Much Ado About Mavericks (9 page)

After Blue picked his way through the rocks
around the gully
, she turned him toward south and let him have his head.  Blue loved to run.  She hunkered low in the saddle, hung onto her hat, and let him stretch it out.  He knew where he was going, and he knew where the oats were, too.

Just as she rounded the hill to the Circle J, she saw Ben in front of the bunkhouse. 

“You lost,” he said as he grabbed Blue’s bridle. 

Jake swung down.  “How the hell’d you do that?”

“The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.”  He shrugged and sent her an ornery grin.  “I went over the top
and down the gully
.”

She was impressed.  The ride up wasn’t too bad, but then on the ranch side, the
gully
dropped off steeply.  Not many riders would even keep their seats, let alone ride down it as fast as he must have.  “Damn good horse, I’d say.”

“Damn good,” he agreed.  He tied both horses to the hitching rail.  “Before you give me the grand tour, I expect you to pay up.”

“Pay up?”

“You did lose the bet.”

She hated losing any bet, especially to this man.  “There ain’t nothing to pay.  We didn’t bet.”

“I did.”  He moved closer to her, making her heart feel all funny like it did when he kissed her hand.  In fact, the very spot on the back of her hand heated up. 

She backed away, irritated that she’d give an inch, but knowing whatever he had in mind wouldn’t be to her best advantage.

He closed the gap between them again and put his hands on her shoulders.  She knew she should tell him to get lost, but she couldn’t seem to make her voice box work.  All she could do was gaze at his mouth as he licked his lips and leaned toward her.

“I win a kiss,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers. 

She stood rock still, not having any idea what to do, but knowing she wanted his lips right where they were.  Her belly turned to molasses as he raked his tongue across her bottom lip.  She gasped at the pure pleasure of it, then he darted his tongue into her mouth.

Her mind went blank to everything except his deepening kiss and the rope of jitters down deep that drew her to press against him.  She knew very well she ought not press him there, especially when she felt the hardness of him pressing back.  She knew all about such things from the cowhands’ talk and that men paid good money for a poke.

Shoving him back, she sent him a scowl.  “You ain’t getting nothing from me, greenhorn.”

He smiled, took a swig from his canteen, then offered it to her.  “Already did, Jake.  But not enough.”

Eyeing her bunkhouse, he said, “Nice place.”

Jake snorted.  “Ain’t nothing and you know it.  You prob’ly live in some sort of mansion in
Boston
.”

He ran his hand across the lap siding.  “Solid and straight.  Your carpenter is a very skilled man.”

His praise brought a smile to her lips.  She’d built every stick of the bunkhouse herself.  “Damned skilled.”  She crossed her arms under her breasts, watching him run his gaze to the roof.  She knew the second he saw the filigree in the gable, but didn’t want to answer any questions. 

“I’ll show you the corrals,” she said to distract him.  “I got half a dozen brood mares.  Two of ‘em already foaled, one’s gonna pop any day now, and the rest will foal in the spring.  But see that one?”   She pointed to a tall chestnut mare.  “That there mare is the future of the Circle J.  She’s a genuine Missouri Fox Trotter.  Won her in a poker game.”

“Nice filigree.  Did you carve it?”

Ah, damn.  She’d hoped he wouldn’t press her about the fancy piece.  Fred had seen it and laughed.  Sure, no other bunkhouse around had such frilly work, but she didn’t think it hurt to spruce up the place some.  It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a home.  Of course, if Ben failed to meet the conditions of his father’s will, she’d have to move on. 

She pulled his sleeve.  “C’mon.  The newest filly is only six days old—cute little thing.”  One more tug finally got his attention.  “Over here,” she said as she walked away.  “Her name’s George.”

“George?”

They stepped up to the fence and leaned over the top rail.  “Homer named her after his daddy.”  And she wasn’t about to tell him it was a wrong name for a female.  She stole a glance at Ben. 

He pushed his hat back in that way men do.  The work clothes made him look as manly a fellow as she’d ever seen, the way the blue flannel shirt stretched tight around his arms.  She had to admit, he looked damned good for a greenhorn.  No one who caught a gander at this strapping fellow would ever guess he was a
Boston
lawyer.  The oddest thing about him, too, was that he had some sort of invisible pull—same as if he’d lassoed and hogtied her.  And her lips still wanted him to kiss her, tingling like they did.  Or maybe they were sunburned.  She’d better get some bag balm.

She swallowed hard and moved away from him, just a little so’s not
to
be too obvious.  He sidestepped right over to her and put his arm around her waist, pulling her close enough to hear his heart.  Her knees nearly buckled right then and there, but it didn’t seem to faze him one bit.  Any other man, and she’d have flattened him on the spot.  Hell, she might anyway. 

Gingerly, she plucked his hand from her waist.  “One more move, buddy, and you’re possum food.”

Ben chuckled, which irritated her right down to the roots of her toenails.  Most men would have backed off.  None would have laughed at her.

“Pretty little filly,” he said.

Jake focused on the little sorrel foal, running and bucking around the corral while its mother called her baby to her side.  “She is, ain’t she.”

“I was talking about you.”

Jake whirled around and popped him one right in the gut.  “Looky here,
Boston
, I don’t know what you want from me, but you ain’t gonna get it.  I’ll teach you how to rope, brand, and castrate—that last thing might be downright pleasurable—but I ain’t letting you play me for a fool.”

Ben, with what looked like considerable effort, straightened to his full height.  “Jake, only a fool would ever mistake you for one.  Whatever you might think of me, I’m not a fool.”

*   *   *   *   *

Ben watched Jake’s face shine with pride while she laughed at the antics of the new foal. 

“What a spirited little thing.  She’ll make a good cow pony.”

And just like that, she seemed to have forgotten his amorous overtures—but he hadn’t.  He shook his head, wondering just how to tame this mysterious creature, feeling a bit guilty that he wanted to.  He’d never even seen a woman wear pants before, let alone do a man’s job, and it made no sense that she’d captured his attention so. 

But let there be no doubt, she was a woman through and through.  Her full, round breasts would entice a dead man, and he wasn’t dead.  Those blue eyes could melt an iceberg, or stare a hole through a charging bear.  Women in
Boston
spent all sorts of money trying to make themselves look good, but Jake didn’t have to.  She was, whether she liked it or not, a classic beauty.

More alluring than her astonishing appearance was the confidence she had in herself and those she loved.  And her optimism.  He felt powerful around her.  Why, he didn’t know, but he should reserve that feeling for Patience.  He’d more than kissed her.  She’d been quite free with her charms, although he’d never taken full advantage. 

Meantime, his gut hurt—Jake packed a helluva wallop—and his right arm was barely functional after swinging a rope for a solid hour the day before.  His jaw still felt stiff, too, where Big Al had connected.  But he’d rather die than let on.

“We better get back to the Bar EL, Jake.  I still have to practice my roping.”

She paused a moment, not taking her eyes off the mare and foal, then sighed.  Jumping off the fence, she said, “Let’s go,” as if it were all her idea.

Not twenty minutes later, Jake dismounted, cursing like a sailor.  “Some damned varmint cut the fence.”  She picked up a hunk of barbed wire.  “They even left little pieces so’s to cut up the cows.”  She threw the wire by the nearest fence post and scowled as she studied the dirt.  “Looks like at least a dozen went through.  Don’t see no blood, though, so maybe they ain’t hurt.”

She mounted and took a drink of water from the canteen.  “Let’s go find ‘em.”  Without taking her eyes from the ground, she rode through the fence and followed the trail.

Ben wondered who would do such a thing and why.  “Have you had trouble with rustlers?” he asked as he caught up with her.

“Nope.”

“Well there’s trouble now.”

“Yup.  Only they ain’t rustlers.”

“No?”

“Nope.  The cattle found their way through on their own.  No one’s driving ‘em.  If they was rustlers, they’d drive ‘em.”

They found the cattle in less than an hour.  On the way back, most of them stuck with the herd fairly well, but a few of the bull calves were of no mind to go along with the rest.  One, especially.  The black muley calf darted away every chance it got.  Jake’s well-trained blue roan never let him get far, though.  Finally, the little bull decided to stay with the herd, and that was the end of the excitement.

Herding cattle gave a man too much time to think, Ben mused.  He couldn’t help but be impressed that Jake knew they were dealing with vandals, not rustlers.  He’d have gone straight to Marshal Hiatt and reported a crime that hadn’t happened, reinforcing the already poor opinion the people of Henderson Flats had of him.

They plodded along.  With nothing else to do, he made a thorough study of the cowhand riding beside him.  Her red hair, long and braided, accentuated the determination on her face.  The gray Stetson looked like it had been made especially for her.  And oh, how that saddle hugged her nicely-rounded behind! 

He sighed, wondering how he could ever get through to her, and wondering why the hell he wanted to.  That answer was no mystery—Jake was probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. 

Also, the smartest. 

And definitely the most stubborn.

Who would have thought she’d carve a section of fancy filigree to put on her bunkhouse?  She seemed to be sensitive about it, so he hadn’t pushed, but he bet she carved it by herself.  She was not only smart and stubborn, but artistic as well.

The next thing he knew, he flew through the air and landed on the ground flat on his back, jarring every bit of air from his lungs.  He lay there, trying to relax enough to get a breath.

“Ben!” he heard her shout.

Then he heard the sound of her boots running on the hardpan.  Still fighting for air, he couldn’t move a muscle.  Talk about humiliated!  Jake, of all people, he wished hadn’t seen him eat dirt.  And all because he spent more time thinking about her than herding a bunch of stupid cattle, and keeping his seat.

He felt her kneel beside him, her thighs pressing on his arm. 

“Ben, are you all right?”

He opened his eyes to the best view of the finest set of breasts a man would ever want to see—unless, of course, he could see them uncovered.  He licked his lips and willed his hands to stay right where they were, even though his palms itched to get just one touch.

“
Boston
?”

He finally took a shallow breath.  “I’m fine.  Just knocked the wind out of me, is all.”

Jake stood, taking her breasts with her, to his sorrow.  “Skeeter’s a fine cutting horse, as you just found out.  When a calf gits outta line, he don’t fart around.”

So that’s what happened.  “Is the herd together?” he asked, wondering if they’d have to gather the stupid calves all over again.

“Yup.”

Ben stood, brushed off his clothes, and picked up his hat.  “Let’s head on back, then.”

“I’ll herd ‘em in.  You ride on back to the Bar EL and have Fred bring the fencing fixin’s and a crew out here.  Tell Scat that I want him to take a couple of hands and ride the whole perimeter of the ranch.  This here wasn’t no accident, and those sorry varmints prob’ly cut other fences, too.”

Ben mounted the big bay and tipped his hat to her.  He didn’t like her being out there alone, but she was right, the entire fenceline needed checking and the sooner, the better.  “If I don’t see you within an hour, I’m coming after you.”

“You’ll see me.”  She patted her middle.  “By then it’ll be time for a little chow.”

*   *   *   *   *

Ben galloped the bay all the way back to the ranch and gave the men their orders.  None were all that enthusiastic since they’d just sat down for supper.  Only Fred complained, though, and Ben heard the cowhand mutter something, to which the other men looked back at Ben and laughed.

He stared back until they went on their way.  “Saddle up, boys,” he told Homer and Teddy.  “You’re going with me to help Jake bring in those cows.”

“Yippee!” they chorused, and ran to the barn.

As Ben was about to remount the bay, Whip gimped up on his bowlegs and said, “I smell trouble a’brewing amongst the hands,” he cocked his head toward Fred, “and that one there’s right in the middle of it, you can bet.”