The Other Side Of Paradise. Laurie Paige

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      It wasn’t simply that he was attractive. He was that and more, but she’d met other handsome, self-confident men in her work. Perhaps it was the alert intelligence in his eyes. His earlier irritation over the cooking disaster was gone, replaced by curiosity. She liked anger better. It was focused emotion that didn’t lead to questions. Curiosity, coupled with a keen mind, often did. She had a gut feeling that he thought a female wrangler might be more trouble than she was worth.

      “What’s next?” she asked with false cheer.

      “You’ll have six horses and two pack mules to see to when the men get here. Keith called. They’re on their way.”

      “I’ll put fresh straw in the stalls. I noticed the round bales in the lean-to beside the stable. Is that what I should use?”

      He nodded.

      She left by the back door, glad to escape his perusal. He’d nearly made her stutter with that penetrating stare. From now on, she’d be on guard. She hated showing any signs of weakness to an enemy.

      Enemy? Jonah Lanigan was simply a man harried by a shortage of help. He was her boss, nothing more or less. He couldn’t hurt her. No one could, unless she left herself open and vulnerable.

      Glancing over her shoulder, she stopped abruptly. The far peaks were sharp and black against the twilight sky. They jutted up beyond the surrounding hills like jagged teeth, their silhouettes wicked and threatening. She felt danger all around—

      The door banged behind her.

      Jonah came out on the porch. “The men are here. Go take care of the animals and their gear. You also need to stop by the office and fill out some forms.”

      She nodded and went to meet the bearded and unkempt adventurers at the stable. “Hi. I’m Mary, the wrangler,” she told them, friendly but casual. “I’ll handle the stock. Go on inside. The soup is ready.”

      “Thank God,” one of the weary travelers murmured. “I haven’t been so tired since I was nine and our scout troop got lost and marched ten extra miles before finding the place we were to camp.”

      “Good thing you had some experience in the woods,” one of the other men said. “We would still be wandering around in the hills otherwise.”

      The first man looked pleased. “We did pretty good at getting back by ourselves, didn’t we?”

      Mary witnessed new energy enter the little group of warriors as they recalled their accomplishments over the long weekend. They’d planned strategy and held mock battles with paint balls. They had worked on their team skills as well as their navigational ones.

      “And found our inner man, uh, men, or something like that,” a third added, causing the others to chuckle.

      “The boss will be proud when we report back.” The first man gave Mary a wink and handed over the reins to his mount, a gentle cowpony now gray in the muzzle.

      After releasing the horses and pack mules into the paddock, she led each one in turn into the stable. She cleaned their hooves and groomed their coats, then fed and watered them.

      She left one mule in the paddock while she reluctantly moved Attila under the lean-to and made him a bed in there, with a pole propped between two bales of straw to keep him enclosed. Tomorrow she could look around and maybe figure out another arrangement.

      After caring for the last mule, she drove her vehicles to the rear, retrieved her bags from the SUV, then trudged up the barely discernible path to the lodge. From the dining room came sounds of merriment and lots of teasing about their exploits among the six men. She quietly walked along the corridor to the stairs.

      From the office, she could hear the deep voice of her boss. “Yeah, she arrived,” he said.

      She stopped upon realizing he was discussing her. “She seems to know her way around. Did you know she has a horse? She does,” he said when the other person obviously replied in the negative. “One thing, she can cook. She did something to fix the soup and also made cornbread when I burnt the biscuits. So maybe she won’t be a total loss.”

      Mary’s chest lifted in indignation at the implied criticism. She quelled the emotion and the urge to storm in and inform her boss that she was a damn good worker. People new to an area were often viewed with suspicion, and she couldn’t afford the luxury of hurt feelings.

      “Well,” he continued as if explaining his remark, “she’s as skinny as a birch twig. The first winter wind might blow her away. I don’t know if she has the strength to do the job.” He chuckled sardonically. “Yeah, I know, beggars can’t be choosers. Thanks a lot, cuz.”

      Before Mary could move, he hung up and walked into the hallway, now alight with the soft glow of two wall sconces.

      Their eyes met.

      “Sorry. I didn’t know you were out here,” he said.

      She shrugged. “Lots of men don’t think women can do the job. We have to prove ourselves each time. It comes with the territory.” She spoke carefully, determined not to let him rattle her.

      “You’ll have to help me with the hunting parties this fall. We’ll be setting up blinds, maybe wading through snow up to our boot tops.” There was a warning in his tone.

      “I’m not afraid of hard work.”

      Only of people, but she didn’t say that. She wasn’t really afraid of anyone, but she’d learned to be wary.

      “Good, ’cause we have plenty of it around here.” He started toward the kitchen area.

      She went up two steps.

      “Your cornbread was a hit with the men,” he added.

      Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded.

      “And the soup. What did you do to it?”

      “Added some spices.”

      His smile was sudden and unexpected. “You’ll have to show me what and how much. My attempts at cooking are unreliable, as you observed earlier.”

      Mary experienced a flutter in the pit of her stomach at the rueful humor evident in his eyes. “Sure,” she said and moved up another step.

      His next words stopped her cold. “You have a very precise way of speaking,” he murmured, looking at her in a quizzical manner as if trying to figure out what made her tick.

      She hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to disclose but feeling compelled to tell him some of the truth. “I had speech therapy when I was a kid.”

      His eyebrows rose slightly. “Yeah? Why was that?”

      Every muscle in her body went rigid at the question. She realized she’d set herself up for an inquisition, but it still took a second for her to regain her poise. She gave him a level stare. “When I started kindergarten, I had a stutter. In first grade, I was placed in Special Ed for therapy.”

      She had to pause in saying the last word to prevent the stutter from returning. She’d learned to slow down, to breathe calmly while СКАЧАТЬ