The Rancher

by Julia Justiss

  He gave her that smile that made her insides shiver. “Well, if I’d be doing you a favor . . . Sure, I’d love to stay. Your Daddy used to brag on your mama’s stew, but I never got the chance to try it.”

  She clenched her jaw, trying to damp down the little eddies of mingled delight and alarm. What had she been thinking, inviting him in?

  She couldn’t back down now. And so she’d be sharing dinner with a man she ought to be avoiding. A man who made her breath come quicker and turned her thoughts to mush just by looking at her.

  It might be a good thing, she told herself. With as jumbled-up as her emotions still were—sick, hurt, humiliated, grieving—she needed to armor herself against his physical appeal. More important, she needed to resist the more dangerous temptation to let herself rely on a man who would likely only be offering assistance and support for a very limited time.

  Much as she appreciated Duncan helping her hold the ranch together while she learned what she needed to know, she absolutely had to be able to stand on her own if she wanted to keep holding onto it.

  Getting a start on mastering the skill of resisting him would prove useful, since she was going to have to work with him for a few more days at least.

  She came out of her nervous reflections to find him studying her.

  “Are you sure you want to invite me? You don’t have to, you know. I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable in your own home.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable,” she replied. Liar, liar pants on fire. “I was just, um, thinking about the stew, calculating whether I had enough, and concluding that I do. Please, I’d like you to stay.”

  “Then I’d be pleased to accept.”

  Feeling her neck tingle as he followed her back to the house, she told herself to be careful what she wished for.

  *

  By the time they’d both cleaned up and he sat at the kitchen island, a glass of wine in hand while she warmed the stew and, declining his assistance, threw together a salad, she was feeling a bit easier. He kept up a flow of conversation, talking about the new calves born on the Triple A that day, how well the calving season itself was going, and his plans for seeding several of the meadows to augment the spring grass now coming in.

  She had to admit, it felt . . . natural to have a man in the house again. To pour a glass of wine and engage in the sort of ranch talk she’d shared with her father every evening she’d spent in this house. To not have silence echoing off the walls.

  The thought suddenly hit her that, if she and Parker had stayed together, they would never have shared this sense of camaraderie. He’d been straightforward from the beginning about his distaste for the rural life she was finding so appealing.

  Would living permanently in the city have ended up being fulfilling enough for her?

  She was already beginning to doubt it.

  Shaking her thoughts free, she topped up Duncan’s wineglass and poured the stew into bowls. “I’m glad the weather has been mild, and we’ve had enough rain that the grass is growing well. With Juan out of action, it’s a relief not to have to carry hay and feed out to the pastures.”

  “Let me take those to the table,” he said, intercepting her when she’d been about to carry the bowls to the dining area. “Since you wouldn’t let me help with anything else.”

  “Are you good in the kitchen?”

  He grinned. “Cowgirl, I’m good in every room.”

  She felt her face heat. Drat. She’d been pretty successful at ignoring the subtle sexual tension she couldn’t quite deny, knowing he was in her house . . . just down the hallway from her bedroom. But that comment brought all those repressed sensual feelings roaring back.

  Fighting off the confusing mix of feelings she didn’t want to examine, she said, “You can get the salad dressing out of the fridge. It’s my mom’s balsamic-avocado-parmesan blend. My Daddy’s favorite, and mine too.”

  “Coming up.”

  After bringing the wine and the salad over, she sat down next to him, conscious of his knee close to hers under the table. Just knowing he was almost touching her made her leg tingle.

  Quit, she told herself again.

  “I’m not usually much of a wine drinker, but I like this,” he said after they’d said a quick blessing and started on the stew.

  “It’s local—a viognier from a winery near Fredericksburg. The Hill Country is producing some great wines now.”

  “As well as some great beers and whiskeys.”

  “I don’t care for whiskey, but I like wine in the evening. A lot of times in the city, I wouldn’t get home from work until really late. After a long day calculating numbers, that glass of wine was my reward, marking the end of ‘obligation’ and the beginning of ‘me time.’”

  “I guess owning a partnership inevitably involves working long hours. Especially this time of year. I hope it doesn’t mean you’ll be killing yourself once you get back to Dallas.”

  After how nice he’d been, helping her out, she probably ought to tell him the truth. He must have been wondering how she could manage to linger in Whiskey River—a partner in an accounting firm at one of the busiest tax times of the year. He’d been polite enough not to ask.

  She was going to have to admit it eventually.

  After taking another swig of the wine for courage, she said, “I . . . won’t be going back to Dallas. My partnership has been, um, dissolved. I’ll be staying on in Whiskey River permanently. Or for the foreseeable future, at least.”

  His brows winging upward in surprise, he stared at her. Despite the sickness in her gut at talking about the betrayal that had imploded her business and skewered her heart, she tried to keep her face neutral and prevent her expression from betraying her hurt, humiliation . . . and anger.

  “I see,” he said at last. “Well, you’ll be a welcome addition to the community. Everyone admired your father. He built a reputation for breeding excellent, high-quality bulls and dams. I’m sure he would be pleased to know you wanted to carry on that tradition.”

  “I do want to carry it on—for him. I’m getting a better feel for the physical work, the recent accident notwithstanding. And the paperwork part is a natural for a numbers geek like me. Breeding crosses, from Gregor Mendel to the present, is all about math. I enjoy doing that.” She sighed. “I do wish I had Daddy to advise me, though. Successful breeding also requires predicting which crosses will bring about the best progeny, and I don’t have his expertise about cattle types. I’ve been reading up on it, but book knowledge can’t compete with years of experience.”

  “He’s given you a great start, building up the herd from one bull and twenty or so cows to the stock you have now. Just study what he’s done, and keep it going.”

  “Thanks for the encouragement.” She paused a moment. “I sort of expected you would discourage me from continuing, given my lack of experience and the fact that you’d prefer that I sell the land.”

  “I would never try to steal your Daddy’s legacy from you. That would be as wrong as having to give up mine, all those years ago.”

  She looked up at him. “You really mean that?”

  He nodded. “I do. If you want to stay in Whiskey River and keep the ranch going, feel free to ask me any question you have. I—and any of the ranchers here—will be happy to help you as much as we can.”

  Gratitude welled up—if he truly meant what he said, rather than just saying what he thought she wanted to hear. Time would tell about that.

  “Shall we finish off the viognier? You were right about the wine—it’s surprisingly good. Then I need to go. Sun comes up early.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” she said, pouring more in his glass and emptying the last of the bottle into hers. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  While they sipped the rest, he insisted on carrying the dishes to the sink, rinsing them, and putting them in the dishwasher while she cleared the table and put away the condiments. As they cleaned up, he asked her about the breeding stock, what pl
ans her father had for the current year, and whether she was acquainted with the buyers who usually contacted her father about his crop of new yearling bulls.

  Finally, the kitchen tidied and the wine finished, she walked Duncan to the door, more at ease with him now than she would have thought possible . . . although that pesky attraction still pulsed in her veins.

  “Thanks again for all your help,” she said as they paused by the door.

  “Thanks for dinner. The wine was great, and your mama’s chicken stew was as awesome as advertised.”

  “Glad you enjoyed both.”

  “I enjoyed it all . . . a lot. Thanks for inviting me in.”

  Ah, how she’d like to invite him in. After the bitter isolation of the last month, the temptation of being held, kissed, made love to—of no longer being so alone—was almost overwhelming. Even though she knew it wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t be healthy, that she’d be crazy to even consider inviting a new relationship until she fully got over the betrayal of the last, she struggled to resist touching his arm . . . letting her body brush against his.

  Maybe that last glass of wine had been a mistake.

  She gazed up at him, the banked heat she saw in his eyes telling her that, amazingly, he felt drawn to her as well.

  “I better say good night,” he murmured, his gaze still holding hers as he reached out to open the door.

  At the thought of the emptiness about to descend again, her resolve broke. Catching his arm, she said, “I really am . . . so very grateful.”

  He studied her face, seeing—she didn’t know what. Need? Desperation?

  Then he smiled, leaned down, and kissed her.

  Just a simple brush of his mouth against hers. But it fired all her needy, greedy desires to flame. Reaching up, she encircled his neck with her arms, pulling him closer, letting him deepen the kiss and explore her mouth.

  Her giddy senses were clamoring at her to grab his hand, pull him back toward her bedroom when sanity elbowed lust aside.

  What was she doing, kissing a man she barely knew? A man who, moreover, was keenly interested in buying back her land? Who, despite his fine words, might well be trying to use the charm and good looks he undoubtedly knew he possessed to lure her into doing what he wanted?

  Abruptly, she pulled away, furious with herself. She was supposed to be learning how to resist him and stand on her own—not going one step down the garden path toward inviting him into her bed.

  As soon as he felt her resistance, Duncan pulled away. “Sorry! I really enjoyed our time tonight, but I don’t mean to take advantage.”

  “Never mind. I know you didn’t really mean it,” she said, now as anxious to have him leave as she’d been moments before to entice him to stay. “Good night, Duncan.”

  He frowned. “‘I didn’t really mean it?’” he echoed. “What are you trying to say?”

  When she looked away, wary and not responding, he said incredulously, “You can’t be thinking I’m trying to . . . to romance you so I can persuade you to sell me your land! Didn’t I just tell you I’d never do that?”

  “Yes. But I don’t really know you that well.”

  “Not well enough to believe what I say? What kind of man do you take me for?” he retorted, his tone turning indignant. “At least I’m not some man-tease city slicker.”

  “Are you implying that I led you on?” she flashed back, becoming as angry as he was.

  “Well, pardon me for misreading you if I did, but it sure seemed like it.”

  “How dare you accuse me of that?” she said, truly furious now—because she knew he was right. How could she have let herself get so carried away? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  Better to squash this temptation flat. “Well, let me set the record straight. I was not trying to ‘invite’ you to anything tonight, and I certainly won’t try to ‘entice’ you in future. Good night, Mr. McAllister!”

  “Good night to you, Miss Scott,” he retorted.

  Jamming his hat on his head, he stomped out the door, jumped into the pickup, gunned the engine, and drove off.

  Chapter Five

  In the afternoon the next day, a disgruntled Harrison left the post office and wandered across the town square to where she’d parked her Daddy’s truck. The fight with Duncan had left her angry the whole rest of the evening and had her tossing and turning all night.

  That she’d dreamed of his hands on her body while he kissed her only made her madder. How could she be wary of intimacy and yet crave it with him at the same time?

  She hadn’t meant to insult him, only to be properly cautious. And though she had to admit to herself, if not to him, that she had led him on, a shy, geeky nerd like her was about as far from a “man-tease” as it was possible for someone of the female gender to get.

  Hadn’t her failure to hold on to Parker demonstrated only too clearly the limits of her charm?

  As for “city slicker,” Parker had always bemoaned her lack of sophistication and her preference for the simple rather than the upscale and luxurious.

  If she had over-reacted, Duncan had too.

  So why was she feeling like she’d alienated her last friend?

  Too unsettled to return to the ranch, she decided to take the plunge and go to Riva’s Java for a coffee—despite the memories it would inevitably bring back. She and Daddy had stopped in for coffee almost every time they were in Whiskey River. She loved coffee, Riva offered some wonderful blends as well as specialty drinks and an assortment of tempting treats from the local bakery. She didn’t want to avoid the place forever.

  Might as well gather up her courage and brave those memories now.

  So she turned around, set her chin, and walked to the shop.

  The heavenly aroma of fresh-brewed espresso hit her the moment she walked in—along with a wave of bittersweet memories that had tears stinging her eyes. You can do this, she told herself, taking a deep breath. Daddy would want you to live your life—and enjoy your coffee.

  Maybe she’d order his favorite espresso blend in his honor.

  She walked up to the counter to place her order with the vaguely familiar-looking barista.

  “What can I get you?” the woman asked with a smile. After pausing to give her a closer look, the middle-aged woman said, “Excuse me for being nosy, but you’re Harrison Scott, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thought I recognized you. You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Natalie Cramer.”

  “I did recognize you, but didn’t recall your name. Good to see you again.”

  “I’m so sorry about your Daddy. He was one of our regulars. A real gentleman and a great rancher.”

  Nodding, Harrison again blinked back the tears that threatened. “Thanks. I miss him a lot.”

  Natalie reached over to pat her hand. “I’m sure you do. He thought the sun rose and set on you, by the way. He’d tell me about you every time he came in. He was so proud of his smart, talented daughter.”

  Oh, great, Harrison thought. Wait until everyone finds out his “smart, talented daughter” lost her partnership and her boyfriend. Which, this being a small town, was bound to become known eventually.

  Somehow, despite their argument, she didn’t think Duncan would be the one to start the rumors.

  “This order’s on the house,” Natalie said.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Harrison protested.

  “Want to make sure you keep coming back in,” Natalie said, giving her a wink.

  Her spirits rising a little, Harrison smiled back. “In that case, I’ll have a cinnamon roll along with the coffee. No, just joking. I’ll pay for it. Don’t want you getting in trouble with the boss.”

  “Don’t you think of it!” Natalie said, going to the glass pastry display case. “Riva would be mad at me if I didn’t offer our sympathies. She liked your father too, and he was one of her best customers.” With a set of silver tongs, she carefully lifted out a large, icing-topped roll that had Harrison’s mouth
watering. “My, how your Daddy loved these things! I always made sure we kept some on hand, in case he came in.”

  “Well, thank you, then. You’re very generous.”

  “He was one of us, and we take care of our own,” Natalie said, giving her hand another pat before handing over the plate with the roll, a fork, and a napkin. “You grab a seat. I’ll bring your coffee over.”

  “Thanks again,” Harrison said, her sadness eased by the barista’s compassion. They stick together and help each other out, Daddy used to say. It’s one of the reasons I love Whiskey River.

  And what was it Duncan had assured her last night? I—and any of the ranchers here—will be happy to help you as much as we can.

  After working in the cutthroat, dog-eat-dog city, where at the firm she’d joined after college, employees would routinely undercut their peers to get ahead, it was . . . comforting to think she now lived in a place where people prided themselves on helping their fellow man.

  Not that it would be all rainbows and roses. The evil ten percent lurked everywhere, even in a picture-book town like Whiskey River.

  She took her plate and found a chair at the table by the front window where she and her father always sat, its view overlooking the square and the statue of the town’s founder, Booze Kelly. By now, the memories seemed more comforting than wrenching.

  A moment later, Natalie brought over her coffee. “Enjoy!”

  “Thanks again, Natalie.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Giving her another smile, the barista walked back to the counter.

  After bending down to inhale the rich coffee scent, Harrison cut off a piece of the cinnamon roll, bit into it, and sighed. Coffee and cinnamon rolls. Gastronomic heaven.

  For a few minutes, while she ate the pastry, she watched out the window as the denizens of Whiskey River went about their errands in the businesses bordering the square. After finishing the roll, she sat back. She still had half a cup of coffee left. In the absence of conversation with her father, maybe she’d read while she finished it.

  She’d always loved reading, but the long hours at her job and then the need to research all aspects of ranching since coming back here meant that she seldom found the time to read just for pleasure. If she remembered correctly, a few months ago she’d downloaded another historical mystery in C. S. Harris’s Sebastian St. Cyr series. Her spirits brightening further at the prospect of reading one of her favorite authors, Harrison opened the Kindle app on her phone, located the book, and settled in to read.