The Lone Rancher (5 page)

Although his stomach was growling something fierce, Quin finished his bath, then dressed quickly. He stuffed his feet in his boots and his shirttail into his breeches, then hurried downstairs. He grabbed his best Stetson from the hook beside the door and breezed outside to fetch a horse. Not Cactus, he mused. His favorite mount was as exhausted from the roundup as Quin was.

Ezra Fields, the lanky, bearded cowboy who had signed on more than two years earlier, was waiting with a fresh horse. “Figured you were headed for the McKnight spread,” Ezra drawled. “Figured you'd want to give ole Cactus a rest.”

“Thanks,” Quin murmured as he descended from the porch.

“Don't know what that McKnight gal is trying to pull,” Ezra remarked as he handed over the reins. “She came riding astride on her dapple-gray thoroughbred to see Rock.”

Riding astride? Now why didn't that surprise him?

“She flashed a big smile and showed off her shapely figure in trim-fitting breeches and shirt.”

That sounded like something that hellion would do. Divert a man's attention while she pulled her clever stunts.

“She could've lured more cowboys to join her but she turned all her charm on Rocky Rhodes that day,” Ez went on to say. “You think she'll be back to hire away more cowhands while you're out? You think she's trying to undermine the 4C?”

Well, I do now! She is going to catch an earful from me,
Quin thought resentfully.

“No telling what that seductive woman promised as fringe benefits to lure Rock away,” Ezra commented. “You know how bashful Rock is around women. I'd call him a pushover. Not like you. You don't back down to nobody.”

Quin bounded onto the saddle and thundered off. Ezra was probably right. Boston had used her charm on Rock, who rarely worked up the nerve to ask a woman to dance at the occasional town social. Poor Rock, he thought. Boston would chew him up and spit him out if he crossed her.

Well, she won't have the chance,
Quin vowed resolutely. He would get his ranch foreman back before that sneaky female sank her claws into Rock and ripped him to shreds.

The moment Quin reached the McKnight Ranch, he headed directly to the house. Aggravated though he was, he noticed the house and veranda boasted a fresh coat of white paint and construction had begun on the new
addition. But he wasn't here to admire the changes. He wanted to have it out with Boston.

His hands curled into fists, itching to put a choke-hold on her lovely neck. Muttering, he rapped on the door—hard. Butler showed up two minutes later. Quin suspected the stoic accountant purposely left him waiting on the veranda.

“How nice to see you again, Cahill,” Butler said—and didn't sound the slightest bit sincere.

“Same to you.” Quin glanced over Butler's dark head. Not a hair was out of place, as usual. “Where is she?”

“Where is who?” Butler blinked and tried out a mock-innocent stare. Quin didn't buy it for even a second. Butler was as annoying as his boss.

“You know perfectly well who I'm talking about,” Quin snapped irritably. “Where's Boston and what prank is she planning to play on me next?”

“I don't have the vaguest notion what you mean,” said Butler. “However, if you are asking after Addie K., she is sorting her Herefords. I doubt she has time for you right now. Maybe you could call again next week…or the week after.”

Quin gnashed his teeth so hard he nearly ground off the enamel. He glared at Butler, who obviously didn't have much use for him. Not that Quin cared what Boston's man of affairs thought. The sooner Boston and her entourage left Texas, the happier he'd be.
Joyous,
in fact.

Lurching around, Quin strode toward the barn and the surrounding corrals. To his amazement, Rock and the skeleton crew of cowhands had their arms draped over the top rail of the fence, watching Boston wander
around the white-faced cows that she had shipped from New England. To his amazement—and the fascination of every cowboy—she was wearing the formfitting breeches Ezra mentioned. The tan-colored garment accentuated her small waist, the enticing curve of her hips and the well-defined shape of her legs. The breeches were tucked into her boots and her long chestnut hair lay against her spine in a thick braid.

And that blouse! Damn, thought Quin. The top two buttons had come undone. Or more likely, she had unbuttoned them to hold the cowboys spellbound and leave them wondering when another button would work loose to expose more cleavage. For certain, the garment was custom-made to display Boston's full bosom to its best advantage.

One of Rosa's designs, Quin suspected. No telling how much Boston had paid Rosa to create garments that diverted male attention away from the fact that she was an annoying little hellion.

Despite the resentful thoughts chasing one another around Quin's head, he watched her intently. She carried a stick as she wandered through the herd of Herefords, speaking softly to them. She tapped one and then another on the rump to single them out, then directed them into a separate pen. She seemed to be selecting heifers that carried the characteristics she wanted to breed into her next crop of calves. Quin was unwillingly impressed, though he'd cut out his tongue before he complimented the little vixen for her ability to spot quality beef on the hoof.

“These heifers will be penned up until my boxcar of shorthorn bulls and cows arrive next week,” she called
over her shoulder. “These heifers are old enough to breed and they are familiar enough with the place to be released into a pasture with the incoming registered bulls.”

When she fastened the gate, she pivoted around—and halted abruptly. Quin's narrowed gaze zeroed in on her, revealing none of the masculine appreciation that had bombarded him a few moments earlier. All the resentment that had spurred him during his ride hit him full force.

He watched her gaze dart to Rocky Rhodes—the six-foot, blond-haired, blue-eyed cowboy about Quin's age—who stood at a distance. Quin focused his hard glare on his former foreman who suddenly became fascinated with the toes of his boots, just as Skeeter had earlier.

“Please see that all the Herefords have plenty of feed and water,” Boston requested as she passed around a dazzling smile to the crowd of cowboys.

Then she squared her shoulders and walked toward Quin. Her chin tilted and her deep green eyes drifted from the top of his hat to his chest and hips. He caught himself wondering if she found him the slightest bit attractive. Not that he cared what she thought of him, of course. He was just curious, was all.

“How nice to see you again,” she commented as she closed the gate.

“That's what Butler said. I didn't believe him, either.” Quin clutched her elbow and propelled her around to the back of the barn to ensure privacy. If he decided to strangle the smarmy little minx, he didn't want her bewitched cowhands rushing to her rescue.

She jerked her arm from his grasp and stared him down. “The last man who tried to scuttle me off, in an attempt to seduce me into accepting his marriage proposal, received a kick in the crotch,” she informed him tartly.

“No need to fear for your virtue, only your life,” he growled as he rounded on her. “How dare you sneak over to my ranch while I was away to steal Rocky Rhodes!”

Her chin jutted out and he mentally kicked himself when his gaze dropped to the lush curve of her mouth. Anger and desire battled inside him and he hated that he found her so wildly attractive when he wanted to strangle her.

“I'm sure he's delighted, considering the intimate perks you're probably offering him and the other cowboys who work here.”

Her gaze narrowed to glittering green slits. “What is that supposed to imply, Cahill?”

He gestured toward her clothing. “I'm surprised your cowboys can concentrate on what you tell them when you wear garments that fit like a coat of paint.”

Her back went ramrod stiff, which drew his rapt attention to her out-thrust breasts. Quin's gaze focused on the gap between the buttons of her blouse and the cleavage beneath—and hated himself for his fierce attraction to this firebrand.

“You expect me to trounce around in a cow pen in a cumbersome dress?” she hissed like a disturbed cat. “That's impractical. Furthermore, I don't need your approval. In fact, I couldn't care less what you think of my wardrobe and of me!”

Quin loomed over her, pressing her against the barn wall, trying to intimidate her. He outweighed her by a hundred pounds and was at least ten inches taller. However, it didn't seem to matter that he could crush her like a bug. She refused to cower, even when he snarled, bared his teeth and tried to frighten her into submission.

“You listen to me, hellcat. I want my foreman back and I don't want you to set foot on my property to lure my men to your spread again.”

“Business is business, Cahill,” she sassed him. “I will hire whomever I want in order to turn this ranch into a prosperous endeavor. I intend to integrate my Herefords into my present herd of longhorns and breed the finest group of them with the shorthorns due in next week.” She stabbed him in the chest with her forefinger. “
You
stay out of my way and off my ranch.”

He grabbed her finger before she poked a hole in his breastbone. “And you stay out of mine, Boston.”

She jerked sideways and he reflexively snaked his arm around her waist to hold her in place. This little snip wasn't leaving until he dismissed her. Unfortunately, Quin forgot what he intended to say when her body slammed into his and she grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt to give him a shake.

Quin wasn't even sure how it happened, but he blinked in surprise when he realized he was kissing the breath out of Boston and she was kissing him right back. It made no sense whatsoever. He wanted to choke her…didn't he? And she wanted to rip him to shreds…didn't she?

Before he could form reasonable answers to those befuddling questions, his brain broke down. He devoured
her dewy lips. Damn, she tasted good and she felt like the devil's own temptation in his arms. He could feel the imprint of her hips against his groin, feel her breasts meshed against his heaving chest. He went on kissing her as if his very life depended on it…until he was forced to come up for air.

They stared at each other wide-eyed, gasping to draw air into their starved lungs. Quin took a step back and was surprised that his knees buckled slightly. He was not surprised, however, to realize that the ache south of his belt buckle was pulsing in rhythm with his pounding heartbeat.

“That was uncalled for!” she spouted off, breasts heaving, face flushed.

“You started it,” he countered—and realized he sounded ridiculously childish. But damn it, this woman made him loco.

“Me?” She glared pitchforks at him. “I'd rather kiss my horse. Do not ever do that again or I will have the city marshal bring assault charges against you.”

“Not before I file charges against you for trying to entice me into letting you keep my foreman.”

She reared back a doubled fist but Quin grabbed hold of it before she socked him in the jaw. “Do us both a favor and go home, Boston. Clear out of Texas. I'll pay you exactly what you paid for this floundering ranch.”

“You can rot in Hades, Cahill,” she spewed furiously. “Furthermore, I cannot believe my cousin calls you friend. You are an infuriating beast of a man!”

“Your
cousin?
” He stared stupidly at her.

“Rosalie Greer Burnett,” she said in a huff. Then she wrested her fist from his grasp. “Her mother and my
father were brother and sister. I thought Rosa had better taste.”

“That's why you moved here?” he asked, dumb-founded.

“Partly.” She rearranged the blouse that had somehow become twisted when she kissed him half to death. “I told you, I'm making a new life for myself in a place that is
supposed
to be more accepting of women who want more than to become a wife to a man who thinks he's entitled to boss her around. As if she doesn't have a brain in her head and needs a man's permission to do the slightest thing. You, I suspect, are nothing like Lucas. He treats Rosa as his equal partner, not his chattel.”

“You don't know me well enough to know how I'd treat my wife,” he pointed out. “
If
I decide I want one. Which I
don't
.”

“Nor do I care to know you any better than I do now.” She made another stabbing gesture with the same forefinger she had poked into his chest earlier. “Now get off my property. And do not come back unless you send advanced notice so I can gird up for battle before you arrive.”

He smirked sarcastically. “Boston, you don't need advanced warning. You're pricklier than my horse Cactus.”

“I can see why your horse might be contrary,” she shot back. “Having
you
ride him is barely tolerable, I suspect.”

He smiled devilishly when she clamped those kissable lips shut and looked as if she wished she could retract that reckless remark. “Cactus has no complaints. It might be more enjoyable than you think, Boston.”

She puffed up like an offended cobra. “I have work to do and I have no time to listen to your rude, suggestive comments,” she all but shouted at him, her bosom heaving in outrage. “Good day, Cahill, and good riddance!”

Quin swooped down to pluck up the Stetson she had knocked off his head while she practically climbed all over him to get closer so she could kiss him senseless. Moreover, she was
not
pinning that hot, breathless embrace on him. He hadn't started it…had he? It was all
her
fault.

On that righteous thought, he crammed the hat on his head and veered around the corner of the barn to see the cowboys watching him warily. He sent them a clipped nod, then glared at Rocky Rhodes, the turncoat. Scowling, Quin headed to the hitching post in front of the house to fetch his horse.