Rancher's Wife. Anne Marie Winston
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even if it did fit her like a second skin, making him all too aware of the body beneath the clothing.
He thought about the offer he’d made yesterday in a temporary fit of insanity. A day in her company was going to be sheer torture. “You still interested in riding out with me this morning?”
“Yes.” Across the room, his gaze met hers and she quickly dropped her own.
“You ever take your hair out of that ponytail?”
Startled, she looked up again. “What?”
“I said—”
“Yes. Sometimes.” Her speech was rushed as if she was nervous. “But it’s more practical to wear it this way, especially if I’m going to be working all day.”
He digested that as he took the bread from her and started slapping thick ham sandwiches together. True, he’d offered to show her the ranch today, but he’d assumed that he’d swing back by the house about ten o’clock and prod her into action. He hadn’t expected to spend the entire day with her trailing around behind him.
The telephone call he’d overheard last night replayed in his head against his will, and he wondered sourly if “Karl” was missing her more than she appeared to be missing him. The current lover, perhaps? One of several? She hadn’t sounded sorry to be brushing him off as she had.
He watched her from beneath his lashes as she set the long table in the dining room with quick, efficient motions. She paused to heat the large cook pot and mix up a huge quantity of pancake batter, then threw on a large skillet of bacon and sausages.
“There are more of those brownies in the pantry from last night,” she said as she filled a pitcher with orange juice and another with milk, then started a second pot of coffee.
He finished wrapping the sandwiches and brownies, assembling them into individual lunches with an orange and a bag of chips. Then he added a container of raw vegetable sticks and jugs of iced tea and water to each pile, as well, watching her expertly juggle the breakfast preparations.
One thing he had to say for her, she knew her way around a kitchen. “You do this kind of thing before?” he asked.
She paused to flip a pancake onto a waiting platter. “My daddy worked on a ranch up near the Black Mountains when we lived here before. I helped in the kitchen a lot.” Her voice was husky and rich with reminiscence. “I know how much food it takes to feed hungry men.”
He found himself reacting to the sound of her, the smell of her, clean, fresh and female, as she brushed by him to carry a loaded tray of food into the dining room. Scowling, he picked up another one and followed.
He didn’t want to notice her. He didn’t want to wonder if her breasts beneath the snap pockets of the traditional Western shirt were as round and full as they looked, if her slender hips and long legs would cradle a man as perfectly as he suspected. He didn’t want to imagine what she’d look like sprawled beneath him with her hair flung over the pillow and her pouty lips begging him to take her.
But she was fast becoming all he could think about. Only ten more days. It was almost a prayer. She’ll be leaving in ten more days.
“...look like you got out of bed on the wrong side, Boss.”
He became aware that sometime during his fantasizing he’d taken his seat at the head of the table. The speaker was Joe-Bob, the youngest of the cowhands he employed and one of the only three who weren’t married. Wes, his foreman and right-hand man, was grinning as if he knew exactly what Day had been thinking.
Day scowled at them both. “Listen up,” he announced to the table at large. “Here’s the schedule for today....”
By the time he had finished detailing assignments and answering general questions, the meal was over. The hands stampeded through the kitchen to snag their lunches and the day began.
Angel, who had been sitting quietly at his left throughout the meal, began to clear the table. When she stood, his hooded gaze slid down her body despite his best intentions. As it reached her waist, the buckle on her belt caught his eye.
Without thinking, he slipped a finger through a belt loop on her jeans when she started to move toward the kitchen. “Whoa, there. What’s this?” He raised a disbelieving brow. The buckle on her belt was the unmistakable silver prize buckle awarded to junior rodeo champions for barrel racing.
Angel shrugged. “I used to fool around with rodeo competition when I was a teenager.”
He snorted, suddenly aware of the hot press of her flesh against the backs of his fingers. “Lady, if you won this, you did a hell of a lot more than fool around.” He removed his fingers and stepped away, feeling that he’d narrowly escaped being burned. Damn the woman! She had enough sex appeal for five.
In her company, he was starting to feel as frustrated as a stallion penned in the stall next to a mare in heat. Worse, actually, because there was no way he could allow himself to take what his body wanted from this woman. Abruptly he turned on his heel and left the kitchen. He needed some air.
Corky came snarling out from under the porch to growl at his ankles until Day pointed a stern finger at the dog. “One of these days I’m gonna get rid of you, you old faker.” The dog appeared ferocious to strangers, but everyone on the ranch knew he was all bluster and no business.
While Angel finished cleaning up the kitchen, he saddled his horse and another for her—not the placid little mare he’d first had in mind, but a spirited gelding that would more easily keep up with the work he wanted to accomplish. Still, until he saw her swing easily into the saddle, he hadn’t believed she could ride so well.
Jada had hated horses.
He deliberately put the thought out of his mind as they rode out of the yard. Today he wanted to check on the stock in several areas of his range. Tomorrow he’d ride out with some of the men and cull the ones that weren’t healthy, get them ready for sale.
The morning went fast. Angel was as good a rider as that buckle she wore had indicated. If she was in any discomfort, she hadn’t made a peep and she kept up with his pace easily, handling the gelding’s early liveliness with aplomb until he settled down to work. She had borrowed a hat from Dulcie’s old collection and, riding beside her, he had the oddest feeling of...of rightness, as if he was meant to do this with a woman at his side one day.
Not this woman. He instantly rejected the idea. Angel lived a life-style foreign to his, one that he’d tasted and found as poisonous as the deceptively lovely tansy that covered his land in the spring.
The hours slipped away and the angle of the sun told him it would soon be lunchtime. He hadn’t made lunches for Angel and himself because he’d planned a loop that would take them back to the house by noon. He liked to try to get in to the house to have lunch with Beth Ann a couple of days each week, except during branding, when there was no time for anything except the endless cycle of bawling calves and their anxious mamas. Circling around now to come back toward the house, he paused near the front entrance to the ranch road, where the rock columns with the Red Arrow Ranch sign suspended above them in black iron greeted visitors.
“See that bull over yonder?” he asked when Angel reined her horse in beside him.
She nodded. “The one with the white blaze down his forehead?”
“Yep. Don’t forget that blaze. Old Red’s the only bull on the ranch with that face. He’s got a mean streak a mile wide, and it’s directed solely at two-legged creatures.”
Angel regarded the bull solemnly. “Why do you keep him?”
“He’s a great stud. Comes from solid stock and his calves fetch good prices. And if we handle him from horseback, he’s as docile as any bull is ever going to be.” Day squinted into the sun. “I doubt you’ll ever have cause to remember this, but I’ll tell you anyway. As long as you’re in a vehicle or on horseback, you’re just part of the scenery to him. But don’t ever