She’d Bet Her Best Pair Of Dress Boots That He Could Charm Any Woman Right Out Of Her Garters.

The rancher’s wide, muscular shoulders, narrow hips and long, sinewy legs attested to the fact that he kept himself in excellent physical condition. When he’d hauled her out of the corral, he’d moved with the effortless power of a race horse, and she had no doubt about the identity of the “thoroughbred” glaring down at her. His authoritative presence, arrogant stance and dark scowl could only mean one thing. This was none other than Flint McCray, the lord and master of the Rocking M Ranch—her new employer.

And at the moment he looked mad enough to spit nails. It seemed that the handsome cowboy hadn’t expected his new horseman to be a filly.

Jenna’s smile widened. Time for a showdown!

The Rough and Ready Rancher
Kathie DeNosky

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHIE DENOSKY

lives in deep Southern Illinois and enjoys dining out, factory outlet malls, traveling through the southern and southwestern states and collecting Native American pottery. After reading and enjoying Silhouette Desires for many years, she is ecstatic about being able to share her stories with others as a Silhouette author. She often starts her day at 2:00 a.m. so she can write without interruption, before the rest of the family is up and about.

Kathie and her husband, Charlie, have three children. Two are in college and the other is working with special needs children. You may write to Kathie at P.O. Box 2064, Herrin, Il 62948-5264.

To Kathie Brush, who was there when the dream began. To Bonnie and Huntley for encouraging the dream. And to Tina Colombo and Joan Marlow Golan for making the dream come true.

And to Wes Bennett, Braden Rathert and Forrest the Intern Boy. Thanks for the laughter, the encouragement and playing the music that inspires me to write.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

One

Flint McCray stopped thumbing through the papers on his desk to glare at his ranch foreman. “If Adams doesn’t show up within the next hour, he’s out of a job.”

“Simmer down, Flint.” Brad Henson lowered his lanky frame into a soft, leather armchair. “Cal Reynolds assured me J. J. Adams is the best horse trainer he’s ever seen step into a round pen. You know if the guy has Cal’s stamp of approval, he should be worth the wait.”

Flint considered Brad’s words. Reynolds was one of the most respected quarter horse ranchers in the state of Texas. His word should set Flint’s mind at ease, but gut instinct told him something didn’t ring true about the whole situation. “If Adams is so good, why haven’t I heard of him before now?”

“Let’s face it, since you got custody of Ryan you’ve had more important things on your mind than finding a trainer for that son of a sidewinder you insist on calling a horse.”

Pride and a sense of awe filled Flint at the mention of his son. “Now that I have Ryan, Black Satin’s training should be all I have to worry about for a while.”

His expression grave, Brad shook his head. “I don’t think so. We got hit again last night.”

“The herd up on Widow’s Ridge?” At Brad’s tight nod, Flint slammed his ink pen on the desk. “How many this time?”

“Near as I can figure about fifteen head.” Brad hesitated, then squarely met Flint’s furious gaze. “You haven’t heard the worst. Rocket became one hell of an expensive steer overnight.”

“On Widow’s Ridge?”

Brad nodded. “He had help getting there, too. Either that or he’s learned to open and close locked gates.”

“Damn!”

“Looks to me like somebody’s trying to even a score, Flint.”

“Castrating a twenty-five-thousand dollar bull? No question about it.” Flint leaned back from his desk to rub the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “But I’ll be damned if I can figure out who it would be or why.”

“Flint, you’d better get down to the barn,” Jed Summers shouted, rushing into the room. “Some kid’s shinnied the fence and is standin’ smack-dab in the middle of Satin’s corral.”

Flint grabbed the wide brim of his black Resistol, jammed it on his head and bolted from the chair. With both men hot on his heels, he covered the distance to the horse barns on the far side of the ranch compound where several of his men had gathered in horrified fascination.

For Flint time stood deathly still, and the air became smothering as the stallion bore down on the slender form inside the corral. Dust swirled where the stallion churned up dirt with his hooves, the beast’s intent clear. But to Flint’s amazement, the boy showed no sign of fear and sidestepped the charge at the last possible moment.

Black Satin’s blue-black coat gleaming, Flint watched the horse paw the ground and shake his head, preparing to make another pass. Flint felt a moment of hope when the unconcerned youth began a litany of unintelligible words the stallion seemed to consider, appeared to understand. But a muttered curse from one of the men broke the spell, and the horse reared on powerful hind legs, his hooves slashing the air as he screamed his rage.

Besides having a death wish, Flint couldn’t imagine what the kid was up to, but he’d seen enough. “Brad, ease around and open the gate,” he ordered, his voice a low monotone. “Jim, you and Tom get your ropes ready. If Satin doesn’t go for the pasture when that gate opens, I want a loop on him from each side.” Readying himself, he placed a booted foot on the bottom rail of the fence. “Hold him in a cross-tie long enough for me to get that damned kid out of there.”

When the horse failed to take the freedom the opened gate offered, Flint vaulted the fence and hit the ground running. His arms closed around the slight body at the same moment two ropes settled over the stallion’s neck. Tossing the youth over his shoulder, he hauled the kid from the corral.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” he demanded, setting the boy on his feet.

“My job.”

Flint started to berate the kid for pulling such a dangerous stunt, but his voice lodged somewhere between his vocal chords and open mouth when the brim of the lowered hat rose and twinkling, gray eyes locked with his startled gaze. Her unquestionably female lips forming a smile, the woman removed the battered Stetson, and a thick cascade of dark-blond hair fell to her shoulders.

“I’m J. J. Adams,” she said, extending her hand.

Flint felt as if a mule had kicked him right between the eyes. Ignoring the gesture, he allowed his gaze to slide the length of her. The curves disguised by her loose denim jacket suddenly became quite apparent. Firm, round breasts rose and fell with her labored breathing, and her jeans, worn white in certain tantalizing areas, were filled out to perfection.

He shook his head, and his gaze traveled back to her face. Lightly tanned, her cheeks glowed with a naturally rosy blush, making them appear to have been kissed by the sun. The effect was one makeup couldn’t achieve—no matter how expensive.

Her soft features and small-boned frame only confirmed what Flint’s brain tried to deny: she was a woman all right, and a damned good-looking one.

Jenna clamped her lips tight against a startled gasp at the man’s rugged features. He for darned sure wasn’t the type to suffer from the lack of female attention. He had a tiny, white scar at the corner of his right eye and a day-old growth of beard shadowed his lean cheeks. A muscle ticked along his firm jaw, but the dark-brown hair hanging low on his forehead seemed to soften his otherwise unhappy demeanor.

She swallowed hard. She would bet her best pair of dress boots that if he ever smiled he could charm a prudish old maid right out of her garters.

His wide, muscular shoulders, narrow hips and long, sinewy legs attested to the fact he kept himself in excellent physical condition. An amused grin played at her lips. When he’d hauled her out of the corral, he’d moved with the effortless power of a racehorse, and she had no doubt about the identity of the “Thoroughbred” glaring down at her. His authoritative presence, arrogant stance and dark scowl could only mean one thing. This was none other than Flint McCray, the lord and master of the Rocking M Ranch—her new employer. And at the moment he looked mad enough to spit nails.

Jenna’s smile widened. Time for the showdown. “I’m your new horse trainer. Sorry I’m late, but Daisy broke down just this side of San Antonio, and the mechanic had a hard time finding a universal joint for a truck of her considerable years.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running here, lady, but I’m not buying it.”

When one of the men coughed in an obvious effort to stifle a bout of laughter, her new boss took hold of her elbow and started for the house. “The show’s over, boys. Get back to work. I want that herd up on Widow’s Ridge moved back down here by headquarters. Brad, you come with me.”

Several minutes later they walked into McCray’s study. It resembled any number of others she’d had the “privilege” to enter over the past few years. Leather and wood dominated the masculine domain and, without looking, she knew the shelves behind the desk housed books on the cattle industry, horse ranching and animal husbandry. Her gaze drifted to the opposite side of the room where, like most Texas ranches, a leather map of the property with the ranch brand burned into one corner graced the wall above the fireplace.

Nothing out of the ordinary, she decided, frowning in thought. On the mantel, beside the antique clock, sat a glass dome; the diamond necklace inside twinkled from the shaft of late-afternoon sun streaming through the window.

She sat in the empty chair beside the ranch foreman and tried to shrug it off. McCray’s life was none of her concern, and his choice of decorations of little or no importance. If he wanted to park a pile of cow patties on his fireplace, it was his business. But still, she found the delicate jewelry out of place in the otherwise masculine room.

Flint hung his hat on the hook beside the door, then lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. He eyed the woman seated across from him. He was having a devil of a time coming to grips with what had happened when he’d escorted her to the house. On contact, a jolt of electricity as powerful as if he’d grabbed hold of a 220-volt wire had run the length of his arm and exploded in his gut. If he had that kind of reaction just touching her elbow through the layers of her clothing, he wondered, what would happen if his hands roamed the silkiness of her soft skin?

He mentally cursed himself as nine kinds of a fool. The woman was running a scam and, distracted by her looks, he’d almost swallowed the bait.

“Before your face freezes in that awful frown, let me explain,” she said. “I use my initials for business purposes. My full name is Jenna Jo Adams.”

Her serene attitude grated on his nerves. “I’m sure you’ll understand I’d like to see some form of identification.”

Her smile accommodating, she took her driver’s license from the breast pocket of her jacket and handed it to him.

Examining her ID, Flint shook his head and gave it back. “You couldn’t possibly be Adams. He’s one of the top trainers in the business. That takes more years of skill than you are old.”

Her smile faded. “I’ve been working with horses most of my twenty-six years. And I’m good.” She shook her head. “No. I’m not just good. I’m damned good.” Raising one perfect brow, she added, “But age isn’t the issue here, is it?”

“No.” Flint had to give her credit. She had her share of pluck. But he didn’t need a gutsy female with an inflated opinion of herself around. He glanced at the glass dome on the mantel. He’d had enough of that type of woman to last him a lifetime. No, he needed a horse trainer. “I’d like to thank you for your time and trouble, but after careful consideration, I don’t think you’d be suitable for the job.”

Her expression calm, she smiled. “Why don’t you just come out and say it, McCray? J. J. Adams isn’t a man.”

Glaring back at her, Flint said nothing.

“When I spoke with Mr. Henson a few months ago, my gender didn’t seem to be a problem.”

Flint turned his attention to Brad. “You knew my expert trainer was female?”

“No.” Brad’s face mirrored his astonishment. “When I talked to Cal, he transferred me to his secretary and she—”

“Mr. Henson, you talked to me, and not once did I say I was Cal’s secretary.” Her eyes lit with amusement. “When Cal turned the phone over to me, I told you if there were no objections to the fee and requirements listed, you were to have Mr. McCray sign the contract and mail it back in care of the Lazy R.” Turning to Flint, she smiled. “Which you did.”

Flint picked up his copy of the document. “I signed this under the assumption I’d be dealing with a seasoned trainer. You couldn’t possibly have the experience it’ll take to turn a stallion like Black Satin into a reining horse champion, not to mention the strength to control him.”

“I’m not up to dancing this afternoon, McCray, so let’s stop two-stepping around what you’re really trying to say. You don’t want me training your horse—not for lack of experience or strength which, by the way, I have more than enough of. You’re having a problem with the fact that I’m a woman.”

Flint felt his control of the situation slip another notch. “You misrepresented yourself,” he said, waving the contract at her. “I won’t deal with anyone who uses deception to get a job.”

“I believe if you’ll take another look, you’ll find I haven’t deceived you in any way. My fee and what you may expect from my services have been spelled out in great detail.”

“Do part of your services include getting yourself killed?” Flint pointed his finger at her. “That stunt you pulled out there was one of the most harebrained I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll admit my methods are unorthodox, but let me assure you—they work.” She shrugged. “Satin and I were getting along just fine, until you and your men got him excited.”

Jenna could tell her composure grated on the man’s nerves. Every point he brought up, she’d been able to shoot down with amazing ease. He was mad as a hornet and itching for a fight, but she refused to take the bait. Flint McCray would just have to get used to the fact that the best man for this job was a woman. Besides, she couldn’t afford to start canceling contracts if she ever intended to reach her goal. And she was close. Very close.

“I don’t want you training my horse,” McCray said tightly. “Satin is out of championship bloodlines and should have a great future. But after meeting you, I find you could be detrimental to my goals.”

Anger, swift and hot, raced through Jenna. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to turn a high-spirited animal into a top show horse. After all, she’d been a trainer for six years and around horses all her life. “Last year I had a second-place winner at the National Reining Horse Association Futurity, two that took first in similar competitions, and three of this year’s top contenders are horses I’ve trained.”

“You were highly recommended by Cal, Miss Adams. But—”

“But nothing.” She stood, braced her hands on his desk, then leaned forward. “If you had a valid reason for wanting to cancel the contract, I’d be the first one to rip it up. But you don’t. The fact that I’m a woman outside of a round pen or an arena is immaterial. When I step inside, I’m generic. I’m neither man nor woman. I’m a horse trainer. And that is all you should be concerned with.”

He rose from his chair to take a similar position on the opposite side of the desk, bringing them nose to nose. “I’m canceling the contract, Miss Adams.”

“The name’s Jenna, and you can’t. It’s ironclad, unless both parties agree on its nullification. And believe me, before I relent, chickens will start giving milk.” Walking to the door, she turned to smile at her enraged employer. “Check with your lawyer, boss. I think you’ll find I’ve covered all the bases. Either I get paid for training your horse, or I get paid for doing nothing. Period. It’s your choice. But let me remind you, my waiting list has the majority of your competition on it. The only reason I agreed to train your horse exclusively and put you ahead of my other clients was as a personal favor to Cal. Otherwise, a year from now, you’d still be sitting here with an untrained stallion.”

She closed the door behind her with a quiet click, but only managed to walk a few feet before she stopped to lean against the wall. Her whole body trembled, and her knees had turned to jelly.

She’d learned long ago to deal with a certain amount of animosity from some of the more narrow-minded horse-men. But when McCray attacked her abilities and experience, he’d crossed the line. If he’d explained from the beginning that he would rather not deal with her, or that he felt uncomfortable with the situation, she’d have considered letting him out of the contract. But there was no way she’d back down now. She had a point to prove.

Jenna smiled to herself. This would be a first for her. Along with training a horse for championship competition, she’d been presented with the golden opportunity of teaching a prized jackass a lesson or two in the bargain.

Her grin turned to a giggle when an enraged curse, then the sound of a receiver slammed onto its cradle, came from Flint’s office. Apparently his attorney had just given him the good news. J. J. Adams would train his horse and, short of paying her for nothing, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

Smiling, Jenna pushed away from the wall. It was time to get her things from Daisy and find a place in the bunkhouse.

Flint rubbed his forehead in an attempt to ease the mounting tension. “Hilliard said he remembered the contract as being one of the clearest he’d ever seen. No gray areas or hidden loopholes. Either she does the job, or I pay through the nose to get out of it. Then I’d still have to find another trainer.”

“I should have checked around and found someone else,” Brad said, his expression dismal. “Cal didn’t say anything about J. J. Adams being a woman.”

“I’m not blaming you or Cal.” Flint glared at the closed door. “Miss Adams has obviously practiced this little deception before with her initials and gotten quite good at it. She had ample opportunity to identify herself when you discussed the contract. Besides, I should have had the name investigated before signing on the dotted line.” He leaned back, his gaze zeroing in on the glass dome on the mantel. “It might not be a bad idea to have her checked out, anyway.”

Brad rose to leave. “Do what you think is best. Since one of her requirements is a room in the bunkhouse, I guess I’d better get her settled in before supper.”

“No. She’s the only single woman under the age of sixty within a thirty-mile radius, and I won’t have her causing trouble among the men.” Flint followed Brad down the hall. “She can have one of the rooms upstairs.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Flint shook his head. “From now on, leave Jenna Adams to me. Let’s see how she likes dealing with someone who’s immune to the distraction of a pretty face.”

Leaving the house, Brad shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

Continuing down the hall to the kitchen, Flint called, “Whiskers, I need you to get one of the guest rooms ready.”

In an exaggerated flurry of activity, the old man stirred the contents of a large pot on the stove, then turned his attention to a ball of dough on the counter. “Ain’t I got enough to do without you comin’ up with more?”

“You sound a little hassled. Has Ryan been keeping you busy?” Flint asked, running his finger along the top of a chocolate frosted cake.

Whiskers picked up a wooden spoon to slap the back of Flint’s hand. “Stay outta that cake. It’s for supper.” He shook the spoon at Flint. “Ridin’ herd on that kid of yours is like tryin’ to keep a young buck out of a honky-tonk come Saturday night. It just cain’t be done.”

Grinning, Flint put a large amount of icing into his mouth. “You’ll have to take a nap before we eat.”

“Now, boy, you know I don’t never do more than rest my eyes a mite durin’ the day.”

Flint bit back his laughter. Whiskers’s snoring, while he “rested his eyes,” could stampede a herd of cattle.

“Where’s Ryan?” Flint asked, looking around for his son.

“Outside rustlin’ up a peck of trouble, I reckon.” Whiskers again stirred the boiling concoction in the pot. “I heard an awful ruckus comin’ from the office a while back. What got your nose outta joint?”

The chocolate flavor in Flint’s mouth suddenly tasted like mud. “The woman who’s going to train Satin.”

“Woman?” Whiskers turned to stare, openmouthed. “Was that the little gal I saw cross the yard and head for the bunkhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Have you gone loco? That ain’t no place for a lady.”

“I never intended for her to stay with the men.” Flint scowled as Whiskers headed for the stairs. “That’s why I told you to get one of the guest rooms ready.”

“Don’t just stand there bumpin’ your gums. Git out there and help that gal in with her things,” Whiskers called over his shoulder. Trudging up the steps, he continued to mutter. “Mule-headed sidewinder ain’t got the manners of a day-old jackass.”

Disgruntled by the whole situation, Flint searched for Jenna and found her in front of the bunkhouse. He stood by and watched her pull a scarred suitcase from the seat of an ancient, rusted-out pickup truck. As much as he would like to, he couldn’t ignore years of training in Texas etiquette and stepped forward to take it from her. “You’ll be staying up at the main house.”

“That’s not necessary, McCray. I’ll be comfortable in—”

“Your comfort doesn’t concern me,” Flint interrupted. He slammed the truck’s door. “I have a ranch to run, and I don’t intend to stand back and watch you turn my men into cowpunching Casanovas. You’re here for the sole purpose of training Black Satin, not to fill up your Saturday nights with romantic encounters. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Now, hold it right there, cowboy.” She poked his chest with her finger, the contact making him feel scorched. “I have no intention of socializing with your men, but if I did, it wouldn’t be any concern of yours. What I do on my own time is my business.” She wrestled the suitcase from him. “And don’t slam Daisy’s door. You’ll knock off the rust holding her together.”

She started for the house, but spun around to glare at him. “I don’t know what your problem is, but your attitude toward me sucks saddle soap. As long as I do my job, you have no reason to complain. And you’d do well to remember that.”

Flint watched her march toward the house. It shouldn’t matter to him what she did so long as his horse got trained. But the sight of her well-shaped backside and long, slender legs made his mouth go dry. Those legs of hers went all the way up to—

Disgusted with himself, Flint shook his head. Just how could he expect his men to turn a blind eye to something like that, when he couldn’t? He, more than any other man, should be immune to Jenna Adams and her considerable charms, after the way she’d duped him into hiring her.

But he’d be the first to admit she was one hell of a sight in a fit of temper. Her sparkling, gray eyes promised a passion that would consume a man when he loved her. And the husky quality of her voice had whispered over his senses like a piece of soft velvet. His body tightened. How would his name sound when she cried out as he pleasured her?

Flint took hold of the reins to his runaway imagination. Whiskers must have put locoweed in that damned chocolate icing, he decided, starting off in search of his son. He wanted to get better acquainted with Jenna Adams about as much as he wanted to get up close and personal with a rattlesnake. She would train his horse, then be on her way.

And that’s just the way he wanted it.

Two

Jenna placed the last of her clothes in the dresser, then turned to survey her room. Indian print curtains framed the tall, old-fashioned windows and matched the coverlet on the natural pine bed. On the wall above the headboard, a large dream catcher adorned with rawhide thongs and hawk feathers assured sweet dreams for the bed’s sleeping occupant. On the polished bedside table beneath lamps made from Native American pots, two Kachina dolls in the images of the eagle and buffalo stood watch.

She smiled. It wasn’t a feminine room by any means, but the bright colors against the off-white walls made it seem warm and friendly. “Just the opposite of its owner,” she muttered, heading for the stairs.

She followed a tantalizing aroma, stopping just inside the spacious kitchen to inhale deeply. “Something smells wonderful.”

Whiskers turned to give her a toothless grin. “Hope you like son of a bit—” His weathered cheeks reddened above his snow white beard. “—gun stew.”

Laughing, Jenna patted his arm. “I’ve had it before and no matter what you call it, I’m sure yours is delicious.”

He took a tray of sourdough biscuits from the oven. “Your room okay? It’s been a while since we’ve had us a lady round here, and it might not be as purty as what you’re used to.”

Jenna swallowed hard. How long had it been since anyone cared if she liked her room, or if she even had one?

“Everything’s fine,” she said around the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

“Whiskers, look what I found.” A small boy of about four flung open the screen door and ran into the kitchen.

When the child spotted Jenna, he stopped so fast he almost dropped the box he held. “Who are you?”

“Ryan McCray, mind your manners,” Whiskers scolded. “You didn’t even give this here little gal so much as a howdy-do.”

“Sorry,” Ryan said, his smile friendly. “Howdy-do. Who are you?”

Jenna laughed when Whiskers sighed his exasperation. “I’m Jenna Adams.”

“Wanna see what I found, Jenna?” He held out his treasure for her inspection. “It’s a kitty.”

Afraid to move, Jenna and Whiskers froze.

“What’s the matter?” The puzzled child looked from one adult to the other. “He’s kinda smelly, but you can pet him.”

“That’s a dad-gummed polecat,” Whiskers exclaimed.

As if in slow motion, Ryan set the box on the floor and the three of them watched the half-grown skunk climb out. Jet-black with twin stripes of white running the length of its back, it waddled around the kitchen sniffing its new surroundings.

“Don’t nobody move,” Whiskers commanded, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. When the animal ambled toward the door, he reached for the broom in the corner, eased forward and used the handle to push open the screen. “Get Ryan outta here while I take care of this varmint.”

“I want my kitty,” Ryan protested loudly.

Afraid the child would upset the animal, Jenna placed her hand over Ryan’s mouth and backed them from the kitchen. But she’d only gone a few feet when she encountered an immovable object planted in the middle of the hall.

Flint tensed, every nerve in his body alert to the soft warmth of the female bottom resting against his thighs. His hands came up to hold her there. He told himself he was only trying to steady her, to keep her from falling. But turning to glance over her shoulder, her body shifted to brush the most vulnerable part of his anatomy and the jolt of awareness coursing through him felt as if he’d walked into an electric fence.

He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the urgent signals pulsing through his body. He had to focus on the way she’d maneuvered herself and Ryan from the occupied part of the house. A mixture of anger and suspicion overtook him. Had she been trying to kidnap his son?

“What in blazes are you doing?” Flint demanded, his voice echoing through the unnaturally quiet house.

An acrid smell suddenly permeated the air, followed by a vehement curse from Whiskers.

“Skunk,” she said, covering her nose.

Flint brushed past Jenna and Ryan to enter the kitchen. He coughed several times, then pinched his nose shut and scowled at Whiskers. “How did it get in here?”

“You’re gonna have to sit down and teach that young whelp of yours which critters to leave be,” Whiskers said angrily. “He thought the dad-burned thing was a cat.” He limped over to turn off the simmering stew, a colorful string of curses accenting his steps. “Now we ain’t got no supper, and we’ll be takin’ meals outside on the picnic table for a month of Sundays. And it’s all your fault. If you hadn’t started your bellerin’, I’d a had it outta here before it had a chance to spray it’s stink.”

“Daddy, I want my kitty back,” Ryan wailed from the hall.

“When was the last time you took a bath, Whiskers?” Brad asked, stopping just inside the back door. The other ranch hands piled up behind him.

Tom Davison fanned the air with his hat. “Whew-ee! This place smells like a cross between Jed’s feet and a damned old billy goat.”

“Whiskers, did you finally die and somebody just forgot to tell you?” Jim Kent choked out.

“Outside,” Flint gasped, bolting for the door. He stood in the yard taking cleansing gulps of air. When Whiskers came to stand next to him, Flint moved upwind. “Do you mind?”

“Consarnit all. It weren’t my fault that kid got hold of a polecat.” Whiskers pointed to Ryan when he and Jenna joined the group. “I cain’t figure out how he kept from gettin’ bit when he picked it up. Those things can have the hydrophoby, you know.”

Worried, Flint knelt down in front of his son and searched for any signs of an open wound. “Did it bite or scratch you, Ryan?” he asked, his voice sharpened by his concern.

Ryan’s chin quivered and he shook his head. “No. What’s hydo…hydotrophy?”

“Hydrophobia. It’s another name for rabies,” Flint explained gently. He gave Ryan a reassuring hug. “It’s a dangerous disease some wild animals carry. That’s why I don’t want you trying to catch any more of them. Understand?”

Ryan nodded, the matter forgotten. The wind shifted, and he wrinkled his nose. “You stink, Whiskers.”

Clearly exasperated, the old man opened and closed his mouth several times in search of epithets suitable for ladies and young ears. “Well, you don’t smell like no rose, yourself, boy.”

When his stomach rumbled, Jed asked, “What are we gonna do about supper?”

His complexion a sickly green, Jim swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down several times. “How can you think about your gut now? I’ll be off my feed for a week.”

“I can’t help it,” Jed complained, his stomach growling again. “I’m hungry enough to eat that danged skunk.”

Whiskers folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I ain’t goin’ back in there till the place airs a mite.”

Jed pointed to Jenna. “What’s she doin’?”

Flint turned in time to see Jenna take a deep breath and head back toward the kitchen door. Several minutes later, tears streaming down her face, she deposited an armload of luncheon meats, condiments and two loaves of bread on the picnic table at the side of the house. She coughed several times, but to his amazement she didn’t stop. She headed right back inside.

When she returned to add a six-pack of beer, several cans of soda and a bottle of tomato juice to the pile on the table, Whiskers elbowed Flint. “Don’t that beat all you ever seen?”

She wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve and slumped down in the dappled shade of an oak tree. He and his men stared in awe.

Tipping his hat, Jed broke the silence. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“Whiskers, you…and Ryan need…to wash off…with the tomato juice.” She coughed several times, then leaned back against the trunk of the tree. “It should take care of the smell on your skin, but you’ll probably have to burn your clothes.”

Admiring her in any way was the last thing Flint wanted, but when he washed Ryan with the juice, he had to give her credit. She’d braved the pungent odor when the rest of them wouldn’t.

After helping Ryan into the clothes Whiskers had retrieved from the clothesline, Flint walked over to hand her a sandwich and can of soda. “Here. You’ve earned this.”

She took the soft drink, but refused the food. “Thanks, but I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”

Flint squatted down beside her, plucked a blade of grass and began to twirl it between his fingers. After what she’d just done for Ryan and his men, she deserved some sort of appreciation. But the words wanted to stick in his throat.

Damn. Eating crow wasn’t something he had to do often and it didn’t come easy. “I…appreciate what you’ve done.” He cleared his throat. “And earlier—in the hall—I guess I might have been a little harsh. But I’m sure you can understand, since my ex-wife died and I gained custody of him, I’m very protective of my son.”

Jenna gave Flint a suspicious look. He did seem to be trying to establish a truce, although it wasn’t exactly a gracious one. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ve always been that way with my brother, Cooper, even though he’s older.”

Flint looked thoughtful. “Cooper Adams is your brother?”

Not surprised he recognized the name, she nodded.

“He’s one of the best bull riders I’ve ever seen. I watched him score a ninety-four at the rodeo in Mesquite and a ninety in Amarillo. Didn’t he make the National Finals a few years back?”

Jenna nodded. “Year before last he took second place in bull riding and fourth in the all-around competition.”

Ryan’s eyes grew round and he plopped down between them. “Wow! He must be real brave.”

Remembering another bull rider and the two thousand pounds of enraged beef that had ended his life, a shudder ran the length of her spine. She stared off into the distance. Forever etched in her memory, the image would haunt her until the day she died.

“Bulls can be very dangerous,” she finally managed.

“Daddy won’t let me go down to the bull pens.” Ryan glared at his father. “I’m not allowed to go around any of the animals without a grown-up.”

“Maybe he’s afraid you’ll get hurt,” Jenna offered, grateful for the distraction.

“Not my daddy. He’s not afraid of nothin’.” When he gazed up at Flint, Ryan’s expression instantly changed to admiration.

Jenna smiled at the pride in the little boy’s voice. She remembered thinking much the same about her own father. She reached out to ruffle Ryan’s hair. “I’m sure he isn’t.”

Flint watched with a trace of envy. How would it feel to have her run her hands through his hair?

Try as he might, Flint couldn’t erase the memory of how she’d felt when she backed into him in the hall. He glanced down at his callused hands. Her curves had filled them to perfection, and they itched to hold her again.

“I wanna be a bull rider when I grow up,” Ryan said, jumping to his feet, his face animated.

Snapped back to reality, Flint smiled and caught his son in midhop to swing Ryan up onto his knee. “Last week you wanted to be a Jedi knight. The week before that you were going to play a guitar and change your name to Garth.”

“I can still do all that stuff, too. But I wanna be a bull rider and go to all the rodeos.”

“I’ll clean the kitchen while the men finish eating,” Jenna said suddenly, rising to her feet.

Flint shook his head. “No. We’ll—”

“Are any of you willing to volunteer for Purge Patrol?” she asked the men gathered around the picnic table. Gazes darted off to the distant horizon and boots shuffled, but the men remained silent. She turned to walk toward the house. “I rest my case.”

What kind of game was she playing now? Flint stared after her. If she thought being helpful would pardon the way she’d tricked him with that contract, she was in for a big surprise.

He gave himself a mental pat on the back for a lesson well learned. Now that he knew how she operated, there wasn’t any kind of scheme she could think up that he couldn’t deal with.

Jenna stepped out onto the front porch to watch the golden glory of the setting sun fade into indigo darkness. Like a comfortable quilt, a wondrous tranquility began to settle across the land, and pinpoints of light dotted the vast heavens above. The chirp of crickets soon introduced a chorus, and bass-throated bullfrogs down by the creek joined in. Somewhere in the distance, spotlighted by a full moon, the mournful solo of a lone coyote completed the lullaby, transforming the evening into a hymn of praise by nature’s wild creatures.

Despite the warm temperature, Jenna wrapped her arms around herself to ward off a chill. This time of night always reminded her of her solitude.

It wasn’t supposed to have turned out this way, she thought sadly. Life should be shared.

“Nice night, isn’t it?”

Startled, she spun around to find Flint leaning against one of the support posts in a shadowed corner of the porch. “I didn’t know anyone was out here.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Embarrassed that he’d witnessed her pensive mood, she dropped her arms to her sides and turned back to watch the last glimmer of light slip below the horizon.

Several minutes stretched between them before Flint spoke again. “The smell has cleared out of the kitchen. Thanks.”

Jenna shrugged. “The skunk didn’t bless us with a full dose, and what he did spray missed the porous surfaces. Nothing the tomato juice and ammonia couldn’t take care of.”

“That’s all it took?”

She smiled. “A large amount of elbow grease and a can of air freshener helped.”

“How did you know what to do?”

“Just something I picked up along the way.” She walked over to the swing and sat down. “When you’ve traveled as much as I have, you learn things without remembering how or when.”

“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.

Three

“What 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 deserted 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.

She adjusted the shotgun chaps she’d put on before coming downstairs. “Speaking of Satin, I’d better get started.”

Flint’s mouth went dry when he noticed the way the leather hugged Jenna’s slender thighs and framed her blue-jeans-clad buttocks. He shifted from one foot to the other and swallowed hard. It was all he could do to keep from reaching for her.

For the life of him, he couldn’t forget what had taken place last night on the porch and in the hall. Her legs had felt incredible tangled with his when he’d kissed her. And the memory of her, half-naked, lying in his arms on the floor, had already driven him to a cold shower this morning.

Flint observed the way the open seat of the chaps emphasized the movement of her firm little bottom as she walked toward the back door. He thought his mouth might drop open.

“Dinner’s at twelve,” Whiskers called after her. His eyes dancing merrily, his toothless grin wide, he turned back to Flint. “Unless the big bad wolf gets ahold of her first.”

It took every ounce of effort Flint could muster to keep from turning a deep crimson. He should have known Whiskers would notice his discomfort. The old man had the eyes of a hawk.

Whiskers laughed. “I’m glad to see you takin’ an interest in that little filly. She’s a danged sight more tolerable than the one you used to be hitched up to.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Flint lied. He removed his hat from the peg beside the door. “I have no interest in Miss Adams aside from her training Black Satin.”

“Is that why you look like you’re gonna make her your next meal?”

Flint turned to glare at his housekeeper. “Dammit, Whiskers. I don’t—”

“Save it, boy. I’ve had the oven on this mornin’ and there’s already plenty of hot air in this kitchen.” Whiskers moved to the table to stack plates. “If I was forty years younger, I’d lasso her myself. Mark my words, that little gal’s a keeper if ever I seen one.”

“I have no intention of keeping her or any other woman.” Flint’s scowl deepened. “If you’ll remember, I gave it a try and it turned out to be a disaster.”

Whiskers waved a spoon at Flint. “Any time you play with a wildcat, you’re bound to get scratched. I told you about that woman before you ever got yourself hitched up to her. She’s the very reason you’re gun-shy now.”

“I’m not gun-shy.” Flint shook his head. “I just don’t intend to make the same mistake twice. That’s all.”

“There ain’t no way you could with Jenna.”

“Just when did you become an expert on women?”

Whiskers put the dishes in the sink and poured them each a cup of coffee. Motioning for Flint to take a seat, he lowered himself into a chair on the opposite side of the big oak table. “You can tell a quarter horse from a Thoroughbred, cain’t you?”

Flint knew he should let the matter drop, but instead of walking away, he sat down. “What do horses have to do with women?”

Whiskers grinned. “Jenna’s like a quarter horse—”

Flint laughed. “I’m sure she’d be flattered by the comparison.”

“Are you gonna shut your trap and listen?”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“Well, like I was sayin’, she’s pretty, but she’s got a lot of heart, too. She don’t let things make her skittish when there’s a job to be done.” Whiskers nodded. “Yessiree, when the chips are down, she’d be right there givin’ all she had and wouldn’t give up until she couldn’t go no more—just like a quarter horse.” The old man’s voice took on a disgusted tone. “On the other hand, Nicole was a true Thoroughbred. A real beauty to look at, but flighty and temperamental as hell. Give her a cross-eyed stare and she couldn’t even make it to the startin’ gate, let alone run the race.”

“But there’s one thing you’re forgetting,” Flint reminded him.

Puzzled, Whiskers scratched his beard. “What?”

“I don’t need a woman. I’m happy with my life. I have Ryan and the ranch—”

“Horse spit! You and Ryan rattle around this place like BBs in a boxcar. A house this size needs a whole passel of kids. And you need a little gal like Jenna to cozy up to so you can get ’em.”

His cup halfway to his mouth, Flint stopped to glare at the old man. “Have you lost your mind, Whiskers? I just met the woman yesterday.”

“And you’ve been in a hot fizz ever since,” Whiskers shot back.

Flint gritted his teeth, then lied right through them. “I have not. As far as I’m concerned, Jenna Adams is an employee—the same as Brad or any of the others.”

Whiskers shook his head and got to his feet to start the dishes. “I never thought I’d live to see the day I’d be callin’ Flint McCray a liar.”

Without a word, Flint placed his cup on the table, rose from his chair and left the house. He stopped in the middle of the ranch yard, his hands clenched into tight fists. He took a deep breath in order to calm himself.

But in all honesty, being called a liar wasn’t what had Flint’s anger close to the boiling point. It was the truth in Whiskers’s words. The old man’s observations had been right on the money. He had been tied in knots since Jenna’s arrival. And Flint didn’t like at all that it was so damned obvious.

Jenna shortened the lunge line until Satin became more manageable. She loped him in a tight circle around her for a few more minutes, then tied him to a post for grooming. She recognized the signs of an active mind and an over-abundance of energy. But unlike some horses she’d trained, he wasn’t rebellious and difficult.

He did have a tendency to become aggressive and try to charge when excited or frightened, but she knew it stemmed more from him being a stallion and pasture raised, than from a hatred of humans. Once he learned there was nothing to fear, she would train him to channel his spirited nature into a constructive pattern and turn him into a champion reining horse.

“Hi,” she said when she noticed Flint standing at the fence. She’d wondered how long it would take him to check on the progress she was making with his prized stallion.

“How did it go this morning?” he asked after she’d turned the horse into the small pasture behind the corral.

“Pretty good.” She coiled the rope she held. “He has a lot of potential.”

“He seems to have settled well.”

“High-energy horses usually do, if you can keep them from getting bored.” She turned to watch the stallion gallop across the pasture. “That’s why I prefer a varied program for horses like Satin. His temperament can’t tolerate the monotony of constant drilling exercises.”

“What do you have planned this afternoon?”

“Nothing.” She let herself out of the enclosure. “He’s had enough for now. Tomorrow I’ll repeat what he’s learned today and introduce a new activity or two.” She shrugged. “The next day I may only work with him for a half hour or so.”

Flint scowled. “Isn’t that wasting time?”

“No.” She started for the house. “It’s a precaution.”

He caught her by the arm. “Since my money is paying for this, would you care to elaborate?”

Jenna felt the tingling begin where his hand clasped her upper arm, then make a beeline to the pit of her belly. Why did he have to do that? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone and let her do her job?

Her gaze locked with Flint’s a moment before she pried his fingers, one by one, from her arm and turned to walk away.

“You didn’t answer me. I want to know why you’re wasting the afternoon.”

She needed to escape his disturbing presence in order to regain her equilibrium. But Mr. Can’t-Leave-Well-Enough-Alone wasn’t about to cooperate.

She turned to face him, her voice terse. “Satin has a high mental energy as well as physical. That has to be taken into account when planning his training.” When Flint’s scowl deepened, she blew out an exasperated breath. “Wouldn’t you say you’re a person with a lot of drive?”

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