“That’s the way around here. I know shoeing, so I do that for some folks. Others know other things and help me out in return.”
“You’ve got more horses to do?”
“Um-hmm. First Midnight, then Snakebit.”
“Midnight’s the one that was mean before Cambria got him?”
“Made mean.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Horses aren’t usually born mean. They’re made mean, most often by one of two things—bad shoeing or bad people.”
He stood slowly, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the powerful, effortless movement as his thigh muscles shifted under the leather chaps. He stepped toward her. She backed toward the door.
“I better get going. Leave you to your work.”
“No need.”
“I have to. . . Um, I’ll see you later, Dax.”
“If you’re going by the house, ask Cambria to come out would you? She’s done a lot with Midnight, but I’d feel considerable better with her holding his head.”
“Sure. I’ll do that.”
“Thanks. Then come on back.”
* * * *
Hannah had no intention of going back.
She had a cup of coffee with Irene, chatting about life after teenagers, while Cambria and Boone went to calm Midnight so Dax could shoe him. Then Irene asked her if she’d mind looking at the color chips and fabric swatches collected for redecorating the spare bedroom while Irene went into Sheridan with Cambria and Boone.
“Cambria says you have a fine eye for color,” Irene had said.
An hour later, they’d left and Hannah had finished grouping the chips and swatches she thought would work together.
She found herself flipping through ranching magazines she’d found stacked on an end table in the back bedroom, and wondering about the life Dax Randall led.
That propelled her out of the room and four feet down the narrow, dim hall before the object of her speculations brought her up short. She recoiled from their near collision automatically, but still caught the scent of horse, clean sweat and sun-warmed skin, overlaid by freshly applied soap and water.
“Whoa, you okay, Hannah?”
All she could think was that the smudge on his jaw was gone.
“Hannah?”
“I’m fine. You startled me, that’s all. I thought the house was empty. Everybody went to Sheridan.”
“I know. I wanted to check on you before I left. I thought you’d come back.”
All she’d said was “see you later,” as meaningless a phrase as “I’ll call you.” But she could see he’d taken her at her word. And it occurred to Hannah that she faced a man who truly would call if he said he would.
“I was—” She gestured toward the half-open door of the guest room, then clasped her hands in front of her. “Irene asked me to look at some paint colors she’s trying.”
He showed no sign of interest in paint colors. She had the impression he had something else in mind, and she had the further impression that Dax didn’t get easily sidetracked.
“I wanted to talk to you about last night.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I didn’t want you misunderstanding. About Will.”
“About Will?”
“It wasn’t anything personal, his not looking happy about me taking an interest in you.”
“There’s no need to—”
“Will doesn’t want me to hold on too tight, but he’s not ready to let go himself entirely.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Their eyes met, sharing this understanding. “Mandy and Ethan went through the same thing the year they were fifteen. Mandy, especially. She was hardly home at all herself with all her activities at school, but she wanted to know that whenever she did come home, that I’d be there.”
“Probably specially with your folks getting killed sudden like that.”
“Yes, I’m sure that had a lot to do with it. But how did you know about that?”
“June.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “She does ask a lot of questions.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “She could do security clearances for the CIA.”
She smiled, and he returned another of those smiles that transformed his face. Her throat went dry; her lungs burned.
He stepped close enough to slide his warm hands around her elbows, then stroke the bare skin of her forearms. The tingling bolted along her nerve endings, knotting the tips of her breasts and pooling at the pit of her stomach.
“Hannah.”
He didn’t ask a question, but he waited. For her. For a sign from her. Because he was about to kiss her.
Hannah stepped away so abruptly, his hands remained extended between them before they dropped to his side. His eyes burned hot for another instant, but what replaced it appeared to be a rueful sort of disappointment.
“Dax, I thought we had this clear last night.”
“We had it clear you didn’t think it was a good idea because of Will, but we’ve settled that. And you thought you’d be too busy working, but judging by today you’ll have plenty of free time. So what’s left is your not being comfortable with me, and that’s—”
“It’s not—”
“—my fault for making a mess of asking. I know I’m a rough sort of man. Not like what you’re used to.”
“Oh, Dax, it’s not that at all.”
“Good, then you don’t mind if I keep asking.”
“I don’t want to encourage you, Dax, when I really don’t think—”
“A man who required a lot of encouraging wouldn’t last long in ranching, Hannah. There’s an expression ’round here, that during the hard times you work from can to can’t.” His gaze held hers as he tipped his hat.
“I’ve got a long way to go with this before I come near to can’t, Hannah.”
Chapter Three
I’ve got a long way to go with this before I come near to can’t, Hannah.
Mighty fine talk from a man who hadn’t asked a woman out on what he’d call a real date in closer to twenty years than ten. How he’d show his son what an easy and natural thing it was for a man to take an interest in a woman when the woman didn’t cooperate was beyond him. Give him a calf to brand, a fence to fix or a cow to doctor any day of the week.
June and her big ideas. Dax should have called her up at two-thirty in the morning and asked for an answer to that one.
Instead, he’d stayed in bed another hour and a half, staring at the ceiling, then got up to start the long, long day of bringing some of the cattle down from the mountains.
By the time he and Will got breakfast, gathered the necessary equipment, trailered up their horses and drove out to meet Ted Weston, Boone Smith and other neighbors and friends, enough light had spilled into the valley to start out on horseback to gather in the cows and start them to the lower grazing area where they’d spend the fall. In another month, he’d separate the calves from their mothers, getting them weaned. But today’s business was moving them lower.
Up this high the air was as cold and clear as ice until the sun rose full to a brightness that could dazzle a man—at least a man whose hat brim didn’t shade just so and whose eyes didn’t tuck into an expert squint. The horses were fresh and eager, the ground solid and familiar, the companions reliable and enjoyable.
It should have been plenty to fill any man’s thoughts.
Instead, as he moved easily in sync with Strider to keep the herd headed in the right direction, his thoughts stubbornly slid to a smile, a pair of hazel eyes and a froth of wind-whipped hair.
It didn’t help when, along about midday, Boone let it drop that he and Cambria had tried to talk Hannah into joining in today to experience a cattle drive—even a short, partial-day one like this. Cambria wasn’t going because of her advanced pregnancy, but Cully Grainger’s nephew, Travis, and Jessa Tarrant were joining the riders. Hannah had turned them down.
Dax had to wonder if she was passing up the experience or him.
Still, Hannah Chalmers came from a different world. She probably wasn’t used to tough old cowboys smelling of horses and barns, their hands rough and their manners not much better. He’d better mend his ways if he wanted to spend time with a lady like her.
After they finished the day’s work, and all the riders ate a potluck supper at the Circle CR as they’d done the past several years after bringing the herds lower, it wouldn’t be real late—supper came early on a day that started with breakfast before five. He would shower and shave, pull on good jeans, shirt and boots, and try to gather his wits and some smooth words and go see Hannah.
He had it all planned—except for the smooth words— when he and Will led the caravan of trailers into the open space between the Circle CR barn and the house. His sister and Irene led some of the other women in setting out dishes on the three long tables set up under the line of cottonwoods behind the house.
But it wasn’t Irene or June his eyes focused on.
It was Hannah Chalmers.
She wore jeans and a short-sleeved plaid blouse with that same sweater she’d had on at the Westons’ cookout thrown over her shoulders. The breeze ruffled her hair around her face.
Her being here sent his whole plan out the window. He should have been disappointed—now he’d face her in all his dirt, smelling like cattle and horseflesh and without even a hope of finding some fine words. Definitely, he should have been disappointed. He wasn’t ready to fix a brand to exactly what he did feel as he swung out of the truck cab and headed for the trailer gate to take care of the horses, but he knew it wasn’t disappointment.
“Will, get started unloading the horses. I’ll be right back.”
“Where you going?”
Instead of answering, he repeated, “I’ll be right back.” Just because he was trying to show his son it was okay to be interested in females didn’t mean he had to spell it out. Actions spoke louder than words, that’s what they said, and he surely preferred actions to words. Usually.
“Dad?”
Dax heard Will’s voice behind him, but kept walking toward the knot of activity around the tables.
* * * *
Hannah turned with her hands full of a stack of heavy-duty paper plates and a plastic tumbler holding plastic utensils balanced on top. Dax Randall stood before her, silent, dark and right smack-dab in the middle of her path to the serving table. So much for thinking she wouldn’t see much of him in the swirl of riders and supper-servers.
“Hi, Hannah.”
Stubble darkened the sharp line of his jaw without softening it in the least. His jeans were worn, his boots dusty, his chaps scarred. He looked like what he was—a man who’d spent a long, hard day in the saddle. A man used to spending long, hard days in the saddle. A man who liked spending long, hard days in the saddle.
He was the real thing that so many advertisements had tried to capture. Only it had nothing to do with what he wore or how he wore it. It had to do with the stark lines of his face and something in his eyes.
She had to swallow first, but her voice held steady. “Hello, Dax.”
“I was going to clean up and come by to see you after supper.”
“Oh.” Brilliant, Hannah. Maybe Mandy was right. Maybe it was time for her to get back into the social whirl. If any man could make her feel this tongue-tied, maybe she did need practice. After all, she had to be at ease dealing with men—all men—in social situations to be effective in her job.
“Would you like to go riding tomorrow if the weather holds?”
“Oh, I . . .”
“Have you ridden much?”
“No. And not for years.” That admission would probably end any thoughts of going riding, so why did she want to snatch the words back?
“Then this would be a good way to start. Not a full tour of the Big Horns like we talked about the other night, but a shorter ride into Kearny Canyon. It’s an easy ride and not too long. I’ve gotta be back in good time to take Will for a meeting at the fairgrounds.”
“That’s a beautiful ride, especially this time of year,” Cambria commented from over Hannah’s shoulder.
Hannah moved to the side to let Cambria by. Cambria looked as if she would have liked to linger, but couldn’t ignore the message.
With Cambria headed to the serving table, Hannah turned back to Dax. “I’m sure it is a beautiful ride and thank you for offering, but Boone should have work for me to do by then, and that is the first priority of this trip.”
With one hand still holding a pair of weather-beaten rawhide gloves, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. The veins stood out on his tough brown hands. Those blunt fingers spoke of strength and hard usage. They also happened to frame the line of his zipper—unintentionally, she was sure. But intentions hardly seemed to matter at the moment. Hannah swallowed. Hard.
“Sure, I understand.”
He started to swing away from her, then stopped abruptly. She dragged her attention from below his belt and followed the direction of his gaze, not at all surprised to find that it led to his son, who had started to back a smoky gray horse out of the trailer.
Dax remained immobile for a moment, then turned to her so abruptly she took a half step back, setting the tumbler swaying atop the paper plates. Dax reached out and steadied the tumbler, an incongruously mundane action for a man with an expression of such fierce determination on his face.
“If Boone doesn’t need you, the offer holds good. Show up around one. And if he does need you tomorrow, we’ll do it another time.”
“Dax, I—”
“Now that sounds like a reasonable offer,” Irene said from over Hannah’s shoulder. What was going on? Was there a line of people behind her waiting to add a comment to her conversation with Dax Randall?
“It’s a very kind offer,” Hannah started, “but—”
“In the meantime, Dax, why don’t you show Hannah around the place before it gets too dark to see? We’re all set here, just waiting for the meat to cook now that you riders are all back,” Irene added, stymieing Hannah’s protest that she had to help get the supper things ready.
So she turned her appeal to Dax. “There’s no need. I know you have things you have to—”
“I’d like to.”
“I’ll take these—” Irene removed the plates and tumbler smoothly from Hannah’s hands “—and you two go look around. We ring the bell when supper’s ready. You’ve got plenty of time.”
Dax strode to the gate in the fence that separated the rough lawn surrounding the house from the dirt driveway, and pushed it open. Only then did he look back.
What choice did she have short of being rude? She walked through the open gateway. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Will!” Dax called out as they crossed to where he’d parked his truck and dusty horse trailer. His son was stepping the gray horse down the final feet of the trailer ramp. Will turned as he and the horse reached level ground, shot her a disgruntled look, then focused on his father’s instructions. “Put salve on that scratch on Strider’s flank before you let ’em loose. I’m going to show Ms. Chalmers around the place a bit. You remember Ms. Chalmers?”
Will bestowed on her the briefest nod possible, missing eye contact by a yard. “I think Merc’s right hock might be swelling again. You better check it, Dad.”
Dax immediately moved to the gray horse’s hindquarters, said something low-voiced and calm that made the horse turn its head toward him, then turn away in trusting unconcern. Dax put his hand on the horse’s rump, then ran it slowly over the animal’s hip and down to what Hannah would have called the knee portion of the horse’s back leg. He bent over, the line of his jeans drawing tight across his rear end.
Hannah turned away, determinedly smiling at Will
Randall even though he couldn’t see it with his back to her. “Hi, Will. Please, call me Hannah.”
Dax frowned as he straightened, but she thought it was at Will’s barely mumbled answer, not at her suggestion or his horse’s condition. “Feels fine to me,” he said to his son. “Did you hear, Will? Say hello to Ms. Chalmers, er, Hannah.”
“Hello.” It wasn’t much above a mumble.
“It’s nice to see you again, Will. It sounds like from what everybody’s been telling me that you’ve had quite a day—up before sunrise and moving cattle all day.”
“Yeah, well, I better tend the horses now.”
Dax’s frown deepened. Hannah didn’t let her smile falter when the boy turned on his heel and walked away.
She chattered on to cover Will’s terseness. “So, Dax, what are you going to show me first?”
With a final glance over his shoulder toward Will, Dax tucked his hands in his back pockets as they headed toward the barn. He ushered her through a covered walkway that connected the slope-roofed red barn and a small log building with a pair of dust-dulled windows—the shoeing shed, Dax called it. Beyond that they came to a long, narrow metal building. “The cow barn,” he said. “For animals sick or having trouble calving.”
“The horses get the other barn?”
“In real bad weather. Otherwise they’re in the corral.” He dipped his head toward a fenced-in area that one side of the barn opened into, then a separate, large fenced-in area across from the barn. “Or the pasture.”
“And the other buildings?”
He ticked down a list of sheds, barns, granaries and fuel storage tanks as she tried to follow the small tips of his head.
“It’s quite a complex.”
“Not like big spreads. But even little ones gotta be able to go for a stretch without running to town for everything.” He looked around. “C’mon. You can see from up there.”
He circled her arm just above the elbow and started her up the incline that rose behind the house. His hand was warm and solid and slightly rough against her skin. If she became this breathless from going uphill, she was out of shape. On the other hand, if she became this breathless and it wasn’t from going uphill she was really out of shape.
The Rancher Meets His Match Page 4