The Rancher And The Redhead

by Leigh, Allison

  Jaimie was leaning across the oversize claw-footed tub, her hand stuck in the gushing stream of water. Matthew’s fists tightened and he closed his eyes, reminding himself that he was freezing. He opened them to see Jaimie looking up at him, her green eyes wary. And no wonder, considering the way he’d barked at her.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, hoping she would take the hint and leave. Soon. This little scene here was way too similar to the dream he’d had last night. A dream that had left him hard and aching and alone with only a cold shower for comfort.

  She nodded, bracing herself against the tub as she straightened. “I, uh, hope it’s not too hot.”

  His lips twisted. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he managed to say. A portion of his brain wondered when his bathroom had gotten so small. He tried unbuttoning his flannel shirt, but his numb fingers couldn’t manage the simple task.

  She glanced back at the filling tub. “Here.” She brushed his hands away and began undoing the buttons herself. Her pearly teeth sank into the soft flesh of her lower lip.

  He dragged his attention upward. “I can manage.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She pushed the flannel from his shoulders and started tugging at his thermal undershirt.

  He had to get her hands off him before he did something even more stupid than falling in that trough. He yanked the shirt over his head, and her eyes went wide. When he deliberately reached for his belt, she made an interestingly strangled sound deep in her throat. The belt jangled as he slipped it out of his jeans and it, too, joined the pile on the floor. Suddenly she was taking a keen interest in twisting her bracelet round and round her wrist.

  “You joining me?”

  Her eyes flew up. “What?”

  “In the tub.”

  Her mouth opened, yet no sound came out. He leaned over her, deliberately torturing himself with the fresh scent of her wildly waving hair as he turned off the rushing water. Then he reached for the first button of his fly.

  She flushed and fled, slamming the door shut behind her.

  He sank down on the edge of the tub, his head lowered between his hunched shoulders. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  An hour later his fingers and toes were still cold. He added an extra pair of socks and shoved his fingers in his work gloves, then headed back out. He stopped to check on the calf.

  His dark mood took a nosedive when he found Jaimie sitting in the stall, her head bent over the calf she cuddled like a newborn babe. “You’re just s’posed to feed it,” he said. “Not make a pet out of it.”

  She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. He stifled an oath and joined her, crouching down. He pushed her hands out of the way and felt the still calf.

  “Ahh...hell.” He pulled the calf off her lap and carried him into the tack room, swiping his arm across the wooden bench to clear it of the clutter. He heard Jaimie crying quietly behind him, but couldn’t take the time to see to her. Not while there was still a chance to save the calf. He yanked off his gloves, searching again for the faint pulse. “Go bring me a blanket,” he told her. “There’s a stack in the closet beneath the stairs.”

  “But he’s already—”

  Matthew looked over his shoulder. “Not quite. Now go.”

  She went. And Matthew turned his attention to the dying calf. A year didn’t go by when calves didn’t succumb to the harsher elements of nature. He hated it as much now as he always had. But it was a fact of life. Animals died.

  Good grief, he raised beef cattle. Sooner or later they were all going.

  The truth didn’t slow his steady, fervent efforts to save the calf. By the time Jaimie reappeared, holding two checkered blankets in her hands, the calf was kicking his spindly legs. Weakly kicking, true. But kicking.

  He picked up the calf with half-frozen hands. “Wrap the blanket around him,” he told her. She did so, snuffling all the while. He headed back to the big house. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d cared for an ailing calf inside. It wouldn’t be the last.

  Jaimie scurried ahead of him, opening the doors for him. He deposited the calf on the floor in the kitchen near the hot air vents, then straightened, arching his tired back. He shrugged out of his coat, and Jaimie hung it in the mudroom, along with his hat. She came back, then crouched down by the calf, crooning under her breath to it.

  D.C. padded into the kitchen, took one look at the interloper and turned on her heel, slinking right back out again.

  Jaimie’s eyes met his. She swallowed visibly and turned back to the calf. “Now what do we do?”

  “Keep him warm and fed.”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing in the barn,” she whispered. Her hand smoothed over the calf’s head. Then she looked up at him. “You saved him.”

  The wonder in her eyes made him feel about ten feet tall. And lower than a snake, when what he wanted most was to carry her up to his bed. He wanted to sleep with the woman, but he had nothing more than that to offer her.

  She wouldn’t last on the ranch any better than his mother had. Any better than BethAnn had. So he’d bloody well better learn to keep his hands to himself.

  Turning away from those eyes, he yanked open the refrigerator and despite the fact that he still felt cold to his bones, pulled out an icecold beer. He viciously twisted off the cap and tossed it on the counter. “What’s for supper?”

  She blinked. With a last pat for the calf, she stood up and moved around to the sink, washing her hands. In minutes she’d set a place at the table. “Squire ate while you were in the bath,” she murmured. “Said he wanted to go to the cabin. Do some ice fishing.”

  Matthew remembered Squire mentioning it earlier. “Where’s Dan?”

  “He went into Weaver.”

  She pulled out a pan from the oven and served up a generous serving of some turkey-and-rice concoction she’d prepared a few times before. A salad joined the meal, as well as several fragrant rolls. She started to pour him a glass of milk, then with a look at the beer bottle, put the carton back in the fridge.

  Matthew’s jaw cocked. So. They were alone in the house. Except for D.C., Sandy and the calf, and they sure as shootin’ weren’t great chaperones.

  He pulled out the chair and sat down. The food smelled terrific. But then everything that Jaimie cooked smelled terrific. She had been fussing around the calf, arranging the blankets around his skinny body. Now she stood up and pulled her bright coat off the peg.

  “Where’re you going?”

  Her hand closed over the doorknob. “To the cottage.”

  He noticed she didn’t refer to it as “home.” “What for?”

  Her chin came up. “Did you need something else?”

  Only your warm body next to mine for the night. He shook his head and picked up the fork.

  “Then there is no reason for me to stay, is there?” Still, she didn’t open the door.

  He stabbed a tender chunk of turkey. “If you want to stay, then stay.”

  “What do you want me to do, Matthew?” she finally asked irritably. “What? Do you want me to stay and watch out for the calf? To clean up the dishes when you’re finished eating?” She pushed at her hair, and it rippled over the shoulders of her pale yellow thermal shirt. She clutched the coat to her, and the nylon crinkled under her grip. “Or do you just want a warm body next to you for a while? Because if that’s all you want, call Donna Blanchard. I’m sure she’d be happy to oblige.”

  His fingers tightened on the fork. When he remained silent, she just shook her head and turned the knob.

  “I don’t want Donna,” he said abruptly.

  She stopped, but didn’t look at him.

  “I want you,” he gritted. “And you want someone to sweep you off your feet, like in some fairy tale.” He tossed down the fork and shoved away the plate. “There’s no happily ever after for you here, Jaimie. You wouldn’t last past the first hard winter before you’d hightail it back to the comfort of the city.” She would go and find someone else and t
ake his fool heart with her, just like BethAnn had done.

  Color rose in her cheeks. “Trust me, Matthew Clay. You’re not my idea of Prince Charming.”

  “Then why do you look at me the way you do?” He rounded the table, his boots scraping against the floor. “Sweetheart, you’ve been sending vibes my way since the very first day you stepped foot on my property.”

  “Like you haven’t, too? I didn’t invite you to the cabin.” Humiliation burned inside her. “Oh, you’re insufferable.” She yanked open the mudroom door.

  He stopped its progress with the flat of his hand. “Yeah, but I’m right.” He lowered his head toward hers. “So unless you’re set to share my bed for a while, I suggest you keep your soft looks and sweet touches to yourself. Or I’m gonna take you up on your invitation.”

  “Go soak your head,” she hissed. Then arrowed her elbow into his hard midsection. He barely oofed. But she managed to squeeze into the mudroom and out into the evening. Her chest hurt from the tears she refused to cry.

  It seemed as if the temperature had dropped twenty degrees since the day before, and her boots slipped and slid on the icy gravel as she hurried down the road to the cottage.

  As she half ran, half stumbled, the snow that Matthew had predieted started to fall. If she had a home in the “comfort of the city” as he’d so derisively put it, she would have run all the way there.

  Jaimie hardly spoke to Matthew the next morning at breakfast. It was fine with him. As long as she did her job, he didn’t care if she ever uttered a word. He’d been harsh the night before. But it had done the trick. She hadn’t even met his eyes once since she’d come in at five to feed the calf. But he’d already fed it. As he’d done several times throughout his sleepless night.

  Over the rim of his coffee mug, he watched her back as she stood at the sink, washing the skillet she’d used for hash browns. It was still early: that time of morning when dawn has arrived, but the sun had yet to break over the horizon. The ceiling light was on, and it washed over her head, highlighting the sheen of her hair.

  His eyes narrowed and he realized, not for the first time, that her hair was almost the same color as Jasper, his bay.

  He rocked his chair back on two legs, absently rubbing his finger over the bandage on his forehead. Jaimie’s attention was still on the dishes in the sink, and he looked his fill. Well, hell, he was a man, wasn’t he? Hadn’t he told her that in no uncertain terms, not even twenty-four hours ago?

  His eyes ran from the waving locks clinging to the shoulders of her thermal shirt—a white one this time, one he could see the outline of a tiny bra beneath—to the slender waist accented by the unbelted jeans. She moved to a cupboard and knelt down to put away the heavy skillet, and the jeans gapped at her waist in the back as they tightened over her rear.

  The front legs of his chair hit the floor with a thud. Despite everything, he was getting turned on watching that infernal woman do dishes in his kitchen. Stifling a curse, he shoved to his feet. By the time she left the ranch, he would be a madman.

  Jaimie whirled around at the sound of chair legs squeaking on the floor. She’d had a terrible night’s sleep. And now, Matthew’s expression was tight, but he couldn’t mask the naked desire burning in his eyes. Her fingers clenched the wet dishcloth she held, and her breath stuck in her throat. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. Her feet had even taken a step toward him when the mudroom door suddenly bounced open and Daniel stomped into the kitchen.

  She swallowed, watching Matthew’s head slowly turn to his brother.

  The hat Daniel tossed at the pegs missed, and he stood staring at it for a moment, his attention very focused. Then he grabbed it and shoved it onto a peg so hard Jaimie wondered why the wood didn’t poke through the hat. He glanced at Matthew, then moved past Jaimie to reach for the coffeepot. His movements were slow and concentrated, and as soon as he came within a foot of Jaimie she realized why.

  He’d been drinking.

  She bit her lip. Daniel’s face was pale, his eyes bloodshot. Matthew watched his brother’s careful motions, thunderclouds gathering in his expression. She handed Daniel a mug after he fumbled the first one, and it rolled into the sink with a splash of water and suds.

  The corners of his lips lifted as he took the mug from her, then he poured his coffee and sank down at the table. He slouched back in the chair, his eyes at half-mast. He lifted his mug. “Cheers.”

  “For God’s sake, Dan, it’s not even seven in the morning. What’s gotten into you?”

  “Not enough,” Daniel closed his eyes.

  “Where were you? Colbys?” Matt got no answer. “I told you I wanted your help moving that old tractor to Jefferson’s this morning.”

  Daniel’s mug hit the table, and coffee sloshed over the side. “I said I’d help.”

  “In the shape you’re in?”

  “I said I’ll do it.” He shoved back from the table.

  Jaimie caught the back of his chair before it could slam into the refrigerator.

  “You’re not fit to stand up straight, much less drive.”

  “Get off my back,” Daniel growled.

  Matthew’s jaw cocked. “You are not getting behind the wheel of any vehicle on this property.”

  “Trucks your personal property now?” Daniel crossed his arms, leaning against the refrigerator. “You own it all, do you?”

  The two brothers were suddenly nose to nose, both big, determined and angry. For heaven’s sake, Jaimie thought, Matthew and Daniel always got along. Without thinking, she slipped between them, afraid that their clenched fists would start flying. She braced a palm on each chest, wedging herself between them. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Matthew set her aside as if she were an annoying fly.

  “Stop it!” She pushed between them again. “Now you just cool off.”

  “This doesn’t concern you,” Matthew gritted.

  She hadn’t expected the pain that came with his words. It yanked and twisted her insides into a knot.

  Matthew saw her features blanch. Her eyes stood out vividly, bruised emeralds.

  Lashes suddenly shielded her expression and she scooted away, grabbing her coat. “Beat each other to a pulp then.” The mudroom door slammed behind her.

  “Nice touch, Matt.”

  “Shut up.” Matthew glared at his brother. Despite the years between them, he and Daniel had always been in tune with each other. But lately...

  “You oughta go after her. Kiss and make up.”

  “You’re the one who carries her around in the kitchen.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Not bloody likely,” he snapped.

  “Right. I almost believe you.” Daniel’s bloodshot eyes narrowed, mocking. “Except for that vein about ready to pop outta your forehead there.”

  “Do you want me to hit you?”

  “Maybe,” Daniel growled. Then he cursed long and low and turned away, slamming his fist into the wall. The skin over his knuckles split and blood coursed down his hand.

  Matthew pulled a clean dishcloth out of a drawer. He tossed it on the table. Something had been nagging at Daniel for a long time now. Matthew wasn’t particularly surprised that it was finally boiling over. “Feel better now?”

  Daniel snorted derisively. He picked up the cloth and wrapped it around his fist. “No.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No.” He hooked the chair with his boot and swung it back to the table to sit down.

  Matthew sighed. Talking had never much been Daniel’s way. Truth be told, it wasn’t the way of any of the Clays. He stuck his finger into the hole Daniel’s fist had left in the wall. He’d have to get some chicken wire and patch it. “You break anything?”

  “Probably. Won’t be the first time.”

  “Nope.”

  “You oughta go after Jaimie, Matt.” Daniel’s voice was quiet. “She looked like she’s the one who got punched.”

  “I know.”

>   “What’s stopping you?”

  Matthew turned to see Daniel adjusting the towel. Blood seeped through the white cloth. “I’m not starting anything with her I don’t intend to finish.”

  “At least she’s free,” Daniel murmured under his breath.

  “What?”

  The mudroom door flew open, and they both looked up. Jaimie stood in the doorway. “Maggie’s bleeding,” she said baldly. “Her OB said she had to get to the hospital.” She looked everywhere but at Matthew. “I don’t know where Joe is. His truck is gone.” Daniel was out the door before Jaimie had even finished speaking. “I called the emergency helicopter, but it’s up in the mountains looking for some idiot camper. Who camps in the snow? I need to use—” Her voice broke.

  Matthew pulled her against him, and her shoulders trembled. She didn’t even have on her coat, the little fool. “I’ll drive,” he said gruffly. He reached around her and pulled down a set of keys. “Come on.”

  She stiffened, pulling away from his hand on her shoulder, and hurried outside. He swiped several coats from the hooks in the mudroom and followed.

  The snow had stopped falling during the night, leaving a pristine white blanket behind, marred only by their footprints from that morning. They climbed into his Blazer and Matt tossed the coats onto her lap. “Take one.” He started the engine.

  Jaimie separated a battered wool coat and pulled it on, shivering all the while. She waited impatiently for the engine to warm up. Daniel strode into view, carrying a blanket-bundled Maggie.

  Matthew drove forward and met them halfway. Jaimie hopped out, pushing the seat forward so that Maggie could lie on the back seat. Her sister-in-law was pale, her expression stoic. Jaimie swallowed the lump lodged in her throat and moved aside as Daniel gently maneuvered Maggie into the Blazer.

  “She’s supposed to keep her legs elevated,” Jaimie told him. Daniel bundled up the blanket that Matthew always kept in the vehicle and placed it, along with the extra coats, under Maggie’s knees. Maggie’s eyes were closed, but Jaimie saw a tear slowly trickle down her pale cheek. She swallowed, fighting tears herself.

  Daniel finished tucking blankets around Maggie’s feet and straightened. He moved out of the way, catching the blood-stamed towel as it started to slip off his hand. Jaimie sucked in her breath, seeing the split knuckles. Her gaze flew to Matthew. Had they really been fighting?