by Karen Rock
Her head snapped back, and she gaped at Heath. James’s warning returned to her.
You know how those Lovelands are. They know how to sweet-talk a lady.
“You must think I’m a fool,” she murmured, shaking her head.
“I think a lot of things about you,” he said slowly, his voice gravelly, his eyes intent. “But fool ain’t one of ’em.”
She inhaled sharply but the air stuck in her throat. “You’re trying to sweet-talk me.”
“If I was, would it work?” His brows flew up.
“Not a chance.” Her boots splashed in the stream as she stomped across it. Whatever she thought she’d read into Heath’s expression earlier, she was dead wrong.
He was trying to soften her up, lull her, so he could take advantage of her—and darned if he didn’t have a shot if she wasn’t more careful.
“Oh, Jewel,” he called, stopping her. When she turned, he held up each of his index fingers. “Lovelands-Cades tied up.”
“Don’t count on scoring again.” She slid her boot into Bear’s stirrup, slung her leg over the saddle and trotted him away, fast. She needed to keep her distance from Heath Loveland or she’d lose more than just points.
She valued her independence too much to ever get romantically involved with anyone. Heath, however, might be the one guy able to penetrate her shell if she wasn’t careful.
CHAPTER SIX
THE SUN HAD started to slide across the mountaintops, its orange glow diffused by the purple-gray air of evening, the scorching temperatures dropping with it. Heath studied the sun’s gentle fall and the lengthening shadows creeping toward him, thoughts of the formidable Rocky Mountain skyline and the fact that nobody was truly free filling his mind. Perhaps all freedom—physical, emotional, personal—really only came at the cost of somebody or something else.
Out on the range today with Daryl and Jewel, he’d felt free. Yet each sunset brought him closer to setting a wedding date with Kelsey, a decision that’d change his life forever. Whenever his mind turned it over, his thoughts became dark and clouded, full of dead ends and treacherous paths leading him right back to where he’d started.
Jewel rode up beside him. Astride her enormous stallion, her large brown eyes were nearly level with his. “Are we going to check the injured calf again?”
He nodded. “I’ll have the dogs separate it from its mother.”
“Why call them back?” She angled her face and tracked the black-and-white canines circling the grazing herd. “A real rider could separate them in five minutes flat.”
“Five?” he scoffed, though the number was nothing to sneeze at...for Cade standards. But Jewel rode with Lovelands now and the sooner she understood the difference, the quicker she’d lose the giant chip on her shoulder.
“Why?” She squinted at him from beneath her black Stetson. “How fast could you do it?”
“Three.”
Her brows shot up and disappeared beneath her brim. “Liar.”
“I’ve got nothing to prove.” As Heath watched, the sun vanished, and the orange sky began to turn periwinkle blue. “Standards are higher on Loveland Hills.”
She recoiled. “You’re saying Cades have lower standards?”
He shrugged and bit back a grin at the strangled noise escaping her.
“Then I’ll do it two minutes.” She urged Bear forward.
“Wait!” he hollered, but Jewel ignored him and plunged into the milling cattle. Uneasy Brahmans scattered at her approach. He swore under his breath. If one of the large animals spooked the wrong way, she’d be thrown or worse. Adrenaline surged through him, making his muscles twitch.
Nothing for it.
He and Destiny gave chase. Ahead, Jewel circled a rope over her head as she systematically pressured the calf’s mother until the pair broke from the herd, the calf following its parent as expected. Then, with well-practiced ease, she released the loop to fall neatly over the Brahman’s head. Admiration replaced Heath’s irritation as Jewel expertly backed up Bear, tightening the restraint until the panicked cow settled.
“Time?” she called once Heath lassoed the calf, secured the rope to his saddle and hurriedly checked its leg.
“It wasn’t five minutes,” he admitted. The abrasions looked clean as he washed them and applied antibiotic ointment.
“It wasn’t three, either, I’d wager.” Jewel retrieved her rope, coiled it and secured it to her saddle.
“Might have been under,” he muttered from the side of his mouth. “You still disobeyed an order.”
“Range bosses don’t take orders.” She shot him a cocky grin over her shoulder before trotting ahead on Bear. “I’ll get some wood. You start the fire.”
He opened his mouth to remind her he was range boss, but she was already out of earshot. As she trotted away, she held up three fingers, two on one hand and one on the other.
Cades two. Lovelands one.
Irritating, aggravating, infuriating cowgirl.
He rode to a clump of bedrock, tied up Destiny, grabbed a lighter and started a blaze with scrub.
“How’d the wound look?” Jewel approached minutes later with an armload of wood. She dumped it beside the crackling fire he’d coaxed to life inside a stone circle. Nearby, the Brahmans had mostly settled for the night, standing motionless in the field surrounding the spring, their tails flicking at nagging flies. Daryl circled the herd astride his mount. His indistinct calls to the cattle dogs carried on the still, balmy air.
A whiff of woodsmoke curled beneath Heath’s nose. “Dixon’s going to be okay.”
Jewel, crouched beside the fire, leveled him with a wide-eyed look. “Do you name your calves?”
Heath ducked his head. Why had he let that name slip? Something about Jewel’s mix of prickly temper and surprising sensitivity left him rattled and unsteady. Her brash talk and mischievous smile distracted him, made him laugh and kept him off-balance. “They each deserve one, don’t they?” A defensive note entered his voice. “Even if it’s for only a short while.”
A shower of orange-red sparks floated skyward as she dropped a log on the fire, brushed off her pants and rose to join him on the large rock. Beneath the odor of horses and sweat, the faint scent of her soap, fresh and natural as the spring burbling nearby, teased his nose. “I name them, too.”
Heath gaped at Jewel. Rough, tough, take-no-prisoners Jewel named her calves? It didn’t surprise him, somehow. Her hard shell hid a softness he grew more curious to know by the minute.
“Don’t tell my brothers,” she added, fierce. Despite the gathering darkness, he glimpsed red deepening her freckled face.
“I won’t if you promise not to tell mine.”
Her small, calloused hand slipped into his and pumped it up and down. “Deal.”
Heat flared in his gut. Her skin was rough, yet the strong length of her fingers, the shape of her hand, fit perfectly in his, and a fierce longing to hold on to the strange sense of completeness seized him.
“Let go, Neanderthal.” Jewel yanked back, blushing.
Shocked, he opened his hand, and the sudden release sent her sprawling backward into the dirt. He rushed over and gripped her shoulders. “Jewel! Are you all right? Jewel!”
Without warning, she grabbed his shirt collar and twined her leg in his, flinging him away as she rolled. He landed on his back. Hard.
The thick air, now hazy with smoke, muffled her laughter. She bounded to her knees and pressed her palms to his shoulders. “Pinned you!” An enormous grin broke out over her face, and she whooped like a cowboy.
“Wrong!” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, maneuvered her beneath him and braced his weight on his palms. The brush of her compact, muscular body against his set his heart afire and turned his sinews to stone.
Their breaths quickened, mingling in the small space separatin
g their mouths. The cockiness faded from Jewel’s eyes. In its place, the yearning he’d glimpsed the night of his last gig returned. No one ever looked at him the way Jewel did. Her gaze took in everything about him, inside and out, good and bad; she saw all that, and her rosy lips parted in a slow smile. Heat reddened his ears, colored his throat.
“Are you two eight or twenty-eight?” drawled a voice above them. One side of Daryl’s mouth curled as he peered at them from atop his dapple-gray stallion, Remington.
They scrambled to their feet, careful not to look at each other. “That was nothing.” Heath brushed the grass from his shirt. His breathing had almost returned to normal, though his heart was pumping overtime.
Had he almost kissed Jewel?
“Looked like something.” Daryl patted Remington’s neck when he tossed his head and sidestepped a leaping bullfrog. “Emma acts more mature, and she is eight.”
Heath rubbed his bristled jaw. Daryl had a point. He shouldn’t let Jewel goad him so easily. “Don’t insult Emma, now. Isn’t she turning nine next week?”
“Got a birthday party for her, too.” Daryl’s gaze swerved to Jewel. “You’re invited, of course.”
Her white teeth flashed. “Thank you.”
Heath cast a wary glance at the thickening twilight. “You’d best start back if you’re going to catch a ride into town with Sierra.”
Jewel heaved out a long-suffering sigh. “I’d rather sleep on the range than go to some flower party meeting.”
Daryl held out a flask. “Maybe this’ll take the edge off.”
Jewel downed a swig of whatever Daryl carried. Must be something hard, Heath guessed, given Jewel’s watering eyes and wheezing as she struggled to catch her breath.
“Easy, girl.” Heath clapped Jewel on the back.
“What’s in there?” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Lighter fluid?”
Daryl tucked the flask back in his saddle bag. “Moonshine. One hundred percent Rocky Mountain gold. It’ll put hair on your chest.” Daryl cracked a rare smile. Heath eyed him with concern. Ever since he and LeAnne started having troubles, his outgoing brother had grown more somber and withdrawn, the only company he kept his kids. Regardless of his marital issues, he remained a devoted father, though.
“Did you make this?” Jewel gasped.
“Guilty.” Daryl’s deep dimples flashed.
“That should be illegal.” She tore off the kerchief tucked into her T-shirt’s V-neck and fanned herself. The glimpse of damp, creamy skin momentarily mesmerized Heath. She wasn’t freckled everywhere...
“Now that you mention it, I believe it is.” Daryl held Bear’s halter as Jewel hoisted herself in the saddle.
“Does Travis know about ‘Rocky Mountain gold’?” she asked, referring to their brother, the county sheriff. He was the latest in a long line of Loveland lawmen who’d served Carbondale for over a hundred years running.
“I plead the fifth.”
Jewel cracked up laughing at Daryl’s quip. Then, with a wave, she rode off. A pang of longing filled Heath as she grew smaller and smaller before disappearing over a ridge. Did he want Jewel to stay? He should be glad he and Daryl were watching the cattle tonight, yet a sense of loss dogged him.
“You like her.” Daryl ripped the top off a bag of trail mix, shook some into his hand and passed it to Heath.
Heath’s fingers clenched around the plastic. “You’re losing it, dude.”
“Question is,” Daryl continued, pinning Heath with a discerning look, “what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m already spoken for.”
“Are you?”
Pressure built in Heath’s chest. It felt like he was slowly suffocating. Air seeped out of his body, and he couldn’t coax it back in. “About to be.”
“Then how come you can’t quit staring at Jewel?”
A picture of the wisecracking cowgirl, her eyes brewing with mischief whenever they landed on him, her full mouth stretched in a taunting smile, rose in his mind’s eye. “I don’t like her.”
Daryl shook out a bedroll, dropped down on it and laced his fingers behind his head. “Keep telling yourself that, bro. Maybe you’ll even convince yourself.”
“So now you’re giving relationship advice?” Heath laid out his sleeping bag, then leaned back on it, his palms denting the slippery material as he stared up at the emerging stars. Fireflies blinked on and off in the brush.
Daryl laughed, a harsh scraping sound. “Guess I’m the last person you should listen to.”
The naked pain in his brother’s voice filled Heath with regret. “Is everything all right with you and LeAnne?” Daryl was silent so long, Heath slid him a sidelong glance to see if he’d fallen asleep. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No,” Daryl said gruffly. “It’s a fair question. Haven’t answered it yet myself. Lovelands don’t have the best track record with relationships. Cole went toe up with Katlynn, Pa and Ma...well...you saw how that went. Heck, even Wyatt Loveland lost his Cheyenne wife when she died after childbirth, right after he bought Loveland Hills. Maybe Pa’s broken the Loveland curse with Joy, and you’ll be the next lucky one...if you figure out which gal to give your heart to.” Daryl closed his eyes, and the faint lines around his mouth deepened. “Trust me when I say, choose carefully.”
Heath recalled LeAnne’s older sister, the gal Daryl had dated in college. Everyone had assumed they’d marry until Daryl’s surprise shotgun wedding to LeAnne. The reason he left one sister for the other remained a mystery, but it wasn’t the Loveland way to pry.
“I won’t be choosing Jewel.” Heath stretched out and crossed one boot over the other. The buzz of crickets lulled him into a drowsy state.
Even if he weren’t engaged to Kelsey, Jewel was every kind of wrong for him. He preferred not to ruffle feathers, while the wild child thrived on stirring things up and doing as she pleased. She challenged his authority on the range, second-guessed his decisions or flat-out refused to follow his orders.
Yet working together made it harder to see her as the enemy. He dropped his hat over his face. Despite her freckles, cowlicks and lack of any effort to put on makeup and dress up, Daryl was right. Heath’s eyes strayed her way too often. She was all hard edges and scrawny, not his type at all, but he found himself wanting what he couldn’t—shouldn’t—want.
His irritating attraction had to stop...along with his rising regard for the scrappy, independent cowgirl. There was a lot to like about Jewel Cade.
Too much for comfort.
Uneasiness twisted inside, the restlessness of waiting to see what he wanted...
And what he would do about it.
* * *
“ALL IN FAVOR of tea rose garlands, raise your hands,” directed Mrs. Grover-Woodhouse. At her stern, nasal voice, Jewel’s knees knocked together beneath the Flower Gala planning committee’s conference table. She had a long history with her formidable ex-principal full of after-school detentions where Jewel had learned to write “I will not leave my seat,” “I will not talk in class” or, her favorite, “I will not use my compass as a weapon” a hundred times in under ten minutes.
Jewel tucked work-roughened hands beneath her dusty jeans and strove not to squirm amid the dressed-up ladies. A haze of expensive perfume had her battling a sneeze.
Mrs. Grover-Woodhouse peered over a pair of bifocals at the raised hands. “Those opposed?”
All eyes turned to Jewel.
Her heart sped.
“Miss Cade, are you in opposition to tea rose garlands?”
Jewel gazed at the rainbow of manicures surrounding her, shook her head and dug her ragged nails into her chair seat. She’d die before she’d give them something to mock...or shame her mother for. When she’d arrived at the Lovelands’ ranch house minutes before nine, she’d barely had time to untack Bear and
wash her hands and face before hopping in the truck with Sierra.
“She wouldn’t know a tea rose from a teacup,” Lara Tomlin, one of Kelsey Timmons’s sidekicks, whispered behind a raised hand. Kelsey quickly smothered a laugh.
“I know one of ’em breaks when smashed over your head.” Gasps of disapproval greeted Jewel’s growl.
Kelsey widened her eyes. “Are you low on sugar, honey? How about some juice? Sweet tea?”
Jewel ground her teeth. Classic Kelsey. In public, she acted like Carbondale’s sweetheart and dedicated volunteer, but Jewel knew better. Deep down, she only cared about herself, from the top of her expertly highlighted hair to the designer shoes she bragged about buying while on a recent trip to Italy. Looks and money mattered to Kelsey...which meant Heath cared about them, too. Why else would he be with someone so materialistic? If he liked women like Kelsey, he’d never give a cowgirl like her a second glance.
Not that she wanted him to.
“Miss Cade?” prompted Mrs. Grover-Woodhouse with raised, drawn-in eyebrows.
“I’m fine with the garland,” Jewel muttered.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Grover-Woodhouse scratched a check mark next to her list, then raised her head to scan the group. “Let’s open the discussion on beverages.”
Jewel fought off a yawn as a debate raged about punch with sherbet (tacky according to Kelsey’s faction) or a champagne punch (considered sinful by the more stringent churchgoers).
Sierra kicked Jewel under the table, then gave the slightest of eye rolls when Mrs. Berry concluded her “demon liquor” speech by popping a pill—a prescription of course...
Jewel swallowed a laugh. For a Loveland, Sierra wasn’t half bad. They’d sung along to old Shania Twain songs on the drive over with the windows down, the radio cranked, neither caring how awful they sounded until a pickup stopped alongside them at a light. The driver had winced and raised his windows, his horrified expression only making them screech louder.