Читать книгу Cowboys And Cradles - Sharon Swan - Страница 11

“Babies.”

Eve had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. Judging by the blankly stunned expression on Ryder Quinn’s face, she had surprised him, and surprised him well. “Yes, those little darlings who pop out nine months after mom and dad go to bed and do a lot more than sleep.”

He looked at her as if she had just said she’d landed from another planet. “You are flat-out crazy!”

“You’re welcome to think so,” she calmly informed him. “However, the attorney general of this state, being a perceptive woman, considers it a great idea.”

Ryder chewed that over for a second. “And where did you happen to bump into her?” he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“At a charity fund-raiser during Super Bowl celebrations a few years ago. We’ve kept in touch for quite a while. She loves the Sassy Lady line, by the way.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Believe what you want, but the end result is that she’s willing to help me deal with all the bureaucratic regulations involved in this type of thing. If she’s as good as her word, which I don’t doubt for a minute, the center should be up and running in a couple of weeks.”

Ryder sat down on the edge of the desk, looking so disgusted she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Is the first lady, or maybe the Queen of England, in on this too?”

She had to smile. “No, they both missed that fundraiser.”

“What other big shots do you know?”

She searched for someone who would truly impress him. Unfortunately she’d never run into Clint Eastwood. “Well, I did meet Brad Pitt once.” For about thirty seconds.

After studying her for a long moment, Ryder blew out a resigned breath. “You’re not making any of this up, are you?” Since it wasn’t really a question, she remained silent. “This isn’t a bad dream. You really are going to turn this place into a Bonanza for babies—the old TV show with a big twist.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “if you want to put it that way. My plan is to give new mothers who can’t afford other forms of day care a chance to either work or go back to school. The service will be free of charge, but if it allows even one woman to keep a child she wants to keep, I’ll consider myself well paid.”

Something in her voice must have alerted him. His gaze was suddenly probing. “This is personal, isn’t it, Eve?”

She turned to walk toward the window, saw the sun low on the horizon. Sunsets here, she’d already discovered, could be spectacular. “Yes, it’s personal,” she replied quietly. “I want to help mothers keep children, because mine didn’t keep me.”

Eve lifted a hand and rubbed a dark smudge from the glass. “The thing was, she wanted to keep me, which I only learned a few years ago. She wasn’t married when I was born. She is now. Her husband seems like a good man. They lived in Tucson when we all met for the first time, in probably a nicer area of the city than I suspect she once lived in. Now they’ve moved to El Paso. I stopped by to see them again on the drive here. They have three children. It appears to be a very happy family. I might have been part of it, if the woman who gave birth to me had had the resources at seventeen to care for a baby.”

“What happened after she gave you up?” Ryder asked softly.

Eve switched back to face him. “I was lucky. Two great people adopted me. When I was old enough to understand, they were straightforward about the adoption, and I was comfortable with it because I never doubted they loved me. I grew up in a middle-class area of Dallas, had lots of friends. I was happy. Yet something was always…missing. A link with the past, I suppose you could say. For instance, my adopted parents were small in stature—I was taller than both by the time I was thirteen. Where had my height come from? I often wondered. Then, too, I loved to draw almost from the time I could walk. Crayons were far more treasured than toys. Neither of the people who raised me had any artistic leanings. I learned from my birth mother that she’d always loved to draw. And my biological father, who didn’t stay around long enough to see the child he’d created, gave me my height. Apparently, he was a very tall man.”

Ryder ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I guess I can understand this whole thing a little better now. But why here? A nursery setup on a ranch?”

“One that’s close enough to the city to allow a mother to bring her child here if she has access to a car,” Eve pointed out. “If she doesn’t, I’m willing to provide transportation. As far as babies are concerned, they don’t care if they’re being cared for in the biggest skyscraper or the smallest hut on the planet. A full tummy, a dry diaper, someone to hold them—that’s their world.” She paused. “You may think I’m crazy again, but after meeting my birth mother I took a drive. I needed some time alone before I went to the airport for the flight back to Dallas. Somehow I wound up on Creedence Creek Road. I saw the ranch in the distance and—I’m not sure how to explain it—something just clicked. Right from that moment I wanted to live here.”

She smiled faintly. “Perhaps there’s a homesteader, or maybe a cattle rustler, in my family tree. Anyway, I asked a local real estate agency to let me know if the property ever went on the market. You know the rest. Long before I signed the purchase papers, though, one of my goals was to establish a free day care facility someday, somewhere. It seemed as though fate was working in my favor when I was able to do it here.”

“I’m glad fate’s working in someone’s favor,” he muttered, seemingly more to himself than to her.

She’d been going on and on, she abruptly realized. This man now knew a good part of her life history, and she knew practically nothing about him. Except that he’d wanted the ranch just as much as or maybe more than she had. Perhaps far more.

“Why did it have to be the Creedence Creek, Ryder?”

She’d struck a nerve. The way he stilled completely for an instant told her that. He didn’t pretend not to know what she referred to. And he didn’t respond immediately. Several silent seconds passed before he spoke.

“It’s a long story.”

A civil way of saying, Mind your own business, she knew. And she would. Yet she couldn’t help wondering.

“Well, all my cards are on the table now, and I suppose I should give you a last chance to back out.” She stepped forward, held out a hand. “Do we still have a deal, cowboy?”

Ryder studied her for a long moment before he took her hand in his for a firm handshake. “We still have a deal, lady.”

JUST OVER A WEEK LATER, Ryder watched a large truck pull up to the back of the ranch house. Although he was more than fifty yards away, standing near a corral, he had no trouble making out what two uniformed deliverymen quickly began to unload. One sparkling white baby crib after another was hauled out and lined up in a long row.

“You got to do something, Ry. The woman’s a pure menace.”

Ryder clamped a companionable hand around the sturdy shoulder of the person standing beside him. “Hang in there, Pete. I told you she won’t be here long.”

And he didn’t plan on revising that statement, Ryder reflected. No, not for a minute. Eve Terry was sincere about the whole thing, he had to give her that. She’d meant everything she’d said before they’d shaken hands to seal their agreement. But she hadn’t changed his mind about anything. She wouldn’t be able to stick it out.

Right now he had to hope Pete Rawlins could dredge up enough patience to make it through until the inevitable happened, well aware that to the solidly built man on the far side of sixty only four things in life were truly important: a tender steak, a decent brand of whisky, a big-screen television and no fussy female around to spoil his enjoyment of the other three.

“How long’s long?” Pete asked.

Ryder shrugged. “A few weeks. Maybe a couple of months.”

“Months.”

“Could be,” he had to acknowledge. “So far she’s had plenty on her plate to keep her busy. She hasn’t had time yet to start getting bored.”

“She’s been busy, all right.” Pete snorted his displeasure. “Amos must be turning over in his grave. Jeez, he’s probably spinning like a tumbleweed on a gusty day! Frilly curtains and fancy rugs all over the house. One whole side of the place looking like a circus ad with that clown wallpaper everywhere. And the kitchen…Why’d she have to mess with the kitchen?” A hint of anguish underscored that question.

“All she did was buy a new refrigerator and put in a dishwasher,” Ryder said in a soothing tone.

“The old fridge was fine, and we don’t need a dishwasher.”

We will when the baby bottles start piling up. Ryder decided not to voice that thought. Pete obviously had enough to handle at the moment.

“Do you know what was in one of the dozen shopping bags she hauled in this morning? A tablecloth.” If Pete had said horse manure, it would have come out the same way. “Jeez. How’s a man supposed to enjoy his supper when he has to face a tablecloth?”

Ryder’s lips twitched. “It’s a new experience, I know.” He waited a beat. “Of course, you could always eat with the bunch down at the bunkhouse.”

As expected, that suggestion was turned down flat. “There’s been enough changes around here. For more years than I care to count, I fed the whole crew, and then Amos and I had our supper in the room off the kitchen where we could see the mountains. Along the way, you joined us. Now Amos is gone, but you and I are eating together at that old oak table, even if it does have a fancy-dancy cloth on it.”

“I appreciate your sticking by me, Pete. I’d hate to face that trial alone.”

He knew he’d laid it on too thick when a sidelong glance found midnight-black eyes narrowing. Once Pete’s hair had been as dark as his eyes. Now black hair had given way to silver, although it was still as plentiful as ever.

“This is nothin’ to joke about, Ry,” the older man said. “It’s serious. And you wouldn’t be alone at that table. You’d be eating with her.”

As if on cue, Eve stepped out of the house, wearing more “upscale Western wear for women,” as she’d termed it. She began to instruct the two deliverymen, and the lined-up cribs soon made their way up the short porch steps and through the back door.

Sharing the evening meal was about the only time Ryder had spent with his boss since their initial meeting, a deliberate decision on his part. He was staying out of her way as much as he could, but she probably hadn’t even noticed. She’d been busy as a bee giving the house a makeover and driving Pete crazy.

Much of his own days had been spent outdoors. While the good weather held, there was plenty to be done. March, typically a dry month, might turn out to be wetter than normal. A large storm was brewing in the Pacific, and rain was a definite possibility, the forecasters said, hedging their bets, as usual. But rain or not he had to put some time in at the ranch office soon. He had records to update and investments to check on. Ordinarily, he enjoyed working at the computer, but he wasn’t looking forward to the next session. It would put him too close to Eve Terry.

“How old do you suppose she is?”

Since Ryder had already given the matter some thought, he had a ready answer. “Around thirty, I’d guess.”

“Humph. She looks younger. Of course, that makeup females use can probably change night into day.”

Ryder had a hunch Eve would look just as good without a stitch of makeup, and he didn’t even want to consider how she’d look in nothing at all. A vivid dream picturing that sight had already rattled his peace of mind. It was one of the reasons he was staying out of her way.

Okay, make that the first and foremost reason, he admitted. Certain parts of him were way too attracted to her, and if he didn’t keep a rein on his libido, things could get…complicated.

Ryder’s brow knitted under the wide rim of his black Stetson. If he had to come up with a single word to describe his past relationships with women—and there hadn’t been all that many after his younger, wilder days—that word would probably be uncomplicated. Complications were something he’d never felt he could afford, not as long as the major part of his time and attention was solidly focused on eventually owning the Creedence Creek—a firmly held goal grounded in the past, with roots going back many years.

Thirty-three years, to be exact.

Those roots could be traced back to the day he was born, a fact he’d always kept to himself.

Now, at least for the present, a woman stood between him and his ability to achieve that goal. When she packed up and left, he’d have what he wanted. The last thing he needed was to start wanting her, as well. And if he were foolish enough to act on it, things were bound to get complicated in a hurry.

So it has to be kept simple, Quinn, he told himself. But he hadn’t forgotten that simple didn’t apply with this woman.

“Must be close to time to start supper,” Pete said. He took a step forward, then stopped dead as the rev of an engine suddenly made itself known. “This must be the other female who’s supposed to show up today. Jeez, it’s a regular invasion!”

After negotiating a bend in the gravel road with a flourish, a bright-red coupe zipped neatly into a spot behind the truck. A woman with a trim figure and copper-colored hair got out. She wasn’t young, yet there was nothing at all matronly about the yellow, short-skirted suit she wore, her fashionably high heels or the spring in her step. As she approached the back door, it opened and the deliverymen walked out. She turned and gave both men a frankly appraising glance as they departed before continuing on her way.

“Well, will you look at that. She was checkin’ out their rears, Ry.”

Ryder’s chuckle was deep and low. “She’s seen quite a few, I imagine. Remember, she’s a nurse.”

CLORIS MUNROE was like a breath of fresh air, brisk and invigorating. Eve had come to that conclusion minutes after meeting her in Tucson earlier that week. A hint of a Southern drawl, a legacy of her Louisiana childhood, seemed to be the only thing remotely lazy about Cloris. Her credentials were top-notch, her references excellent. During her thirty-year career as a pediatric nurse, Cloris had cared for untold numbers of children. She had also raised two of her own.

Eve felt downright lucky to have won this woman’s agreement to act as the sole full-time member of the day care staff. She told her as much as they got better acquainted over coffee in the long dining room off the kitchen, where a wide landscape could be viewed through tall windows now framed in ivory lace.

Cloris aimed a small smile over the rim of a stoneware mug. “Thanks, Eve, I appreciate that. But I think I’m the one who lucked out.” She set her mug down on the floral-print tablecloth, leaned back in a rustic oak chair. “When my husband and I split up after our kids were grown and on their own, I have to admit I felt sorry for myself. Too sorry for too long. Finally I got up the spunk to face myself in the mirror and say, ‘Cloris, you need to get on with your life, get rid of a house that’s too big for one person and get involved in something new.’ Caring for children isn’t new, of course, but living on a ranch definitely qualifies. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good.” Eve took a short swallow of the coffee she’d made. It might not be the best in the West, she conceded, but it was better than the take-no-prisoners brew Pete favored. “The nursery area is already set up, for the most part. I’ll show it to you shortly. It used to be the largest bedroom and a smaller connecting room. Your bedroom will be directly across the hall from the nursery. Mine is next to yours. We’ll have to share a bath. I hope you don’t mind.”

After a quick shake of her head, Cloris said, “I made some inquiries about additional help. Anna Montez, a retired nurse who lives in the area, is willing to work on a part-time basis.”

“That’s terrific.” Eve nodded. “Things are moving right along. I’ve made arrangements with a couple of used-car dealers in town to provide cars to women who want to bring their babies here but don’t currently have transportation. Whether they’re going back to school or work, they’ll probably need them for that, as well, and the dealers will bill me by the month.”

Cloris pursed her bright-coral lips. “I hate to say this, but cars can be stolen, and you’d be liable.”

“I know. But if someone trusts us with her child, wouldn’t it be petty in comparison not to trust her with a hunk of metal?”

“You have a point. And a soft heart, I think.” She smiled. “But it’s clear that you also have a sharp mind and a lot of determination. This is a wonderful thing you’re doing here, Eve.”

“No, it’s just something I feel I should do, since I have the resources.” She had already shared her reasons during their earlier meeting. “What’s wonderful is being able to talk to someone who’s equally enthusiastic about it.”

A teasing twinkle entered Cloris’s blue eyes. “Don’t the cowboys around here appreciate your efforts?”

“Not exactly,” Eve replied dryly.

“I saw two of them standing near a fenced-in area behind the house as I pulled in. I have to admit one caught my eye.”

Ryder Quinn, Eve concluded without hesitation, having seen him and Pete over by the corral, watching cribs being unloaded and no doubt wishing her a thousand miles from where she was. Her business manager had probably caught the eye of scores of women, though he was avoiding her as much as possible. She was certain of that, and hadn’t made an issue of it because it suited her to keep some distance between them for the time being. The humming awareness that had leaped to life for a sizzling moment on the day they’d met remained fixed in her memory, despite her considerable efforts to forget it.

Unaware of Eve’s thoughts, Cloris went on. “He was very distinguished looking, with a splendid head of silver hair.”

Eve blinked as realization struck. Then she began to laugh. Then she began to roar. Ryder wasn’t the cowboy under discussion. It was Pete!

“How about letting me in on the joke,” Cloris suggested when Eve finally got herself under control.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry, that was probably rude of me, but I couldn’t help it. I’d be willing to bet that Pete Rawlins, the silver-haired man and our ranch cook, would rather be boiled in oil than be the object of any woman’s attention.”

“He doesn’t like women?” Cloris ventured.

“That’s putting it mildly. Pete firmly believes a woman’s place is anywhere other than within a mile of him.”

“I see. Obviously, he’s one of those poor, unfortunate males who don’t have the good sense to appreciate a woman.”

“You got it.”

Cloris smiled in a way that boded ill for poor, unfortunate men. “Do you mind if a Southern belle has a little fun?”

Eve grinned. “Not at all—as long as I can watch.”

The back door opened, then closed with a familiar near slam. “There’s Mr. Charm now.” Raising her voice, Eve called, “Pete, would you come here for a minute?”

Boots stomped their way closer. Seconds later Pete poked his head through an arched doorway and viewed the two women with a crystal-clear scowl. “I’m here.”

“I’d like you to meet Cloris Munroe,” Eve said. “She’ll be heading up the day care staff. Cloris, this is Pete Rawlins.”

Cloris draped an arm over the back of her chair and flashed a million-kilowatt smile. “I sure am glad to meet you…sugar.” Her smooth-as-silk, rich-as-cream tone would have made Scarlett O’Hara proud. The playful wink that followed would have turned an entire generation of younger women who had never mastered that trick green with envy.

Pete’s jaw dropped and stayed down.

If possible, Cloris’s next smile was even more brilliant. “Eve’s been telling me you do the cooking around here. I’m sure you’re a marvelous chef.”

Dead silence reigned until Pete got his bearings and shut his mouth with an audible snap. “I’m a plain cook, not some fancy chef,” he muttered, jamming his hands into the side pockets of well-worn Wranglers.

“Now, there’s no need to be modest. I can hardly wait to taste the treat you have in store for us tonight.” Oh, so slowly Cloris ran her tongue over her lips. “I’m really looking forward to it…sugar.”

Pete’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Yeah, well, ah, I got to go.” He spun around on one heel and all but fled.

“I do believe Mr. Charm has met his match,” Eve remarked with satisfaction.

“Could be,” Cloris said, eyes sparkling. “What’s he cooking for dinner tonight?”

Eve’s expression turned rueful. “I can almost guarantee beef in some form. It’s occurred to me during the past week that the link between cowboys and cattle may be so strong they can’t bear to eat anything else.”

RYDER DEFTLY CUT another slice of T-bone and listened to a conversation that seemed to be ruining someone’s appetite. Raising his gaze, he aimed a look down the length of the table and found Eve’s expression to be perfectly innocent. Too perfect. She knew exactly what was going on, he thought, chewing his meat. She might even have put Cloris Munroe up to it.

“No, I didn’t say beef was bad for a person,” Cloris corrected softly, batting her eyelashes at the man sitting across from her. “And, in case I haven’t mentioned it, you do have a way with a steak, sugar. It’s just that red meat isn’t good for a body all the time. Now a lean piece of chicken—”

“I like my chicken fried,” Pete broke in, clenching a knife and fork in opposite hands as though they were weapons and he was a desperate man.

“Oh, fried is scrumptious, sugar. No one south of the Mason-Dixon line would disagree with that. Still, we all have to remember our cholesterol count, as depressing as it can be, and lean chicken, baked fish, or even boiled shrimp—”

“Shrimp! I’d rather eat a bale of hay than a plateful of those slimy things.”

Cloris pursed her lips. “Come to think of it, hay could be a good source of fiber. But a whole bale, sugar?”

A sudden cough didn’t quite smother Eve’s chuckle. She was in on it, all right, Ryder told himself.

Pete’s chair tottered as he shot to his feet. “Real food for real men is what I cook. It’s been good enough for the folks around here since God knows when, and it’s good enough now.” That said, he grabbed his plate with one hand and stomped out.

“Isn’t he a darling man?” Cloris asked of no one in particular. She forked up a helping of mashed potatoes and continued her meal as though nothing at all unusual had occurred.

Ryder’s gaze met Eve’s. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t leave.”

“I doubt he’ll do that,” she replied, her tone confident. “He’s probably waiting for me to leave.” Like you are, a glint in her eye added silently. “But I’m staying.” She paused for a beat. “And since I’m staying, I think it’s time I took some riding lessons. Can you suggest someone here who could help?”

Not me.

As determined as ever not to spend more time in her company than strictly necessary, he considered the alternatives as he polished off his steak. It didn’t take long to come up with one. “Zeb Hollister will get you started. He’s our most experienced horseman.”

And he was bound to be less than thrilled about riding herd on a greenhorn. But the old wrangler would do it and keep her out of trouble at the same time, Ryder decided. He’d make it an order if he had to. When it came to the working part of the ranch, he was still in charge. Zeb and every other man on the place knew that. He’d made certain they knew it.

Eve reached for her water glass. “Fine. Early tomorrow afternoon would be a good time for me.”

“I’ll set it up for one o’clock.” Ryder tossed his napkin beside his empty plate and pushed back from the table as pots and pans clanked loudly in the background. “Pete’s probably thrown out dessert, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll check in at the bunkhouse. There may be a few stray crumbs of pie left, if I’m lucky.”

He was barely gone when Cloris slid a sidelong glance Eve’s way. “That man does things to a pair of jeans.”

Having just watched a tight male backside depart, she could hardly argue the matter. “Mmm-hmm,” was her reply.

“He doesn’t look like a business manager,” Cloris tacked on.

“He does when he wears a suit, trust me.”

Despite the fact that she hadn’t seen him in one since the day they’d met, Eve had no trouble recalling the sight. He’d done it to make a point, she was sure. Ryder Quinn, businessman. Impressive? Yes. But then, he’d probably be impressive stripped down to—

No, Eve, don’t go there, she warned herself. Fully clothed, he already captured too many of her thoughts. Much too many of them, she had to admit.

Showing flawless table manners as she had throughout the meal, Cloris dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. “Does Ryder stay at the bunkhouse he mentioned?”

Eve went back to her dinner. “No. Although the single hands stay there, as a rule, while the married ones have homes of their own, Ryder lives in the original house that was built when the ranch was first settled. I’ve been told that it’s a short drive from here, up a steep road toward the mountains. I haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”

Truth was, she’d made no effort to see it, although it was part of her property. And she was in no hurry to change that situation. She knew she’d be better off not being able to picture where a certain man spent his evenings when he left after the late-day meal they regularly shared.

“Pete stays here,” she added. “His bedroom and a small bath are on the other side of the kitchen.”

“So only the three of us will be living here,” Cloris summed up, then winced as metal met metal with a sharp clang.

Eve carefully removed a thin edge of marbled fat and stabbed a last piece of steak. “That’s right. It’s just you and me and Mr. Charm.”

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Eve walked down a gravel road, headed for the corral and adjoining stable located closest to the house. Other ranch buildings, a tall tin-roofed barn, sheds of various shapes and sizes, together with the large stone bunkhouse, marked the landscape. Up above, fluffy white clouds drifted, creating a moving patchwork quilt of sun and shade on hard-packed ground.

Cloris had left after lunch to visit a friend who was actively involved in several local charities; it was time to spread the news about the day care center and what it had to offer. Pete, sulking to beat the band, had stationed himself in front of the large-screen television in the living room.

And Eve had set out for her date with Zeb Hollister. She’d met Zeb, along with many of the hands, on her second day at the ranch. The bearded man might resemble Willie Nelson more than John Wayne, she thought, yet his bowlegged stance said he’d been all but born in a saddle.

As she approached the corral, taking quick strides in her cream-colored boots, a cowboy came into view leading a stocky gray horse out of the stable. He lifted a gloved hand and waved when he saw her. It wasn’t Zeb, or anyone she readily recognized. Tall and lanky, he couldn’t have been more than in his early twenties.

“Hello, Miz Terry,” he called, his voice ripe with an easygoing twang. Turning his head, he aimed a look over his shoulder. “Come on, Buttercup, old girl. Step lively and meet your new owner.” In response, Buttercup continued to plod along, clearly unenthusiastic about the news.

“I’m Cody Bodeen,” the cowboy said as he and Eve faced each other over a slatted wood fence seconds later. In a courteous gesture that took her by surprise, he lifted his dusty beige hat and tipped it forward, revealing sun-bleached hair before he resettled it on his head. A friendly gaze assessed her in a sweeping glance too quick and casual to give offense.

“I’m glad to meet you, Cody Bodeen,” she said, reaching up to touch the pristine rim of her own creamy Western hat. “I don’t think you were here the day I met a bunch of the hands.”

“No, I was helping stubborn strays fixed on leaving find their way back to the herd.” He grinned ruefully. “They usually save that treat for me.” Then his grin widened. “But I lucked out today. I get to help you.”

Eve arched an eyebrow. “Did Zeb head for the hills when he found himself elected to give riding lessons?”

“Uh-uh. He had an emergency—nothing real serious,” he tacked on before she could ask. “His oldest granddaughter called from Bisbee. Her husband’s out of town and her car broke down in the middle of the highway while she was driving one of her kids to a doctor’s appointment. Zeb and another hand went to see if they could get it started again, or at least get the kid to the doctor. If the head honcho were around, he might have taken Zeb’s place instead of me, but he left for Tucson this morning and he’s not back yet.”

Puzzled, Eve asked, “The head honcho?”

“Ryder Quinn. To the men who work here, he’s the head honcho. You’re the owner now, so you’re the big boss.”

Not only the boss, the big boss. Because the title amused her, and because she was sure it would not amuse the “head honcho,” Eve smiled. “Why don’t we get started?”

Cody nodded his agreement. “Come in through the gate next to the stable and I’ll introduce you to Buttercup.”

If the long-suffering look in her eyes was any indication, Buttercup wasn’t overjoyed to meet her owner, and Eve decided the feeling was mutual after a frustrating hour of coaxing the mare around the corral and achieving no more than a snail’s pace.

Finally she’d had it. She halted at the spot where Cody leaned against the fence. “There have to be horses on this place with a little more zip.”

He nudged his hat back and gazed up at her. “Buttercup’s the one the head honcho picked out for you, Miz Eve.”

That information didn’t merit a second thought, not as far as she was concerned. “Well, I’m ready to pick something else. I’ve got the basics down, but I’ll never get beyond them if the Old Gray Mare won’t even break into a trot.”

Cody pushed away from the fence. “Guess you have a point. But the head—”

“I’ll deal with him,” Eve assured the ranch hand, and went on before he could offer any further objection. “Let’s look at some of the other horses.”

There were three in the stable, she found as they entered through wide double doors with Buttercup trailing behind. The huge stallion she’d almost collided with occupied the first stall they came to. He snorted a greeting.

“This is Lucky,” Cody said. “He belongs to Ryder Quinn. No one else rides him,” he added hastily, as though he were afraid she might decide to do exactly that.

She ran her tongue around her teeth to foil a grin and moved on. The two remaining occupants were less impressive than Lucky, she had to admit. Still, they had to be more lively than Buttercup. She’d parted her lips, ready to ask a question about a cinnamon-colored horse, when a high-pitched whinny drew her attention to the back of the building.

“That’s Sable,” Cody told her as she turned toward the sound. “She’s only been here a few weeks. Could be they’ll hitch her up with Lucky when the time’s right.”

Sable. A fitting name, Eve decided after walking forward for a closer look. Black as coal and sleek as satin, the mare pranced to the front of the stall, then tilted her head at a playful angle and blew out a soft breath. Obviously far beyond lively, she was a strong, spirited mixture of muscle and grace. And a beautiful, dark-eyed flirt, as well.

Eve was entranced. “Does she belong to Ryder Quinn, too?”

“No, she’s yours,” Cody replied, moving to stand next to her.

Hers. Up to that moment she’d considered the animals that had come with the ranch as merely part of the property. Now she knew just how wrong she’d been. There was a bond here, she realized, and with it came responsibility. Ultimately the fate of this and every other animal she owned rested with her. And, when it came to this particular one, there was also a thrill of possession she couldn’t deny.

She reached up and gently rubbed the mare’s ebony forehead, watching as dark eyes viewed her with a saucy gleam. “I want to ride her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miz Eve.” Cody’s easygoing manner abruptly turned serious. “Sable can be a handful when she sets her mind to it.”

Eve dropped her arm and turned to face him. “Are you saying she’s dangerous?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly. “Just…frisky.”

One corner of Eve’s mouth quirked up. “Hmm. Maybe even…sassy?”

He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, I suppose.”

That did it. In a flash, the prospect of riding Sable became irresistible. “Saddle her up, Cody Bodeen.”

He let out a resigned sigh. “The head honcho’s probably gonna be teed off when he finds out about this.”

“And I told you I’d deal with him,” she countered smoothly yet firmly. “Remember, I’m the big boss.”

Another high whinny seconded that statement.