The Rough and Ready Rancher (3 page)

“I've been meaning to ask you about that,” he said, his voice containing a hint of suspicion. “Usually the horse goes to the trainer, not the other way around.”

Jenna started the swing into motion. Let him think what he wanted. But instead of ignoring him as she intended, she found herself trying to explain. “I find a horse is more relaxed in a familiar environment, and it's much easier to gain his trust. Once I've done that, I can teach him just about anything.”

Flint pushed away from the post and walked over to sit on the porch rail in front of her. “So, you've been traveling around like this a long time?”

“All my life.”

“Wildcatter's daughter?”

She shook her head. “Daddy followed the rodeo circuit.” She stared out into the darkness. “Home has always been a camper on the back of a pickup truck.”

A frown creased Flint's brow. “Now, hold it. You had to have stayed somewhere long enough to get your education.”

“Momma taught us for a while.” Jenna swallowed hard. She didn't want to remember certain events of her childhood. It was too painful. “Later, Cooper and I kept up with our studies by correspondence until we'd earned the equivalent of our high school diplomas.”

The night suddenly closed in and, disturbed by unpleasant memories, she rose from the swing. “I'd better get some sleep. I'd like to start Satin's training first thing in the morning.”

“Is there anything special you'll need?”

“No. He's already wearing a halter, so I assume he's trained to lead?”

Flint nodded.

She opened the screen door, but turned back, only to collide with his broad chest. His large, callused hands caught her shoulders to steady her, and Jenna's stomach did a wobbly cartwheel at the sight of his handsome features so close to her own. He stared down at her for several long moments. She watched his firm lips part, heard his harsh intake of breath. When he gathered her more fully against him, her pulse pounded in her ears at the intense desire in the depths of his slumberous, brown eyes, and the scent of his clean, masculine skin.

She brought her hands up to push herself free. But the feel of his rock-hard chest made her knees go weak, and she found herself clinging to his solid strength for support. How could a man she didn't even know cause her to go into total meltdown? More important, why was she allowing it to happen?

Somewhere in the back of Jenna's mind an inner voice cautioned that she was flirting with disaster. But when Flint's lips came down on hers to brand her with his kiss, the warning faded into oblivion.

His hands roamed from her shoulders to tangle in her thick hair, and every cell in her body tingled to life. His thumbs slid along the column of her throat, and a molten surge of need gathered at the core of her. She tried to press her thighs together against the sweet pain of mounting desire, but the heat of Flint's muscular leg, lodged between hers, had the intense sensations threatening to consume her. She tightened her legs around his in an effort to ease the burn and heard a groan rumble deep in his chest. Cupping her behind he pressed her higher along the rough denim covering his thigh.

The slamming of a door somewhere inside the house jolted Jenna back to reality, and she pushed against him. “Please—”

Releasing her, she watched Flint jam his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and walk over to lean against the newel post. His back to her, he took a deep breath. “Was there anything else you needed, Jenna?”

His sudden withdrawal and dispassionate tone helped to douse the last traces of her desire. “No.”

Bewildered by her body's betrayal, and furious with herself, she allowed anger to take charge. She tried to wipe away the feel of his kiss with the back of her hand. “And I certainly didn't need
that.
”

“You didn't turn it down.”

“I didn't ask for it, either.”

Flint turned to face her, his smile meaningful. “Come on now, darlin'. We're both too old to play games. Why else would you force yourself into my arms?”

Outraged, Jenna saw red. “I turned to ask you to keep
your men away from the corral tomorrow while I work with Satin. Nothing more.” She jerked the screen door open. “Let's get something else straight while we're at it.
You
grabbed
me.
And if you weren't so full of yourself, you'd admit it, McCray.”

The sting of Jenna's words hit like a physical blow as Flint silently watched the door bang shut behind her. He had reached for her, but only to steady her, to keep her from falling. What he couldn't figure out was why he'd allowed it to go beyond that. Maybe it had been the way she'd looked up at him with those big gray eyes—eyes that promised not only ecstasy and fulfillment, but mirrored a loneliness as deep as his own.

He cursed a blue streak. Whatever the reason, when he felt her soft, pliable body beneath his hands he'd displayed all the finesse of a steam roller.

Flint stepped off the porch and headed for the east pasture to check on the herd. He had to forget the feel of Jenna pressed against him, the taste of her lips clinging to his.

He shook his head. Why he'd allowed her to get under his skin remained a mystery. But one thing was certain. No matter what her eyes promised or how tempting the moment became, he wouldn't let it happen again. He'd learned long ago that beyond the green of his money, he was nothing more than a dust covered cowboy with very little to offer a woman. It was a lesson he'd learned the hard way. And he kept the diamond necklace he'd bought for his ex-wife in a glass dome in his office to make sure it was one he wouldn't forget.

He'd just been too long without a woman's softness, that's all, he reasoned. Every man needed physical release from time to time. And he was overdue. Way overdue.

 

Jenna lay awake long after she left Flint. She'd had time to reflect on the incident, and her anger had cooled toward
him, but not with herself. He might have initiated the encounter, but she could have called a halt to it at any time.

So why hadn't she?

She stared at the ceiling, listening to Flint climb the stairs and go into his room. What was there about the man that made her so spineless? Had he been as effected by their kiss as she'd been?

She'd been kissed many times before and never felt the way she had tonight. But the moment he'd taken her into his arms, her common sense had flown away like a big, green bird.

Not even Dan's kisses had brought her to such a fevered state. And she'd loved him.

A mix of guilt and sadness suffused her when she thought of the young man she'd promised to marry. By now they should have been getting ready to celebrate their sixth anniversary. But life had taught her that plans change and guarantees for happiness weren't handed out for the asking. Dan had died that day on the dirt floor of the rodeo arena, and she'd had to learn to get on with her life.

Jenna impatiently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, turned to her side and forced herself to relax. She'd wasted enough time feeling sorry for herself. She had a new horse to work with tomorrow, and she needed rest to meet the challenge. Besides, trying to figure out her reaction to Flint McCray was like trying to solve a crossword puzzle with no clues.

Drifting toward the peacefulness of sleep, the sound of shots being fired brought her to instant awareness. Rolling to the side of the bed, she landed on the polished hardwood floor with a jarring thump. Her hand hit the nightstand, and something sharp pierced her palm, but after a startled cry, she ignored the pain and began inching her way toward the door.

Maybe she should reexamine her position on insisting Flint honor their contract, she thought, her heart pounding hard against her ribs. If she was going to have to dodge rifle slugs, she'd be more than glad to go.

When the door crashed open, Jenna barely had time to cover her head with her hands before a large body landed on top of her.

“W
hat in God's name are you doing on the floor?” Flint roared.

He levered himself to a sitting position. The light of the moon, shining through the part in the curtains, illuminated Jenna's still form and the thin line of blood trickling down the side of her face. His heart stalled right then and there. He couldn't tell the extent of her injuries, but clasping her shoulders, he hauled her up into his arms.

“I'm…warning you…McCray—” she took a deep breath “—if this keeps up, I'm going to demand hazardous-duty pay in addition to my regular fee.”

“Did you see or hear someone?” he asked, cradling her to his bare chest.

“No.”

Her warm breath against his skin sent a shiver snaking down his spine and a fire burning at his gut. Damned if she didn't feel made to fit his arms. He cleared his throat to get
words past the cotton clogging his throat. “Then why did you scream?”

“I have a tendency to do that when people shoot at me.”

“Shoot at you? You mean, you thought…” Relieved, he couldn't help it. He laughed out loud. “That was Whiskers's truck backfiring.” Remembering the blood, he sobered instantly and tightened his embrace. “Where are you hurt?”

“My hand. I hit it on something when I rolled out of bed.”

Flint had a hard time concentrating on what she said. Her small, scantily clad body felt wonderful, and the intensity of his reaction stunned him. He was overwhelmingly, completely, undeniably aroused. And it had almost been instantaneous.

He shook his head and tried to ignore his mounting desire. He had to have just set some kind of record. A man of thirty-three wasn't over-the-hill by any means, but he for damn sure wasn't a randy teenager with nothing but seething hormones racing through his veins. Over the years he should have gained at least a modicum of restraint.

Distracted by his changing body, it took him a minute to realize Jenna was pushing against him. He got to his feet and pulled her up with him. “Let's see about your hand.”

Pulling her out into the hall, he turned on the overhead light and gulped back a groan when his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Here he stood, harder than the Rock of Gibraltar, gazing down at the half-naked woman responsible for his almost painful state. Now how was a man supposed to ignore a situation like that? It would take a saint or a blind man to overlook the possibilities. And Flint was neither.

He cursed under his breath and tried to ignore the outline of her nipples pushing at the thin fabric of her T-shirt. He normally considered T-shirts shapeless and unappealing.
But this one draped her to perfection and made him want to run his hands under the hem, to expose every inch of her to his hungry eyes.

That wouldn't take much, he decided. The damned thing barely covered her panties and exposed enough delectable skin to send his blood pressure up fifty points.

Sounding like the pop-off valve on a pressure cooker, he expelled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The phrase, Calf Ropers Like It Tied Up, printed across the front of the garment had his imagination running wild and his body right along with it.

“Wait here,” he said, his voice more harsh than he intended. He forced himself to move toward his room. It wasn't her fault his imagination already had them all but experiencing the throes of passion. But her eyes had perused his body like a lover's caress, and heaven help him he'd loved every minute of it.

Jenna watched Flint walk down the hall to his room. When he turned on the light, it had taken all of her strength to keep from staring at his perfectly sculpted chest and washboard stomach. A thin coat of dark-brown hair covered muscles made hard by years of physical labor, and from his tan she would bet he often removed his shirt while he worked.

She swallowed hard when she remembered the narrow, dark line arrowing down below his navel to draw attention to the open snap at the waistband of his well-worn jeans. Jeans that hung low on lean hips and emphasized the fact that he was all male and thoroughly aroused.

She was only seconds away from having to fan herself when he walked back into the hall, jamming the tail of his shirt into the waistband of his jeans.

“Put this on,” he ordered, shoving a robe into her hands.

The fabric caught on a large splinter protruding from her palm, causing her to wince.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Let's go see to your hand.”

“What about Ryan?” she asked, belting the robe.

Flint took her by the elbow to usher her toward the stairs. “His room is on the other side of the house. I was checking on him when you screamed. He's so active during the day, by bedtime he could sleep through an all-out war.”

When they entered the office, Jenna sat in the chair across from Flint's desk and held her hand out for his inspection. “It's just a splinter. No big deal.”

He whistled low. “It looks like a log.” Retrieving the first aid kit from his desk, Flint took her hand in his. He examined the wound, his large hand dwarfing hers. She knew she shouldn't, but she liked the contrast.

“Have you had a tetanus shot recently?” he asked, his attention on her hand.

“I make sure I keep all my immunizations current.” His hands engulfed hers as he worked to remove the splinter and she wondered how they would feel caressing her—

“Ouch!” Her erotic thoughts shattered when he continued to probe for any traces of wood he might have missed. “What are you trying to do, McCray? Drill for oil?”

He poured hydrogen peroxide over the area, applied an antiseptic ointment, then wrapped her hand in gauze. “I think I got it all, but it'll probably be sore for the next few days.”

Jenna glanced up when he continued to hold her hand. Their gazes locked and the charge of excitement coursing between them took her breath. When he took an antiseptic pad and sponged the blood from her cheek, she wondered if she'd ever breathe again. Shaken by the feel of his hand caressing hers, the gentleness he displayed wiping her face, she jerked her hand from his.

“Why do I get the idea you wouldn't have been surprised if someone had fired shots at us?” she asked, cursing her breathless tone.

Jenna settled back into the armchair to focus her attention on Flint. She wasn't going anywhere until she had an explanation. Besides, at the moment, she seriously doubted her legs would support her.

“You might as well tell me what's going on. I have a right to know.”

“It's none of your business.”

She jerked her thumb toward the door. “What happened upstairs just made it my business. You weren't altogether sure I hadn't seen someone. If I'm going to have to be looking over my shoulder, I'd like to know why. It's something I don't take lightly.” She gave him a pointed look. “And I don't think you do, either.”

Flint slumped into the chair behind his desk and ran a weary hand over his face. If their positions were reversed, he'd be pounding on the desk, demanding an explanation.

But her calm demeanor unsettled him, and suspicion began to cloud his mind. Could Jenna already be familiar with the situation? Was she somehow involved in stealing his cattle? Why hadn't she been hysterical when she thought someone was shooting at her? Nicole would have been. Hell, his ex-wife went off the deep end when she broke a fingernail.

“We've had some trouble with rustlers,” he stated, watching for her reaction.

“Spreads the size of the Rocking M will always be targets of cattle thieves,” she said. “But rustlers usually steer clear of a ranch headquarters. Besides, stealing cattle is one thing. Prowling around an occupied house is an entirely different matter. And that's exactly what you thought had happened.”

“It's just been the past couple of days that things have started getting ugly.” He searched for any indication she might be aware of the situation. When he found none, he
continued, “Last night they castrated a twenty-five-thousand-dollar bull.”

She sat forward, her eyes wide. “Why wasn't an animal that valuable closer to the house?”

“He was. Somehow he managed to get through two locked gates and across a six-hundred-acre pasture.”

“He had help,” she said flatly. “Have any other ranchers had similar problems?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“This is more than just a case of cattle rustling,” she stated. “It sounds like someone is trying to seek revenge.”

“But I'll be damned if I can figure out who it is or why they're doing it,” he agreed. He wasn't used to talking with a woman about his ranching problems. Nicole had never cared what went on as long as the money kept rolling in.

“Have you checked with the state brand inspectors?” she asked. “They should be able to tell you who brought the cattle into the stockyards. Maybe you could catch them that way.”

Flint propped his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his hands in front of him. She certainly knew enough about the workings of the cattle industry to implicate her, but then so did most people used to being around livestock. And her shock at the mutilation of the bull seemed genuine.

Jenna Adams was either a damned good actress or innocent of any involvement. One way or the other, he'd know for sure when the investigator finished running a check on her background.

“Of course I've notified the authorities,” he answered. “But the only cattle with the Rocking M brand that have gone through any of the yards are the ones I've sent.”

She arched a brow. “Then where are they? They didn't just vanish into thin air.”

“The sheriff found some hides bearing our brand in a
remote area about seventy-five miles from here,” Flint answered. “From all indications, the rustlers are butchering the cattle in the back of a refrigerated trailer. By the time they reach the packing house, the beef is dressed out.”

“No hides. No evidence,” she said, nodding. “But what about the USDA? Why haven't they caught the uninspected beef?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? It could be an inspector on the take or a packing house with a counterfeit stamp.”

He left his chair. “Either way, it doesn't make much difference. After the events of last night, I'd say they're getting impatient. It's just a matter of time now before they screw up.” His voice grew cold, his smile deadly. “And when they do, I'll be there to nail the bastards.”

As she rose to her feet, a shiver ran the length of Jenna's spine. She wouldn't want to be in the rustlers' boots when he caught up with them. One look into those intense brown eyes told her Flint McCray could be a very dangerous adversary.

She felt Flint's gaze boring a hole into her back as she climbed the stairs and entered her room. In his eyes, she knew no one was above suspicion. Not even her.

But that didn't matter. He could think whatever he liked. But if she'd known he had this kind of problem on his hands, she might not have been so insistent that he honor their contract.

She shook her head and immediately dismissed the thought. Running from trouble was a coward's way out.

And no one had ever been able to call Jenna Adams a coward.

 

“I tell ya, Jed, I thought I had that truck fixed or I'd a never loaned it to you last night,” Whiskers said, wiping the counter. “If Flint hadn't said it scared Jenna into hurtin' herself when it backfired, I'd a sworn you made it up.”

“Believe me,” Jenna said, entering the kitchen. “It happened.”

“Mornin', Miss Adams.” Jed pointed to her bandaged hand. “After what happened last night, I'll bet you're just about ready to cut your losses and run.”

She shook her head and sat down to a delicious-looking plate of biscuits and gravy. “It'll take more than a splinter to keep me from training a potential champion.”

“Flint said you got hurt,” Whiskers said, worriedly. “Maybe you'd better not try to work with Satin this mornin'.”

Touched by his concern, Jenna smiled and held out her bandaged hand for his inspection. “I'll be fine. I've worked with much worse injuries than this.”

“I just don't like the idea of a little gal like you climbin' in the corral with that black devil,” Whiskers stated, picking up Jed's plate to scrape the contents.

“Hey, I'm not finished,” Jed complained.

Whiskers placed the plate in the sink. “Yes, you are.”

Jed started to protest, but stopped when a gnarled finger pointed his direction.

“Somebody has to keep track of the vittles you poke down, cause it's for danged sure you don't know when to push away from the table.” The old man propped his hands on his hips. “The rest of the men finished up fifteen minutes ago. Now, get your shiftless butt outta here so I can get my work done.”

Jed jumped to his feet. “If you keep mean-mouthin' people, somebody's gonna tear your head off and shout down the hole.”

“Then who'd feed your worthless carcass?” Whiskers asked.

“That's the only thing holdin' me back, old man.” Jed grabbed his hat and walked through the door.

Shaken by the man's obvious anger, Jenna's appetite de
serted her. “I'm not very hungry, Whiskers.” She rose from the table. “But thanks, anyway.”

“You cain't be done.” When she nodded, he threw up his hands. “No wonder you're such a puny little thing.”

“She has to be wiry and quick to work with horses like Satin,” Flint said, walking into the room.

Jenna ducked her head to conceal her astonishment. That wasn't the argument he'd used yesterday when he tried to break their contract. He'd accused her of not having the strength to work with his horse, or any others, for that matter. What had changed his mind?

She decided to ignore the comment. All her concentration needed to be focused on Satin and his training. If she allowed her mind to wander while she worked with the stallion, she could confirm Flint's first observation. And she'd rather run naked through a briar patch than let that happen.