The Rancher Meets His Match

by Patricia McLinn

  “June said y’all do this every year, but— What? What are you grinning about?” she asked. It was more a lifting of one side of his mouth than a full-out grin, but still nice.

  “Y’all.”

  “It’s a perfectly good word.”

  They’d stopped beneath a quartet of cottonwood trees on a leveled-off section. Another incline rose behind them, and below she could see several more, gentler gradations, like shallow steps for a giant. The single-story frame house and main barn sat on one level, then the other outbuildings on the next lower one, and lower again came a stretch of cultivated fields on either side of the road from the highway.

  “Sure. It just seemed, I don’t know, kind of cute when you said it.”

  “Cute?” She tried to sound peeved. “Don’t let Cully or Boone hear you say that. They’re good North Carolina boys and they use it, too.”

  He grinned at her, full out this time. “Don’t think it would sound the same coming from their mouths.”

  His brown eyes darkened as they focused on her lips. She couldn’t stop the tiny expulsion of air that escaped between them—surprise, she tried to tell herself. Dax blinked, met her eyes for an instant as short and powerful as a shimmer of lightning, then turned away. She thought she’d seen a hint of deeper color across his sharp cheekbones.

  Oh, Lord, she truly was out of training for this man-woman stuff. Her lungs felt as if she’d been running for miles and it took more discipline than she possessed to keep from twitching her shoulders against the tingle. He’d only looked at her, for heaven’s sake. And she’d looked back.

  “Uh, what were you asking?”

  Drawn away from other thoughts by his gravel-voiced question, she tried to concentrate. “Asking? Oh. About this get-together every year with your neighbors.”

  “More often than every year and it’s more than a get-together. A lot of ranching these days can be done without a lot of hands. But sometimes you need more people. Moving cattle’s one of those times. So in the spring when we move the cows up the mountains for better summer grazing and come fall when we bring them back down, it makes sense for people to work together, ’stead of everybody thrashing around up on the mountain trying to find only their cows.”

  “You make it sound like this—” her gesture took in the group gathering amid the tables below them, with called hellos punctuating the general burble of conversation “—is a totally practical thing.”

  “It is.”

  Just then a gust of laughter reached them from the group around the fire. She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re saying they’re not having fun?”

  “Didn’t say that. Practical is fun for ranchers.”

  “Right. So, why does everybody come here to eat after moving the cattle?”

  “Now it’s because the Circle CR is closest to the mountains, so we can get to the chow faster and no one has to backtrack to get home afterward. Back when I first had Will, I think the women worried about him getting enough food. Come to think of it, that might still be the reason. All the women in the valley have always fussed over Will. Feel sorry for him having to rely on me as cook.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone feeling sorry for Will for having you as a father.” She hadn’t meant to sound so serious, and rushed out a new set of words to lay over those. “I mean, he seems awfully healthy to me. Besides, I suspect Will’s not the only reason.”

  He questioned her with a look.

  “Maybe they’re worried about you, too, Dax. Want to check up on you. Want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

  The idea startled him—that was clear from the arrested expression in his eyes. That was followed by a moment of consideration, as if he might be running back scenes from the past in his mind and seeing them in a new light. He looked over his shoulder toward the gathering near his house that kept growing as riders finished tending their horses and contemplated their own stomachs.

  “They know I can take care of myself.”

  His words were brusque, a bit embarrassed, but she heard something more in them. Hadn’t he ever considered that his neighbors might be truly and deeply fond of him?

  Even as he seemed to recognize the possibility, it struck her as sad—and lonely—that he hadn’t seen that affection surrounding him before. Why?

  Not that it was her place to wonder such things, she reminded herself firmly. She turned and gestured to the house. “June told me that this is quite an old ranch.”

  “More than a hundred years. That’s old for homesteads around here.”

  “But the house didn’t look anywhere near that old.”

  “It isn’t. Homestead’s the land, not the buildings. This homestead started when the first ranchers came into the area, but my father built this house in the fifties. He made a lot of improvements to the place,” he said in a neutral tone. A fair man giving credit where credit was due. “Then when I took over, I updated again.”

  “Oh, so there’s nothing left of the original buildings?”

  “Some. But it’s hard to see.” He tipped his head toward a small barn on the level below the present house. “That’s built around the original house. Didn’t know it until it needed repairs a few years ago and I found old newspapers tacked on the walls. They used to use that for insulation.”

  “You’d never noticed the newspapers before?”

  “Weren’t visible before. Somebody built over the original log walls, inside and out—sandwiched the old building with new walls.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Save them having to tear down the old building or design a new one. The danger is sometimes those old walls fall apart or rot away, and they can take down the new construction with them.”

  “Is that why your father built the new house?”

  “I don’t know.”

  And he obviously didn’t want to speculate about it. Hannah cast around for something else to talk about. The wind kicked up and she noticed something swaying to the side of the big pasture.

  “What on earth is that?”

  “It’s a bull.”

  Hannah raised her eyebrows at him. “Dax, I might not know much about cattle, but I do know the difference between a bull and an oil drum strung up between a couple of posts.”

  He grinned. Oh, dear. She really wished he wouldn’t do that. It just wasn’t fair.

  “A practice bull. To work on technique and keep in shape between rodeos.”

  “You compete in rodeos?”

  “Used to some. Now it’s only a few of the local amateur rodeos. Mostly roping. Will’s doing some bull riding, though. He uses that to practice.”

  “I didn’t realize— I mean, isn’t Will kind of young?”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that. Besides, boys ’round here mostly start rodeoing as soon as they can ride pretty good, and some of ’em start riding soon as they can walk.”

  “Did you?”

  “Before I could walk.”

  She thought he might be joking, but an edge to the words made her unsure. She read most people well, figured out what they thought beneath the surface of what they said. She had to in her job, to assess how someone truly reacted to a slogan or a copy block or a campaign. But Dax Randall wasn’t most people. And she had a feeling that, in addition to not saying much in the first place, he didn’t let many people figure out what he truly thought.

  It was an unsettling feeling, like being a lost tourist in a foreign country where she didn’t understand the road signs.

  It also made the insights she’d gleaned a little unnerving. Had he purposely let her see more deeply into him? No, she didn’t think so, though she couldn’t have said why. So if she’d read those signs right, how had she done it?

  “Rodeo’s part of the life out here,” he said more easily. “Bet you had a basketball backboard in your neighborhood back in North Carolina.”

  “In our driveway,” she said with a smile, happy to be led away from her own thoughts.

  He no
dded. “Oil drum bulls and wood pieces knocked together to look like a calf’s head to practice ropin’ show up in yards here the way you’d see basketball hoops back East. Part of the landscape.”

  “Do you get back East often?”

  His mouth twitched, quirking up slightly on one side. Or was that the trick of the changed light as he turned from the red glow dropping behind the Big Horns to the west and stared off to the darkening eastern horizon? “Well,” he drawled. “I get back to Nebraska now and then.”

  She spluttered with laughter, then caught herself with a choking sound as his face remained absolutely deadpan. Oh, no, he meant it, and she’d laughed in his face, she’d—

  No, wait. Was his mouth twitching again? And there, deep in those solemn brown eyes, was that a glint of deviltry?

  If not, then she was about to end her internal hemming and hawing about whether she wanted Dax’s apparent interest in her to be real or not. Because nothing could end a man’s interest in a woman faster and more completely than laughing in his face when he was serious. He would recoil. Get huffy. Find a sudden need to change the oil in his truck. Anything to get away.

  She stopped holding back, and her laughter spilled out.

  Dax didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. He didn’t grin.

  But she saw the glow in his eyes. She saw it clearly because he’d moved closer. Very close. Close enough to . . .

  Her breath hitched as another spurt of laughter—did it sound a bit nervous to him, too?—swayed her away from him. For an instant, he paused. Then he lowered his head, pursuing her lips.

  He was going to kiss her.

  Their noses met before their mouths. A flash of fear that he’d give up, daunted by the awkwardness, disappeared when he changed the angle of his head and put his mouth over hers.

  She’d had better kisses. She was sure she had.

  Practiced, smooth, well-thought-out-in-advance kisses. In far more romantic surroundings than by a patch of weeds under some scraggly trees, with barn smells filtering into the crisp air. They’d bumped noses, for heaven’s sake. Not a slight jostling, but an honest to goodness thump. Hard enough that she still saw stars behind her closed eyelids . . . or had they come after his mouth covered hers? Things were a little vague. The sensations were not.

  His mouth pressed firmly against hers. Slightly dry at first, with a faint taste of trail dust not completely washed away. Then the taste was purely Dax, both complex and straightforward. His beard prickled under the palm she put to his cheek, too strong to tickle, yet too gentle to hurt. The sound of it blended in her ears with the rasp of his breathing and a faint, rumbling sound from deep in his chest.

  The kiss was like Dax—a little rough, a little awkward, a lot confusing. But also honest and appealing and drawing her deeper and deeper. Until she felt limp and breathless.

  He released her mouth as they both gulped in air, taking in each other’s oxygen, but he didn’t straighten or move away. His body and the brim of his hat, tilted from the angle of his head still poised to kiss her, cocooned her. She felt an urge to bury her face in his shoulder and feel his arms go around her.

  “Hannah.”

  She’d expected some reflection of her own confusion in his eyes. Instead, she saw a heat that burned away everything else. Including her protection.

  She stepped back.

  His eyelids lowered, remained down for half a dozen heartbeats, then raised to reveal a wariness as deep as the first time she’d met him.

  She swallowed down an unreasoning sadness and said, “We’d, uh, better get back.”

  “Yes.”

  The bell calling everyone to dinner rang as they weaved among the parked trucks and vans in silence.

  * * * *

  Kissing Hannah was a mistake.

  He should have quit while he was ahead.

  Hell, he would have been better off if he’d quit while he was behind.

  He almost had. He’d asked about going for a ride later, she’d said no, and he’d started to walk away, telling himself that he’d tried. He could be content with that. He could let it go with some vague comment about another time, and be out of the whole thing.

  Then he had caught sight of Will by the horse trailer, looking their way and pretending not to. Will watching how his father got on with a female. And what would he see? His father turning tail at the first opportunity.

  He hadn’t taught Will to give up easily, not with a horse or a math problem or roping a calf or fixing an engine. Females were no different. One try didn’t cut it.

  So Dax hadn’t given up. And she hadn’t said no—at least not absolutely.

  Then Irene had given him the chance to talk to Hannah some more alone. And it hadn’t been going too badly. Nothing to spark a range fire, but he hadn’t tripped over his tongue, either.

  Until she laughed.

  It was like that time at Bardville Elementary when Mrs. Brachi played the Hallelujah Chorus the first time he ever heard it and it didn’t matter it was on that tinny portable record player, the music went straight down his backbone. So had Hannah’s laugh. He’d wanted to be part of it, to taste it, to taste her.

  He’d been as awkward as a schoolboy with that kiss. Fumbling like he’d never had his mouth on a woman’s.

  But that wasn’t why he shouldn’t have kissed her.

  It was because of what happened when their mouths did meet. The heat that roared through his blood and shimmered in his muscles.

  No, he shouldn’t have kissed Hannah Chalmers. It had been a mistake.

  He wondered if he’d have the chance to make that mistake again.

  Chapter Four

  “You should take Dax up on his offer.”

  As she gave the advice, Cambria looked over her shoulder to where Hannah sat at the Westons’ kitchen table. Then she turned back to pour Hannah a mug of coffee and herself a mug of herbal tea.

  “I’d have to be crazy to consider, even for a second, getting involved with someone in a vacation romance—not that I’m on vacation, because as I’ve told Boone, I fully expect to work my regular hours while I’m out here. But he isn’t giving me enough to do. Maybe I should call the office—”

  Cambria clunked the mug down in front of her. “Forget the office. Get back to the topic at hand.”

  “Topic at hand?”

  “Dax Randall.”

  “Oh.” She took a long swallow of very hot coffee. Great, now she had a burned tongue, watery eyes and a too-interested-for-comfort Cambria Weston Smith—and that could definitely come under the heading of playing with fire. Cambria didn’t miss much, and she didn’t pull her punches. Hannah shook her head and repeated. “I’d have to be crazy to even consider thinking about such a thing.”

  Talk about playing with fire . . .

  Dax definitely qualified. Or at least her reaction to him qualified. One kiss, and she’d been burning.

  “Hmm.” Cambria considered Hannah over the rim of her mug as she sipped the tea. “I meant Dax’s offer to take you riding up in Kearny Canyon today, but apparently he’s been making much more interesting offers, too.”

  “No, no—you’re right. Riding . . .” Hannah said, feeling incredibly inept. “That’s what I’m talking about, too. His offer to take me riding today. But with work and all, I really don’t think—”

  “I don’t want to butt in.” Cambria seemed not to hear Hannah’s involuntary snort. “But I like you and I like Dax. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about him. What I said about it being strange that he took such an interest in you at the cookout—I don’t want you to misunderstand. Usually Dax stays to himself when it comes to women. Sometimes he’s sidestepping someone chasing him. I can tell you, I’ve known him most of my life, and I have never seen Dax Randall go after a woman the way he’s pursuing you.”

  “Oh, surely that’s an exaggeration,” Hannah said with a fair assumption of airiness. Curiosity tempted her into adding, “He must have pursued the woman he married, Will�
�s mother.”

  Cambria snorted. “It’s real clear you never met Elaine Mansson Randall, or you’d know different.”

  Cambria took a swallow of tea, and Hannah expected that to be the end of it. Cambria didn’t indulge in gossip. Neither did she. Sure, she was curious about the woman Dax had married, but she wouldn’t pry.

  Cambria gave her a long, assessing look, then transferred her gaze to the contents of her mug while tapping a fingernail against the side.

  When Cambria started talking again, Hannah found herself holding her breath. “Elaine went to school over on the other side of Sheridan, but her aunt lived in Bardville, and she spent a lot of time in town. I was a few years behind Elaine in school, and she was a couple years behind Dax. He came home from college one Christmas and she hit him like a Mack truck. Not long after, she told him she was pregnant. He married her. Before long he knew she’d lied, but by then he’d taken her to Dallas, then Denver. At first she was satisfied because getting to a city was what she’d always wanted.”

  A guilty internal voice told Hannah she should stop Cambria from telling her these things about Dax. She felt almost disloyal to him for listening.

  “That didn’t last long. With Dax still trying to go to school part-time, money was short and that didn’t suit her. When she got pregnant for real, he quit school, but then Elaine got the jolt of her life when Dax laid down the law, making her take care of herself during her pregnancy—no drinking, no staying out late—and coming back to the ranch when his father died and left it to him. That happened right after Will was born.

  “Elaine walked out when Will was not even a year old. She never came back. Never had any contact with Will. Word came about eight years ago that she’d died in an accident.”

  Hannah wrapped both hands around her coffee mug, trying to draw warmth from it to combat the chill inside at the thought of Will—and Dax—being so thoroughly deserted by a woman who should have loved them.

  “Dax was never one to chase the girls, but after Elaine... I’m not saying he’s lived a monklike existence,” Cambria added dryly. “But he’s kept a thick wall up against nice, eligible single women. Until you.”