A Rancher of Her Own. Barbara Daille White
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recently only reinforced his determination to avoid her. Her drive for success and single-minded focus on her career gave her too much in common with his fashion-model ex-wife.
Pete finished drying off and hung up the towel again. “What does she need with a cowboy, if she’s only taking a bunch of pictures?”
“She’ll be setting things up, moving furniture around. I want someone to do the heavy lifting.”
“I can spare one of the stable hands for that. They’re fine about doing whatever jobs they’re given, even ones not in their job description.” He forced a laugh. “Since moving furniture’s not in mine, either, I’m sure you don’t want your foreman—”
“I do want my foreman on this job.”
“Speaking of jobs, I’d better get going.” And get the heck out of here before I say something I shouldn’t. “There’s a lot of territory to cover this morning.” He crossed the barn to take a set of reins from their hook. “It’s June, Jed. I don’t need to tell you how busy that makes us around here.”
“And I’ll tell you this, flat-out straight the way I always do. I want someone I can trust to be alone with my granddaughter.”
Eyebrows raised, Pete turned back. From the stories Cole had told him about Jane, a New Yorker who traveled all over the world for her job, he couldn’t think of any woman more able to handle herself. Which meant...
“I’m not saying anything against the boys,” Jed continued as if he’d read his manager’s mind. “I trust every one of ’em. But there’s no one I have more faith in than you.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, boss.” He swallowed hard. “But—”
“And as I recall,” Jed interrupted heavily, “when it comes to job descriptions, the two of us don’t much stick to formalities between us, do we?”
“No, we don’t,” he agreed, knowing those words had just sealed his fate.
He owed the boss for providing everything he needed to take care of his kids.
And now, all too plainly, the man had called in his debt.
As a shadow fell across the open doorway of the barn, Pete took one look, lowered the pitchfork he was holding and set it against the wall outside the stall. Frowning, he stared at the woman who stepped into his domain.
Technically, he didn’t own anything on the ranch. Still, even the thought of this particular granddaughter of Jed’s coming near the barn left him feeling possessive. Old habits might die hard, but old memories never left you.
He’d heard from Cole that Jane had arrived at the Hitching Post the night before.
Feet planted wide, he rested his hands on his hips. “Can I help you?” He hoped not. In fact, since his conversation with Jed a couple of days ago, he’d kept his fingers crossed that the boss would change his mind about having him babysit Jane.
From a strap around her neck hung a camera that probably cost more than he spent in a year on clothing for him and the kids. Without answering, she raised the camera and aimed it at him, making him feel like a bug under a microscope. Before he could react, she had fired off a couple of shots.
He raised a brow. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can stop doing it right now.”
“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,