A Rancher of Her Own. Barbara White Daille

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      “Just testing the lighting in case I want a few promo shots.”

      “You reckon newlyweds will care about the inside of a barn?”

      “Atmosphere,” she said shortly, turning to click off a series of photos down the length of the stalls.

      Silently, he watched her. Over the years he’d avoided coming in contact with her, his long-distance eyesight must have begun to fail. He hadn’t realized she looked this good close-up. Tall and slim, she had pale, perfect skin he wouldn’t dare touch with his workman’s hands and straight black hair that glistened in the light, tempting him to run his fingers through it.

      Every time he’d seen her, she was dressed head to foot in black, and now was no exception. He didn’t get why anyone would feel an attraction for the color, a stark reminder to him of funerals and the day they’d laid his mama to rest. But he managed to look beyond Jane’s taste in clothes long enough to check her out.

      Today she wore a pair of jeans topped by a loose T-shirt. The only color on her—if you could call it that—came from the cold strands of the silver necklace dangling almost to her waist. She looked as out of place in here as he’d have looked at an opera house.

      When she focused on the final stall in the row, old Daffodil stuck her head through the open door. Swaybacked, bowlegged and cantankerous when she chose to go that route, the mare lived out her days in comfort thanks to Jed, with Pete’s assistance.

      Jane gave a throaty chuckle that yanked his attention back to her. The sound seemed to echo in the cavernous barn...and to rattle something deep inside him.

      “C’mon, girl. Let’s see the profile.”

      “That’ll be the day when you can get her to pay attention,” he said with a grin, trying to shake off his reaction to her.

      “I pity the animals you work with, if that’s your attitude toward them.”

      His grin slid away. “And what are you, a horse whisperer?”

      “Maybe.”

      “Besides, it’s not my attitude.” He wondered why he was bothering to explain. “Daffodil’s as high-spirited as they come, but danged stubborn, too.” The words made a picture in his mind of a teenager giving him back talk. “Does that description remind you of anyone?”

      She looked his way again. Even with her back to the sunlight in the doorway, he saw her eyes gleam.

      She remembered that summer vacation she’d spent here on the ranch, all right—he’d bet the jar of Buffalo nickels he was saving for his son on that.

      “You think you’re going to win old Daffodil over to your side, huh?” he said.

      “Yes. With the right incentive.”

      As she passed him on her way to the stall, the scents of vanilla and spice drifted toward him, light but noticeable enough to set off a craving for something sweet, and surprising enough to make him blink. She’d never seemed the sweet, vanilla type.

      She held out a hand. “What do you say, Daff? Want to be a cover girl?”

      At the question, Pete’s shoulders went rigid.

      The old mare dipped her head, as if giving Jane a royal nod and permission to do what she liked.

       Dang, the woman has a way with a horse, after all.

      Then he noticed she held her palm upward. “That’s cheating.”

      “All’s fair in love and getting the perfect shot.” Once Daffodil took the sugar cube from her hand, Jane stepped back and began clicking again.

      “I doubt any newlyweds will want souvenir photos of an old, past-her-prime mare.”

      “These are for me.”

      He couldn’t keep his eyebrows from shooting up in surprise. He couldn’t keep from needling her, either, and blamed it on those bygone days when a teenager seven years his junior had made his life a misery. “Gonna put them up on the wall in your New York high-rise?”

      “Who’s gonna stop me?”

      He narrowed his eyes. Then he noted the rueful twist of her lips. She was baiting him. The idea gave him a rush of pleasure he wasn’t sure how to handle.

      “So, you do recall all those times you gave me grief.”

      “I might have a faded memory or two,” she admitted.

      When she moved toward the door, he remained where he stood, watching her silhouette against the bright sunlight.

      She turned. “Way back then,” she said, “I was just a kid asserting my rights.”

      You’re sure not a kid anymore. He brushed the thought away. “You were being a pain in my butt.”

      She grimaced. “That too, maybe. But you can’t tell me you didn’t deserve some of it, considering your new job had swelled your head to about the size of this barn door.”

      She rested her back against the frame. Her stance highlighted unsuspected curves beneath that loose, dark shirt, which instantly made his jeans tight below his belt.

      Yeah, he’d called it right about her not being a kid.

      He hoped she planned to go away soon—not just from the barn but, once the wedding was over, from the ranch and from Cowboy Creek. He couldn’t blame that thought on memories of the past, his desire to get back to work or even the sight of her gazing regally down her nose at him the way Daffodil had looked at her.

      No, he wanted her long gone because she’d turned out to be one fine-looking woman. Because she was making him want things he had no time in his life for now. And because she was still too many years younger than he was and would always be the boss’s granddaughter.

      Yeah—think of the boss. “That was my first full-time job,” he told her. “I was trying to make an impression.”

      “Oh, you did that, all right. I’m glad you didn’t say ‘a good impression,’ because you didn’t come close to one. I don’t like men—people—who think they can order others around. And you definitely had a case of that back then.”

      “I was in charge of the horses—”

      “Under my grandpa’s direction.”

      “—and watching out for them was part of my job.”

      “He’s given you another job now, too, so he tells me.”

      “Yeah. Playing nursemaid.”

      “Thanks, old man,” she shot back, “but I don’t need that kind of help. An assistant is more like it. What’s the matter? Is the job beneath you?” She shrugged. “If you don’t like the idea, I won’t have a problem getting someone else.”

      He’d СКАЧАТЬ