by Cat Johnson
When he spotted her surrounded by the trees BLM personnel had planted after the fire, he debated telling her this was the first year cattle had been allowed in this area so there’d be no risk of livestock eating or trampling seedlings. He might if she brought it up. Otherwise, he’d limit his responses to answering her questions.
Why had this young woman with a thick tangle of light brown hair, high cheekbones, big chocolate eyes, and slender hands decided to write about something with the potential to stir up the tree huggers even more than they already were? Damn it, she should be pounding out fashion articles or something.
No, that wouldn’t interest her.
He couldn’t say why he knew that, maybe because she was dressed for the weather and environment with no attention to style, not that he knew what he was talking about in that department.
Surprised by his thoughts, he watched as she slowly descended. She wasn’t an expert horsewoman, but neither was she a novice. Something about her body language held his attention. Despite the coat that hid much of her form, he had no doubt she was attuned to her surroundings.
He liked that about her, almost as much as he’d enjoyed seeing the outline of her thighs and calves under her jeans.
Get your mind out of your pants. She isn’t the enemy, but neither is she here for your pleasure.
“How close are you to having found all your cattle?” she asked when she joined him. She turned her attention to Stump, who’d herded the cattle into a tight circle.
“We’re nearly done. When it turns cold, the cows start heading for lower elevations. Makes rounding them up easier.”
“What about calves? All that traveling must be hard on them.”
He chuckled, something he didn’t think he’d be doing when she first contacted him. Back then he’d prepared himself for invasive, even hostile questions about why the owner of a thousand-acre ranch had any interest in BLM managed land.
“There’s no little ones this time of the year.” He turned his attention to the cows and calves. Even though he’d dealt with tens of thousands of cattle over the years, seeing them never got old. These animals were more than paychecks, more than responsibilities. Their lives were in his hands, and he took that obligation seriously. Hell, he’d pulled some of them out of their mothers’ bellies and breathed life into their lungs. “Besides,” he belatedly continued, “most calves are pretty hardy right from the start.”
“What if one isn’t?”
“If I think it can be saved, I bring it into my house. Otherwise, I end its suffering.”
“Oh.” She looked pensive. “You aren’t a vet, are you? How can you be sure—”
“I learned ranching from my grandfather and father. I’ve been doing this all my life.”
She pulled her coat collar tight around her neck. “I didn’t mean to make it sound as if I doubted your ability. If that’s how it came out, I’m sorry.”
He wanted to trust her, to take her at face value. Unfortunately, he knew all too well how organizations such as Watershed Protectors worked. If WP had their way, livestock would be banned from government land where they’d been grazing since the 1930s. WP members weren’t above misrepresenting the facts and trying to sway the public via impassioned speeches and press releases. More than once they’d gotten a reporter to write an article based entirely on their agenda.
“Do you live around here?” he asked.
She frowned. “What do you mean by here?”
“In this part of the state. I’m wondering if you realize how unique the area is. The forest is many times greater than what’s been developed. It’ll remain a resource forever as long as it’s properly managed.”
Even before the words were out of his mouth, he wondered how she’d take them. Damn it, he shouldn’t have jumped onto his soapbox, because his words might backfire on him and other ranchers. But not many people knew as much about forests as he did. The same held true for his acreage. Bottom line, he ran some of his cattle on BLM land so he wouldn’t wear out his thousand acres.
“I’ve lived a lot of places,” she said. “More than I wish I had. Now that I’m calling the shots in that department, I’m more than happy to stay in southern Oregon.”
Intrigued by what she had and hadn’t said, he fought the urge to get closer to her. With every minute the approaching storm was making more of an impact, yet he wanted to go on looking into her amazing eyes. Learning about her.
What’s your problem? She’s a stranger, got it, a stranger.
“How long have you been living here?” he asked.
She again pulled her coat around her, then turned her head a little. The wind took a direct hit on her hair, and the strands swirled around her until he wondered if she might take flight. Just seeing the weather’s energy impact on her turned him on.
“A little over a year. After my aunt was widowed, I decided to move to Rogue City so I could be near her.”
By herself? Judging by her word choice, he guessed that’s what she was saying. “It isn’t really a city,” he pointed out.
“But it’s close enough to Medford to satisfy me. Fortunately, those who own the publication I work for don’t care where I hang my hat.” She’d been returning his stare, but now she turned her attention back to Stump and the cattle. “I’m starting to put down roots.”
Just starting? His roots went so deep he’d never be able to break free, not that he wanted to. Could she understand the forces that both controlled and defined him, how he’d become the man he was?
“I’ve got to get this group hooked up with the others and all of them out of here,” he said. “Until that’s over, I’m not going to have time to—”
“I understand. Go on. I’ll continue to trail behind you.”
He wasn’t sure about the trailing behind him part. Truth was, he wanted her in front so he could study her and hopefully discover why she intrigued him. He’d only had sex a handful of times since his divorce, which factored in, but he’d be crazy stupid to think he could or should get Kathy to spread her legs for him. How was that for sleeping with the enemy, the possible enemy?
Leaving her to do whatever she was going to do, he signaled for Stump to get the cattle moving. As always, watching the cattle dog work brought him pleasure. Stump was a current in a long line of herding dogs his family had owned. His ex-wife had objected to letting the dogs sleep inside, but he’d stood firm on that and other things that had highlighted the differences between the woman he’d once thought would be part of his life.
It wasn’t that Jalena didn’t love dogs. She simply hadn’t been able to wrap her mind around the dual roles they played. How close the man/animal relationship could become.
Pulling himself off thoughts he needed to be done with, he looked around for the reporter. Instead of keeping pace as she’d led him to believe she’d do, she was heading toward the bottom of the hill where the cattle had been not long ago.
Damn it, she must be looking for signs that his herd had damaged the seasonal creek bed.
They’d made their impact all right, no way the heavy animals’ hooves wouldn’t, but they hadn’t been allowed into the area until the smallest streams had gone dry. As far as he was concerned, the cows had spent the summer cutting down on the vegetation that contributed to fire danger and fertilizing the ground.
As Stump and he headed west, he faced facts. The role of livestock in open land’s health was the last thing he wanted to talk to the reporter about. Instead, he wanted to ask her if there was a man in her life.
The day had been one of the longest Kathy could remember, at least in terms of physical activity. Granted, her role in the roundup had consisted of staying out of the way and learning everything she could about what Mike and the others were doing. They knew their jobs all right, mostly communicated via body language, and remained calm no matter what the livestock did. It was as if they could read the cows’ minds, or what passed for minds, and anticipated their moves.
Most of th
e cattle had been loaded into three massive stock trucks by the time it started snowing. By then she was hungry and cold and aching. In contrast, the cowhands—is that how they thought of themselves?—showed no sign of being tired. As the two other men and woman calmly loaded the stragglers into the trailers, steam rolled off horses and cattle alike. A constant chorus of moos overrode the trucks’ motors. The whole time the operation had been at the side of the county road, only three vehicles had driven past, practically crawling as drivers and passengers studied what was taking place.
She’d rented her mare from a couple of men who ran a summer trail-riding enterprise at Crystal Lake. One of them had driven her and her horse out to the cattle loading ramp along the side of the highway and had assured her he’d return as soon as the storm hit. She was relieved to see he’d kept his promise.
“What now?” Mike asked as the mare’s owner loaded her into the single-stall trailer. “You go home and write your article?”
She shook her head. He was still on horseback, which meant she had to look up at him. Feeling small, vulnerable, and feminine despite her rugged attire, she ran her hand over his gelding’s shoulder.
“I don’t have enough information.”
“What kind of information?”
Was he merely curious or hostile? “For one, how the BLM program benefits your operation.” She indicated the cattle. “I realize you’re busy right now, but I’m hoping you’ll have time before long to answer—”
“Follow me home. We’ll talk tonight.”
At his place? Maybe just the two of them? Fighting her suddenly dry mouth, she resisted the urge to touch his thigh.
“I, ah, my car’s at Crystal Lake Lodge. It’ll take a good half hour to get up there. I’m sure you don’t want to wait for me.”
“What I don’t want is for the cattle to remain in the truck any longer than necessary. Do you know where my ranch is?”
“Somewhere in Eagle Valley. I looked up Moss Ranch on the Internet.”
“Eagle Valley encompasses a lot of farming and ranching land. I live about halfway between Medford and the covered bridge on County Highway 223. My ranch is on the west side of the road. Look for the barn.”
She’d taken her aunt for a drive through Eagle Valley last spring where they’d spent a delightful day taking pictures of newly green pastures, calves, foals, and the occasional deer. The area had struck her as perfect and a world away from traffic congestion. The two of them had speculated whether they had what it took to be ranchers. Her aunt had admitted she really didn’t want to live so far from neighbors, but she’d easily envisioned herself planting and then harvesting a large garden.
Now she was being invited to see what life for a true rancher was like.
“I take it your barn stands out.”
He smiled. The gesture did something to her heart and lungs that allowed her to dismiss the cold. “My fellow ranchers say it’s overkill, but it fills my needs.”
She should ask him if tomorrow might be better. Surely he had more work ahead of him once he and the cattle reached his ranch. But she wanted to see him again. Soon.
“Mike? You ready to leave?”
Startled by the unexpected male voice, she looked around. As she did, she realized her hand no longer rested on the gelding but had traveled to Mike’s thigh. Instead of moving his leg out of her reach or laughing at her, he’d let it happen. Her heart pounding, she dropped her arm to her side and stumbled away.
3
“What was that?” Jarred asked.
Mike should have known his former brother-in-law would have seen Kathy’s hand on his leg. He waited until the two of them had loaded their horses into the stock truck he’d be driving home before addressing the question. Stump and the other cattle dog were already warming up in the cab, which was where he looked forward to being.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “The way she acted, she might not have been aware of what she was doing.”
Jarred snorted. “The hell she wasn’t. Keep an eye on that one, she has something up her sleeve.” Jarred punched Mike on his arm. “Hey, you’re single. Do what you want. Take what she’s offering. Just do it with your eyes open.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions. I didn’t invite her over for that.”
Jarred shrugged. “But it could happen.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m rusty at this man/woman thing.”
“Unlike my sister.” Jarred wiped snowflakes off his nose. “She still loves you, but she’s moving on. Doing a little dating.”
“I’m glad.”
Jarred chewed on his lower lip. “I believe you. I’m sorry the two of you couldn’t make a go of it, but I understand why. Jalena likes her creature comforts. She’s also self-absorbed, which isn’t an asset when it comes to the ranching life.”
Mike wouldn’t call his ex self-absorbed so much as constantly needing to expand her horizons. She loved to travel and took college classes simply because so many things interested her. Routine made her restless, and a twenty-four/seven job like ranching had her climbing the walls.
“Life’s too short to spend it doing one thing,” she’d said more often than he wanted to recall. “I had no choice when I was growing up, but now I need to explore the world.”
In contrast, he’d spent his entire life doing one thing and wanting nothing else.
“Thanks for the help.” He started to shake Jarred’s hand, then hugged him. “As usual, the check’s in the mail.”
Jarred drew back a little and inclined his head toward where they’d spent the past three days and nights. “Out there’s all the pay I need. Beats the hell out of working in an office.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to a hot shower and a back rub.”
Knowing Jarred’s wife, Jarred would get that rub and more.
Too bad he didn’t know the woman he’d invited to his ranch well enough to ask her to massage his sore muscles. At least, he acknowledged, as he headed toward the truck cab, his left thigh remained heated from her hand on it.
His thigh wasn’t the only part of his body that had responded, giving rise to the question of what he might be getting himself into. It could all blow up if it turned out she intended to use her sex appeal for her own agenda.
A smile warmed Kathy the moment she spotted the barn Mike had mentioned. She’d have to be blind not to notice it because it was one of the largest she’d ever seen. Even though night was fast approaching, she could tell it was nearly new. Wanting to learn why he’d gotten so carried away provided her with the perfect conversational opener. After that, well, hopefully she’d be able to keep her end of things going, but there was the chance she’d falter. Stumble over words and thoughts.
Nearly three hours had passed since Mike and she had parted ways. In that time she’d been taken to where she’d left her car and driven it through the worsening weather down to the valley. Fortunately, snow had turned into rain before she reached the cottage she lived in behind her aunt’s place. She could have gone directly to Mike’s ranch but had opted for a shower and change of clothes because—well, because.
Now, dressed in fresh jeans and a white sweater, she pulled off the road and onto the long drive leading to a barely visible ranch house. Cattle grazed on both sides, seemingly oblivious to the downpour. She wondered if the animals Mike and the others had brought off the mountain were among these.
There were so many things she didn’t know about the ranching way of life. Thanks to her father’s occasional stints as a ranch hand when she was little and Ruy’s involvement with the rodeo world, she’d thought she understood what it meant to make one’s living off livestock and land, but she was wrong.
Hopefully tonight her education would begin.
She parked as close as possible to the front porch. A somewhat battered pickup was the only other vehicle on the gravel circle driveway, but she spotted the now-empty stake trucks back by a detached garage. As she ran her finger
s through her newly clean hair, she wished she’d been here to watch Mike and the others unload the cattle.
A single truck near the house. Did that mean only Mike was inside, waiting for her?
She struggled into a hooded raincoat and tucked the unbaked pizza she’d impulsively bought under it. Then, knowing her flats were going to get wet, she exited her car. The moment she did the smell of wet land circled around her. A few cows mooed, a horse whinnied. From inside the older ranch house dogs barked.
“I’m home,” she whispered, then shook her head at the crazy impulse that had made her say that. Home was a one-bedroom thousand square foot house that had once housed her uncle’s widowed mother. It wasn’t spacious, but she loved the large windows and dusty blue walls she’d painted shortly after moving in. The roses, tulips, and small garden were all her doing. Her putting down roots.
The front door opened as she climbed the stairs to the large and thankfully covered porch. Mike Moss, his form backlit by at least one lamp, stepped out. Her hand froze on the wet railing, and she couldn’t remember how to make her legs work.
Like her, Mike had changed. He still had on jeans—did the man own anything else?—but his all-weather coat had been replaced by a dark blue T-shirt that hugged male muscles, so many muscles. The way his hair glistened, she concluded she wasn’t the only one who’d stepped into the shower.
Not long ago, water had sheeted off his naked form, caressed his shoulders, and slid down both sides of his penis. Countless drops had collected on his pubic hair while a thin stream ran between his ass cheeks. Maybe he’d turned so the water landed on his work-strong chest. When that happened, did he run his hand over the outline of his ribs wishing her fingers were there?
“Come on in,” Mike said around the sound of rain striking the roof.
“Of course. Of course.” Did he notice she was stumbling over her words? Had he guessed why? “I was just trying to get a handle on the terrain.” Terrain nothing, she’d been looking at him.