelia said, motioning with her finger for Jorie to approach.

Jorie didn’t move.

Her new boss tipped her head at her in warning, hands moving to her hips. “Now, now, don’t be modest,” she drawled.

Jorie was completely bemused by the woman’s own outfit. She wore a bright red Western shirt, one with beige piping across the front. There was no fringe today, but she had on the obligatory cowboy hat. Jeans encrusted with rhinestones completed the ensemble. It wouldn’t be so bad, except she’d somehow managed to match the red of her shirt to the red of her lipstick. Not that it looked bad. It was just…unexpected on someone her age.

“Come on,” she urged. “Give me your shirt. I’ve dealt with this problem before. You’re not the first guest who’s found themselves in this predicament.”

Jorie handed over the shirt.