His Defender. Stella Bagwell
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off a leather glove, he extended his right hand to her. “Hello, Ms. Corrales.”
Tough calluses scraped against soft skin as the warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers.
“Call me Bella,” she said, while wondering why she suddenly felt so breathless. She’d met far more important men than Ross Ketchum.
“Isabella Corrales,” he mused softly. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
Isabella felt the scorching trail of his clear green eyes as it swept her face, then fell inch by inch down the front of her slim body.
Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand from his grasp. “I’m not here for decoration, Mr. Ketchum,” she said briskly. “I’m here to help you.”
He pulled the glove off his left hand and stuffed the pair of them in the back pocket of his jeans. When he looked back at her, all amusement was gone from his face.
“I told Neal I didn’t need you. He should have told you that. But he’s stubborn. He wanted me to do it.”
Her heart suddenly sank, which didn’t make sense. She’d not really wanted this job in the first place. She didn’t like men of Ross Ketchum’s caliber. She should be glad he was giving her the boot. It would free her time so that she could get on with her moving. But she didn’t like the idea of being fired before she’d ever started the job.
“So you’re saying you don’t want me for your attorney?”
“I’m saying I don’t want any attorney.”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue as she tried to decide how to deal with the unexpected problem he’d just handed her.
“Oh. So you plan on defending yourself?”
He smiled then, but there was no humor about the expression. “I’m not going to need to be defended. The law will get this thing straightened out before it comes to that.”
She studied his face as she tried to figure out if he was simply unconcerned about the trouble hanging over his head or if his attitude had something to do with her being a woman. An Apache woman, at that.
“And what if they don’t?” she persisted.
He shrugged. “Then I’ll hire somebody who will.”
She bristled. “Do you think I can’t do my job, Mr. Ketchum?”
He grimaced. “Look, Ms. Corrales, I don’t want to turn this into something personal.”
Her lips tilted into a dry smile. “But you just did, Mr. Ketchum, by firing me.”
“I didn’t fire you. I only told you I didn’t need you.”
Swatting at the tiny clumps of dirt on her bodice, she said, “I believe you need to rethink that decision.”
Damn Neal Rankin, Ross silently cursed. His friend should have warned him that the woman was young and beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Straight black hair was clasped at the nape of her neck and fell like a shiny scarf to the middle of her back. Delicate brows arched over a pair of soft gray eyes, which were veiled with long, luxurious lashes. A straight nose that flared slightly at the nostrils led down to a set of dusky pink lips that were full and velvety. Her high, molded cheekbones and caramel-brown skin said she was a Native American, but the paleness of her eyes told Ross she also possessed white blood.
“What I think is that Neal got a little nervous,” he drawled. “And jumped the gun.”
Resting a hand on one slim hip, she looked away from him. Ross watched the earrings of cedar beads and chunks of turquoise brush against her neck. Right at a spot that would be so kissable, he thought.
“And you don’t think you should be getting a little nervous yourself, Mr. Ketchum?”
The only thing that was making Ross nervous was being near her. She had an earthy sexiness about her that called to every male particle in his body. And the last thing he wanted was to be attracted to a career woman like Isabella Corrales.
“An innocent man doesn’t have anything to be nervous about, Ms. Corrales. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work waiting on me.”
Tugging the brim of his hat down low on his forehead, he turned and started in a long stride toward one of the barns. Not to be deterred, Isabella followed.
“We haven’t discussed your problem, Mr. Ketchum.”
“I don’t have a problem.”
Grimacing, she skipped every other step to keep up with his long-legged steps. “But you could have a problem with the law at any given moment. That’s when you’ll need me.”
Pausing, he turned to give her a droll look. “Let’s set things straight right now, Ms. Corrales. There’s not a woman on this earth that I’ll ever need.”
Although there was no outward bite to his voice, Isabella detected an underlying hostility that took her by surprise.
“Do you have a problem with women?” she asked bluntly.
“I love women,” he answered, then grinned lecherously. “When they’re in their right place.”
Her mouth fell open as he turned and continued on his path toward the barn. Outraged, Isabella raced ahead to block his path.
Looking up at him, she said tightly, “Neal warned me that you were arrogant and possessed a temper. He didn’t tell me you were also coarse and rude.”
The goading smile fell from his face. “But at least I’m honest. That’s probably more than you can say for most of your clients.”
Once again her mouth popped open, then snapped shut. “I haven’t had a client—until you. I’m a prosecutor. Or I was.”
His brows lifted to a jeering arch. “Then I guess you’re still a prosecutor. Because you don’t have me, either.”
Her teeth ground together. She should be telling Ross Ketchum exactly where he could go and stay for a hot eternity. But if a lawyer limited her cases to only those clients she liked, she’d quickly go to the poorhouse. And in her case, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Plus, starting her private practice with a client as well-known as Ross would be a great advantage to her.
“Sorry, but Neal has already paid me a retainer.”
He shrugged. “That’s all right. Keep it for your trouble.”
He was going to let her go. Just like that. The money meant nothing to him. But why would it? she asked herself. He had more than he needed. Getting rid of her was much more important to him. But why?
Her delicate jaw hardened to a firm line as she lifted her eyes to his. “Is your problem that I’m a woman? Or that I’m Apache?” she challenged.
Something flashed in his green eyes. She was trying to figure out exactly what it was, when he muttered, “Oh hell.”
“Don’t—” Before she could say more, he took her by the upper arm.
“Come here,” he demanded.
For one instant she started to plant her heels in the ground and tell him he wasn’t going to manhandle her. But she wanted answers and insulting him wasn’t the way to get them. Besides, she thought, something was wildly exciting about having his strong fingers wrapped around her arm in such a totally masculine way.
She allowed him to lead her across the red dusty ground until they were standing under a wide overhang that shaded a row of horse stalls. Here the odors of alfalfa hay, horses and manure were pungent, but not nearly strong enough to drown out the uniquely male scent of Ross Ketchum.
“Look, Ms. Corrales, I—”
“Call me Bella,” she interrupted.
With his hand still