Her mouth tightened abruptly. Was this another one of Shane’s henchmen? “Since I don’t intend to sell, I hardly think I’ll need that sort of help. You can tell Mr. Lancer to keep his offer.”
His composure slipped for a fleeting moment and then he recovered. “Apparently I was misinformed. I apologize for speaking out of turn. But I assure you I’d be the last person Lancer would send.”
“You aren’t in business with him?”
He laughed aloud. “Hardly. We both want the same thing. And unfortunately there’ll be only one winner—and I don’t intend for it to be Shane Lancer.”
Cassie thawed slightly. So Fredericks was in league against Lancer. That alone gave her every reason to like him. Coupled with his explanation about selling her land, things made more sense. No doubt everyone had expected her to sell. That alone might have accounted for the greeting she’d received, although she couldn’t see how her land could affect so many people. Unless her uncle’s death was being covered up and her presence was a sore reminder. But she was still grateful for his friendliness.
“Apology accepted. Evidently you weren’t the only one who thought I was selling.”
Fredericks smiled, lifting his eyebrows in reply. Offering her a hand up to the wagon, his cultivated voice shed one last comment. “If I can be of service, don’t hesitate to call on me.” With that, he tipped his hat and effected a courtly bow.
Cassie smiled politely. As he left, however, her smile faded. She hoped he wasn’t the only person in town who would befriend them. She’d never been impressed with overly smooth men.
The following day dawned hot and clear. The sky was cloudless and blue. Cassie pulled up on the reins of her horse, pausing at the top of the mesa. Shading her eyes with an upraised hand, she searched for strays.
Unable to pick out any of the woolly creatures between the sagebrush and bordering cedars, she leaned down and uncapped her canteen. She drank thirstily and bathed her face with a few precious drops. Replacing the canteen, she pulled her horse about, heading west where her land bordered with Shane’s.
She’d saved those acres for last. After his visit she had avoided any contact with him. But Cassie knew she’d have to search for the remaining sheep or be faced with yet another confrontation. Urging her horse forward, she sighed mightily in the hot, dry wind whipping about her face.
Cassie searched the juniper and pine thicket as she rode on but saw no sheep. As she approached Shane’s bordering land, Cassie felt her stomach quiver.
Continuing forward, she gazed at the rich grasslands and was forced to admit he did have an impressive spread. It was apparent he didn’t need her land, she thought resentfully. Riding further, she heard the bellowing of an animal in pain. She dug in her heels, quickening the horse’s gait, grateful for the riding experience she’d gained in the last few weeks. Hector had been a good teacher.
Rounding the mesa at a gallop, she pulled sharply back on the reins when she almost plowed into Shane. He was bent over the swollen belly of a cow while his horse grazed obediently, its reins trailing along the grass.
Shane barely glanced up and bent back to his task. Cassie dismounted, approaching him as she led her horse behind. She hesitated as she neared him. He turned his head to the side, briefly explaining, “Downer.”
Cassie wasn’t sure what that meant but sensed there was trouble. Even her animosity toward Shane couldn’t override her concern for the helpless animal.
“Can I do something? Or would you like me to ride for help?”
“No time for that. Could you hand me my canteen?” He gestured toward his dapple gray, and Cassie approached the horse cautiously. The brute stood a full two hands higher than her own mount. Nearing him, she saw his ears prick up and his massive nostrils flare. Cassie edged closer, leaving her horse to graze behind her. Thinking of her own canteen, resting on less ferocious territory, she turned.
“I’ll need my saddlebags and rope, too,” Shane tossed over his shoulder.
She swallowed, nibbling on her lower lip, and turned back to face the animal. He seemed even larger now that she was close to him. Cassie was almost within touching distance, speculating how long it would take him to turn her into mincemeat, when he turned his huge head, indolently gazed at her, and bent back to the fragrant grass wisping about his oversized hooves.
“Nice boy,” she murmured quietly, timidly grasping the canteen looped about the saddle. He remained perfectly still while she removed the canteen and rope and then gently uncinched the saddlebags, dragging them down. Heaving a sigh of relief, she hurried back to Shane.
She bent beside him, offering the canteen to him first. He accepted the canteen without comment, whipped the bandanna from around his neck, and moistened the reddish material. Cassie grudgingly marveled at the gentleness of his hands as he ministered to the agonized animal. The cow quieted under his soothing voice. Cassie strained to hear his words and found them to be lulling.
When he raised his voice back to a normal tone, she nearly tipped over backward. Then scrambling to regain her balance, she almost fell in his lap. Seared by the contact, she flushed heatedly and realized she hadn’t heard what he said.
“I…I didn’t hear you.”
He seemed not to notice her confusion and embarrassment. “I said I thought you might not want to watch the rest of this,” he answered, gesturing to the animal at his feet.
“I’m not going to swoon, if that’s what you mean.”
“I should hope not. You’ll have a lambing season yourself.”
His words brought her up short. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Each day she discovered she had more to learn than she’d ever thought possible. Far more than the books had revealed. Swallowing her growing nervousness, she replied with a bravado she didn’t feel, “Just tell me what to do and I’ll help.”
“Nothing…yet.”
Millicent dumped the soapy water out of the chipped enameled washbasin and over the side of the front porch. They needed to plant some flowers, she thought, critically studying the barren strip of dirt that surrounded the house.
She gazed out over the rolling foothills, still taken with the enormity of the country and the endless range. Spotting a rising cloud of dust, she shaded her eyes with an upraised hand and peered into the distance. She wondered if Cassie had found the strays. Privately she shared Wilbur’s opinion. Sheep were not the brightest creatures in God’s kingdom.
As the rider came into clear view, Millicent realized it was a stranger. Automatically she smoothed back her coppery hair and ran a restless hand over her starched apron.
The rider slowed his horse as he approached the house. Millicent looked him over critically. His worn but clean denims, work boots, and dusty Stetson were the familiar trappings of a cow hand. His blunt-featured face was well tanned. Millicent hid her nervousness at being alone as he pulled up his mount and tugged at the brim of his hat.
“Ma’am.”
“Good day,” she replied, noting the kindness in his eyes and feeling her own fear disappear.
“Howdy. Would you mind if I watered my horse, ma’am?”
His intense blue eyes met hers, and she found herself surprisingly weak-kneed under his regard.
“No. Go right ahead. Would you like a cool drink, Mister…?” She paused.
“Bond,” he supplied, leading his horse to the trough. Turning to her with a small smile, he continued, “A drink for me sounds right nice, ma’am.”
His gaze held hers, and she swallowed nervously, tearing her eyes away. “I’ll just be a moment,” she murmured, turning to go inside.
“Thank you,” he answered, his smile growing a bit.
She hustled into the house, castigating herself. Old fool. Going all giddy just ’cause a man smiles at you. Land sakes, he’s probably got a half-dozen kids at home waiting for him. And you ’re older than Methusela!
Continuing her silent, one-sided conversation, Millicent took the cider out of the larder and imp
ulsively piled a plate with a few slices of the fresh bread she’d baked that morning. Quickly Millicent turned back to the door before she could change her mind.
Stepping onto the porch, she put the tray on the small receiving table in front of the swing. She had been half-tempted to invite him in, but propriety had to be observed, even if they were on the frontier. She gestured to the swing.
“Please have a seat.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He waited for her to be seated, then doffed his hat, revealing thick black hair. Gingerly he eased his tall, lanky frame down on the far side of the swing.
“Cider?” she asked, pouring him a generous glass. He accepted the drink and she offered him a slice of bread.
Taking the proffered bread, he settled back in the swing, inhaling the fresh-baked aroma.
“So you’re the lady sheeprancher?” he asked calmly, taking another bite.
Millicent nearly choked on her cider. Swallowing the unladylike sputter, she gasped out, “Why, no. That is, this is my friend’s ranch. I’m Millicent Groden,” she offered by way of explanation.
“Pleased to meet you, Millicent Groden,” he replied, and she almost blushed as he used her full name. It didn’t sound quite so spinsterish when he said it.
“And yourself, Mr. Bond. Are you a neighbor?”
“I’m your closest neighbor to the east,” he replied, holding her glance with his own once again.
Flustered, she cast her moss-green eyes downward, picking at an invisible thread on her apron. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bond. Cassie will be, too, when she gets back.” At his unspoken question she continued, “She’s out rounding up strays.”
“So there really is a lady sheepherder.” His even, calm tone made it impossible to take offense.
“Yes, there really is,” she responded, gauging the kindness in his weathered blue eyes. If asked to judge, she’d have guessed him to be nearly forty.
“Well, that should liven things up.” He bent to take another sip of cider, and Millicent detected a smile of amusement lurking behind the glass of amber liquid.
“Undoubtedly.” Her single rejoinder was rewarded with a full-fledged smile.
She returned his smile and found herself wondering about the lucky woman who could lay claim to that smile.
“Cassie and I would love to meet your family, too. Why don’t you bring them by sometime soon?”
His smile faded, and white lines of tension replaced the earlier laugh lines. “Don’t have a family. Anymore.”
Millicent could have bitten off her tongue. “I didn’t know,” she replied softly, surprised at her urge to smooth away the tense lines etched in his face.
“Of course not.” He seemed to mentally shake himself. “But I would be pleased to meet your family.”
“My family are my friends—Cassie Dalton and her brother, Andrew.”
“Dalton?” His surprise was clear.
Millicent nodded in acknowledgment and watched his eyes as his thoughts seemed to chase rapidly, one after another. He looked as though he were carefully weighing his words, deciding what to say. “Then you have your work cut out for you,” he finally stated.
“That we do,” she answered, wondering if he would also advise them to sell out.
“Like I said, I’m just the next ranch over. When you need help, I expect you to ask.”
Millicent noted that he had said “when,” not “if.” She found her heart warming as she realized he didn’t expect them to turn tail and run.
Milly remembered self-consciously that it had been a great many years since she’d sat on a front porch swing with a man. Years since Papa’s stroke and the dreams of marriage to a handsome young beau. And now years had passed since Papa died, and she was alone. She shook her head to stop her woolgathering.
“I expect we will,” she answered, a smile lighting her even features.
Cassie wiped the rivulets of sweat from Shane’s forehead with her own bandanna. She doubted he even noticed. His concentration was on the calf he hoped to extricate from its mother. She’d watched in amazement as Shane had reached in to turn the calf and had begun the harrowing process of bringing the calf’s stubborn leg into position.
“I’ll need to get its head,” he explained, searching through his saddlebags. Disappointment loomed in his eyes. “I guess I’ll have to use that rope.”
“What do you need? Maybe I have it in my saddlebags.”
“Something soft and flat I can wrap around the head so I don’t damage the calf when I bring him out.”
“Soft and flat,” Cassie murmured. She knew without looking she didn’t have anything fitting that description in her saddlebags. But…
Taking a deep breath, Cassie slipped off her boots and began to roll up the legs of her trousers. She swallowed convulsively and tried to ignore the amazement and fascination on Shane’s face as she slipped her fingers beneath her garter and began peeling off her first stocking.
Her face colored in embarrassment as creamy flesh glistened in the sunlight when the first soft cotton stocking slipped off. Cassie wondered if she imagined the hiss of Shane’s indrawn breath.
Blushing hotly, Cassie fumbled with the second garter and slowly peeled off the remaining stocking. The second stocking, still carrying the shape of her exposed leg, joined the first in the soft grass by her feet.
Cassie tried to control the surge of fire that singed her veins as she handed the silky, still-warm garments to Shane and encountered the hot blaze of his eyes. His jagged breath matched hers as she asked, “Will these do?”
Shane’s eyes locked with hers, refusing to relinquish their hold. For a long moment he didn’t speak but instead seemed to search her face. The harshness in his expression had momentarily disappeared. His voice was low and husky when he finally answered.
“They’ll do.”
Once again he reached in to reposition the calf, looping the stockings around its head. “The leg’s doubled back,” he bit out briefly, panting lightly in exertion. “I hope to hell the calf doesn’t put its hoof right through the cow.”
Cassie gulped, realizing the plight of the animal, and wondered how she’d have coped if one of her sheep…
“I’ve got his nose!” Shane’s voice was threaded with excitement. “Come on, girl. We’re almost there,” he murmured to the heifer.
Shane studied Cassie’s fascinated gaze. “I think I can get his head into position now,” he explained. Cassie nodded in agreement and wonder at his expertise. Shane winced as the cow bore down, and she wondered that it didn’t break his arm.
“Thatta girl. I see his legs.” He continued comforting the animal as first the legs and then the head emerged.
Cassie gazed in wonder as the shoulders emerged and the calf slid into the wild grass at its mother’s feet. Shane examined the calf, making sure its nose and throat were clear and then turned his attention to the mother.
“I knew you could do it, girl,” he murmured, stroking the cow’s back and rump.
Cassie felt an unexpected surge of camaraderie with him after sharing the miracle of birth. What a complex man he was, she thought, studying his face as he hunkered down by the newborn animal. She’d have thought a man who owned half the territory wouldn’t be bothered by the plight of one of his thousands of cattle.
Because of her help Shane called a silent truce for the moment, letting his bitterness slip aside as he dropped lightly onto the grass at her side. There was plenty of time later to resurrect the past.
Having retrieved the canteen, Shane poured a generous amount of water in his hands and over his arms, washing away the afterbirth. Without asking permission, he picked up her hands, trickled water over them, and gently rubbed them clean with his own.
“What brings you out here?” he questioned.
Cassie purposely kept her eyes on the tottering calf, watching as the mother tenderly licked her new baby.
“Looking for my sheep,” she explained briefly, trying
to still the sudden breathlessness she felt at his touch.
Releasing her hands, Shane reached out to pull up a blade of weathered grass. Feeling suddenly bereft at the loss of his touch, she tucked her hands at her sides.
“Best I can remember, your uncle always had several dogs helping him, and even then he could have used another,” Shane commented, sticking the blade of grass between his teeth and stretching his legs out. “Dogs keep the strays rounded up.”
Cassie watched his long legs unfold as her heartbeat irrationally accelerated. His nearness unnerved her now that their shared task was completed. It was hard to remember that she needed to keep him at a distance for more than one reason. She felt her breath catch when he fastened his green eyes on hers.
He plucked another blade of grass, and Cassie tried not to stare as he pushed it past his mustache-covered lip.
Pulling her eyes away from his mouth, she tried to remember what he’d said. Oh, yes, the dogs. She answered shortly, “One of Uncle Luke’s dogs died with him—went off the ledge at the same time. Hector kept old Pal alive—guess he was grieving pretty bad. I hate to take Pal back now because he’s finally getting used to Hector, and I do have the other three dogs Hector’s been taking care of. For now, I’ll make do with them. And me.”
“And you,” he repeated softly as her stomach flip-flopped.
She studied the now dangling blade of grass that was carelessly tucked into the corner of his mouth. He eased the blade to the center of his lips. She swallowed, jerking her eyes away.
To her dismay, her gaze landed on his darkening green eyes. She couldn’t control the sensations in her stomach that were creeping higher, threatening to cut off her breath. He’d pushed his Stetson back, revealing warm chestnut hair that shone in the sunlight. Cassie nibbled on her lower lip, staring at him.
Unaware of the beguiling picture she made, sitting in the meadow in her rolled-up trousers, hatless with her ebony tresses blowing gently in the breeze, she wondered if he sensed the unwilling attraction she was battling to overcome. The calf bawled, tottering about on unsteady legs. Cassie laughed in delight.
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