Winning the Rancher's Heart

by Arlene James

  “I took care of that yesterday afternoon.”

  “Good job. We’ll just have to load the mineral blocks then.”

  “I can help,” Jeri said, looking from one man to the other.

  Ryder and Wyatt traded glances. “Oh, we couldn’t ask you to,” Ryder began, but she cut him off.

  “I’m an excellent rider, and I’d welcome the chance to look at your range.”

  Trying to telegraph refusal to his brother, Ryder tilted his head. Wyatt got the message.

  “It’s awful cold out there.”

  She pushed back from the table. “I have warm clothes. Just let me change.”

  “Thank you, Jeri,” Tina said, widening her eyes at Wyatt, who smiled at Jeri.

  “Yes. Thank you, Jeri.”

  “Guess I’ll saddle three horses,” Ryder muttered, heading for the door. He couldn’t help being irritated. The woman disturbed him, made him uncomfortable somehow. And yet, when he thought back to the first instant he’d laid eyes on her, he couldn’t help smiling. Beautiful and accomplished. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to spend the morning with that? All he had to do was remind himself that nothing could come of it.

  As if he could forget.

  * * *

  Jeri dropped her favorite hat on the dresser and threw open the suitcase atop the pretty mauve bedspread. Needing to appear the prosperous potential landowner, she’d dressed with a purpose today—but now she could put on the clothes in which she felt most at home. Quickly pulling out worn jeans and a pair of long-sleeved thermal tops, she sat on the edge of the tall bed to yank off her boots, her mind working busily over all that had led her to this point.

  She couldn’t help wishing that he wasn’t so good-looking. She’d known, of course, that Ryder Smith was a big, fit hulk of a man with coal black hair. She’d seen the tape of the sparring workout with her brother, as well as promotional photos of him in various fighting poses. Besides, she’d caught glimpses of him on Houston’s local television news. That hadn’t quite prepared her for the live version, however. He was meant to look fierce and brutal in the publicity pictures, and he’d kept his head down and face averted during much of the media snippets. In the one interview that he’d done immediately after the incident, he’d had crocodile tears streaming down his face, and that had so appalled and infuriated Jeri that she hadn’t been able to see anything but his obviously phony emotion. Coming face-to-face with the real deal today had momentarily stunned her, and she knew she’d stared like a giddy groupie when he’d first entered the house.

  Quickly slipping on pink thermals and faded denim, she mulled over that video of the sparring match that had ended with her beloved little brother’s death. The video, taped by Smith’s manager, conveniently did not show Ryder Smith actually killing Bryan; yet, the Houston police had used it to exonerate Smith of any wrongdoing in her brother’s death. After watching that tape repeatedly, she’d thought she was prepared to meet in person her baby brother’s murderer, but she hadn’t expected soft, shy eyes so dark a brown they were almost black, or a boyish smile that contrasted decidedly with the dark shadow of his beard and the heavy slashes of his eyebrows. If not for the broadening of the bridge of a nose that had been broken at least once, he would be devastatingly handsome. Even knowing what she knew about him, she couldn’t deny that he was the type to make hearts flutter.

  The sheer size of him told her that he’d continued to use steroids despite having left the fight cage. Even under multiple layers, the hard bulge of toned muscles showed. In fact, he looked even bigger and more muscular now than he had in the tape. No doubt he could break her in two without even trying, but she wouldn’t let that intimidate her. If she could handle a half ton of spirited stud horse, she could handle one good-looking steroid freak for long enough to see him held accountable for what he’d done. After all, it was not like she had much choice in the matter.

  Her mother had not known a moment’s peace since Bryan’s death, and Dena Averrett had suffered enough. Her mom had been orphaned at an early age and grown up in foster care. Jeri’s father had fallen off a construction scaffold and died when Jeri was a newborn. Then her stepfather, who had treated Jeri as his very own even after Bryan had arrived, had succumbed suddenly to an undetected heart condition almost six years ago. Bryan had become the man of the family at only seventeen. It simply wasn’t fair that he had died so soon after his twenty-first birthday.

  Jeri had relished the role of big sister, and Bryan had always been her number one supporter in all that she did. But while she’d loved and cherished her brother, he had been their mother’s whole world. His death had been a devastating blow, one she feared her mother would never recover from. Unless Jeri could give her some closure by bringing his killer to justice.

  As Jeri pulled on her comfortable work boots, she reflected bitterly that the police hadn’t even tried to build a case against Ryder Smith, despite the suspicious circumstances. Jeri and her mother felt certain she’d find evidence of steroid abuse by Ryder Smith to bolster their suspicions. Surely that would be enough to force the police to take action. It was well known, after all, that steroid use was rampant among bodybuilders and mixed martial arts fighters.

  The police maintained that she and her mother were not entitled to see the results of toxicology tests Smith had taken right after the incident. If Smith hadn’t tested positive for steroids, though, why had he left the business immediately after the tests? After all, he was being touted as the most skilled challenger to enter the cage since MMA had become popular.

  She and Dena had tried to prove their point via the press in Houston by feeding the media monster bits of supposition, suspicion and facts through anonymous sources and lawyers. They’d managed to steer the coverage away from themselves and shine a glaring spotlight on Ryder Smith, but they’d also driven him and his brothers out of town. It had taken months and a good deal of money to find out where they’d gone. Jeri had competed relentlessly to gain the necessary funds.

  The effort had paid off in more than one way, however. She’d honed her craft and earned her way, at just twenty-four years of age, to the national rodeo finals this past December, where she’d won enough prize money to put this last, desperate plan into motion. If everything went well, she was going to prove that Ryder Smith had killed her brother in a fit of rage induced by the illegal use of steroids.

  Failing that, she’d see him punished for drug use.

  As a last resort, if all else failed, she’d provoke him into attacking her and press charges against him. She’d find some way to land Ryder Smith in jail, where he belonged.

  No matter how breathtakingly handsome he was.

  Then maybe she and her mom could find a modicum of peace.

  Chapter Two

  Stepping over the high threshold in the small door cut into the front of the enormous old barn, Jeri paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She walked down a wide aisle beneath the slanted roof, pausing to poke her head into a well-organized tack room. Everything seemed of good quality but utilitarian. She owned thousands of dollars’ worth of fancy tack, most of which she’d won, but like most serious riders and trainers, Jeri preferred simple, top-quality tack for everyday work. It seemed that someone at Loco Man Ranch thought the same way.

  Through a wide-open space straight across from the tack room, she could see into the empty cavern of the center section of the barn. What she could see of a third section on the far side of the mammoth structure seemed to contain rooms and storage bins, with an old-fashioned hayrick above. Two doors, closed against the cold, filled the exterior wall at the front of the center section. A heavy, insulated curtain of cloudy, translucent plastic hung across the aisle just past the tack room, stretching to the nearest interior wall.

  She heard a deep, warm, masculine voice speaking from behind the insulating drape.

  “Steady on, girl. You
wouldn’t be so anxious to get out of this stall if you knew how cold it is out there.”

  In reply, a horse snuffled and clopped as it shifted its weight. Jeri thrust her arms through the slit in the drape and parted it just wide enough to slip through. The dirt floor of the stable aisle had been deeply raked and amply sanded with sawdust, but the stalls had been matted with rubber and overlaid with chopped flax. Impressed at the level of care, she looked into the first stall, where a tall, silver gray roan stood saddled and chewing its bit.

  She moved on to the next stall, where she found a big red dun with a white blaze on its forehead. It, too, had been saddled. Across the way, she found a fat white pony with brown splotches, then two standard brown bays, both of good conformation but unremarkable, followed by an unusually colored gelding. Its coat, sort of a mousy gray-brown, was too dark for it to be a buckskin but lighter than that of a standard bay—a distinctive animal. Finally, in the next to the last stall, she came upon Ryder Smith tightening the saddle girth of an exquisite copper Perlino. Its pale gold coat seemed to pick up a pinkish glow from the fiery copper mane and tail.

  “That’s a beauty,” Jeri said, hanging over the sliding, metal pipe gate.

  “Yep.”

  Obviously, he’d known she was coming, probably tracking her progress by the subtle shifts, blows and rumbles of the horses. This was a man who knew his animals. She tried not to like that about him.

  Without so much as a glance in her direction, Ryder stooped to push a shoulder into the horse’s side, forcing it to release air as he tightened the girth. He had removed his gloves to keep them from getting caught in the straps. They hung from the back pocket of his jeans. Jeri snatched her gaze away, focusing on the mare.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Pearl.”

  “Apt, very apt, given the lustrous quality of that coat. Is she fast?”

  “Not particularly. She’s Tina’s horse, but she’s not been getting much exercise lately, so I thought we’d take her out.”

  Jeri hated to disparage her hostess, but she wanted, needed, to poke at Ryder, see just how touchy he might be—and remind herself that she wasn’t there to stare at handsome cowboys.

  “Hmm. Well, lots of people can’t be bothered to ride in the cold.”

  He chuckled, the sound a mere rasp of air. “You might’ve noticed that Tina’s pregnant.”

  “Sure. But I’ve known lots of pregnant women who rode right up to their last month.”

  He spared her a glance then, one thick brow slightly arched, his smile a little crooked. “Were any of them carrying twins?”

  “Twins,” Jeri echoed, surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who’s had twins.”

  “Come to that, I don’t guess I have, either.” He finished tucking the end of the girth and let down the stirrups. A horn tooted outside. Ryder wrapped the ends of the reins around a hook in a recess of the wall and turned to open the stall gate.

  Instead of moving, Jeri just stood there, meeting his gaze, her hands clasped around the top rung of the metal. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to figure out what she was doing. The corner of his mouth quirked before widening into a lopsided smile. After a few moments, the horn sounded again.

  “That’ll be Wyatt,” he said, the soft rumble of his deep voice washing over her in waves. “Excuse me.”

  Jeri stepped back, perplexed and a little shaken. He was not the irritable, antsy, steroid-fueled maniac she’d expected. In fact, he seemed a quiet sort, gentle despite his obvious strength. And much, much too attractive.

  He slid the gate open far enough to move through it, stepped around her and strode toward the front of the barn. She watched until he pushed through the slit in the drape. Only after the heavy plastic of the drape clacked and rustled together behind him did she even think to move. Stepping into the stall, she introduced herself to Pearl, blowing softly into the Perlino’s nostrils and gently rubbing between them. Then she pivoted and quickly followed Smith from the enclosure.

  She heard the creaks and groans of the great doors as they opened, accompanied by blustery swirls of cold air and an influx of gray light. The sound of an engine followed. Jeri came around the end of the wall to see Ryder motioning a big bronze-colored dualie toward a flatbed trailer stacked with bales of hay. Wyatt got the truck positioned to mate the hitch and joined his younger brother at the trailer, nudging Ryder out of the way.

  “I’ll take care of this if you’ll grab half a dozen salt blocks and put them in the bed of the truck.”

  “Will do.”

  Ryder disappeared into a room in the third section of the barn. Jeri trotted after him and got there just in time to meet him as he carried a fifty-pound block of salt mixed with other necessary minerals through the door.

  “Here, let me take that,” she said.

  “It’s heavy.”

  “I carry them all the time.”

  He didn’t argue. “Okay.”

  Out of habit, she pushed back her sleeves and made a cradle of her arms. Stepping close, he carefully shifted the block into her arms. The unexpected warmth of his bare hands against the chilled flesh of her inner wrists shocked her. She dropped the block, which hit his left foot. Yelping, he yanked back, grimacing in pain. She braced herself for an explosion, but his only reaction was to gasp in a steadying breath, place his injured foot flat on the floor as if testing it and then shake his head.

  She couldn’t stop her apology. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. My middle toes got the worst of it.”

  “I don’t know what happened. I—”

  “It’s okay,” he repeated, smiling at her. “I’ll be fine.”

  Something fluttered in her chest. Confused, Jeri crouched over the fallen block, dug her hands beneath it, lifted it to her body and stood, pushing up with her legs. She had carried these heavy salt blocks many times. She knew exactly how to handle them without injuring herself. Or anyone else. And she knew that if she had dropped that heavy block on her own foot, she would be angry and shouting words she ought not to say. Wondering why he hadn’t reacted in similar fashion, she carried the heavy block to the truck.

  Something didn’t add up. She’d done a lot of reading about the side effects of long-term anabolic steroid use, and nothing she had seen so far, other than the sheer size of the man, indicated what she knew—which was that Ryder Smith was an abuser of the drug. What was going on? He shouldn’t be able to control his reactions like this.

  She turned to find Ryder carrying a second block from the storage room. He walked with a decided limp. She wanted to slink away and hide, but she reminded herself that this big, handsome cowboy had killed her baby brother in a fit of rage. Someone had to figure out what was going on here and reveal the truth.

  Unfortunately, she was the only someone who could or would.

  * * *

  Every step hurt, and his two middle toes throbbed incessantly, but Ryder consoled himself with the fact that neither his big toe nor his pinky had been smashed. Either would have made walking far more difficult. He’d soak his foot and tape them, but it would have to wait until they were finished with the southeast section.

  Wyatt needed his help before the storm came, and Ryder reasoned that he’d be riding more than walking. Besides, his pride wouldn’t let him limp away to lick his wounds. He’d had worse injuries, much worse. It was probably his own fault, anyway. He’d been distracted by standing so close to her while he handed her that block. Maybe he’d fumbled it, making it harder for her to keep her grip.

  While Ryder finished loading the mineral blocks, Jeri went to help Wyatt load the sledges and harnesses in the back of the truck. Then she helped him turn the unsaddled horses out into the corral and walk their saddled mounts to the truck. Jeri held Pearl’s reins while Ryder and Wyatt tied their respective mounts to the end of the trailer.
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  “Why aren’t we hauling the horses?” she asked.

  “Well, we’d normally use Delgado’s truck or Jake’s,” Ryder told her. “But Delgado’s off today, and since Jake opened his mechanic’s shop, his truck is often in use.”

  “I have a truck,” Jeri pointed out. “My trailer’s over at the Burns place, but if you have one, I could—”

  “We’ll trail ’em,” Wyatt decreed. “It’s not that far. Thanks anyway.”

  Trailing the horses meant slow going; not that Ryder would’ve minded if his foot hadn’t ached like a whole mouthful of rotten teeth. Still, he said nothing as Jeri got into the back seat of Wyatt’s truck cab. Wyatt took the driver’s seat and slowly pulled the rig out of the barn, flatbed and horses behind them. Ryder closed the doors and limped over to crawl into the front passenger seat.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Wyatt asked as Ryder wiggled his toes, trying to ease them.

  “I’m fine. I don’t think they’re broken.”

  “You ought to know,” Wyatt muttered. “You’ve had more than your fair share of broken toes.”

  “Comes with the territory,” Ryder said, twisting to smile at Jeri, in case she was feeling bad about dropping that block. She winced slightly and turned her gaze out the side window.

  Ryder faced forward and reached for the handle of his door as Wyatt brought the truck to a stop in front of the main gate.

  “No, no,” Wyatt said, throwing the transmission into Park. “I’ll get the gate. You stay off that foot while you can.”

  An awkward silence filled the truck cab as Wyatt left them to push the heavy gate open.

  Ryder twisted around in his seat again, worried that Jeri might be fretting. Or maybe he just wanted to look at her. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, covering her ears. Those big brown eyes stared at him from beneath the brim of her hat. He’d never seen anything prettier. He felt like he was fifteen again, trying to work up the nerve to speak to the most popular girl in school.