by Mindy Neff
“What’s that?” she whispered.
His mind was blank. He nearly took her lips again.
“Are we having an earthquake?”
“Earth—?” He looked around, his brain connecting with reality. Finally.
A rumble of hooves, nervous mooing, calves calling to their moms as riders on horseback urged them along, herding them into a pen.
“Not an earthquake.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded thick and slurred, as though the words were whispered from a distance. “Uh, we’re doing some early branding today—some of the babies that were born in the calving shed.”
“Oh.”
Sun reflected off saddles, and bridles glinted like mirrors. Red dust, stirred by hundreds of hooves, swirled in the air, coating Hannah’s freshly washed sheets.
He saw the moment she noticed, saw the distress that clouded her features.
“That’s why we use the dryer.”
The flash of defeat that flickered over her features gave him a punch.
“Hey. You didn’t know.”
“It seems that there’s not much that I do know.”
He pressed his fingertips to her chin, tipped it gently up. “That’s why you’re here, remember? To learn. And you got that crazy goat to mind. That’s something.”
A flash of pride replaced the defeat. She took a breath, the action raising her impressive chest.
Wyatt nearly lost his train of thought again.
“You better get back to work. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t.”
She gave him a pitying look.
“Well, you didn’t. I’m the one who came over here. You were doing fine without me.”
She thought about that for a moment, looked at her crudely constructed clothesline. “You’re right. I’d have noticed it sagging and figured out a way to fix it.”
“Of course you would.”
She nodded, feeling better. “Maybe next time you can tell me when you’re planning to make the cattle run around like that. I’ll schedule laundering the sheets for another day.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her these dusty dirty conditions were pretty much a constant—unless it was raining or snowing. And in those instances she wouldn’t be hanging out the sheets anyway.
At least not on his ranch.
He bent down and picked up his hat from the ground where it had fallen when she’d wound her arms around him in that mind-numbing kiss.
Man alive, he was in trouble.
HANNAH REWASHED the sheets and used the dryer this time. The floors were clean and the countertops shining. Behind the house, the flower beds were blooming with tulips and lilies. Wyatt’s mother must have planted bulbs last fall and now that the ground had thawed, the yard was bursting with color.
Finding a vase, she cut some of the colorful blooms and assembled an arrangement for the kitchen table and the end table in the living room. Happy with the results, she decided the men could benefit from a little springtime in the bunkhouse.
Ian came tiptoeing through the kitchen, a puppy in each arm. She smothered a laugh. He obviously thought he was invisible or something.
“Where are you going with those puppies, young man?”
“Huh?” He looked up at her, all innocence.
She pointed to the animals in his arms lest he think she’d suddenly gone blind.
“They was cold.”
“They need their mommy.”
“Yep. Skeeter said so, too. So, Lady’s gonna come and live in my room.”
“I don’t know, son. Wyatt might not want the dogs in the house.”
“Uh-huh. They like it in here.”
“I’m sure they do, but—”
“I-it’s okay, Mom. Skeeter said.”
He was so darn cute, how could she resist or deny him? As if to add her approval, Lady pawed open the back door that Ian had left ajar and trotted in, panting happily, looking at Ian and Hannah as though expecting praise for giving birth to such fine-looking offspring.
Hannah smiled. “Okay. You all go get settled. But we’ll have to clear this with Wyatt later on. And if he says they have to sleep in the barn, we have to mind. Understand?”
“’Kay.” He addressed the puppy under his left arm. “’Kay, sweetie? You get to sleep wif me and S’nook and everybody, cuz Wyatt says.”
Hannah started to remind that Wyatt hadn’t “said” yet, but held her peace. At least he wasn’t asking to have the goat in the house.
“I’m going out to the bunkhouse. Do you know where that is?”
“Yep. Skeeter showed me. And Twevor and me played wif the checkers.”
“All right. I won’t be long, but if you need me, come get me.”
She’d have to find out if they needed a box or newspapers or something for the pups. She didn’t know the first thing about housebreaking puppies. Maybe she ought to check with Skeeter on that.
She’d interrupted Wyatt enough for one day.
Gathering some cleaning supplies, she went out the back door, clipped some more flowers and headed toward the bunkhouse. She’d been in there earlier and it was a disaster area. Rather than a pail and water, she’d be better off with a shovel.
FILTHY AFTER spending the afternoon cleaning, Hannah showered and changed before heading back downstairs to put the final touches on dinner. She was going to have a hard time prying Ian away from Lady and her pups.
She’d just spritzed on perfume when her hands froze and her heart kicked up a notch.
Someone was calling for help.
Not Ian. Not a masculine voice.
It came again. She charged out of the room, adrenaline urging her on, making her light-headed.
She gave a squeal of fright when Wyatt came around the corner, his hands shooting out to steady her.
“We’ve got to stop meeting this way,” he teased, grinning, then sobered when he noticed her distress. “What is it?”
“Someone’s calling for help. A woman it sounds like.” The cry came again. “Hear that?”
Head cocked, hat tipped back, he listened, then smiled. “That’s the peacock.”
“The peacock?”
“The peacock,” he confirmed, his grin stretching.
Hannah felt like an idiot. An extremely common occurrence lately. Her brows rose as she attempted to cover her naiveté. “Is he in need of help?”
He shook his head slowly.
“He just likes to give the new woman on the block a heart attack?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Evidently.”
Hannah’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest. Would they have an instant repeat of the other day—right here in the upstairs hallway?
Unsure, she took a half step back, her shoulders coming up against the wall. There was something very sensual—erotic even—about meeting in the hallway, her back to the wall, an incredibly sexy cowboy boxing her in.
She licked her lips, saw his eyes flare, saw the restraint there, too.
The man held himself on a tight rein.
“This isn’t a good idea,” he said softly, even though he moved closer, rested a palm against the wall right beside her head, leaned in.
The thrill that shot through her heated her blood and brought a blush to her cheeks and neck. She wanted to be sophisticated. The blush of inexperience—or perhaps shyness—annoyed her.
“I hear you’ve been working in the bunkhouse.”
His voice was soft and sexy, his breath brushing her lips. Just two inches and his mouth would be on hers.
Her palms flattened against the wall behind her. Had he asked a question? The bunkhouse. “Yes.”
His brows lifted, inviting elaboration.
“I thought the guys would appreciate having the place spruced up a bit.”
“You shouldn’t be working so hard.”
“I don’t mind. I’m enjoying it.” She took a deep breath, watched his eyes slowly track the rise and fall of her breasts. “Were the fl
owers too feminine a touch?”
It seemed to take an eon before his gaze made the incredibly arousing journey back to her eyes. Dear heaven, this man was going to reduce her to liquid without even touching her. That was potent stuff.
“They’re raving about the flowers,” he said quietly. “I think they’re all a little in love with you.”
But she wanted Wyatt to fall in love with her. “You’re not thinking about matchmaking with your ranch hands, are you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think you’d be happy in the bunkhouse.”
She didn’t bother to point out that she and whoever could move. He didn’t need any new ideas introduced into his head.
He was obviously still determined to give her away. And she was just as determined to get him to keep her.
“For a man who truly loved me, I’d live with him in a tent,” she said softly.
She gave her words a moment to sink in, to plant a seed, then ducked under his arm, hiding a smile when he frowned.
She’d give a lot for another one of those toe-curling kisses, but no sense in being totally easy to get.
Strategy, she thought as she headed toward the stairs, leaving him gazing after her like a man with a powerful hunger. “Dinner’s in half an hour.”
Chapter Eight
Wyatt decided he was going to get fat on Hannah’s cooking. She had a tendency to use elaborate sauces to mix strange flavors and textures. Combinations that sounded awful.
But sounding and tasting were two different things. The crisp green beans with garlic and slivered almonds were a perfect compliment to the tender chicken breasts baked in tarragon and some kind of fruity sauce. Warm bread, cheesy potatoes and plenty of everything on the table made it a hearty meal. A sophisticated meal.
“Is it okay?”
“It’s great. Makes me feel like I’m eating at a fancy restaurant instead of in the kitchen of my cattle ranch.”
The timer on the oven sounded and she grabbed a hot pad, removing a pie that had his mouth watering.
“By the time we’re finished with dinner, it should be cool enough to eat.”
The fear for his waistline grew.
“Pretty good eats, don’t you think, partner?” he asked Ian. The boy was being awfully quiet, which was suspicious. He kept peeking up as though he were hiding something under the table.
“Yep.”
“Ian, don’t you have something to ask?” Hannah coached, sitting back down at the table.
Ian shook his head.
Wyatt hid a grin, ducked his head and looked under the table.
Ian’s fork paused. He too, ducked and looked, meeting Wyatt’s gaze under the tablecloth. Chinook, who was laying at their feet—thrilled with Ian in residence—perked his ears, giving a canine grin of anticipation that they might be about to embark on some new and fun game.
Wyatt winked and Ian toppled out of his chair giggling.
“Oh,” Hannah groaned, her hand shooting out to catch her son. “Settle down, Ian.”
“Leave him be,” Wyatt said. “That was my fault.”
“I got the puppies in my room to s-sleep wif me. Did you know th-that I got a cut?” He held his finger up for inspection, and Wyatt tried not to laugh at the sly change of subject.
He’d noticed that Lady and her pups were missing from the barn, but Skeeter had already told him the boy had spirited the animals into the house.
Now, evidently Ian thought he could impart the information and at the same time run interference and distract.
Wyatt cupped the single digit Ian practically shoved up his nose, and inspected the minute cut with the solemn gravity of a funeral parlor director. Chinook sat patiently and gave a little whine as though to add his compassion. Sitting, the dog was nearly the height of Ian.
“This here’s serious business. Suppose we need to run you into town and get Doc Hammond to give it a stitch?”
Ian’s eyes widened. He considered, discarded. “It’s just a w-wittle baby cut.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you need a tetanus shot or something.”
Ian sucked in a gasp, ducked under the table, and popped up in Hannah’s lap. Chinook’s tags jingled as he raced to keep up, paws skidding on the tile floor before he sat politely by Hannah’s side.
“Kiss it,” Ian demanded, nearly poking her mouth with his finger. She obliged.
“All better,” he said, looking across the table at Wyatt as though daring him to dispute. “Can da puppies s-stay i-i-in—”
“Slow down, sweetie,” Hannah advised gently, pecking a kiss to the top of his hair.
“They like it in my room. And I won’t give him no more raisins.”
“You gave the puppy raisins?” Hannah asked.
“Yep.” Ian’s eyes sparkled, his tiny little teeth gleaming as he grinned. “And he pooped.”
“Oh, honey. You mustn’t feed the puppies food from the pantry—or the refrigerator,” she added, knowing what a sharp mind he had.
“But he wanted a snack.”
“For the first little while, puppies snack on their mother’s milk,” Wyatt said.
Ian slipped out of Hannah’s lap and skipped around to stand by Wyatt as though this were a better vantage point to hear from, as though the sound of the words wouldn’t travel the width of the table.
“Could they have some cookies wif their milk?”
Wyatt shook his head and ran his hand over Ian’s silky cap of hair, feeling his own insides go soft.
There was something about this boy that drew him, despite his intentions otherwise. Ian had the same coloring and dark hair that Timmy had. Was that the draw? Is this what his son would have looked like?
Feeling like a swarm of vicious bees had attacked his chest, Wyatt deliberately blanked those thoughts. It wasn’t wise to get attached. To love someone fiercely and to lose them was a pain too hard to bear.
“No cookies. Their tummies aren’t ready to eat anything yet. They just want to drink. Tell you what. After dinner we’ll go up and make sure their beds are fixed right, and I’ll tell you all I know about puppies and what they should do—or not do—on the floor of the bedroom.”
Ian went into a gale of giggles, a sound that never failed to bathe Wyatt in cheer. Coming on the heels of his melancholy, it was a balm to his crushed soul. If a person could bottle this gaiety, there’d be no need for antidepressant drugs. Just open the top, let out the innocent, unrestrained mirth, and be infused with good humor for the rest of the week.
“I gotta go tell ’em not to poop and barf on the floor.”
Ian started to charge out of the room. Hannah’s voice stopped him on a skid.
“What about dinner?”
“I eated the green ones. Pwease, Mommy?” His tone turned grave—if such a thing was possible for a small boy’s underdeveloped vocal cords. “I gotta tell that puppy no more poopin’ in the house,” he repeated.
Hannah sighed. “And no more raisins.”
“’Kay.”
“All right. You may go.”
He gave a shout of joy. “C’mon, S’nook!” Dog and boy raced from the room.
Wyatt shook his head. “He doesn’t believe in walking.”
“No, I think he’s of the mind that he needs to pack as much as humanly possible into each minute. And in order to do that he has to run.”
“And talk.”
“And talk,” she agreed, smiling. “Is he getting on your nerves?”
“No. Just the opposite. He amazes me, though. All that running and talking—the perpetual motion—wears him out. I had him up on the horse and one minute he was leaning against my chest, his mouth going like a motor, and midsentence he quit talking and nearly slumped off the horse. Don’t laugh.”
She did anyway. “He does that all the time.”
“Well, he nearly gave me a heart attack. I panicked and grabbed him, and he came wide-awake, his eyes blinking like a barn owl’s. Then quick as you please, as though he hadn’t just dozed o
ff, he started chattering again. Shook me up some, but it was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah. He’s pretty cute.” Motherly pride filled her voice.
“You’ve done a good job with him, Hannah.”
“Thank you.” She stood to clear their dishes and switch on the coffeepot. “Sit,” she ordered when he started to get up.
“I can help with the dishes.”
“Dessert before dishes. It’s a rule.” She brought the blackberry pie to the table and set it on a hot pad. “I found some frozen berries in the freezer. You’ve got quite a selection out there.”
The chest freezer was another part of Wyatt’s ranch that tapped into her cozy memories. Aunt Shirley’s chest freezer had been out in the detached garage, the cool interior of the structure musty smelling, the ice two inches thick around the walls of the chest. And among the deer, beef, various other meats, fruits and vegetables, was a stash of Fudgsicle pops. Hannah and Tori had nearly fallen into the deep chest headfirst digging for them.
Wyatt’s freezer held similar contents—in great abundance. All except for the chocolate pops. And that, Hannah could probably remedy next time she went to town.
“I usually keep it stocked pretty well. Never know when you’ll get caught in bad weather and not be able to get to town for a while.”
“Makes sense. Plus, I’ve realized it’s not all that convenient just to run to town if you’ve forgotten something.”
He looked at her oddly for a minute. “I forget you’re used to being in the city with markets and conveniences around each corner. Here, it’s a way of life to travel a bit to get what you need. I never even think about it.”
“Everyone’s comfortable with the way they’re raised.” She slid thick wedges of steaming pie onto plates and retrieved the ice cream out of the kitchen freezer. “What I want to know, though, is how you keep this stuff from melting before you can get it home?”
“Ice chest.” He watched her move efficiently around his kitchen, the homey sight at war with the image that kept popping in his head of the two of them up against the wall.
“Oh. Clever.”
“If folks are comfortable with what they’ve been raised on, why aren’t you?” Why was she intent on a life-style she knew so little about?
“I’m an oddity, I guess. Stress will make perfectly sane people wig out.”