The Reluctant Rancher. Leigh Riker

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      That bison calf looked all moon-eyed.

      He sure seemed to like Blossom.

      Logan couldn’t take his eyes off her either. “I’d ease away from that fence before the calf takes a mind to hurt you. You never can tell what they’re going to do. And even this one is stronger than you might think. Ask my grandfather if you don’t believe me.”

      “He only wants a little affection,” she said.

      Did she mean the calf, or Sam?

      “Still, I wouldn’t—”

      He didn’t get the rest out. The bull calf shoved its huge shaggy head into the stout fence—and splintered several planks. Before Logan could react, the bison pushed his whole upper body toward Blossom.

      “Whoa, Nellie!” he yelled. “Blossom, head for the barn.” The much bigger bison cow was bawling her head off now. “I’ll open the gate to the pasture so he can rejoin his mama.”

      Logan didn’t wait to see whether Blossom followed his order. As soon as the far gate opened, the calf whirled around then thundered toward freedom.

      With a sigh of relief that no one had been killed, Logan went after Blossom. He found her standing in the barn aisle, talking to one of the horses in its stall. Cyclone, the big black colt Sam had bought months ago.

      “Watch it. He nips,” Logan told her, though bite was more appropriate.

      Horse or bison, they were tame only as long as they wanted to be. Strange, how unafraid she seemed of these animals when one look from Logan could make her shy away as if she were about to bolt.

      “I’m sorry about—out there,” she said. “You’re okay?”

      “Fine.” He hoped she hadn’t noticed him limping across the barnyard.

      “Nellie?” She quirked an eyebrow. “That’s his name?”

      Logan blinked. “No, this is Cyclone.”

      “I meant the little buffalo.”

      He did a double take. “Blossom, we don’t name these bison.” He suspected Sam sometimes did, and so had he during his 4-H years of raising beef calves for the summer fair, but Logan refused to personalize them now. By fall some of the herd would become pricey burgers—something he didn’t like to think about—on the menu at a fancy restaurant in Dallas, LA or Chicago.

      And Logan would be back in Wichita. Flying again. He wasn’t about to make any more personal connections to this place.

      “Maybe you should name them.” Her mouth tightened. “Instead, you shouted at him, scared him.”

      Logan shook his head. “He could’ve killed you—and you feel sorry for him?”

      “Yes. What did you do to him? It wasn’t just me. It must have been something to make him want to knock you over like that.”

      Her tone told him he’d only confirmed her worst opinion of him. The knowledge should keep him clear of any involvement he might be tempted into, but she was easy to look at, and in that moment the sweet smell of her shampoo teased his nose with the clean, fresh scent of outdoors.

      “He has a hoof abscess. I was treating it. He didn’t want me to.” That pretty much summed things up.

      “You’re wrong.”

      He rubbed his neck. “You have to show an animal like that who’s the boss. He’s wild, Blossom—dangerous.” He paused. “How do you think Sam wound up in bed with that busted leg and his head all mixed up?”

      “Not from a baby like him,” she insisted.

      “You’re wrong.” He repeated her accusation. “Sam got between that same calf and his mama. She flung him like a rag doll up against a tree. By the time he landed, he was in a world of hurt.” He paused. “The bruises were just the start. I don’t want you to end up the same.”

      Now it was Blossom who blinked. “Well. Thank you for your concern.”

      As if no one else had ever cared about her.

      Exasperated, Logan planted both hands on his hips. Heedless of his warning, she had slipped her hand through the bars to pet Cyclone’s neck. The colt all but purred like a cat. “He has a lot of promise but no common sense,” Logan said.

      “He’s like the bison baby. He’ll never learn to be gentle if he’s...”

      “Mistreated?” The word had just popped into his head.

      “Punished.”

      “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m the bad guy here?”

      He turned away. And nearly tripped over the tortoiseshell kitten. How had she gotten out of the tack room?

      He eyed Blossom. “You again?”

      “I was looking for you. I heard her crying. So I let her out.”

      Logan picked up the cat, who instantly nestled into the crook of his neck. “Just so you know. I didn’t touch that calf except to help him. I’d never touch this horse in anger.”

      “They won’t respond to threats either.”

      “Ah,” Logan muttered. “I see. You decided to work on this ranch, so you stopped at some bookstore on the way and bought a copy of The Horse Whisperer. Or The Cat Whisperer. No, there’s probably a Bison Whisperer, too.” Putting the kitten down, he gave Blossom a pointed look. “I have news for you. Sometimes—like when you’re about to get kicked—that touchy-feely stuff doesn’t work, city girl.”

      Still shaken from his near brush with serious injury, he tried to stare her down. Finally, she glanced away, her gaze following the kitten as she meandered down the barn aisle. From the bend of Blossom’s slender neck, he realized she must consider herself akin to the bison calf. Mistreated. Was that the expression he kept seeing in her eyes?

      He knew little about her. He wanted it to stay that way.

      The kitten disappeared around the corner, probably headed for a hay bale and a nap. And Blossom was gazing past Logan, out the barn doors. She stared at the long driveway, as she often did.

      “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry I put you in danger. I am a city girl.”

      He tried to lighten the moment. “Let me guess. New York? Boston?”

      “Philly,” she admitted. “City of Brotherly Love.”

      Logan nearly missed her subtle change of tone. She’d seemed so cheerful earlier, yesterday, too, and even at dinner last night. He didn’t want to see that other look in her eyes or hear the trembling words that spoke of some deep hurt. He had enough troubles of his own and all the responsibility he could handle.

      She took a breath. “The farther west I travel, the more...open I feel. Less closed in somehow.”

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