The Ranch Hand (5 page)

Harlan actually blushed a little, the red flush creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks. Carol would’ve believed it an act if she weren’t here watching the whole thing happen and knew him well enough to tell his discomfort was genuine. She snorted and gave him an even look. He looked away first.

“I’m a worrier too, ma’am,” he said, fixing his attention firmly on her aunt. “Though Carol’s right, it was no big deal for her. Some mud under the snow slowed her up a bit. She got herself rolling again in no time. Didn’t need my help at all.” He smiled, almost shyly. “In fact, I was about as useful—”

“As tits on a bull,” Carol interjected. It was, after all, one of his favorite phrases, and one that she’d borrowed on more than one occasion.

He glanced at her and lifted an eyebrow. “I was going to say, ‘about as useful as a lead balloon.’”

Her aunt pursed her lips and frowned at Carol. “Farmhand crudity, young lady, is not becoming. Especially in front of a gentleman.”

Carol gaped. “Who do you think
taught
me that one?” She eyed daggers at Harlan.

Harlan grinned, then nodded toward the window and whistled. “Would you look at that snow coming down. I reckon we’ll see four, five inches before nightfall, easy.”

Her aunt wasn’t so easily distracted. She glanced Carol over again, as if a second look might reveal some internal injury Carol was trying to cover up. Aunt June really
had
been worried then. It made her feel like a teenager again, though it was comforting in a way, because it was so clear the woman cared. Any expression of caring had always touched Carol, always resonated on a level in the center of her heart. That was especially true her parents had died, and her aunt and uncle had taken her in to their home. Carol gave her a hug and a kiss on a wrinkled cheek, and did her level best to blink away the threatening tears.

“And now that I’ve got you all soaked,” she said, waving a hand with a flourish, “I depart to my shower.” She threw a look at Harlan. “Remember what I said.
Clockwise
.”

“Is that girl demanding you make her hot chocolate in that insufferably specific way of hers?” her aunt asked, though she dropped a wink at Carol.

“Yes, ma’am. She was real particular. I’ve learned my lesson about betting with her. Here on out, I’m a reformed man.”

“My little Carol cured a man of betting? Never saw that one coming.”

“No, ma’am. What I meant was, I learned that after I
win
our next wager, I’ll be certain to return the kindness. With interest.”

“First you have to win, cowboy,” Carol said, smiling, then hurried upstairs to change on a wave of her aunt’s laughter.

* * *

Harlan stood in the kitchen manning the teakettle, boiling water and thinking about Carol. Her laughter. The way she moved in those jeans. That quick wit. Her sense of humor. That gal could turn heads, true enough, but it was her smile he was coming to love. No, not love. More like it had the spurs in him, the bit between his teeth, and was riding him toward the ledge.

He shook his head. Carol hadn’t appreciated him mentioning the accident to her aunt. He’d noticed that straight off. Didn’t mean he was going to back down. Keeping things from the people who loved you never led to happy times. Besides, Mrs. McCreedy had a right to know. She worried, but worrying about the unknown was always a harder trail to blaze than worrying about the known.

The steady hiss of the shower came from the second floor bathroom. The pipes creaked and groaned in the walls and under the sink from the water pressure. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter, still staring at the teakettle, his thoughts turning to the snowstorm, then shifting back to the accident. He still felt like half a fool, rushing out to help her when she’d been perfectly capable of helping herself. Though if the damn fool who’d run her off the road had actually clipped her…well, she might’ve ended up in a bad way, and the thought iced his veins. Carol didn’t seem rattled by the whole incident, but
he
certainly was. Which might be foolish perhaps, but there you go.

Mrs. McCreedy peeked into the kitchen. “How’s that hot chocolate coming along?”

“Reckon I have the boil-water part down, ma’am. After that, we’ll see.”

She grinned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You need a hand?”

“Thank you kindly, but I suppose if she finds you helping me, I’ll be forfeiting my part of the bet. Wouldn’t want to have to hear about that from here to eternity.”

She laughed. “That girl has some kind of issue with hot chocolate. She even drinks it in the summertime. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

He shook his head gravely, disguising a smile.

“Hmm. Neither have I.” She threw a knowing glance his way. “That girl’s a firecracker, you understand. Takes after her father. And her mother. A whole family of firecrackers.”

The teakettle began to whistle. He took it off the stove and over to the mugs he’d set up. The hot chocolate power was already in the cups, and he poured and mixed slowly, careful not to splash. “Seems to me you raised her right.” He shrugged, meaning
But I’m just a ranch hand, what do I know
?

“Had my fingers stung a few times. But who hasn’t, raising a child? We did the best we could after her parents passed on. Car accident. So you understand why I worry. An independent little girl, and she grew into an independent young woman. Lost her folks young, but she’s tough as leather, never let it sour her spirit. Yet, I figure we all need a partner now and then. Help shoulder the burden.”

He kept his face neutral, but his heart was beating hard and fast. “Is that a hint, ma’am?”

“Take it as you may. I’m a horrible rambling gossip, about as subtle as a charging bull. Jim always says so anyways.” She smiled and waved a hand at the stove. “Suppose I should leave you to your work then.” She patted his arm and shuffled her way out of the kitchen.

The shower shut off upstairs. He quickly found the whipped cream and layered a mountain of it on her hot chocolate. He left his unadorned. He was an hombre who took his hot chocolate black. He smirked and shaved some cinnamon on top of Carol’s whip cream.

The floorboards overhead creaked. He shut his eyes to stop the visions of Carol in her room, walking around with a towel around her body. Wet. The towel clinging to every curve. Or without a towel. Her nipples beading in the cold that lingered far from the radiators… His hands nearly trembled with the need to caress those breasts, to slide his thumbs gently over her nipples, teasing them harder—

He opened his eyes again and tried to focus on the task at hand—not an easy accomplishment by any means. Closing his eyes had only made the fantasy worse. He shifted his stance, aware there was suddenly far less space in his jeans than there had been before he’d started envisioning her nude. Imagining how it would feel to touch her. To taste her.

He clenched his teeth. Stop. Now.

Carol hurried down the stairs, quickly padding barefoot along the wood floors. Her hair was wrapped up in a blue towel and she wore a purple bathrobe. She hissed and started to walk on the balls of her feet. Her calves bunched, and the sight of the smooth skin made him have to look away quickly and grit his teeth to stifle a groan. The desire to run his hands along those curves was almost too much to handle.

“The floor is like ice,” she said as she hurried through the kitchen.

He took a deep breath and through sheer willpower managed to get a hold of himself. Not figuratively. He winced, and then quickly covered with a smile. His voice boomed out, perhaps a bit too cheerful to sound normal.

“If I ever lose another bet, maybe I’ll have to fetch my lady’s slippers. Until then…” He grinned wider, but was very careful not to glance at the display of cleavage where her robe came together. That smooth curve of breast barely glimpsed… This time he did groan. Quietly.

“You feeling all right?” she asked, her expression concerned.

“A little warm is all.” When she stared at him dubiously, he nodded toward the stove. “Slaving over a fire, you understand.”

She snorted and glanced at the hot chocolate mugs. “Smells great. I’ll be right back. Jeans in the dryer.”

Her scent flooded his nostrils as she moved past him. Strawberries. Some type of melon. Other scents he couldn’t identify, but that were oh so interesting. He didn’t know if it were shampoo or perfume or some kind of body wash, but he had to force himself not to crane his neck, trying to catch more of that scent as she went by. He found himself looking forward to the next time she would walk past him, reminding the core primal male in him that she might be tough as nails, but she was also a very desirable female. He shifted his weight again, uncomfortably aware of the tightening in his groin, the heaviness in his cock as he grew hard.

Carol swept through the kitchen again carrying clothing, tempting parts of her jiggling as she stepped lively on the cold floor. “Back in a second!” she called to him with a grin.

He kept his smile and managed not to ogle her as she ascended the stairs. He clenched his fists, staring at the steaming mugs. He couldn’t do this. Not with all this up in the air between them. Not with how he felt about her, which was clear enough because she couldn’t even walk through the kitchen without his cock acting up, headstrong as an unbroken stallion. Now that he knew she was safe, it was time for him to get gone.

He quickly set the hot chocolate mug at her place at the table, neatly arranged with a spoon and a napkin. Good enough. Then he juggled his own mug while struggling into his boots and wet coat. He sloshed hot chocolate over his hand and sleeve. He grunted a curse, frowning at the red burn along the top of his hand that pulsed with pain. The pain cleared his head though, and for that he was grateful.

The wind tried to hold the door shut against him. He gave it a shove, and turned away from a gust full of ice crystals that blew into his face. Quietly, he closed the door behind him, and just as quietly, forged his way out into the snow, stomping toward his trailer. The hot chocolate steamed from the mug. He sipped it, reveling in the warmth, but after a moment he turned the mug and dumped it out.

Without Carol, it tasted bitter, and it was already going cold.

* * *

Carol came downstairs again after getting dressed and combing out her hair. The shower’s hot water had her feeling human again, a definite step up from the Frosty the Snow Girl who’d stumbled in frozen from the road. She’d thrown on some blue jeans, tight enough to show off a little curve, and a long sleeve button-down blouse.

She headed back into the kitchen. “That hot chocolate had better be perfecto after all this—”

The kitchen was empty, which surprised her, but a mug of hot chocolate was precisely arranged on her placemat at the dinner table. She walked to it slowly and wrapped her hands around it, loving the heat against her skin. The hot chocolate tasted delicious. Rich. Creamy. Hot enough to warm her but not burn on the way down. The whipped cream left dabs on her nose that she absently wiped away. She glanced around for Harlan, meaning to compliment him on a job well done, or maybe to tease him how he was better at making hot chocolate than he was at fixing fences…

He was nowhere to be seen. She carried her hot chocolate with her as she made a circuit of the house. She even checked the bathroom. No Harlan. Her aunt was knitting up a storm over by the wood stove, suspiciously engrossed with her project.

Carol wandered to the stove and stood close, letting it warm her rear end. The jeans material grew hot, feeling delightful against her butt. Striving to sound casual, she asked, “Where did Harlan go?”

“I think he went back outside, hon.”

“That’s weird.” She put her hands on her hips and glanced out the window. The snow had slowed some, but was still coming down in a leisurely fall. “I didn’t even get a chance to revel in my hot chocolate.”

“Do you think he’d like a scarf?” her aunt wondered, holding up another partially finished red scarf, this one with stylized pine trees, mountains, and bucking broncos.

Carol grinned wickedly, picturing the look on his usually stoic face when her aunt gave him that scarf. “He’d
love
that scarf.”

Her aunt eyed it critically and then nodded. “I suppose he would. You can give it to him when I finish. You may even claim credit, if you like.”

“Won’t work. He knows I can’t knit worth a darn.” She snorted. “Get it? Worth a darn? Darning?”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that Harlan has a
very
tolerant sense of humor.”

“Hey now, that’s downright unkind.” She sipped from her mug and stared out at the snow. The wind stirred it into white clouds that swirled from the roof and along the side of the house.

Why had Harlan left without a word? It seemed almost…rude. Had she done something to make him angry? For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything. After all, she’d only been playing around about the hot chocolate. Had he really believed she was so picky about a stupid drink? Well, she
was
picky, but she wasn’t an ass about it either. Or…was he simply not that interested in her?

No, there’d been that hot kiss last night, and he’d come rushing out to find out if she was okay after she’d been caught in the storm. Both were actions that indicated…something. Okay, she hadn’t needed the help, and perhaps she’d been a mite bit irritated that he’d thought she needed rescuing, but another part of her had been thrilled at his concern. That initial thrill had turned to a deep warmth in her chest, a heat like the burn from a strong slug of whiskey, and had made her secretly happy. And now this. It didn’t make sense. Men weren’t supposed to be this confusing.

She frowned, shifting her weight, glaring out at the snow. Wondering how desperate she’d appear if she went out looking for him. Most of her not caring how she’d look.

“Maybe he wanted to rescue you,” her aunt suggested mildly.

“What?” She started from her entwined thoughts, biting her lip before she said more, and threw a sidelong glance at her aunt. She hadn’t meant her face to be such a movie screen of her emotions.