Plots and Pans (12 page)

Think?
Tucker blinked, caught off guard by her bright smile. It transformed her fine features, the laughing warmth making mere beauty something irresistible. That smile tugged at him, unraveling his iron control and filling his mind with unspeakable responses.

I don’t know how I ever mistook you for a man
. Sounded random.

I think if I undid your braid, those lush waves I saw last night would feel soft as corn silk
. If anything, even worse.

Tucker could feel time running out as she stared up at him, waiting for him to cobble together some sort of coherent answer. Her smile started to slip, and he fought a sudden need to bring it back. It struck him that he could do a better job of thinking straight if she stopped looking at him with those big, expectant brown eyes.

So he looked down, tracing the gesture she’d made toward the fence. But his gaze didn’t make it to the fence—he snagged on the sight of her hands. Red lines, some thin, some jagged and still bleeding, lashed around her wrists to creep across the backs of her hands. If he knew anything about barbed wire, her palms looked even worse.

Tucker stared until red spread across his vision.
She’s hurt
.

His own hands clenched into fists, fighting to keep from reaching out and grabbing her so he could see the worst of her injuries. Suddenly his thoughts narrowed to a single focus.
I promised her father I’d take care of her. I have to keep her safe, make her understand that she can’t put herself in dangerous situations
.

“I think you have a habit of doing things you have no business trying and showing up in places you know you don’t belong.”

“I belong here.” The spark in her eyes went cold. “I’ve
always
belonged here. Who do you think you are to say otherwise?”

“The foreman of the Bar None, same as I have been for half a decade.” Tucker found her far easier to handle when she went flinty. Smiles could addle a man’s thinking, but scowls kept him on track.

“Strange.” She wrinkled her nose as though rejecting something rancid. “I don’t remember ‘passing judgment on family members’ as part of the foreman’s responsibilities—or one of his privileges.”

“Good judgment is part of doing anything responsibly. I use mine just fine—you’re the one who’s ‘passing’ it by,” he shot back.

“You’re tangling my meaning, and you know it!” Her voice rose a notch. “It’s not your job to decide how or where I spend my time.”

No. It’s my job to keep you safe. Problem is, that means monitoring where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing for just about every minute until your brother gets back to take over
.

Tucker kept the thought to himself. It made no sense to stick a burr beneath the saddle of a bucking filly in need of breaking.

“I’m responsible for the safety of everyone on the ranch.” He shifted, making her tilt her head back farther to keep glaring at him. Only then did Tucker give up the literal high ground in favor of besting her in conversation. He didn’t have time to waste arguing the woman dizzy—and he needed to see the worst of her wounds.

Tucker swung from the saddle, landing close enough to snag her elbow and turn her hands palm up. As he’d expected, the vicious wire left marks here, slicing into the soft pads of her palm and fingers.

“What are you doing?” She tried to tug her arm from his grasp, words falling fast and furious. “Ensuring the safety of your men surely doesn’t include playing nursemaid over a few scratches!”

“Easy now.” He murmured to her the same way he did with any other skittish creature. “I need to see how bad you hurt yourself.”

He kept one hand wrapped around her elbow—tight enough to hold her but not cause harm. Tucker raised his other hand to his mouth, biting the tips of his glove and pulling it off. He unclenched his teeth and let the glove fall to the ground as his bare hand reached hers, tenderly tracing around what looked to be the deepest cut.

She hissed at him like an angry cat, so he knew the slash stung. But her sun-warmed skin gave softly beneath the questing pressure of his fingertips without revealing any deep gashes. He checked both hands from palms to wrists before deciding he didn’t need to worry about stitching her up. He’d expected a lot worse.

What he hadn’t expected was the silent testimony of her skin. Milky white and fine-boned though her hands may be, they didn’t tell tales of a privileged lady. Beneath the scratches from today’s foolishness he’d traced scars and calluses. Jessalyn Culpepper’s hands spoke of skills earned with hard work—
and a hard head
.

“Enough!” She yanked free, though by now Tucker’s grip slackened so she could slip loose at any time. “You don’t need to concern yourself with every little mishap. Especially mine.”

Not every little mishap
, he silently conceded.
But especially yours. I’ll count us blessed if your scrapes stay so small
.

“I feared I’d find worse.” It cost him nothing to admit that much and might bring her around to a more manageable mood. “But you’re right—Desta can clean those scrapes up and bandage them.”

“There you go again!” Apparently unable to stand still, she stooped to pick up his glove and slap it against his chest. “Stop acting as though it’s up to you to make decisions on my behalf!”

Tucker tugged his glove from her grasp and tried again. “It’s not just on your behalf. The foreman gives orders for everyone.”

“Not everyone,” she fumed, eyeing his glove as though wishing she could smack him with it again. “That isn’t your responsibility.”

“You seem awful preoccupied with telling me just what does and doesn’t make up my job.” He frowned and shoved the glove in place. “Particularly for someone who hasn’t stepped foot on a ranch in years. Things might go smoother if you took a look around first.”

“Oh, I plan to.” Her crossed arms transformed her agreement into a threat. “But you seem awful preoccupied with trying to convince me that it’s your job to order around everybody else.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Tucker felt the muscle in his jaw start twitching. “It
is
my job to decide what needs to be done around here and then assign the right man for the work.”

She smirked. “Then you’ve no cause to complain, Mr. Carmichael. Yesterday afternoon you gave me the task of flagging this fence.”

Stung by the injustice of this argument—and the scrap of truth behind it, Tucker roared, “You aren’t the man I thought you were!”

For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to respond. The obstinate woman turned her back on him and walked over to her mount and unknotted the reins. She left him hanging just long enough to let him start feeling foolish and consider offering an apology.

“No, I’m not the man you thought I was.” She spoke in the soft tones of disappointment. “I guess that makes us just about even.”

Y
ou’re not the man I thought you were either
. Jess didn’t bother to speak the final indictment aloud. Disappointing though he might be, Tucker Carmichael proved intelligent enough to understand an insult.
Especially such a clever one
.

She knew better than to pat herself on the back for snarky comments, but a well-spoken reprimand required a certain sort of panache. The man most likely needed a boot to the backside, but until Ed got home and Jess got the lay of the land, she’d have to settle for serving up a masterful set down.

“Haven’t you dealt with enough barbs for one morning?” the man rebounded swiftly, his quick wit making Jess struggle not to smile.

I shouldn’t be enjoying this. He’s clever, but teaching him that he can’t order me around isn’t going to be easy for either of us
. The stern reminder did little good. She’d always enjoyed a good round of repartee, and Tucker Carmichael gave as good as he got. Besides, even though she wasn’t going to admit it, Jess wanted to get back to the house. Her hands stung, her stomach rumbled, and deep down she knew the two of them needed to reach a truce.

“I suppose.” She glanced back at the fence, her spirits rising at the sight of the waving rag. “Since I haven’t been on a ranch for a good long while, I’m willing to defer to the foreman. What do you say? Are we finished riding this line and ready to move on?”

“Yep.” Without so much as pretending to look over her hard work, he stuck his boot in a stirrup and got back in the saddle.

As she followed suit, Jess debated whether or not she should insist that he inspect the fence. The first place she’d patched looked haphazard, but she didn’t think anyone would be able to tell this second site had been handled by a novice. She’d done a good job bending the broken barbed line into two loops then passing baling wire through them and binding the whole thing tightly.

“We don’t want Desta to find you missing and start worrying, if she isn’t already.” Tucker’s call made the decision an easy one.

Jess could live without the foreman’s approval of her fencing skills, but guilt gnawed at the idea she’d make Desta worry. She hadn’t planned on working in the pasture when she left that morning or she would’ve left a note in the kitchen. Since Tucker mentioned it, it seemed almost certain her aunt would be missing her by now.

Oops
. Jess urged Morning Glory into a canter, easily catching up to Tucker before adjusting her pace to the gait of his taller paint. Although sorely tempted to see whether Tucker would condescend to race back, Jess didn’t spur her mare into a gallop. Morning Glory would go where Jess bid, but the barn was home to Tucker’s mount. If he gave the horse his head, the paint would run for breakfast.

More importantly, Jess didn’t want to draw further censure. If she kept to his side and he didn’t stare, he might not notice that she was wearing skirts while riding astride. So in the interest of preserving their newfound peace, Jess kept her gaze fixed ahead, her mouth closed, and her pace steady. Unfortunately, her companion didn’t seem inclined to offer the same courtesy. She heard an odd, disgruntled sort of snort before Tucker maneuvered his mount to an angled stop—right in front of Morning Glory so she had to halt, too.

Determined not to show her rising irritation, Jess took a deep breath and forced away a frown before addressing the man. “Yes?”

“You’re wearing
skirts
,” came his terse accusation.
“Astride.”

“Yes.”
I should’ve known he’d catch me out before we got back
. Really, the surprising thing was that it took him this long to notice. Apparently he’d been too worked up over telling her off and checking her hands to think about her type of saddle any sooner.

“Unacceptable.” He gave the pronouncement with such conviction and authority Jess wondered whether he expected immediate change.

“Once in a while necessity trumps convention, Mr. Carmichael.”

“Don’t try hornswoggling me, Miss Culpepper. Necessity had nothing to do with your decision to go riding fences this morning.”

Hornswoggle?
Jess bit her lip, sure that her laughter wouldn’t soothe Tucker’s offended notions of propriety. Luckily, her delight at hearing the phrase restored some of her own good humor.
How could a woman fail to appreciate a man who keeps a straight face at all times—even when accusing her of attempting to “hornswoggle” him?

“ ‘Necessity’ referred to the manner of riding, not my purpose or my destination. What choice was there but to ride astride when I didn’t find any sidesaddles in the barn?”
Not that I looked very hard
.

“Which is why you should’ve forgone riding.” He wagged an admonishing finger at her. “Necessity didn’t make this choice for you, as you claim. No looming calamity forced you to abandon propriety in an urgent attempt to make the best of a bad situation.”

“I’ve been making the best out of bad situations for years without the benefit of your exalted opinion,” Jess pointed out.

He raised a mocking brow. “From what I can see of the way you make decisions, you could’ve used with a few doses of wisdom.”

And what does he know about it?
Jess steadied Morning Glory as the horse started moving sideways, shying away from Tucker’s mount.
I’ve made my own way in a foreign country for a third of my life, then managed to make my way back home without anyone’s help
.

The idea that she might need to justify her decisions to a mere stranger rankled, but maybe Tucker thought she was flighty.
It’s not as though I run off without considering my options—maybe he doesn’t realize I thought things through before setting off this morning
.

“I’m wise enough to ride around back and hitch her behind the house, then walk her back to the stables,” she grudgingly revealed.

“That’s something.” Tucker’s concession sapped some of her ire. “Not much, but we’ll go ahead with that plan and ride around back. It’s good to know you haven’t completely abandoned propriety.”

If the man had been gracious enough to accept her plan without casting further aspersions, Jess would’ve happily headed for the house when Tucker spurred his mount forward. But if he thought he could lob an insult at her and have her trail behind him like a whipped pup, the man needed a lesson. She waited for him to realize she hadn’t moved.