Читать книгу Cowboys Do It Best - Eileen Wilks, Eileen Wilks - Страница 9

Two

Thirty-two minutes later, Chase McGuire stood at her door, hat in hand, with Rosie Stafford. Rosie wore an orange blouse that went with her fiery hair about the same way that Tabasco sauce goes with jalapeños. Chase McGuire wore jeans, a sky blue shirt and that dangerous smile of his. He was a tall man, with just enough creases in his face to make it interesting. He had dark eyelashes, and his hair was six shades of blond all stirred up together.

Summer looked at the man standing at her front door and realized she’d been fooling herself when she thought she knew anything about him. Seeing Chase McGuire at a distance, hearing the gossip about him, was totally different from meeting him up close and personal. He radiated bad-boy charm the way a stove gives off heat.

Summer managed not to stutter when she told the two of them to come on in. “Have a seat, Rosie,” she said, gesturing at the old plaid sofa that Maud had vacuumed free of cat hair less than ten minutes before. “And...Mr. McGuire, too, of course.”

“Make that Chase,” he said, treating her to a smile that showed off the single dimple in his left cheek. “Otherwise I might forget to answer. ‘Mr. McGuire’ is my big brother, Mike.”

“Of course.” No, she’d never known this man. He made her feel...stupid, she thought. Stupid was definitely the word for what she was feeling. “Sit down, Chase. Can I get you something? Some coffee?”

Summer noticed two things when Chase followed Rosie to the couch. First, he limped. Not badly, but the stiffness in his stride was especially noticeable in a man so surely made for strength and grace. She also noticed his... physique. At the mature age of twenty-seven, Summer was used to considering herself past the age for youthful follies. She was dismayed to learn she hadn’t gotten over her weakness for a cowboy in a tight-fitting pair of jeans, after all.

“The coffee’s fresh,” Maud informed them. She was perched primly on a ladder-back chair, imitating a proper old lady.

“None for me, thanks,” Rosie said, settling herself into the cushions on the couch with a little grunt. “Seems like the bigger the rest of me gets, the tinier my bladder shrinks. Can’t drink more’n a couple of cups these days.”

Summer caught the quick glance Chase McGuire gave her sling before he answered easily, “I don’t need a thing.” He sat on the couch. The Stetson he turned to lay, brim up, on the end table was black with a rolled brim and a gorgeous band of silver conchas.

Not a hat to wear when mucking out a stall. “I’m not sure what to say,” Summer began, seating herself in the old recliner. Leaning against the recliner’s high back eased some of the ache in her collarbone and shoulder. “Maud talked to Will without discussing this with me first. I don’t know if you realize what the job would be.”

“Not exactly,” he said. “But I know it involves horses, so I don’t figure there’s too much of a problem.” That grin flashed again. “I’m good with horses.”

Yes, the NFR’s “Best All-Around Cowboy” a few years back ought to be good with horses. She wondered how he’d managed to go through all his prize money—a small fortune, really—so quickly. Gambling? Women? Not that this man would ever have to pay for a woman, but a lot of cowboys liked to spend whatever money they had on whoever had their attention at the moment.

“I’m sure you can handle horses just fine,” she said, “but I need someone to do the dirty work, not the fun stuff. Muck out the stalls, feed the horses, worm them, move them to pasture and back—oh, and probably tack up for me on Mondays and Fridays. I give lessons.”

“Now, Summer,” Rosie said, “Chase ain’t a Hollywood cowboy. He don’t mind getting dirty or shoveling out a stall. He’d make you a good hand.”

Chase shot his friend an exasperated look. “I’d just as soon apply for the job myself, Rosie.”

Summer shifted, trying to find a position that made the hurt go away. “But there are the dogs, too. At the kennel. You’d have to clean up after them, feed them, hose down the runs—and a lot of the owners want their animals bathed before they pick them up. I can’t imagine that someone like you would—”

“Ma‘am,” he interrupted. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘someone like me,’ but what I am is broke. So’s my truck, unfortunately. Your job’s got two things going for it. One, Rosie tells me you’ve got a room I might be able to stay in. Two, it’s temporary. That suits me, because I don’t plan on being here longer than it takes to save up enough to get my truck fixed.”

No, Chase McGuire wasn’t the type to hang around. “I can’t afford to pay much.” She couldn’t help noticing his eyes. They weren’t a plain old brown. Like amber glass held up to the light so the sunshine streams through, they seemed lit from within. Like he had something burning inside him.

“How much is not much?”

Summer didn’t like the way he was looking at her, all warm and approving—as if he’d noticed her noticing his eyes. She said stiffly, “Two hundred a week, with the room Rosie mentioned and two meals a day thrown in. I’d need you on Saturday and Sunday, too, at least at first.”

“Well,” he said, his smile widening, “if that’s an offer, you’ve got me, honey, for as long as you need me.”

She frowned. “I didn’t—”

“Good!” Maud boomed as she bounced out of her chair. “Glad we got that settled. You made a smart decision, Summer.”

“I didn’t—”

“You might as well get your stuff from the truck, Chase,” Rosie said, heaving herself to her feet. “I imagine Summer wants to put you to work right away.”

“His room’s at the kennel,” Maud told Rosie. “I’d be glad to show it to him. It isn’t much, but the bed’s decent and the smell’s not bad. There’s even a half bath Summer’s daddy built on, when he had a hand working here full-time.”

“I’m sure Chase’ll like it just fine, after sleeping on that old couch of mine last night,” Rosie said. “Well, Chase, I wouldn’t say you’ve landed in clover exactly. Maybe a big pile of horse dung soft enough to cushion the fall.” She chuckled. “And Summer, honey, don’t you worry about Chase. He’s a rascal, but an honest one. You might have to knock him on the side of the head a time or two, but he’ll do you a good job. You’ll be glad you hired him.”

I didn’t, Summer thought, but Maud picked up where Rosie left off, telling Chase how much he was going to like working at the Three Oaks. Summer couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

She glanced at Chase and saw that he was thoroughly aware of her predicament. His eyes were brimful of mirth.

Her lips twitched in spite of herself. “All right,” she said. “All right! The two of you can quit trying to out-talk me and embarrass me into hiring Chase. I do need a hand, and he’s willing to work cheap. And,” she said, sliding him a look, “like you said, Rosie, I can always knock him on the side of the head if I need to.”

And really, she assured herself, in spite of her unsettling reaction to this man, she didn’t have anything to worry about. After Jimmie, she was immune to the superficial appeal of a good-looking traveling man.

“Then I’ll just do like I was told,” Chase said, standing and smiling that easy smile of his, “and get my bag from the truck. I figured that if you did hire me, you’d need me to get to work right away, so I brought my stuff along. I hope you don’t mind...ma’am.”

Somehow, when spoken in his low, molasses-sweet voice ma’am sounded more like honey or sweetheart. Something restless and unwelcome stirred in her, a sensation as hot and ominous as the rumbling approach of a summer storm. “Of course not,” she said, a bit too sharply. “Come on. I’ll show you your room and get you started at the kennel.” She stood up, turned to say something to Maud...and then stood there, blinking foolishly, disoriented by the fierce grinding pain that seized her.

She’d forgotten her collarbone. She’d moved without taking her disability into account, and jarred the break. How could she have forgotten like that?

A big, warm hand cupped her good elbow, steadying her. “You all right?” Chase’s deep voice asked softly.

She turned her head and looked right into amber eyes with the mirth for once completely gone. Concerned eyes, thickly fringed with those dark, ridiculous lashes. She was close enough to see the texture of the skin stretched across his smooth-shaven cheeks. Men’s skin, she thought fuzzily, is so different from women’s. Summer looked at Chase’s skin and thought of leather, the smooth, supple sort of leather so soft it made you want to pet it, made you want—

“I’m fine,” she lied, and pulled her arm away.

Oh, Lord. What had she done?

Fate was a fickle female. Chase had known that before he was old enough to shave. For the first time in fifteen months, though, fate seemed to be favoring him some. He had a job now, with the promise of a roof over his head that wasn’t part of an old friend’s charity.

Two months wasn’t so long, he told himself as he retrieved his bag from Rosie’s truck. He could handle being without wheels that long, and he could learn to be around horses without having it matter so damned much.

His new employer ought to be a nice distraction. Of course, she hadn’t really wanted to hire him. He had the distinct impression Summer Callaway didn’t trust him.

Smart woman.

He really ought to leave her alone, he told himself as he headed back to the neat little frame house where the three women were probably picking him apart in his absence. So maybe she did have a body that would make a strong man weak and the prettiest blue eyes he’d seen in a long time. Those blue eyes frosted over every time he smiled at her. He was a rodeo cowboy, after all. Just like Jimmie Callaway had been. Considering what Chase knew about the jerk she’d been married to, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep her distance.

He frowned at the platoon of tiny toy soldiers and army vehicles blocking the sidewalk up to the house. Summer Callaway was a mother, apparently. He hadn’t known that. Not that Chase had anything against mothers. He just didn’t get involved with them. Nine times out of ten they were looking for someone to be a daddy to their little ones, and Chase was the world’s worst candidate for that role.

“Hey, Rosie,” he said, swinging the door open and stepping back into the neat-as-a-pin living room. The house smelled inviting, a friendly mingling of scents: pine cleaner, coffee and vanilla. The room itself was definitely “country,” from the maple end tables to the comfortably worn plaid upholstery to the gun rack near the door. Folks who lived in the country tended to take a practical attitude toward guns. They were a necessary tool for dealing with wild dogs, snakes or rabid skunks.

“I hope you haven’t been telling all my secrets.” He looked from his friend to the slender woman in worn denim, green flannel and a pale blue sling. She stood there watching him with those pretty blue eyes of hers.

Heat. Like a punch in the stomach he felt it again—the same hot, bubbling mix he’d felt when he first laid eyes on her. Anticipation. Hunger. A thrill a lot like the moment when he lowered himself onto the back of an angry bronc in the chute and knew he was in for one hell of a ride.

He smiled.

Rosie chuckled. “I can’t tell what I don’t know, and I’m sure I don’t know all your secrets. Well,” she said, and heaved herself to her feet, “I’d better get back to the house. You let me know, Summer, if this rascal gives you any trouble.”

Somewhat more reluctantly Maud announced that she had to be going, too. While the three women went through their leave-taking rituals, Chase watched his new boss.

Some might find her a bit on the skinny side, at least from the waist down. Not Chase. The moment she’d opened the door to him, he’d discovered a decided partiality for long, slim legs and a tiny butt, especially when they were matched up with full breasts and hair the color of whiskey in a glass.

He was all but positive she wasn’t wearing a bra under that big flannel shirt.

“Well?” she said, facing him as she closed the front door on her friends. “Are you ready to go to work?”

His gaze drifted lazily from her breasts up to her face. He was supposed to leave this woman alone? He shook his head, doubting himself already, and drawled, “I’m ready whenever you are, sugar.”

Frost warnings went up in those blue eyes. “We’ll go out the back door. Come on.”

Her house was small, but immaculate. What little he’d seen so far of her operation made him think it would be just as scrupulously tended, too, and he liked that. Chase wasn’t especially tidy with his own things, but he was downright nitpicky when it came to horses, their gear, housing and care.

“There’s a phone in the barn and another cordless unit in the kennel, but don’t worry about answering if it rings,” she said, pausing next to the back door to pick up a cordless phone. “I keep one of the cordless phones with me all the time so I can book appointments.” She frowned at the phone in her hand. “Dammit, I can’t put this on my belt if I can’t fasten a belt.”

“I’d be glad to help.” He couldn’t quite say that without smiling.

She turned the frown on him, then turned away, tucking the phone into her sling next to her arm. “The horses have already been taken care of this morning,” she told him, opening the back door and ignoring his offer. “Usually I do it, but Raul came over early today as a favor.”

And who, he wondered, was Raul, and just what kind of favors did he do for her? Chase liked the idea of doing “favors” for his new boss. He didn’t like the idea that someone else might already be doing for her what he was trying to persuade himself he shouldn’t do. “Raul?” he asked. “Is he a...friend of yours?”

She paused, holding the door open and looking at him suspiciously. “Why?”

He gave her his most innocent smile. “Just wondered why you didn’t offer him the job.”

She continued to frown. “Raul is in the eleventh grade. He can’t put in the kind of hours I’ll need in the next couple of weeks, but he’s a good hand.”

Chase nodded blandly as desire tightened down another notch. It doesn’t matter if another man is in the picture or not, he told himself. Not if he intended to keep his distance.

Was that what he intended? “I guess I’ll meet Raul this afternoon, then.”

“Right,” she muttered, giving him one last, wary look. “Well, come on.”

She’d barely set foot on the painted gray floor of the wooden porch when a black-and-white tornado shaped like a dog ran up to her, yipping and twisting itself in tight, excited circles. For the first time, Chase saw what Summer looked like when she wasn’t suspicious or hurting. When she smiled and meant it.

His breath caught in his chest.

“Hmm?” she said, stroking the head of the frantically happy dog. “Did you say something?”

“Quite a watchdog you have there,” he managed to say. She was beautiful. It came as a shock. Not just pretty or sexy or desirable. When Summer smiled with that soft look in her eyes, she was flat-out beautiful. “I imagine she’d be hell on a burglar, running around in circles until the poor fellow got dizzy from watching her.”

The light in her eyes changed from tenderness to amusement. “Oh, Kelpie here is pretty useless as a watchdog. She loves everybody. But I’d better take you over and introduce you to Hannah.” She walked over to where a large brown lump rested on the edge of the porch. The lump lifted its head and thumped its tail once when Summer lowered herself into a careful squat to pet it. “Hannah knows Rosie, so she didn’t mind when you two came up to the door, but we’d better give you a formal introduction now.”

Did she seriously think that decrepit old hound was a watchdog? Willing to play along, Chase set his bag down and hunkered down beside her. He caught just a whiff of Summer’s scent. Strawberries. It made him smile, because it suited her. “Hi, there, Hannah,” he said to the lump. “My name’s Chase.”

“I had something a bit more basic in mind,” Summer said dryly. “Here, give me your hand.” She reached out. and took it.

Heat lightning. That was all Chase could think of when she took his hand in hers—the hot, unexpected stroke of lightning that can flash unpredictably across a cloudless summer sky. Involuntarily, wanting only to hang on to the sensation a moment longer, his hand closed around hers. Her skin was soft, but her hand wasn’t. It was a strong hand, tough and capable.

That, too, stirred him.

He heard the hitch in her breath. But she didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge what arced between them. Instead, after a second she said, as level and calm as if nothing had happened, “Now we let Hannah smell our hands, so that she remembers your scent and mine mixed together.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” he said huskily, and stretched out their joined hands. The hound lifted her nose and sniffed at them. “Your scent and mine, mixed together...”

She jerked her hand away. She wasn’t quite fast enough, though, to rise to her feet without Chase’s assistance. He got hold of her good arm and steadied her.

Chase didn’t want to see all the color drain out of her face again, the way it had earlier. He’d cracked enough bones himself to know she had to be hurting. She wasn’t about to admit it, though, or go rest. Chase understood the need to keep on going when it made more sense to quit, and he was beginning to get the idea that this woman had an oversize helping of pride.

She pulled away. “Mr. McGuire, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your hands to yourself.”

Would she, now? “Well, I can’t quite promise to do that, ma’am. Not when you’ve been hurt and are maybe a bit too stubborn to admit you need a hand now and again. But I’ll keep what you said in mind.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, “and you know it. A man like you is well aware of—”

“Just a minute,” he said. “That’s the second time you’ve said that—‘a man like me.’ Now, I know we’ve never met. I’d remember. So you must have heard some gossip...or else you’re getting me mixed up with someone else. Like your husband, maybe?”

She looked as startled as if he’d reached out and slapped her. “I didn’t—you—did you know Jimmie?”

“I ran into him a couple times. Look, I know some rodeo wives get a bad feel for the rodeo and everyone connected with it, especially if their husbands stay on the circuit as much of the year as Jimmie did.”

She just gave him a hard, baffled stare and turned and started across the yard. Chase was left to pick up his bag and follow. Had she reacted that way because she’d been so much in love with the good-looking bum she’d been married to? Or did she already know plenty about Jimmie Callaway and just not want to discuss it?

The kennel was a long, cinder block building on the other side of the paddock, about twenty yards from the stable. It was painted white, with trim the same dark green as the little house they’d just left, and typical of what he’d seen so far. Not fancy, but sturdy and well maintained.

Chase automatically slowed when they reached the pole fencing surrounding the paddock so he could look over the four horses inside. Two of them he marked immediately as the sort of plodders she might put a beginner up on for those lessons she’d mentioned. He wouldn’t mind getting a leg over either of the other two, though. “That’s a fine-looking dun,” he said, referring to a mare with a coat a few shades lighter than Summer’s own golden brown hair. “She’s mostly quarter horse, isn’t she?”

Summer paused and glanced back over her shoulder at him, her blue eyes still chilly. “Mostly. She’s unregistered, but her dam had a lot of Thoroughbred in her.”

He nodded. The mare had the dainty ears and face of a Thoroughbred and the muscular hocks of a quarter horse. At that moment she perked up those pretty ears and ambled toward them. “I’ve seen some fine horses with that mix. She’s yours?”

The compliment pleased her, but she didn’t want to be pleased. Not yet. She turned to greet the horse. “Honey-Do and I have been together a long time. I started training her with my father’s help when I was nine. The two of us learned barrel racing together. She’s pushing twenty now, so mostly I use her for Western pleasure these days.”

“Honeydew?” he asked, trying to figure out the reason for the name. “Like the melon?”

“No.” Summer reached out her good hand to the horse, who had her neck stretched out, obviously confident of getting attention. Summer gave the horse a good, brisk rub up the jawbone and along the cheek strap.

Those lovely, capable hands of hers could do a number of things well, Chase felt certain. He could think of one or two in particular he’d like. He could, but he’d better not. Not if he was going to keep his hands off her.

“She started out plain old Honey when I first got her, for her color. I was nine,” she said, and spared him a slight smile, “and not especially original. Pretty soon, though, her name became Honey-Do as in, ‘Honey, do this,’ or ‘Honey, do that.’ Because Honey does just about anything you ask of her—don’t you, sweetheart?” she finished, her voice dropping into a croon.

Everything about her warmed up around animals. He couldn’t help wondering what it would take to get her to heat up for him. “What about the paint with the roan markings?”. he asked, setting down his duffel. “Is he yours?”

The raw-boned gelding he referred to was a big, ugly brute, maybe seventeen hands high. The animal looked up just then from pulling bites of hay off the bale set in the center of the paddock. When he saw that another horse was getting attention, he snorted and trotted over, using his weight to push Honey-Do aside and stretching out his own big, Roman nose.

“For my sins, he is,” Summer said. “He’s a two-year-old, so he’s not much on manners yet.” She turned sideways so the inquisitive horse couldn’t nudge her bad shoulder, then had to push his nose away when he started to lip the sleeve of her shirt. “Some cowboy wannabes out of San Antonio bought him and his mother when he was a colt, then lost interest. They sold the mare easily enough, but the future was looking pretty dim for Horatio here when I heard about him three months ago. I picked him up dirt cheap because they didn’t really want to sell to the knackers. I’d planned on training him fast in the basics and selling him, but I guess that’s not going to happen now.”

“I don’t know why you couldn’t do just that,” Chase said, leaning on the top pole to give the jealous Horatio a good scratch behind the ears. “He’s not exactly a pretty face, and he’s too big for arena work, but his gait looks smooth. I bet he’d make a fine working horse.”

“Timing,” she said succinctly. “In order to make any money on him, I need to get him trained before he eats up my profit. All I can give him is the basics. Like you said, he’s not pretty enough for the arena, and I don’t know how to train him for range roping or cutting, so I couldn’t expect to get any great price for him.”

Chase thought about that. “You’ve had him on the longe line?”

She nodded. “He’s stubborn, but he’s bright and not easily spooked. He walks, trots and lopes on the longe now, and you’re right about his gait. I’d just gotten him used to the bridle and was ready to move on to the saddle when this happened.” With a nod of her chin she indicated her sling. “Now he’ll forget what he knows before I can start working him again.”

“You do much training?”

“Right now it’s just Horatio and Maverick. That’s the Bates’s sorrel gelding—the one that dumped me on my shoulder yesterday. They wanted me to get him over some of his bad habits, so I’m working him as well as boarding him.” She stared out over the paddock, a frown pleating her brow.

“I’ll train them.”

That brought her head around fast—too fast, judging by the way she winced. “I’m not paying you trainer’s wages.”

She was a suspicious one, wasn’t she? He smiled. “You don’t have to. I figure I might find training a couple of ornery horses a nice change of pace after mucking out stalls and shoveling dog poop.”

Her brows lifted skeptically. “You want to train them—just for fun?”

“Sure.” He turned and eased a little closer to her. Close enough to make her just a bit uncomfortable, close enough to see the slight, involuntary flare of her nostrils, as though she were catching his scent. “Of course, I might have some other sort of motives mixed in there, like hoping to make you feel real grateful to me. But you’re too bright to fall for something like that, aren’t you? So I guess I’ll have to settle for what I said. A change of pace. A bit of a challenge.”

Beneath the frown that lingered on her face lay a sort of puzzled awareness. Her eyes were just a hint wider. A hint uncertain. “I guess if you worked Horatio, you could take a percentage. When I sell him. That would be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Fair?” He did what he’d been wanting to do all morning, and ran his fingers down one long strand of hair, playing with it. “Doesn’t seem like it would be all that fair to you.” He rubbed the hair between his fingers, savoring the smooth, silky feel of it.

“Don’t.” Her voice was steady enough, but her eyes gave her away. He saw anger there. Confusion. Arousal. The confusion excited him as much as the arousal, and he didn’t like that. Only innocents were confused by their physical needs, and Chase wasn’t a man who looked for trophies outside of the arena. He liked his women easy and experienced. Easy meant no one got hurt, no one got burned when it was time to move on down the road.

But he wanted this woman. He wanted to seduce this woman.

His gaze slipped from her face to her throat, where he could see the rapid flutter of her pulse. Lower, to where her hardened nipple was puckered beneath the soft flannel of her shirt...on one side. On the other side was her sling.

He really shouldn’t be doing this.

The sound of a motor filtered through his lust-induced haze. Summer heard it, too. Her eyes widened. She stepped back. He let his hand fall. She frowned, looked over his shoulder and frowned harder. “Well, shi—shoot.”

It amused him that she’d edited out the cussword almost as much as it pained him to be interrupted. He turned.

A tall man was climbing out of a low-slung foreign car next to the smaller gate. Although the man wore boots and a black cowboy hat with his suit, Chase would be willing to bet he’d never sat on a horse. Even from here Chase could see that his face had the smooth, indoor look of a businessman.

“It never rains but it pours,” Summer muttered.

“So who is he?”

“Ray Fletcher.”

The minute the smooth-faced Ray Fletcher stepped through the gate, the belly-deep belling of a bloodhound erupted from the back porch of the house. Hannah heaved to her feet and bayed again, and a cacophony of barks, yips, yaps and woofs broke out at the kennel.

“Ray,” Summer said in a conversational tone that he barely heard over the din, “has never been introduced to Hannah.”

Chase grinned. Apparently Hannah was a little more alert than she looked, and she set the other dogs off. You couldn’t beat a dozen yapping dogs as an alarm system.

Ray Fletcher closed the gate and started across the thirty or forty yards from the front gate to the paddock. Chase noticed that Summer didn’t take one step toward the man. Fletcher had crossed half the distance before she made some kind of signal to Hannah, at which the old dog heaved a sigh and plopped back down. The rest of the canine clamor was dying down by the time Ray Fletcher reached them.

He was an indoor sort of man, all right, a little soft through the middle and under his smooth-shaven chin. Not bad looking. Not especially good-looking, either. There wasn’t much memorable about him, Chase decided, except the expensive clothes he wore...and his eyes.

Ray Fletcher’s eyes weren’t soft when his gaze flicked over Chase as quickly as a lizard’s tongue tasting the air, summing him up and dismissing him. Chase didn’t much care for the dismissal, but it did intrigue him. Offhand, he could only think of a few men who’d discounted him that quickly. A couple of them were fools. One was as ruthless and cunning as Chase had ever come across.

“Summer,” Fletcher said in a pleasant tenor voice, “as soon as I heard about your accident I came to see if there’s any way I could help. I know how proud you are, but perhaps you’d consider a loan.”

“Really? And here I thought you’d probably come out here to see if my getting crippled up meant I’d have to sell you my land.”

He looked pained. “I know you’ve never acquitted me of having ulterior motives for dating you, though I’d think you’d only have to look in the mirror to realize the truth. But mixing business with pleasure is never a good idea. I should have known better.”

“Well, if you’re really concerned, Ray, let me reassure you. This is Chase McGuire. He’s going to work for me while I’m unable to take care of things myself, so you see, I really don’t have any problems for you to concern yourself with. Chase, this is Ray Fletcher, a land shark from San Antonio.”

“For heaven’s sake, Summer,” Fletcher said, exasperated, then turned his quick brown eyes on Chase. “Mrs. Callaway does like to give me a hard time, Mr. McGuire. I’m a real estate developer, and—” he smiled and shook his head ruefully “—I made the mistake of trying to persuade Summer to sell her land. Now I’m one of the bad guys, as far as she’s concerned.”

“Is that so?” Chase stuck his thumbs in his belt loops and looked Fletcher up and down, his expression easy and pleasant. “You saying you aren’t a bad guy? Sure looks to me like a black hat you’re wearing.”

Fletcher couldn’t decide if that was supposed to be a joke or not, so he ignored it. “Summer,” he began, “about that loan. I’ve got the money to spare, you know that. Just say the word.”

“Now why would you think money was tight for me, unless you knew how much my property taxes had jumped this year? They doubled, Ray. And you know what’s odd? It was right after I turned down your offer that the appraiser showed up to reappraise my land. Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

He frowned. “You can’t seriously think I had anything to do with that.”

“You know how us women are, Ray.” Her voice turned low and cold. “We get these notions. I’m getting another one right now. I’m thinking you’d love to make me a loan so that you could somehow get me to default on it. That would simplify things for you, wouldn’t it? You and your plans for your fancy housing development?”

“Oh, enough.” Fletcher made a chopping gesture. “I put my foot wrong with you months ago, but this is getting ridiculous. You can’t blame me for every little thing that goes wrong.” He started to turn, then paused. “Look,” he said, “I really would like to persuade you of my good intentions. If you’re ever ready to give me a chance, just call.”

I’ll give you a chance, Ray. Just withdraw your offer for my land. Formally, in writing. And throw in something about how you won’t ever make another offer.”

He blinked before replying, a second too late, “When you get over your paranoia, call me.” He turned and walked off.

“That got rid of him,” Chase said when Ray Fletcher was out of earshot.

“Did you hear him?” Summer stared at Fletcher’s retreating back. “He offered me a loan. A loan,” she repeated, astounded at the insult. “I can’t believe it. He honestly thinks I turned down his offer to buy my land out of some stupid feminine pique. He thinks he can go right on pretending to be interested in me. Like that would make any difference about whether I’d sell the land or not.”

“How much land do you have?” Chase didn’t think a developer would be interested in the little bit of land that the stable, kennel and house sat on.

“All that,” she said, gesturing at the large, fenced pasture beyond the house and grounds, “and down from there to the river. Nearly forty acres, ten of it riverfront. My father fought hard to hold on to it. He had land speculators after him, too, always trying to get him to sell, but he held on. I am not,” she said, “going to let some inflated property taxes and a sore shoulder make me lose what he held on to.”

Pride, Chase thought. The woman had more of it than was good for her. She was stiff with it, practically quivering with outrage that Fletcher had thought he could get his hands on her land just because she had five times as much of it as she needed and nowhere near enough money—just because she was broke and hurt and might be thought, by some, to be just a tad vulnerable at the moment.

It was damned appealing. “Forty acres isn’t enough to ranch, but it’s more than you need to run a stable, isn’t it?”

She looked at him, disgusted. “I don’t imagine you’d understand.” She turned away. “Come on. The morning’s nearly over and the kennels are still dirty.”

Chase watched her walk away. Her back stayed stiff and straight, but her cute little butt swayed gently from side to side. He appreciated the stiffness almost as much as he did the sway. He watched her move and saw how the morning sun turned to copper when it tangled in her long, unbound hair.

He sighed. He was a weak man. A sadly weak man. And she was a sexy, prideful woman with an injured shoulder who wanted nothing to do with him. A woman like that didn’t know enough about her own body’s responses to defend herself against him, and he really ought to leave her alone...even though when he touched her hair her breath got shallow and her nipples got hard. Even though he couldn’t keep from speculating on how she’d respond if he touched her elsewhere.

She’d probably slap him silly.

“Are you coming?” she called without looking back.

He grinned and picked up his duffel bag. “Yes, ma’am,” he called, and started towards her.

He always had liked a challenge.