Читать книгу A Marriage By Chance - Carolyn Davidson - Страница 11

“The whole thing looks legal to me, Chloe. Are you certain that’s Peter’s signature?” Paul Taylor returned the letter she’d offered for his inspection. Then, while awaiting her reply, he picked up the document J.T. had offered as proof of his claim.

Chloe looked for a final time at the wrinkled letter and felt the hand of fate clutch at her heart. “Yes, I’m about as sure as I can be, without watching him write it. He has a distinctive hand.” Not neat, but certainly no one else she knew scrawled quite so boldly as Peter when he set pen to paper. “Can I do anything at all about it?” she asked quietly, ignoring J.T.’s presence at her side.

“Hmm—no, I doubt it,” Paul said, shaking his head as he finished reading the simple note the lawyer in Silver City had written up. “He’s tied it up neat and tidy, I’d say. Peter signed away his interest in your ranch, sure enough.” He glanced up at J.T. and his eyes were glacial. “Took advantage of the young man, didn’t you?”

J.T. returned the icy stare. Then, as Chloe shifted beside him, he stifled the harsh words that sprang to mind and softened his stance. “No, not really,” he murmured. “The boy was set on gambling away everything he owned, it seemed, and I figured it was worth my while to spend a couple of hours helping him along. I gave him a stake when the game broke up, and advised him to go home and face the music.”

He looked down at Chloe’s upturned face and shrugged. “Apparently, he decided against it, and wrote his sister a letter instead.”

Paul watched the byplay in silence, then held out the document to J.T. and nodded, a curt movement of his head. “You’re in the clear, as far as I can tell. Enjoy your winnings, mister.”

His tone gentled as he turned his gaze on Chloe. “Can I do anything else to help?”

“No.” She shook her head, not willing to encourage him in any way, shape or form. Paul Taylor had more than once expressed a desire to keep company with her; and though he was a nice man, she wasn’t interested in pursuing a courtship with him. “I think you’ve covered it all,” she said quietly, and turned to leave Paul’s office.

The door closed behind her and J.T. caught up with her rapid pace as she headed for her horse. “Slow down, lady,” he said smoothly. “Let me drop this off at the bank and I’ll ride back with you.”

“I don’t need your company,” she told him sharply. “And I don’t intend to be seen waltzing around town with you.” Leading her mount to the edge of the boardwalk, she stepped into the stirrup and onto the saddle.

J.T. watched, and his chuckle galled her to the core. “You need to carry a mounting block around with you, ma’am. Either that, or get a shorter horse.”

She swung the black mare around and faced the man. “I’ve got shorter horses, but this is the one I prefer. Keep your advice to yourself, Mr. Flannery. I’m sure you’ll find good use for all your knowledge when you start working the ranch.”

He rocked back on his heels, hands thrust into his pockets, and his grin was cheeky, she decided. “Never said I had a lot of experience at ranching, Chloe. But I’m more than willing to learn the details from you.”

“And here I thought you were already making decisions about changing my way of doing things,” she taunted, holding a tight rein on her horse. The black pranced sideways, fighting the bit, and J.T. reached out a hand to grip the reins beneath the horse’s jaw.

“Now, here, I’m qualified to give a little advice, ma’am. The first thing you need to do is let up on those reins,” he said quietly. “Don’t let your temper spill over onto the animal you’re riding. You’ll have her all lathered up before you leave town.” The mare tossed her head and J.T. released his hold. He reached to tilt his hat brim a bit, then watched as Chloe turned the horse in a tight half circle and loosened the reins.

Her mount broke into a quick trot, and J.T.’s eyes lit with appreciation. The woman could ride, sitting the saddle like she’d been born there. Her head high, nodding at several passersby, Chloe rode quickly toward the edge of town, and J.T. headed for the bank. In moments he’d placed his proof of ownership into an envelope and watched as Mr. Webster deposited it in the big vault.

His next stop was at the general store, where he chose pants and shirts to fill in his sparse wardrobe, adding socks and drawers to the pile before he nodded to the woman who’d gathered the assortment together for him. “How much?” he asked.

“Let me see,” she told him, obviously adding the total in her head. “That’ll come to four dollars, even.” She took his money and hesitated. “You stayin’ at the Double B Ranch?”

“Word gets around fast, doesn’t it?” he said with a grin. “Yeah, I’m the fella that bought out Pete Biddleton’s share. Just arrived yesterday.”

“That boy’s a scamp,” the woman said, shaking her head in judgment. “Never figured he’d amount to much, even before his pa passed on. Since then he’s been pretty predictable, leavin’ everything up to his sister to tend to.”

“She seems pretty capable to me,” J.T. allowed mildly.

“And it’s a good thing she is,” the woman snapped. “That boy spent more time shufflin’ cards than he did workin’ the ranch. His pa was ready to disown him, according to Mr. Webster, then the old man died real sudden like, and the boy inherited half of everything. Doesn’t seem fair to Chloe, if you ask me.”

“Well, you never know how things will work out, do you?” J.T. said, picking up his package. “I assure you I’ll do my share of work at the ranch. She may be better off with me there, than with the last partner she had.”

“She’s been the backbone of the place since she was sixteen, when her mama took sick and died. Folks around here think a lot of Chloe,” the woman said, her eyes scanning J.T. as if she issued a warning.

“I’m sure they do,” he said agreeably. “She seems like a fine woman.” He headed for the door, aware of listening ears, grinning to himself as he thought of the discussion he would miss once the door closed behind him. He’d given the town a brand-new topic of gossip today and hadn’t offered much for them to base their speculation on.

The ride back to the ranch was long, spanning almost two hours, and he wondered how often Chloe made the trek. Between them, they probably should have picked up supplies, but buying groceries was no doubt the last thing on her mind right now. She’d gone home empty-handed today, with only her frustration and anger for company. By the time she got to the ranch, she’d probably be in a stew, ready to make his life a misery.

He’d have to watch his step, especially when he announced his intention to move into the house. His new partner might be small, but he’d be willing to bet she knew how to handle a gun. And getting a load of buckshot aimed in his direction would certainly put a damper on his day.

“You’re gonna do what?” Hogan’s exasperated query was met by a shrug.

“I’m going to fix up a room for Mr. Flannery to sleep in,” Chloe said quietly. “He owns half the ranch, and that gives him the right to Peter’s bedroom, I’d say.”

“When did you decide to be so easygoin’?” Hogan asked. “Last I talked to you, you were hell-bent on makin’ the man’s life a misery. I thought sure you’d make him stay in the barn or the bunkhouse.”

“I know,” she said. “I thought so, too, but he gave Peter a stake after the poker game and advised him to come back home. At least that’s what he told Paul Taylor. I guess he doesn’t have any reason to lie about it.” She looked toward the town road where the big stallion would shortly appear, and decided she’d pretty well gotten over her mad. Fair was fair, and if J.T. had tried to do right by Peter, he deserved at least the treatment she would offer anyone else.

Hogan was silent for a minute, as he digested J.T.’s generosity. “He seems a good enough man to me,” he said finally. “So long as he doesn’t start throwin’ his weight around, we’ll get along all right, I expect.”

“Don’t count on that,” Chloe told him, remembering J.T.’s remarks. “He may be trying to run roughshod over all of us before he’s done.” She sighed, thinking of the tasks awaiting her in the house. “Once Aunt Tilly shows up, I’ll be free to work with you on roundup.”

“And I’ll feel better about having Flannery in the house with you,” Hogan said bluntly. “I don’t like to think about folks making remarks, with you and your new partner sharing the house. If you’re giving him Peter’s room do you need to be moving furniture or anything?” he asked. “I can send one of the boys up to give you a hand.”

Chloe shook her head. “No, he’ll get Peter’s room just as it is. Clean sheets is about as far as I’ll go to get it ready for him. And as far as propriety’s concerned, I’ve been doing a man’s job for a lot of years already, Hogan. Folks quit talking about me a long time ago. I don’t think half of them even consider me a woman. I’m just a rancher. And that suits me just fine.”

Hogan shook his head. “Maybe. Maybe not, Chloe. This might be a good thing for you, set you to thinking about woman stuff, instead of pushin’ yourself so hard. And another thing. You gonna be doing the cooking for Flannery, or send him out to the bunkhouse for his grub?”

She hesitated and then, casting another long look at the town road, made her decision. “I’ll feed him in the house. If it was Peter, I’d cook for him. The man is half owner, no matter whether I like it or not. And once Aunt Tilly gets here, she’ll be cooking for everyone anyway.”

“Chloe?” From the bottom step of the long, curved stairway, J.T. called her name, then listened as light footsteps moved overhead. A door opened and closed and he watched as Chloe hesitated at the top of the stairs. “Hogan said you were fixing up a room for me.”

“Did he?” Her foot touched the top step, and she grasped the banister as she made her way toward him. Pausing two steps above him, she hesitated, looking down at his upturned face. “I’d begun to think your hat was a permanent part of you,” she said idly, her gaze lifting to where dark waves cascaded almost to his collar.

“I take it off every once in a while,” he told her. “When I eat and sleep anyway.” Refusing to give way, he watched her patiently, waiting for her response, and then nudged her with another query.

“What changed your mind?”

“About the room?” Her shrug lifted one shoulder. “You own half the house. The least I could do was let you have one room to sleep in.”

He stepped back, allowing her passage past him, and then followed as she moved down the wide hallway to the kitchen. Leaning his shoulder on the doorjamb, he watched as she snatched an apron from a hook near the pantry, halting at the sink to wash her hands.

“I’m heating up chicken soup from last night, if you’d like to have a bowl,” she told him. “I’ll cook supper after a while, but this ought to hold you over for now.”

“I appreciate that.” For some reason she’d changed her tune, and he searched her profile for a clue to her mood. Women were usually a puzzle, and this one was no exception. “Some reason why you’ve decided to allow me in the house?” he asked, noting the subtle hesitation in her movements at his words. She paused in the pantry door, cans of fruit in her hands.

“I already explained that.” The cans hit the table with a thump. “You own half of it,” she said simply. “Or at least half of the part that isn’t mortgaged.”

J.T. ambled toward the round table in the middle of the room. “I didn’t know there was a mortgage on it. Peter didn’t tell me that.” He shot her a sidelong glance as he pulled a chair from beneath the oilcloth-draped table, then hesitated. An offer of help might be appreciated. “You want me to get out the dishes?”

“All right.” She pulled a kettle from the back of the stove, lifting the lid to inspect the contents. “This is almost ready. We’ll have shortcake with it. I made biscuits.” The tinned peaches sat on the buffet and she pulled out a can opener from a drawer, offering it in his direction. “You know how to use one of these?”

“I reckon I can figure it out,” he said, tossing the utensil in the air and catching it by the handle. “I’ve kept one in my saddlebag ever since I discovered all the different things I could do with it.”

“Those saddlebags looked pretty flat to me,” she said, lifting an eyebrow as she glanced again in his direction. “You travel light.”

“Doesn’t pay to haul too much around with you, I’ve found,” he said, working at the cans of peaches. “Where do you want these?”

Chloe pointed at a blue bowl on the buffet. “Pour them in there. Soup bowls are in the left hand door, spoons are on the table in the jar.” She picked up a ladle and lifted the lid of the kettle, watching as the steam rose. “Why don’t you hand me the bowls?”

Abandoning the peaches for a moment, J.T. did as she asked, reaching to accept the hot vessel from her hand. Beneath his callused fingers, the back of her hand was soft, and he thought she slid it from his touch with haste. But not rapidly enough to dispel the effect of warm skin and the faint scent of soap wafting from her hair.

He placed the bowl on the table with care, reflecting on the woman behind him. This wasn’t in the plan, this sudden awareness of her as a female. He’d assessed her yesterday, viewed her with an eye to getting in her good graces, hoping to ease into the running of this operation without any amount of hassle. That alone had been a futile thought, he decided, recalling her eyes spitting fury in his direction.

Taking a liking to the woman was a far cry from being attracted to the female element. And why that was a fact was beyond his reckoning right now. He only knew that for a moment, there’d been a recognition of that subtle warming within him that signaled desire.

“I’ll get the biscuits from the oven,” Chloe said from behind him, and he turned, grasping the second bowl, only to find she’d slid her hand from contact with his, her eyes avoiding him. Her movements were brisk as she retrieved the biscuits, as if she were more than familiar with the kitchen and the tasks inherent in providing meals. Yet, who had she cooked for, he wondered. The boy had taken his leave months before, apparently.

Chloe had been alone. Alone with a handful of ranch hands, and the awesome responsibility of turning a profit from a ranch that was struggling along without a bank account to dip into. Damn. Peter Biddleton had a lot to answer for.

“Who’s Aunt Tilly?” he asked idly, picking a spoon from the jar in the center of the table.

“My father’s sister,” Chloe told him. “Where did you hear about her?”

“Hogan told me she’d be here soon.” He grinned. “That was when he told me there’d be a chaperon to keep me in line.”

Chloe turned a sharp look in his direction. “You’ll mind your manners or end up in the bunkhouse, Aunt Tilly or no.” She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the fragrant soup. “She came to us after Pa died, pitched in and took care of things. I ended up working the ranch, taking Pa’s place. When cold weather came that year, she took a train south to her daughter’s place for the winter. Did the same thing before the first snowfall back before Christmas. I got a letter from her last week, saying she’d be back as soon as the weather broke, probably within two weeks.”

“Did you ever think of offering her a permanent job here?”

Chloe looked up at him as she buttered a biscuit. “She may decide to stick around, once she sees you here. She’s a real stickler when it comes to respectability, and she won’t like the idea of our sharing the house.”

“I pretty much expected a battle over that,” he said quietly. “You surprised me, Chloe.”

“I’ve learned there’s some things you’ve just got to live with,” she said. “It seems you’re on my list, J. T. Flannery.”

The youth named Willie was cocky. There was no other word to describe the toss of his head and the arrogant look he offered as Chloe entered the barn. “Ma’am?” His single word caught her attention and she turned at his bidding. “You need anything?” he asked, his gaze sweeping her length.

“No,” she answered sharply. “I’m just looking for Hogan.”

“He’s out back, talking to Lowery.”

J.T. watched, noting the appraising look the boy cast on Chloe’s backside, bristled as the grin reappeared once she was out of sight and inhaled sharply. His fist clenched as he stepped noiselessly from the tack room. Willie glanced in his direction, and the grin vanished. “You need me, J.T.?” he asked smoothly. “I was just fixin’ to clean the stalls.”

“Sounds like a good job for you,” J.T. answered. He watched as Willie snatched a pitchfork from the wall and turned to the closest stall. “I’d suggest you remember your place, young’un. I’ve watched you for three days.”

Willie looked back over his shoulder. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Defiance edged his words.

“Miss Chloe is the owner of this spread. She’s way out of your class.”

A sly grin curved one corner of Willie’s mouth. “Can’t help it if I admire a good-looking female, can I?”

“You make any move toward my partner, son, and you’ll be in more trouble than you can imagine.”

“Kinda slick, the way you rode in here and took over, mister,” Willie said, leaning indolently on the pitchfork.

“I’m legally half owner of the place. You want to challenge my authority here?” J.T.’s voice deepened, and his clenched fist opened against his thigh. Poised, he ached for the younger man to dispute his words. But it was not to be. The boy’s gaze wavered and he shook his head, sliding the pitchfork beneath a section of soggy straw.

A nearby wheelbarrow received the load, and Willie turned back to his chore.

J.T. strode past him, catching a glimpse of Chloe’s checkered shirt beyond the far doorway. Two men stood before her, arguing heatedly, and J.T. grinned, surmising the dispute in progress.

“Hell, I’ve worked with worse than this,” the redheaded cowhand thundered, waving a bandaged forearm in the air.

“Not for me, you haven’t,” Hogan countered, his jaw thrusting forward.

“How about some light duty?” J.T. asked, approaching the trio.

Chloe’s mouth closed with a snap, and her eyebrows lowered. “I can handle this.”

J.T. shrugged negligently. “I imagine so, ma’am. Just thought I’d mention that the tack room needs some attention. Enough work to keep a man busy for a couple of days, I’d say.”

“I earn my keep,” Lowery said, pale beneath his freckles. Frustration rode each syllable, and J.T. nodded agreeably.

“I’ve heard that,” he said, a bold-faced lie, to be sure, but one he didn’t think either Chloe or Hogan would dispute. “Nobody’s saying otherwise, Lowery. Just makes sense to me to let the thing heal properly, give the cut a chance to mend.” He tilted his hat back and faced the man head-on. “Every job on a ranch is of equal value, far as I can see. It takes well-tended tack to work with horses, and clean stalls to keep them healthy.”

His shrug was offered to Chloe. “What do you say, partner?”

Her eyes still glittered with subdued indignation, but she stifled it, earning a grin. “I won’t argue with that,” she replied, then turned back to Hogan. “Are you picking up more hay from the Winters’ place today?”

His glance encountered J.T.’s as he hesitated. “Thought maybe you might want to talk to him. If you take the wagon, he’ll have his men load it for you.”

“Why don’t I go with you?” J.T. asked smoothly, taking her arm and leading her back toward the barn. “Do we pay cash on the barrel, or wait till the next trip into town?” It seemed not a subject to discuss in front of hired hands, even though Hogan was obviously privy to financial dealings.

“He’ll wait,” Chloe said quietly, snatching her arm from his grasp. “I don’t care if you go along. You might’s well know the bottom line, anyway.” She turned to face him, and a glance over her shoulder told him that Willie stood just inside the door.

“Let’s take a walk,” J.T. said, his glare sending Willie into motion.

“All right.” Chloe set the pace and they headed for the corral fence, climbing in unison to perch on the top rail. Before them, three young steers moved aimlessly within the confined area. “How much you think they’re worth?” Chloe asked as J.T. settled beside her.

“How much do you need?” he countered, placing his hand careful inches from hers.

“Right now, enough for a couple loads of hay. I can sell these three in town.”

“That’s not good business,” he said flatly.

“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But I won’t take advantage of a neighbor.”

J.T. nodded, judging the weight of the animals Hogan had penned. He looked down, considering his options, his fingers gripping the rail he perched on. His quick gaze noted the hand beside his own, and measured the contrast, hers narrow, tanned, yet feminine, his own broad and scarred from numerous encounters. One slash, from a broken bottle swung in his direction, had merited a line of stitches. Another pale nick told of a knife blade that he’d barely escaped.

She lifted her hand, and her index finger lightly traced the raised scar, its ragged edges pale against his bronzed skin. “You’ve been pretty battered in your time, haven’t you, cowboy?”

“Never had anybody like you around to mend my bruises,” he said with a grin. “Old Lowery doesn’t know how lucky he is.” And then his mouth firmed. “I’m not a cowboy. Maybe a sometimes gambler, and I’ve spent my share of time on the range, riding herd when I needed a grubstake. But never a cowboy.” Spoken aloud, he gave the word a distasteful sound.

“Didn’t mean to insult you,” she said. “I just figured you’ve been riding for someone, somewhere, to come up with the usual assortment of scars a man collects.”

His look was long, and she glanced aside. “How much do you need?” he repeated.

“I told you. Enough for a couple loads of hay.” Her hand lifted to rest atop her thigh, and he mourned its absence. He’d enjoyed its presence, basked in the warmth of soft flesh against his callused skin, there for a moment.

“Seems like a pity to sell off a steer that doesn’t have enough weight on him to bring a good price.”

“Think I don’t know that?” Her words were sharp-spoken. “We all do what we have to, Flannery.”

“Well, you don’t have to raise money that way, Chloe. I’ll spring for the hay, and we’ll settle up later. I’ve got a bit of cash on hand.”

Her lips compressed as she concentrated on the young beef cattle before her. “I’ll set up a page in my record book,” she answered grudgingly. “I won’t cheat you.”

He nodded. “Another thing, Chloe.” Silently, he waited for her to respond.

She sighed and turned her head, offering him a patient look from blue eyes. “What now?”

“I’m not real fond of Willie-boy.”

“He’s all right,” she said after a moment. “Young and a little arrogant, but his mama needs the money his pay brings in.”

“He’ll either stop looking you over like you’re on display for his benefit, or he’ll be looking for another place to work.”

“He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

His laugh was harsh. “Either you’re more innocent than I thought, or—”

“I’m not a child, Flannery. I can handle Willie.” She eased down from the fence and tugged her pant legs in place over her boots. “If that’s all for now, I’ve got a meal to put together before I hitch the wagon and pick up my hay.”

“You get the meal together and I’ll hitch the wagon,” he countered smoothly. “If I’m paying for the hay, I want to see it first.” She stalked away and he watched her, admired the rounding of her hips beneath the denim pants, and privately agreed with Willie that she was, indeed, a good-looking female.

“I’ve been thinking,” Chloe said, watching as J.T. picked up the reins. The horses moved out at his bidding and she half turned to face him. “Maybe we need to hammer out an agreement.”

“Thought we’d already made some progress at that,” he said, lifting one booted foot to rest against the frame of the wagon. His trousers were snug, outlining his thigh, and Chloe tore her gaze from the sight.

“Hogan’s a good man. I want you to leave him in charge.”

He nodded. “All right. Up to a point.”

“A point?” she repeated. “What does that mean?”

“He’ll carry out my orders, and see that the men do as they’re told.”

“What about my orders?” she wanted to know. “I’m in the habit of meeting with Hogan every day, keeping up with things. Lots of days I ride with the men, work alongside them.”

“Not anymore,” he said shortly. “You’ve branded your last calf, lady. I caught sight of a scar on your hand that shouldn’t be there.”

She turned her hand over and examined it briefly. “I’ve got several. It comes with the job.” She outlined one that formed a neatly imprinted B on her palm. “I did this when I was sixteen. The first time Pa let me help in spring roundup.”

“You won’t wear another brand like that,” he said harshly. “You’re a woman, not a cowhand.”

“I’m a ranch owner,” she reminded him. “I won’t be treated like a fragile flower, Flannery. I can get banged up just as easily in the kitchen.” Her hand lifted to press against her stomach, and his eyes followed the gesture.

“Did you blister?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t think the coffee had drenched your shirt. Was I wrong?”

Chloe shook her head. “Just left a red spot. Nothing to talk about.” She rolled her fingers into a fist and rested it on her knee. “When Aunt Tilly comes back, I’ll be free to work outside all day, instead of just piecemeal.”

His jaw tightened as she watched. “There’s some of the work I’d rather you didn’t tackle,” he said. “I expect you’re good at training horses, and that’s one thing. Now, roping steers is another thing altogether.”

“I’ll bet you’ve got in mind letting me keep the books, haven’t you?” Her words oozed sarcasm as she thought about being penned up in the big office, adding and subtracting lines of numbers and, more often than not, coming out short. At least, that had been the situation for the past months.

“Maybe,” he said easily, ignoring her tone. “We’ll go over them together,” he told her. “Then decide from there.”

“There’s not much to decide on, right now,” she admitted unwillingly. “You might as well know the whole story, partner. There aren’t any funds available. My brother cleaned out the bank account when he left town. We’ll be operating on the cuff until fall roundup.”

“I figured as much,” he said, lifting the reins to crack them with a sharp sound, sending the team into a quick trot. The harness jangled and the wagon wheels rode roughly over the rutted town road. Chloe grabbed the side of the seat, holding herself in place.

“Peter’s young,” she said quietly. “Maybe too young for the pressure I put him under, trying to make him into a man.”

“How old is he?” He turned a harsh look in her direction. “I’d thought you were pretty close in age.”

“We’re twins,” she said shortly. “Twenty-two our last birthday.”

“And he’s young, but you’re not?” Skepticism coated the words.

“He didn’t take well to responsibility,” Chloe said quietly. “Ranching wasn’t his first choice.”

“What was?”

She was silent, weighing her words. And then she laughed, a humorless sound. “Let’s just say that anything involving hard work didn’t come easily to Peter. He might have done well if Pa had sent him East to school and he’d been able to learn a profession.”

“Bankers and lawyers work hard, Chloe,” J.T. reminded her. “There isn’t a job in the world that doesn’t take some elbow grease of one kind or another to accomplish. I think you’ve been protecting Pete long enough. You need to take a long look at him and recognize his faults.”

“His name is Peter. And I’m aware of his faults, thank you.” She sat upright, forsaking her relaxed stance on the seat.

“A man his age should have outgrown a boy’s name. When he turns into Pete and makes his own way in the world, I’ll be able to respect him.”

“Well, there’s not much chance you’ll be running into him again, is there? I’ll warrant he’s nowhere near Ripsaw Creek.”

“He’ll be back one day, mark my words,” J.T. growled. “When his grubstake runs out, he’ll show up like a bad penny.” His eyes flashed darkly as he glanced at her. “There’ll be hell to pay when that happens, Chloe. He lost his share of the ranch in a fair game, in front of witnesses. And you’re not giving him another slice of the pot.”

“Damn!” She shot the word in his direction, and ground her teeth together lest another follow in its wake. “You don’t have Boss Man printed across your forehead, Flannery. And being my partner doesn’t mean you control my share of the ranch.”

“We’re gonna butt heads over this, aren’t we?” His look was measuring as he drew the wagon to a stop in the middle of the road.

“What did you expect?” she asked. “That I’d sit here and have you tell me what to do? I don’t think so, Flannery. You can just take your orders and put ’em—”

He grabbed her arms, stepping on the reins with one boot, lest the horses take it in mind to move. His grip was firm and unmoving, long fingers sliding up to wrap around her shoulders. Then he drew her closer and she lost her balance, falling against him. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed as his glittering gaze scanned her startled face.

“Don’t say it,” he warned, his voice low, rasping against her hearing. “Don’t say one more word. Just keep your mouth shut.”

“Damn you!” The curse dared him, spurting in his direction from between clenched teeth, and he inhaled sharply, reaching further, his gaze on her full, lush lips.

“I said not another word,” he whispered, the sound seeming more hostile than a shout. And then his head bent, and she felt her eyes widen as he pressed his lips against hers. His mouth was hard, his lips firm, and she heard a low moan deep in her throat, an anguished cry that protested his touch.

“Hush,” he whispered, allowing her breathing space for a fraction of time that was barely long enough for her to inhale. And then his mouth was there again, softer this time, persuading her to his purpose, his lips warm and damp against hers.

His hands slid from their firm grip to encircle her back, and she was drawn across the seat, to lie precariously against his chest. Her fingers clutched for purchase, gripping handfuls of his shirt, and she fought for balance, aware that only his strength kept her from sliding to the floor beneath the seat.

“Haven’t you ever been kissed?” he asked quietly, easing his mouth from hers, his dark eyes surveying her.

She shook her head, aware of the flush that rose from her throat to cover her cheeks. Her heart thumped within her breast, an uneven rhythm that caught her attention. His hands held her in place, and she felt the heat of his body, even through the layers of clothing separating them.

“I’ll do better next time, Chloe. I’d hate to have you think this was the best I can manage.” His touch softened and he lifted her, settling her on the wagon seat, straightening the collar of her shirt with gentle hands.

Next time? She shivered. If this was any example of the man’s skill, she’d do well to steer clear of another demonstration.

“I expect you want an apology,” he said, his mouth twitching at one corner.

“I doubt if I’ll get one, will I?” Her lips tingled, her vision was blurred with a mist of tears and her hands were trembling as she clenched them into fists. And then as she caught a shuddering breath she heard the apology she’d not expected.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said. “But I can’t say I’m sorry I kissed you, Chloe. I’m just wishing it had been for another reason than to get you calmed down and settled.”

Well, he’d certainly failed at that. Calm? And settled? She’d never felt so discombobulated in her life.