Bachelor Cowboy (3 page)

“Did my driver quit?” he asked, wondering what had become of the headstrong redhead.

Aggie stared straight ahead, her voice filled with vinegar. “Kate had some errands to take care of. I can drive this old truck.”

Dusty tipped his hat back to get a good look at her and grinned. “’Course you can. Any reason why you don’t do it full-time?”

She turned her head and looked him over, her eyebrows raised over snapping blue eyes. “Maybe because I don’t like doing it?”

“If you say so.” He didn’t believe her excuse for a minute. Aggie had the same love of land and farming he sensed in her redheaded niece.

Aggie’s stubborn expression turned to one of disgust. “Bad knee,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice.

Dusty only nodded.

“I can drive some,” she hurried on. “But I can’t take a full day of it. Working the brake and the clutch is more than I can take after a while. If I do it for too long, I can’t walk the next day, my knee gets to aching me so bad.”

He could relate. His body had taken plenty of abuse riding bulls. “Understandable. I have my own aches and pains.”

“Dinner should be ready by the time I get back from the elevator. Keep an eye out for Trish so you’ll know when to quit.”

He noticed the combine bin had nearly finished emptying, so he moved away. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Thought you might be.” Aggie chuckled, but her mouth settled in a tight line when she started the truck.

He watched her drive away, bumping along the rough road, and then he climbed back into the combine cab to set the machine in motion again. Folks around Desperation admired the woman. She might be the brunt of jokes about her unmarried state, but Agatha Clayborne was a woman people respected. He was hard-pressed not to agree. And she’d raised a niece who had caught him off guard and had him wondering what the next few weeks might bring.

The aroma of freshly fried chicken hit Dusty like a sledgehammer when he stepped onto the porch. He’d seen Trish waving to him from the edge of the field and had forced himself not to rush his last round.

Inside, Trish was crossing the room with a heaping bowl of buttery mashed potatoes in her hands. Having been raised a gentleman, Dusty hurried over to lend a hand.

“Let me help.” He took the hot bowl from her and quickly dumped it on the table, wishing he’d thought to take the oven mitts, too.

Laughter rippled from behind him. “She keeps it warming in the oven until we’re ready,” he heard Kate say.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kate took the same chair she’d had that morning. “Go ahead and clean up at the sink, and we’ll get started. We don’t wait on ceremony during harvest.”

After washing and drying his hands, Dusty planted himself in the chair he’d sat in at breakfast, next to her. “Aggie should be back any minute unless there’s a long line at the elevator.”

“We can warm things up if there is,” Trish said.

The platter of chicken Kate passed him drove any thought of work from his mind. He hadn’t seen chicken so perfectly done since he was a kid.

Choosing a golden-brown thigh from the platter, he took a bite, and the chicken seemed to melt the instant he wrapped his mouth around it.

Before he could swallow and remark on it, the back door banged open, and Aggie entered, heading for the sink. “Those brakes feel kind of mushy to me,” she announced, quickly washing her hands.

“I’ll take a look at the brake fluid,” Kate answered. “I need to remember to do the same with the old tractor. I noticed last fall that the brakes were kind of soft.”

Dusty slid a glance at her, and his pulse picked up. But now wasn’t the time, and he concentrated on the meal while the others discussed Trish’s wedding plans and other womanly things that held no interest for him.

When he’d finished eating, the urge to kick back and enjoy the contentment of a more than satisfying meal was cut short by the need to get the work done. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had better fried chicken,” he said.

Beside him, Kate’s chair scraped on the tile floor. “I’ll get those brakes checked,” she announced and jumped to her feet.

Dusty heard the door swing open and slam shut behind him. He looked from Aggie’s pinched face to Trish’s astounded one. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Aggie replied. “She just doesn’t like people making a big to-do over her cooking or seeing the rest of us enjoying our meals too much when there’s work
to be done.” She turned to Trish. “Let’s get the table cleared before the heat settles in for the day.”

Sensing he’d better get moving, Dusty grabbed his hat and strode to the door, eager to get back to work, too.

“Dusty,” Aggie called when he pushed open the door. “See to it that Kate checks that brake fluid.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A backward glance at the plate Aggie was picking up told him Kate hadn’t bothered to finish her dinner. While he was at it, he planned to find out what burr had gotten under her saddle and sent her scurrying.

He found her headfirst under the hood of the big truck, her feet off the ground, and the bottom half of her the only thing in view. And what a view! When he walked up behind her, his fingers itched to place themselves on her enticingly displayed backside, but he fought it.

He stopped less than a foot from her, still admiring her shapely bottom. “Need some help?”

Kate jerked upward and narrowly missed hitting her head on the hood. Sliding to the ground, she turned to face him, a belligerent tilt to her chin. “Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?”

“No more than you did with that gun this morning,” he reminded her. Her bright blue eyes sparked with green lights of fire under delicately arched brows. They stood staring at each other until his gaze dropped to a pair of lips so set in a frown, his only thought was to kiss them into a soft smile.

Slapping her hands on the same set of hips he’d been admiring from behind moments before, she snapped him out of his dream and growled. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothin’.” He knew he had a grin on his face, but there was no way he could stop it. Not with the irresistible picture she made.

“Then let’s get this wheat cut.”

She turned to walk away, but he sidestepped and blocked her path. He pretended to look at the engine, crowding her, and caught the scent of spring rain, tempting him to take a deeper breath. Inhaling, he found he preferred it to even the aroma of the fried chicken they’d just finished and wondered what perfume she wore that could smell so good.

“Did you get that brake fluid in?” he managed to ask.

After hesitating, she moved away from him. “Of course I did. I know what I’m doing.”

He turned slowly, gazing down into the deep blue pools of her eyes. When he spoke, his words were a husky whisper. “Do you?”

Kate opened her mouth, but immediately clamped it shut and spun on her heel. He watched her climb up on the bumper of the truck and struggle to reach for the hood. His gaze never leaving her lithe body, he moved next to her and pulled the hood down to within her reach. Without looking at him, she slammed it shut. He stood his ground while she walked around him and opened the door, nearly hitting him with it. Climbing into the truck, she gunned the engine.

“Let’s get to it, McPherson,” she said. She popped the clutch on the old truck and spun the tires, sending dirt spewing.

Watching her drive away, he shook his head. The more she tried to put distance between them, the more he wanted to close it. “Damn, this isn’t going to be easy.”

K
ATE STUCK HER HEAD
in the living room and looked around. “Trish?” she called. “These sandwiches are ready.”

When her sister didn’t answer, she heaved an exasperated sigh and returned to the kitchen. “She’s disappeared again,” she told her aunt, setting the platter on the table.

Aunt Aggie sat at the table, one booted foot propped on another chair. “I’ll bet she took off to do some writing. She was hunting for her notebook earlier while you were in here getting food ready. Or she left with Morgan, but I didn’t see him drive up.” Reaching over to the platter, she snatched a sandwich. “Any chips to go with this?”

Kate sighed again and reached behind her to pull a bag of potato chips from the cupboard. “Just a handful. Leave some for Dusty.”

Aggie opened the bag and popped a chip in her mouth, a satisfied smile on her lips. “He’s working out real good,” she commented, reaching for another.

Kate grabbed the bag and pulled out a handful of chips, set them on the table in front of her aunt and folded the top of the bag over. “He’ll do.”

“You get along with him all right, don’t you?”

Kate nodded. She couldn’t tell her aunt how being around Dusty made her feel. She couldn’t even explain it to herself. But she knew she didn’t like feeling it, and she didn’t like him telling her what to do. “Maybe you can take these sandwiches out to him,” she suggested. She didn’t want to spend any more time with him than she had to.

“Can’t,” Aggie told her, pointing at her elevated leg. “My knee’s really been bothering me today.”

Kate frowned. “I hope that doesn’t mean rain.” She
hated thunderstorms, and rain would put a stop to harvest for a day or two, at the least.

“Could mean a lot of things,” Aggie replied.

Kate looked at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Aggie shrugged, picking up her sandwich. “Maybe it was just driving that truck today. Or maybe it’s another sign that it’s time I retired from active farming.”

There it was again, and Kate wasn’t sure how to answer. Was her aunt hoping for a different response from her than she’d had earlier, now that she’d had a little time to think it over? “You’re not that old, Aunt Aggie. We both know that.”

“Getting older every day,” Aggie answered. “Now you get those sandwiches out to Dusty. I’m sure he’s hungry again by now, and I can see the combine headed in this direction.”

Kate looked out the door to the field. “He’s hardly been out of it since dinner,” she commented, more to herself than the other woman.

“He’s a hard worker,” Aggie agreed. “A good man, I’d say.”

“A hard worker, for sure, but a good man? That remains to be seen.” Kate turned back and noticed her aunt looking at her, a slight smile on her face. “Don’t you be getting any ideas.”

Aggie’s eyes widened. “Who said I was?”

“Right,” Kate said, unable to hide her sarcasm. Picking up the plate of sandwiches again, she stuck the bag of chips under her arm. “I guess I’d better get out there before he takes off on another round.” Heading for the door, she grabbed a jug of iced tea.

“We’ve got a good week and a half of this if it doesn’t
rain,” she heard Aggie say as she stepped out the door. “Think you can hang on that long?”

“Sure,” Kate answered. As long as she didn’t have to spend all of it with Dusty.

The combine slowed and came to a stop as Kate reached the edge of the field where she’d left the diesel tank earlier before going in to fix the sandwiches. She waited as Dusty set the machine to idle and climbed down.

“I need to fuel up,” he told her, eyeing the pile of sandwiches in her hand.

She handed him the plate and bag of chips and set the jug on the ground. “You go ahead and eat, and I’ll fill the combine.”

She had turned toward the tank when he grabbed her arm. “I can fill it,” he told her, his eyes hard.

Pulling away, she tried to steady her suddenly thumping heart. “It’s my job.”

“Not by a long shot.” He handed the food to her. “Do you think I don’t know what my duties are as combine driver?” he asked, softening his voice with a smile. “And I won’t waste away. Not after that dinner today.”

Kate didn’t move while Dusty put the diesel hose into the fuel opening of the combine, switched on the tank motor, and turned to her. “When you’re the combine driver, you get to fuel it, okay?”

She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his decision, that as the owner’s niece, she could decide who did what. But that meant engaging him in a conversation about things that really weren’t his business.

When he’d finished refueling, Dusty accepted the sandwich she gave him and took a bite, looking as if he
was lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, motioning to the plate balanced on the truck hood.

Kate shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t finish your dinner either,” he pointed out. His gaze slid down her body and back up again. “And you sure don’t need to be on a diet.”

Kate’s body did a slow burn, and she did her best to explain it away to herself as a flash of anger. But she knew that wasn’t completely true. No matter how much she didn’t want to be attracted to him, she was. But only a little.

“Clayborne women tend to be small,” she said, wishing she could disappear.

“I’ve noticed.”

Unable to vanish and needing to change the subject to anything else, she decided to try a topic that might hold his attention and keep him talking about himself.
Better him than me
, she thought. “I hear you were a champion bull rider.”

His eyes narrowed. “I
am
a champion bull rider.”

Kate shrugged, trying to shake off his intense gaze. “Sorry I got it wrong. Any reason why you’re helping us, instead of riding bulls right now?”

“I’m recuperating from some injuries and waiting for a release from my doctor.”

“What kind of injuries?” It wasn’t that it mattered or that she cared. And it wasn’t because she didn’t want to return to the house. There was plenty of work waiting for her there, but she was curious and it would wait.

He gave her a sideways glance, and then stared off at something in the distance. “The usual. Ribs, shoulder, head. Nothing I haven’t had before.”

“And in the meantime you decided to cut wheat for the Clayborne ladies?”

“Whatever comes up,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

“Then you weren’t necessarily looking to help with harvest, just needed something to do. Don’t you make plans?”

He turned to look at her. “Sure I have plans. I ride bulls.”

“That’s it?” She couldn’t believe someone wouldn’t have some kind of plan with a goal for the future. As with most professional athletes and especially one with the kinds of injuries bull riders dealt with, rodeo couldn’t be all there was. “What do you do when you’re not riding bulls? Off season?”

He studied her, his expression puzzled. “Why all the questions?”

Fearing he might think she had some special interest in him, she thought it best to back off a little. “I just wondered, that’s all. Most people plan for the future.”

“Some might.”

“But you don’t?”

His gaze was hard and determined. And stubborn. “My future is my present. Riding bulls.”

“No plans for family? Retirement?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

Taking another sandwich, he looked back at her with a smile. “Retirement when it happens, but I don’t expect it to be soon. Family never.”