A Silver Lining

by Beth D. Carter

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking for breakfast,” she replied, keeping her back toward him. “I thought I saw cereal in here yesterday.”

  “Breakfast was five hours ago.”

  “No creature on earth needs to be up at four in the morning.”

  “The animals need to be fed.”

  “What, the animals can tell time?”

  Tristan crossed his arms and fell silent as she finally located some cereal and fixed herself a bowl with the milk she had left out. She leaned her hip against the tiled counter as she spooned bites into her mouth. She watched him, and he watched her.

  “I know about the stipend, Heather. You think your grandfather wouldn’t tell me? Who do you think is going to report your progress?”

  She swallowed the last of the cereal and placed the bowl aside. “Don’t you think your opinion is kind of biased?”

  “I’ll give an honest report.”

  “You have as much to gain as I have to lose. So we’ll report together, thank you very much.”

  “What’s your game, Heather? Was your little exercise routine yesterday part of your ploy? You don’t really want this ranch, so why the competition?”

  She didn’t answer as she walked up to him, her gaze tracing over his hardened face. “So, I got five things to accomplish by the end of the month,” she replied with a casual tone. “I obviously have ideas, but since you’re the taskmaster, what’s yours?”

  “Meet me in front of the main stable.”

  “And that would be where?”

  “The large, red barn trimmed in white to the right of the house. You can’t miss it.”

  “All right. I’ll be there as soon as I dress.”

  She walked up to him, expecting him to move aside. But he didn’t. He watched her, waiting, so with a crooked smile she squeezed between him and the doorframe, her breasts pushing against his rock-hard chest. The young girl she had been, who hadn’t understood what desire was all about, had given way to a woman who recognized the blatant hunger in his dark eyes.

  His hand hit the wall next to her head, trapping her. He leaned in so close that she felt his breath on her face. An answering need rose sharply inside her, and she itched to touch him, to bring his lips down upon hers. Fire ignited her blood. Her heart thumped almost painfully in her chest while her pussy creamed for the hard cock that pulsed through his heavy denims, pushing against her thigh. The overwhelming urge to fall to her knees and suck him into her mouth for a feast had her reeling.

  Shaken at the unwanted feeling, and a touch scared of it, she pushed past him and hurried up the stairs, very aware of the gaze that followed her retreat. Once in her room, with the door firmly pressed shut behind her, Heather slumped against it, breathing heavily. She had to get control of herself. If she planned on winning this little competition between favorites, she was going to have to keep her head clear and her eye on the prize. Falling for Tristan’s charms would do her no good.

  Shaking off the lingering tingles from her brush against the virile cowboy, Heather quickly dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a formfitting low-cut t-shirt that nicely hugged her breasts. She fluffed her hair, applied some makeup, and then pulled on a pair of Ugg boots.

  Boots were boots, right?

  She left her room and crossed to her grandfather’s door, not even bothering to knock as she strolled on in. Mabel sat next to him with an open ledger in her hands. Heather caught the tail end of her talking about some accounts before the housekeeper-accountant clammed up.

  “We’re not done yet, girl,” Lincoln Hart wheezed. “Come back in a while.”

  “I’m supposed to meet Tristan,” Heather said. “But I guess I can stand him up. I have a new bikini I can wear as I work on my tan. Think your cowboys would like that?”

  “Quit trying to seduce the men out of work! Mabel, can you give us a moment?”

  Mabel shot an annoyed look Heather’s way before snapping the ledger shut and rising. She straightened Lincoln’s bedcovers before walking out the door, shutting it behind her with a soft click.

  Heather folded her arms, waiting, one eyebrow arched.

  “You got a mouth on you, don’t you?” her grandfather grumbled over his labored breathing. An oxygen hose ran up each nostril.

  “Why did you tell Tristan about our arrangement?”

  “How else am I gonna know if you’re keeping your end of the deal? It’s not like I can play detective while carrying around my breathing tank.”

  “I’ll keep my word because I’ve decided I want this ranch,” Heather announced.

  “The deal was for cash.”

  “We both know it was for a lot more than money. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have demanded the stipulation.”

  He narrowed his eyes and regarded her steadily, sizing her up like a cow at auction. And perhaps that described her predicament perfectly.

  “It’ll take a lot more than that to win my decision, Heather,” he finally said. The sound of her name coming from his lips startled her a bit, his rusty voice old and tired.

  She pursed her lips and turned to leave the old man to wither away another day in his room, but at the threshold, she turned. Her chin went up a notch. “Whether you like the fact or not, I am your granddaughter. And I suspect I’ve gotten my backbone and determination from you, because there’s no way in hell I’m losing this ranch to a fucking replacement.”

  She slammed the door behind her, the Ugg boots not quite making the noise she’d hoped for.

  Chapter Five

  The stable housed forty horses, with twenty individual stalls on each side. Heather stood in the open doorway on the soft dirt and wrinkled her nose at the undeniable smell of manure, leather, and beast. It brought back memories.

  Tristan had promised to come see her all those years ago, to see how his home remedy had helped, but he hadn’t shown up. She had gone looking for him and had ended up at this stable, where she had been told by his friend Duke that he had left Hart Ranch. She had forgotten that until just then. Her little schoolgirl crush had been almost overwhelming, her disappointment at missing Tristan heartbreaking.

  “All the horses are gone right now,” Tristan said from behind her, startling her out of her musings. “Which makes this the perfect opportunity for you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He walked around her and held out a shovel. She eyed him warily.

  “Here,” he said with a thrust of the shovel in her direction.

  She took it, but held it away from her body as she eyed it with disgust. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Your first task is to clean the stalls.”

  Her gaze narrowed on his face. “Are you joking?”

  “Not what you had in mind?”

  “I thought we could start out simple, like, show-and-tell.”

  “This is a horse and cattle ranch, not kindergarten.”

  She took a step closer to him, thrusting out her chest slightly and tilting her head. “Aw, come on, Tristan. Show and show some more could be loads of fun. I’m sure there are more pleasurable things to do in the barn than just using this.”

  She dropped the shovel to the ground and then bit her lower lip as she batted her eyes.

  He stepped into her, invading her space and immediately throwing off her wide-eyed, naughty-girl routine. She stumbled just a bit as she backed up. Her back hit the stall wall, halting her retreat.

  “Like what?” he asked, his voice low, throaty. His big body pressed against her curves. “A roll in the hay? Riding me as we ride bareback?”

  She licked her lips, the mental picture his words invoked made her skin sensitive all over. His mouth was so close to hers. One small move from either of them would bring them together. His eyes flickered to her mouth, and his nostrils flared just a bit, letting her know he wasn’t quite as immune to her as he portrayed.

  Abruptly he pulled back and took a step away from her.

  “Hay itches and usually w
inds up in places hay should never be. And trying to have sex on the back of a horse is just asking for trouble,” he replied in a flat, emotionless tone.

  He bent and picked the shovel back up, then grabbed her hand and wrapped her fingers around the shovel’s handle.

  “I’m afraid the only plowing you’re going to be doing is into manure,” he told her.

  “I am not cleaning up horseshit!”

  “We all shit, baby, even horses. And if left unclean, could cause hoof problems like thrush. Now,” he said as he pointed to the shovel. “Use it or leave Hart Ranch.”

  They stared at each other, and the challenge was clear. Fury burned through Heather, sharp and electric. She badly wanted to throw the shovel at him and flounce away, but she knew that was what he wanted. He wanted her to give up and make this easy for him, so he gave her a task he knew would disgust her in every way possible. But the one thing he hadn’t figured on was her steely determination to never fail, especially to him.

  She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Where do I put it?”

  Tristan stuck his thumb to the other side of the barn’s entrance. She spotted a four-wheeler with a trailer attached to the back of it.

  “After you’re done, it gets hauled across the ranch to a compost site where we dry it and sell it to local farmers.”

  “You’re kidding me. You sell it?”

  “It’s great fertilizer.”

  “Ever heard of E. coli?”

  He ignored her comment. “You better get started because you’ve already wasted five hours already,” he said as he turned to walk away.

  “Wait!” she called, and he turned around with a raised eyebrow. “You’re just going to leave me here doing this by myself? There are forty stalls here!”

  “And you better get busy because those horses will be coming back at the end of the day. Remember, the manure goes out along with the old hay and new hay goes down. Very easy.”

  Then he walked away, whistling a little tune.

  Damned arrogant jerk! All right, she did this once twenty years ago, shouldn’t be that hard to dredge up the memory. Unfortunately she couldn’t think clearly. Her mind rolled with images of his smirking smile, and the only thing she could concentrate on was plotting her revenge for this little trick.

  “You’re not exactly dressed for mucking out stalls,” came an amused voice.

  Heather looked around and saw a cowboy watching her, his hip leaning against the doorway and his arms folded across his chest. He wore a black hat pushed back on his head allowing her to see his amused blue eyes.

  “I don’t need comments from the peanut gallery,” Heather retorted, turning back to face the stall. She swallowed hard, forcing her breakfast back down.

  “I’m just saying. The urine is going to destroy the lacings on your, er, boots.”

  Heather huffed and looked at her feet. “Well, these definitely are going to live up to their name.”

  The cowboy laughed.

  Heather narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m wounded you don’t remember me.”

  Her brain went into overdrive and then stopped when his face clicked into place. “Ah, the BFF. Dave?”

  “Duke.”

  “That’s right. Duke.” They studied each other for a moment. “If I flirt with you, would you clean out these stalls for me?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Heather shrugged. “Had to ask.”

  “Good try.” Duke righted himself and shoved his hands in the front of his jeans. “Don’t forget to remove all the feed tubs, water buckets, and stall toys. Clean ’em out and then put them back.”

  “Seriously?”

  “And make sure the hay on the ground is even when you’re done.”

  Then he winked at her and walked away. Heather watched him for a moment before leaving the stall she was in to stand in the long hallway. She closed her eyes, breathing in the pungent smell of the stable, a mixture of horse, hay, and dirt. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it brought back the tiny slip of memory from the one time she had cleaned out a stall way back when.

  She looked around and saw a bunch of stuff piled against the wall—a wheelbarrow, a pitchfork, a broom, gloves, and even a pair of rubber boots. Somehow, in her anger and resentment, she had missed seeing the things that Tristan must have laid out.

  Her anger thawed. Okay, so he wasn’t totally a jerk. And if the positions had been reversed, she would have set up something equally disgusting for him in hopes he would give up. A lot was at stake. Heather wondered how large the ranch measured, in terms of land and cattle. Perhaps she needed to do her own investigation and learn how profitable a claim she’d be inheriting. After all, she wouldn’t mind selling the ranch to Tristan, as long as she got the blue book value for it.

  With renewed vigor, Heather grabbed the rubber boots and traded her own out. They were big and flopped a bit with each step, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about muck leaking onto her feet. Then she grabbed the wheelbarrow and positioned it before picking up the pitchfork.

  ****

  Tristan was still smiling as he leaned against the fence and crossed his arms. Even from the distance he could see Heather moving around the stable. He almost felt sorry for her.

  Almost.

  “She’s legal now,” Duke commented as he joined Tristan.

  Tristan arched an eyebrow. “Don’t even think what you’re thinking.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “And you’re way too obvious.”

  Duke shrugged. “Just looking out for you, buddy.”

  Tristan shook his head and marched away, heading toward his patiently waiting horse. He grabbed the reins and mounted, kicking off toward the pastures that lay north of the homestead. One of the hands had reported seeing some wild hogs the other day, and he wanted to make sure the fences were still intact.

  As he rode, his mind wandered toward Heather Hart, as it always seemed to lately. The woman dominated his every thought, though he wasn’t sure if it was from sexual attraction or from sexual frustration. Unfortunately, both involved the word “sex,” which had never really occupied him too much. Until recently.

  Lincoln Hart had really messed things up, pitting Tristan against her. It had seemed the safest course of action to make her so miserable that she’d walk away. But the woman had the notorious stubborn streak inherited through the Hart genes. The memory of her jutting chin and the fire burning in her eyes brought a small smile to Tristan’s lips.

  He shook his head and scowled to himself. If this was to be a competition, then Heather Hart better watch out. He never played to lose.

  Chapter Six

  She had barely finished with the seventh stall when the cowboys started coming back for the evening. Her body ached in places she never knew existed, her mind completely blank with exhaustion, and her nose finally immune to the smells around her. She was so tired she didn’t even notice any of the men making a wide berth around her as she walked, in zombie fashion, from the barn up the path that led to the house.

  All she cared about in that moment was sliding into a hot bath. Her eyes glazed over at that heavenly thought.

  “Heather!”

  The call of her name brought her up short, and she stopped about ten feet from the back door of the house. She turned and saw Tristan striding up to meet her, his eyebrows raised.

  “You’re not thinking about walking in there dressed in the rubber boots caked in shit and grime, are you?”

  Heather blinked and then looked down at herself. Her clothes would have to be burned. No way would she ever wear them again.

  “Oh my God,” she moaned. “That was utterly horrific.”

  “I’m impressed that you managed to finish seven stalls,” he murmured in a soothing tone, much like one he used with the horses. “You can finish the rest tomorrow if you get an earlier start.”

  She just stared at him, her
brain too slow to think of a witty retort. Instead, she started shedding her clothes. Being careful to touch only the tops, first went the nasty rubber boots. Then she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, shimmying out of them down to her lilac-colored panties. Next, she whipped off her top and threw that on the small pile. She looked at Tristan, who stared with his mouth hanging open and his eyes almost bugging out of his head as he took in her thong and see-through bra. Satisfaction hummed through her. It was almost worth it, cleaning out those horrendous stalls, to have him this flustered.

  Turning, she paused long enough for him to get the full effect of the bottom of her well-shaped ass cheeks. Then she marched into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind her.

  She ignored Mabel, who shook her head in disbelief. She ignored Duke who sat at the table with his fork halfway to his open mouth. She marched up the stairs to the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast, peeling off her undies and dropping them in the trash can. At this rate, she’d need that money just to go shopping for more clothes.

  The hot water was the best thing she’d felt against her skin in a long time. Just washing away the stink of the day was pure bliss. She lathered herself from head to toe, rinsed, and lathered again. She stayed until her fingers pruned, and the suds were all washed away. Then she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a big towel before sitting on the closed toilet seat to mentally regroup.

  The fading light trickling in from the bathroom window intensified the depression lingering in her soul. She’d always been alone, having only herself to rely on, and today had taken out a huge chunk out of her self-reliance. Tristan expected her to go back tomorrow and do it all again, and in order to win this ranch, she had to. But every single muscle on her body ached, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. She looked at her hands and saw the beginnings of blisters that had formed despite the gloves she had worn.

  How Tristan would laugh at her if he saw her, practically defeated over a little hard work. She let her mind drift for a moment, remembering the last time she had been at the ranch. Her grandfather had been healthy then, working the ranch alongside his men. Her father had argued with him constantly, yelling matches that had only embittered both.