A Groom For Gwen. Jeanne Allan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ job, Mr., uh, Tom. If we find we need help, we’ll certainly keep you in mind.”

      The man gave her a disgusted look. “Yur jes like that young whippersnapper son of mine. Thinking I’m too old to do anything but set in a rocking chair. I aint dead yet.” He spit again before squinting up at Gwen. “Maybe I caint keep up with this young feller—” he nodded at Jake “—but you aint seen the day I caint outwork that no-account Rod you had. I’m of a mind to sue you for age discrimination.”

      The old man had one foot in the grave, and he was threatening to sue her. Pure bravado. They both knew, even if he did sue her, he’d never win. He stared up at her with a proud, pugnacious look which almost hid the resignation in his eyes. He felt discarded before his time. Gwen sighed inwardly. Surely Jake could find something easy for the man to do. “All right,” she said, “I’ll hire you.” She couldn’t let him think she was hiring him out of pity. “I can’t afford to be sued, but I’m not a charity. I’m hiring you under the same conditions I hired Jake. A month’s trial period.”

      Tom proudly adjusted a beat-up brown cowboy hat over his few strands of hair. “Ya won’t be sorry, Ma’am. Ya just done got yourself a top hand.” He hesitated, then a crafty expression narrowed his eyes. “Name’s Smith. Tom Smith.” The look on his face dared her to challenge the blatantly obvious lie.

      Gwen only hoped he didn’t kill himself before the month was up. “Tom,” she called as he headed back to the pickup for his gear, “can I ask you one thing?”

      “You can ask,” the old man said cautiously. “Mebbe I’ll answer and mebbe I won’t.”

      “Just how old is your son?”

      “Damn fool kid’s still wet behind the ears.” Tom spit at the truck’s front wheel. “Sixty-two last birthday. You let that be,” he snapped at Jake who’d reached into the back of the pickup. “I carry my own rig. Just point me.”

      Jake pointed to the small stone house. “Bunk in any bedroom but mine.”

      Gwen watched him disappear into the employees’ quarters, then turned on Jake. “I don’t want to hear one word from you about me hiring him. I don’t care if he does slow you down. I don’t care if you do have to invent work for him. I’m the boss around here and I say he stays.”

      “All right.”

      “What does that mean?” she asked suspiciously.

      He ambled over to the base of the porch steps, and shoved his hat to the back of his head. “It means you’re the boss.”

      “Yes, I am the boss. And don’t you forget it.”

      “Ma’am, a man’s not likely to forget anything about you.” One easy step with those long legs of his and he stood on the porch in front of Gwen. He gently touched her cheek with a glove-clad finger. “Tom was right about you.”

      “I know, I don’t know anything about ranching.” Or outlaws, she thought nonsensically.

      He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “About you being a ‘purdy little gal.’ You stir a man’s insides.” He backed her up against the stone porch pillar and tipped up her chin, his gaze settling on her mouth.

      “I don’t want you to kiss me.”

      “No, Ma’am.” He smiled, barely showing white, even teeth.

      “You’re my employee,” she said stiffly.

      His smile widened. “If you mean your cowhand, yes I am, boss lady.”

      “I don’t believe in mixing business and pleasure.”

      He laughed, deep in the back of his throat. “You’re right about that, Ma’am. Kissing you will be pure pleasure.”

      She’d never been kissed by an outlaw. She didn’t intend to let one kiss her now. “You’re not still planning to kiss me?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      She ought to fire him. Maybe she should kiss him first. Out of curiosity. Then she’d fire him. Except she needed him. Even with Tom, she couldn’t operate the ranch alone. So she couldn’t kiss him. Because she couldn’t fire him.

      She’d deliberated too long. He lowered his head. She expected a hard, forceful kiss to demonstrate his masculine superiority. His mouth settled gently on hers, a whisper of a kiss. He nibbled on her lips, tiny bites as if tasting her. Tingling little bites he slowly bathed with his warm, moist tongue. Which did nothing to calm the tingling. Nearby a grasshopper whirred. Cows mooed in the distance. If he’d panted and grabbed at her clothes, Gwen would have fought him off. His steady breathing gave her the courage to indulge a certain intellectual curiosity. She’d stop in a minute.

      The gentle persuasion of his lips told her he wanted her to open her mouth. No wonder all those prim schoolteachers used to run off with outlaws, she thought an instant later. Cowboys, outlaws, knew how to kiss.

      Lightly she touched his cheek. He’d shaved his heavy growth of beard, but that had been hours ago and fresh stubble rasped against her fingertips. She slid her hands down his neck, across his shoulders. His strength seemed to flow through his soft, weathered cotton shirt into her fingers. She tightened her grip, enjoying the flexing of his hard muscles.

      He took away his mouth and stepped back. Her eyes shot open in protest. He gave her a lazy smile as he lifted his hand, caught a gloved finger between his teeth and yanked off the glove. Dropping it, he ran his fingers over the side of her face and closed the distance between them. A light breeze danced by, carrying a hint of dust and the smell of sage. Gwen pushed off his hat and threaded her fingers through his thick shaggy hair. She’d stop kissing him in a minute.

      Sandwiched between his large, hard body and the sun-warmed stone pillar, her body molded itself to his hard thighs, the large belt buckle at his waist, his broad shoulders. Work-roughened fingers ran lightly over her jawline, trailed down her neck, and traced the neckline of her shirt.

      The feel of a button slipping free brought Gwen to her senses. She stiffened and drew back, fighting for composure. And the courage to look him in the eye. What could she possibly have been thinking of? The man worked for her. She didn’t want him kissing her. She didn’t want the heat from his body coiling around her. If he made one arrogant, gloating, what-a-big-boy-am-I remark, she’d smack him.

      A tanned finger lightly skimmed the tip of a breast straining against the fabric of her shirt. “Maybe I should have expected that.”

      Gwen’s head snapped up even as she slapped aside his hand. “Expected what?” she demanded fiercely. “That I’d be an easy touch?”

      “I wasn’t thinking about that, but since you ask, Ma’am, you are definitely an easy touch. I knew that even without the old man.”

      His slow smile warmed her all the way to her toes. Or would have. If she wasn’t already boiling mad. Jabbing her finger into Jake’s chest, she forced him to retreat, yelling, “I was not Bert’s mistress.” She curled her fingers into a fist and followed Jake down the porch steps, pounding him in time with her angry words. “I did not manipulate him with sex. I did not sleep with Bert and I’m not going to sleep with you.”

      Jake abruptly halted, brushing her fist aside СКАЧАТЬ