The Cowboy And The Debutante

Miguel didn’t exactly think she’d be in the way. He really didn’t know why he was so opposed to her working on the ground. He only knew he felt a need to protect her.

Hell, Miguel, he silently cursed himself. You ought to know Anna doesn’t need protecting. She was one of those women who prided herself on her independence and self-reliance. If she ever did need a man’s strength or shoulder to rely on, it wouldn’t be a Mexican cowboy like himself.

“No,” he said with sudden gruffness. “I don’t think you’ll be in the way. I just thought I’d save you from the nasty work. But if that’s your cup of tea, have at it.”

He jerked his head toward the pens, where already the calves were bawling with loud protests, and the stench of burning hair and hide drifted on the high-desert wind.

It was obvious to Anna that he didn’t want her working in the pens. She didn’t know if his attitude stemmed from genuine concern for her safety or to simply be the boss. Either way it annoyed her. From the time she’d been old enough and strong enough to hold a kicking calf’s hocks together, she’d helped her mother and Aunt Rose in the branding pen. She didn’t appreciate an outsider telling her she was no longer welcome.

“Look, Miguel, the Bar M wasn’t always blessed with as many hands as you have working here for you today. When my twin and I were born, my mother and aunts were taking care of this ranch by themselves. And even years later, when I was a small girl, it wasn’t all that much better. I know how to work, and I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”

“Have you thought what would happen if you get your hand or finger crushed or burned? Your career would end.”

Her expression grim, she said, “If need be, I can face my career ending. What I can’t bear is being cloistered. Ever.”

He held his palms up as if to say he wasn’t going to argue with her. “You want to be reckless, go right ahead. I won’t stop you.”

Reckless. Anna wished for once she could let herself really go. Right at the moment she’d take immense pleasure in slapping Miguel Chavez’s jaw. “But you’d like to stop me,” she said crisply.

He let out a rough sigh. To deal with a precocious woman on today of all days was the last thing Miguel needed. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is your ranch. I’m sure you’re going to do what pleases you, and to hell with my wishes.”

Anna gasped and was totally unaware that her fists had become planted on both her hips. “This isn’t my ranch, either! It belongs to my parents and my aunts and uncles.”

He glanced pointedly away from her, and Anna realized he was annoyed that she was wasting his time with trivial facts. Well, wasn’t that too bad, she thought. He was the one who’d started all this nonsense in the first place.

“Isn’t that all the same?” he asked.

“No! And I don’t like the impression I’m getting from you.”

His dark brows lifted skeptically. “What impression?”

“That you think I’m—some sort of little princess that has to be condescended to.”

His nostrils flared, and something dark and dangerous flickered in his hazel eyes. “If you think you can make me believe for one minute that you’ve ever had to suffer and struggle to make ends meet, you’re sadly mistaken. I’m not a fool, Anna. You were born into wealth, and you wouldn’t know what it was like to be without it.”

He was so wrong that she didn’t even want to try to correct his thinking. And where was his thinking coming from? It didn’t matter, she told herself fiercely. What Miguel Chavez thought of her was his own problem.

“My mother said you were a good man. Obviously she doesn’t know you.”

Anna turned and stomped away from him. She went straight to the branding pen, climbed the metal fence and jumped to the ground inside. Let Miguel be put out with her, she thought angrily. She was home on vacation. If she wanted to help with roundup, she would.

An hour later sweat was pouring down her face, tracking the fine dust coating her skin. She’d long ago shed her jean jacket, and manure now stained the front of her pink cotton shirt and splotched her chaps. But none of those discomforts bothered Anna nearly as much as Miguel’s earlier remarks had. She was still seething over his attitude, and though he’d been working only a few steps away from her, she’d done little more than grunt in his direction.

“You better watch out, Anna. This one is a strong cuss,” the cowhand warned as he bulldogged the half-grown calf to the ground.

Someone appeared with a branding iron just as she managed to grab the calf’s two back legs. “I’m watching,” Anna assured him, “just hurry and—”

Anna’s next word never got past her lips. The next thing she knew the ground slammed against her back and bright white lights were floating in front of her eyes.

“Anna! Anna, can you hear me?”

The deep male voice persisted, demanding she wake up and open her eyes. Anna struggled to see through the cobwebs floating around in her head.

“Miguel? Is that you?” she asked weakly.

Cool, rough fingers touched her temple, and she realized something was wrong with her head. Pain was zinging through it like bolts of lightning.

“Yes. It’s Miguel,” the male voice answered.

A strong arm slid beneath her shoulders and pillowed her upper body in a half-sitting position. “What...happened?” she asked.

“You’ve been kicked,” he said grimly. “Can you see me?”

Anna tried her best to focus her gaze on his dark face. Her vision was still blurred, but thankfully it was quickly clearing.

“Yes. Was I...kicked in the head?” She brought her fingers up to her forehead. It felt like someone had whammed her with a hammer.

“Right in the temple.”

“She took a pretty good lick, boss,” one of the cowboys that were grouped around them said. “Maybe she should go to the doctor.”

“You’re probably right, Jim,” Miguel agreed. “Can you men go on, while I take Anna back to the ranch?”

“No!” Anna practically shouted and made a sudden move to get to her feet.

“Stay where you are!”

The demanding tone of Miguel’s voice was like a shot of adrenaline to Anna. She shoved herself away from him and stood on rubbery legs.

“I’m okay. I don’t need a doctor!”

Another cowhand retrieved her felt hat from the ground where she’d fallen and handed it to her. Anna jammed it back on her head and tried not to wince as it settled over the goose egg that had already formed beneath her scalp.

“You probably have a concussion,” Miguel warned her.

“I can see, and I don’t have the urge to throw up. I just have an ache in my head. And you would, too, under the circumstances.”

Miguel motioned for the men to get back to work, then, taking Anna by the arm, he led her over to the back of the chuck wagon where the two of them would be out of sight from the others.

“Why are you continuing to argue with me? You were briefly knocked out cold!” he told her, his voice rough with frustration. “I want you to swallow a couple of pain pills, and then I’m going to ride with you back to the ranch.”

“Why? I don’t need to go back to the ranch.”

He glared at her with angry disbelief, and Anna wished she had the strength to knock the know-it-all look off his face.

“You didn’t need to be down in the branding pen, either,” he said, “but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Oh, sure, throw that up to me! I’m sure it tickles you to death to be able to say ‘I told you so.”’