Only Hers (11 page)

“Glad to hear it.” Matt took a sip of coffee before continuing. “First, muck out the twenty-four stalls in the stable and lay in some fresh hay, then polish the tack in the work room. After that there’s some brush down by the creek that needs clearing.”

“And after that?”

Coffee was gliding over his tongue when Shannon asked the question. Matt, who knew the stables would probably keep an inexperienced person busy most of the day, choked on his coffee.

The flat of Octavia’s hand slapped him hard between the shoulder blades. “What’s the matter, Matt, something go down the wrong way?”

Matt scowled up into his housekeeper’s cheerful face. Her grin widened.

“Are you all right?”

His head whipped around. Shannon was bending over him, her face filled with concern, her lips too close. Hastily, he pushed to his feet. “No need to make a fuss. Let’s go outside and I’ll introduce you to the hands.”

“Shannon needs some work gloves and a hat before she goes to work.” Octavia glanced at the younger woman’s tennis-clad feet and shook her head. “Once you wear those shoes cleaning stables, you might as well throw them away.”

Shannon bit her lower lip. “They’re the sturdiest shoes I have. I don’t have any money . . .” She didn’t have to see Matt tense to know where his thoughts were leading. Melanie was going to wire Shannon her money and credit card in care of Arthur Ferguson. When she had called both of them this morning, each had been too glad to help. But in the meantime she only had thirty-six cents.

“I’m not asking you to buy me anything.”

“Glad to hear it,” Matt said.

“I know where you can find everything you need and not worry about paying a cent,” Octavia said. “You just come with me and I’ll fix you up.”

Grabbing Shannon’s hand, Octavia left the kitchen and started across the den. Shannon looked back to see Matt wearing a scowl as black at his Stetson. Shrugging her shoulders, she allowed the housekeeper to lead her up the stairs.

Less than ten minutes later, Shannon came back downstairs wearing a faded blue shirt and jeans, scuffed boots, and a beat-up straw hat. Standing in the den in front of Matt in his younger sister’s discarded clothes while his critical eyes skimmed over her was not easy.

“You look like a scarecrow.”

“Perhaps you’d like to assign me to the alfalfa field instead of the barn?” Shannon asked politely. She’d eat worms before she’d show how much his remark hurt.

One dark brow lifted, but all he said was “Come on, you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

Shannon followed his long strides out the front door and wished sticking your tongue out behind someone’s back wasn’t considered childish. Besides, with her luck, he’d catch her or, worse, think she was coming on to him again.

She saw the car as soon as she stepped off the porch. Moments later a smiling Arthur Ferguson emerged from the vehicle just as they reached the bottom steps.

“Good morning, Matt, Shannon. Wade would be proud of you, Matt. Shannon called me this morning to let me know she was all right thanks to your timely intervention.”

“Hello, Ferguson,” Matt said thinly. “Shannon prides herself on reassuring people.”

Shannon spoke to the lawyer, then clamped her teeth together to keep her tongue from getting her into trouble.

The lawyer nodded. “Wade always said she was one of a kind.” Ferguson reached into his breast pocket and pulled out two letters. “Since you two seem to have come to some sort of terms with the will, I have something for you from Wade.”

Matt and Shannon looked questioningly at the lawyer before accepting the envelope, then lifting out the single sheet of paper.

Dear Shannon,

Thank you.

Wade

Dear Matt,

Thank you.

Wade

Matt’s fingers curled around the letter as he lifted his head and asked, “You have any more of these?”

Ferguson’s smile grew. “Might. You two have a good day.” Getting back into his car, he drove off.

Shannon watched him leave, then shoved her letter into her hip pocket. She watched as Matt did the same. “I wonder if there was a letter for us if we didn’t reach an agreement?”

“I can only hope,” Matt said, and took off across the yard to the barn thirty yards away.

Unable to help herself, she made a face at his retreating back, then started after him. Trying her best to keep from looking as if she were running, which in fact she was, Shannon snatched her straw hat off her head so she wouldn’t lose it. By the time they entered the dim interior of the barn, she was slightly winded.

“Jay, Elliott, Griff, Cleve. Get out here.”

Four men emerged. One came from the hayloft, two from the interior of the barn, and one out of a stall. All came running. The three youngest men were first to reach Matt. Although they couldn’t have been much younger than their boss, it wasn’t difficult to see the adoration in their eyes. The last to arrive was a bearded elderly man who could have been Uncle Remus’s twin.

“Men, I’d like you to meet the newest hand, Shannon Johnson.” Four pairs of eyes bugged, then went from Matt to Shannon. “This is Jay Fisher, Griff Walker, Elliott Fox, and Cleve Redmon.”

The elderly gentleman, Cleve Redmon, was the first to step forward. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

His gaze was as cautious as the hand he extended. Their hands barely touched before the light pressure of his hand was gone. Stepping back, he ducked his head.

If Cleve was reticent, the three other men were not. With their hats clutched to their chests with one hand, they pumped Shannon’s arm with the other as if they were priming a pump. She hoped it meant they were going to accept her.

At least all of them were friendly except Cleve. For some reason her gaze strayed back to him. She was surprised
to find him anxiously looking at her. “Is something the matter?”

“No, ma’am, I better get back to my chores.”

“Shannon is going to muck out the barn for you,” Matt told him.

Cleve straightened his slightly stooped shoulders. “You aren’t pleased with my work no more?”

“You know if I hadn’t been you would have heard it before now,” Matt said.

“No offense, boss, but I’d rather do it by myself,” the elderly cowhand argued.

“She cleans the stalls, Cleve.” The flatness in Matt’s voice brooked no argument. The other three hands found the pattern the toes of their boots were making in the dirt enticing.

The older man’s shoulders slumped for a second, then surged upward. “Yes, sir.” There was no surliness in the tone, just hurt.

Wounded pride. Pride Shannon understood. She took the few steps that would bring her face-to-face with Cleve. “Cleve, I know it’s an imposition, but I hope you can please put up with me for a little while. Since I now own a piece of the Circle T, Matt insists I learn what it takes to run the place.”

Three dirt-staring heads popped up, their jaws unhinged. The scowl on Matt’s face would have made most men run. Shannon smiled. He wasn’t as fierce as he appeared. She had seen his face earlier and knew he hadn’t wanted to hurt Cleve, either.

She turned to the elderly man. Lightly, her hand touched his stiff arm. “So, if you could please tolerate me and show me the ropes, I’d appreciate it.”

“Well . . .”

She smiled. “I’d be so grateful.” In a side whisper that everyone could hear, she said, “I might need to brush up on my riding, too, before Matt sends me out to scout the range.”

Cleve looked horrified. “Ain’t no such thing as scout the range. Where did you come from?”

“St. Louis. Where the West begins.”

“The West begins in Fort Worth, Texas. You’ve got a lot to learn, girlie,” Cleve told her.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” Matt said. “You can give instructions, but I want her to do everything by herself.”

“All right, boss. But don’t be surprised if she don’t last the day.” Cleve turned and walked deeper into the barn’s interior. “Ranching is man’s work.”

This time it was Shannon’s jaw that came unhinged. After trying to help Cleve, he had turned on her. A bark of laughter swung her around.

Mesmerized, she watched Matt throw back his head in laughter. He was framed in silhouette of the morning light. He looked like a dark angel, tempting and unbelievably handsome.

“I could have told you, Shannon. Some men are immune to your charm.” Tipping his hat, he walked away.

Angel my foot! Devil was more like it. With determination in every step, she stomped off to find her reluctant teacher.

Matt crossed the yard in ground-eating strides. His foul mood was his own fault. All morning he had tried to forget the picture of injured pride on Cleve’s face, but it wouldn’t go away. In Matt’s attempt to get rid of Shannon he had inadvertently hurt a man he loved and respected.

Cleve Redmon had been a fixture on the Taggart ranch for as long as Matt could remember. Like Wade, Cleve had never married. Unlike his uncle, Cleve tended to enjoy being by himself. Matt couldn’t remember the elderly cowhand ever taking a vacation or a few days off. Working on the ranch seemed to be all he wanted. Even on his day off, he was never idle.

Yet, while Cleve’s heart might be willing, his body was tired. His arthritis wasn’t helping. More days than Matt wanted to remember, he had seen Cleve wrap his horse’s reins around his wrist when his fingers were too stiff and pained him too much to hold the narrow leather strips. His pride was as big as the Texas sky. Pensioning him off would have slowly killed him. Easing him into taking care of things around the house and barn had required delicate maneuvering.

Wade had helped by constantly reminding Cleve they had worked in their youth for twenty-five cents a day and a rock-hard biscuit for lunch. Through rainstorms, broiling
sun, and bad health they had stayed in the saddle and got the job done no matter how hard or how long it took. Without a word being said, Matt always knew Cleve was thinking Wade had been working for his father, then himself while Cleve had simply been one of the hands.

It surprised no one that Cleve had kicked against slowing down, but gradually he had settled into his new responsibilities off a horse. But he didn’t like help from anyone. And in Matt’s haste to get rid of Shannon, he had forgotten all that. Grudgingly, he had to admit she had been sensitive enough to Cleve’s feelings to try to ease his mind.

Or was it another game she was running?

His mood darkened. Yanking open the back door, he entered the kitchen. From somewhere in the house he heard the vacuum cleaner shut off. The screen door banged shut behind him. Opening the refrigerator, he took out a pitcher of tea, then reached for a glass.

“Is that you, Shannon?” yelled the housekeeper.

“Nope, it’s me.”

Moments later Octavia entered the kitchen, her face wrinkled in a frown. “I thought you’d be out plowing most of the day.”

“So did I,” Matt said, then took a huge gulp of the ice-cold drink. “The clutch went bad on the tractor. I brought it back in to work on it.”

“I don’t suppose you got time for a bite to eat?” the housekeeper questioned.

“No, but thanks.” Setting the glass down, he headed for the door again.

“If you see Shannon, send her in for lunch.”

One hand on the knob, he glanced at his watch. “It’s after one.”

“I know, but I haven’t seen her since the two of you left this morning,” she answered. “You did tell her to come back for lunch, didn’t you?”

“Any fool would know to stop for lunch.”

Octavia crossed her arms in a familiar gesture. “That’s
the same thing I’ve been trying to tell
you
for years. Yet, you don’t listen.”

He scowled. “I’m working for what’s mine.”

“So is Shannon.” The housekeeper nodded toward the kitchen clock on the wall. “Looks like she’s willing to work just as long and as hard as you are.”

“That remains to be seen.” Opening the door, Matt headed for the barn. This was one time he was going to delight in proving Octavia wrong.

If there was one thing he had noticed about Shannon, it was her neatness. In contrast to the sassy red toenails, her fingernails were short, rounded, and had a glossy shine. He’d bet his truck they were professionally cared for.

He hated to admit it, but she had the softest hair he’d ever touched. It smelled good, too. Whether ruffled by the wind or a man’s hand, the lustrous, shoulder-length auburn hair somehow managed to look tempting. Automatically his mind conjured up the picture of the last time his hands had glided through her hair and pulled her body flush with his. Immediately, his body responded.

With ruthless determination, he brought his mind and desire under control. Shannon might be tempting as sin, but she was also manipulative, untrustworthy, and out for what she could get . . . the easiest way possible.

Nope, a woman like Shannon wouldn’t like being sweaty and dirty. She’d probably spent most of the morning in the tackroom, not working, but washing her face and hands. Matt had no doubt she had already eaten with Cleve and the rest of the hands.

Cleve might not like women working on the ranch, but he wasn’t mean-spirited. He’d offer her lunch. Shannon would accept; she wasn’t the type of woman to pass up an opportunity to gain more allies or another conquest.

Matt entered the barn. A few feet inside he blinked, then blinked again.

A wheelbarrow was midway down the wide aisle. Dangling from one of the handles was the straw hat Shannon had been wearing that morning. His brows furrowed. She
couldn’t have gotten that far. Continuing, he didn’t stop until he was at the open stall in front of the wheelbarrow.

Instead of using a pitchfork, Shannon was on her knees distributing hay and mumbling to herself. “I’m never going to think it’s romantic to see a couple making love in the hay again. This stuff itches and it’s dusty.” She scooted over a bit. “You’d have to be in the depths of lust to forget where you were.”

“Are you saying you’ve never forgotten where you were while making love?”

Her shoulders stiffened. Her eyes closed. Why couldn’t it have been anyone but
him?
All too aware of how sweaty and dirty she was, she spoke without turning. “After I finish, I’ll go to work on the tackroom.”