A Gift For Baby. Raye Morgan
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and heavy, made of wood and hard to carry. She managed to get it into the back of her car by herself, and then, once she’d driven out and found an area she liked, managed to get it out of the car and set it up. But the thought of carrying the heavy easel, as well as all her painting and drawing supplies to the hill where she wanted to set up shop, was daunting.
She looked out toward where her faithful bodyguards had pulled over to keep an eye on her. They seldom got close, but they were always there, and it was darn annoying. She could call them to come help her, she supposed. But she didn’t want to do that. That would be similar to admitting she needed them around. And she would never admit that.
She glanced at the car again and saw that they were both getting out. Frowning, she was about to call to them, to protest, but they turned and began to walk toward the high side of the stream. They were moving away, not closer, and she sighed with relief as they melted into the brush and were soon lost from sight. They’d been on sketching expeditions with her before and they obviously expected a long, boring wait, so had hatched a plan with something better to do. She might almost be able to pretend they weren’t with her.
Turning back, she examined her surroundings with a practiced eye. The place was the greenest she’d found in the area. The stream running through it nourished a stand of cottonwoods at the base of the hill. The wind was ruffling the leaves, turning the light sides to shimmer in the afternoon sun, when she heard the hoofbeats. A rider was coming.
Leaving her things in a heap, she walked quickly back to the road, ready to hail whoever it might be. It was bound to be a worker on the ranch. Surely he would help her. Shading her eyes with her hand, she watched him approach.
Mitch pulled the horse to a stop easily and looked down at her. Even here in the middle of nowhere, with a bead of sweat rolling down her temple, she looked gorgeous. Her blond hair tumbled about her shoulders and framed her face the way an expensive fur might have. Her green eyes seemed to glitter in the sun, and her perfect skin was slightly flushed.
Everything in him was signaling danger, and he knew the best thing he could do was get out of this situation as quickly as possible. He wasn’t sure why she’d flagged him down, but whatever she wanted, he was going to have to avoid it. That meant he would have to be rude. But that didn’t really matter. He didn’t want to get closer to her, anyway. Being rude might be the best ploy he had going for him.
“Hi, you work here, don’t you?” she said with a friendly gesture. “I wonder, could you take a moment to help me, please? I’ve got some things I want to move, and it’s awkward trying to do it on my own, so if you—”
“Sorry, lady,” he said coolly, looking toward the horizon. “This is a working ranch. I work the cattle. I’m not trained in guest relations. Get somebody from the house to do it for you.”
Her chin went up and her gaze hardened perceptibly. His reaction was unexpected, but she wasn’t thrown by it. She’d dealt with recalcitrant personnel before.
For just a moment, she took his measure. His boots were scuffed and worn, and his jeans were snug and almost silver from wear. He certainly looked like a working cowboy. She glanced at his worn, callused hands and his broad shoulders. His face was tanned so dark, his blue eyes seemed startlingly bright. He looked authentic, all right. The only aspect that gave her pause—and she thought she’d noticed it on this man before—was the look in his eyes. There was something too sharp there, something too knowing. Still he claimed to be a cowboy, and a cowboy would suit her fine right now.
“I’m not asking you as an employee, or a house worker, or whatever,” she told him, waving a hand in the air. “I’m asking you as a person—one human being to another. Simple request. Nothing complicated.”
The determination in her voice was matched by the set of her jaw, and he noted it with something halfway between amusement and annoyance. She was used to ordering people around, wasn’t she? Well, that was just too bad. He glanced at his watch, making a show of it and starting to gather the reins together to make his escape. “I’m late. I’m due at the branding shed.”
Her eyes blazed. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of the bridle, effectively thwarting his plans to leave immediately. “I could write you a note,” she offered tartly. “You could take it to your foreman. Maybe then he would excuse your tardiness.”
He looked down at her and she glared back. “Will you please help me?” she asked crisply.
But he was just as stubborn. His jaw could set, too, and his eyes were even colder. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “I have other things to do.”
She gazed at him, not with anger but with speculation. There it was again, that element in him that looked untamed in a way that had nothing to do with sagebrush and desert winds. Something about this cowboy was annoying her, even beyond his refusal to jump down and help her. She realized now she’d seen him before, working around the corral, and even in town that morning. She’d noticed it then, too. There was a measure of contempt in that look he was giving her. Contempt. Now she was even more annoyed. How dare he? People just didn’t look at her that way. Especially men.
“Look,” she insisted. “I’m not asking you to spend the afternoon with me. I’m merely appealing for help in carrying my easel and supplies up to the top of that hill. I realize this sort of thing is far, far below punching cows, but think of it as charity work, and maybe it will make you feel saintly.”
His mouth twitched and his gaze made another arrogant sweep over her. “What makes you think I’m interested in feeling saintly?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She waved her hand airily. “Something about you suggests you might be able to use a few brownie points in heaven. I’ll bet you don’t rack up too many of them during your normal day, do you?”
For all his antipathy toward getting involved, he had to admit she was waging a pretty good fight here. “I try to avoid them,” he said dryly, but he didn’t pull away and urge the horse back onto the road as he should have. In fact, he was forgetting about his desire to move on for the moment.
“Obviously,” she taunted good-naturedly. “But this time, you see, you’re trapped.”
His head went back and he let out a short laugh. “The hell I am.”
She shrugged grandly. “Well, that’s right where I’m afraid you’re headed if you don’t get a few good works under your belt. So you see, I’m trying to do you a favor.” She gestured with a toss of her head, all supreme confidence. “Come on down and help.”
He met her eyes and stared for a long moment. He wasn’t about to change his overall opinion of her, but he had to admit there was more in her than he’d been giving her credit for. And he also knew they had come to a point where it would be churlish of him to continue refusing to help her. How had he let this happen? He was usually the one manipulating things. This time, she was going to win. Smiling ruefully to himself, he swung down off the horse.
“What do you want carried?” he asked her without rancor.
She breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been about to let him know how shaky her confidence had become in the past few minutes. Looking at him now, so tall, so thickly muscular, wearing faded jeans and a plaid shirt augmented by a leather vest, she knew he was all male and decidedly insolent. And here she was, ordering him around.
And here he was, giving in. My my. She allowed herself a quick feeling of satisfaction.
“This easel,” she told him, gesturing toward it. “I can actually carry the rest myself.”
He nodded, glancing at her face. To her credit, she didn’t gloat, but took his acquiescence as a matter of course and went on with things. “That won’t be a problem,” he said.
She was still weighing possibilities, her hands on her hips, her head to the side. “Maybe you could just prop it up on your horse.” She frowned at the large beast doubtfully.
Mitch patted his neck. “This big fella is skittish as it is. If I