Bachelor Cowboy. Patricia Knoll
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said laconically. “What do you want?” As he spoke, he grabbed one of the thick posts that supported the barn roof. It had huge nails driven into it here and there down its length, and he used these as foot and handholds as he made his way to the floor. He moved as easily and gracefully as a trapeze artist from one nail to the next.
Eyes wide, Shannon watched him descend. When one nail broke beneath his weight and clattered to the floor, he grunted, felt for another foothold and continued to climb down.
When he reached the ground, she said, “Wouldn’t that be easier with a ladder?”
He shrugged. “If I had one, I would have used it.”
Shannon noticed a large hammer and more of the big nails at her feet. He’d improvised. She liked that, but it seemed risky. He was here all alone. What if he’d fallen, been hurt? Days might have passed before help arrived. She gave herself a mental shake. No point in manufacturing worst-case scenarios. She needed to concentrate on the reason for her visit.
Smiling, she glanced into his face, finally able to see him clearly. His eyes were deep-set under thick brows and were an unusual light brown. The pupils were wide due to the dimness in the barn. When he looked at her, Shannon had the eerie feeling that he was looking right into her soul. Disconcerted, she quickly glanced at the rest of his face, the square jaw that had a small scar running diagonally across it, the fullness of his lips, which were at odds with the angled cheekbones, and a Roman nose, which had a slight bump in it as if it had been broken.
His face didn’t match up to the rest of his body, but the physical imperfections only added character. This was a man who had worked hard, probably all his life, and expected to work hard for the rest of it, as well.
When his eyes met hers in a rapid, assessing glance, she experienced a moment of dizziness and placed her hand against the post he’d just descended.
“What do you want?” he repeated.
His impatient tone snapped her to the business at hand. Straightening, she indicated her clipboard. “I’ve been sent out to welcome you and let you know what services our natural resources agency can give to help you get the Crescent Ranch into shape.”
“No, thanks.” He bent to pick up his tools.
Shannon gaped at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said no, thanks. I can handle it on my own.” He nodded toward the door. “Close that behind you when you leave, would you?” He turned to the tack room attached to the building.
It took her a few seconds to realize she’d been dismissed. She stared after him in stunned amazement, then she hurried behind him.
“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Farraday,” she insisted as she watched him put away tools and pick up a pair of gloves. “I’m here to help you. We would like you to participate in a project we’re doing.”
He didn’t even bother to turn around. “No, thanks. I don’t have the time. I told that to the guy who called last week.”
“The guy who . . .” Wiley, she thought, rocking to a stop. Irritation made her clench her fists at her sides. The same Wiley who had told her no one had contacted Luke. Well, it wasn’t the first lie Wiley had told her.
Luke turned, and his gaze raked over her again. “Did they think that sending a beauty queen out would get me to change my mind?”
She stiffened. Sexism in the raw, she thought, infuriated. “I am a scientist, Mr. Farraday. I’ve worked in this field for three years now. I was born and raised in this county. Just on the other side of that mountain, in fact,” she said, nodding toward Randall Peak. “I know what I’m doing. My looks have absolutely nothing to do with my abilities as a professional.”
He gave her a skeptical glance. “You’ve never used them to get what you want? Never batted those eyelashes of yours over those deep blue eyes?” His voice dropped to a gritty, intimate level that, to her horror, sent shivers up her spine. “Never used those full, sweet lips to whisper promises into eager ears? Promises you never intended to keep?”
“Certainly not!”
He snorted. “Right.”
Appalled, Shannon stared at him. He was the most insulting, insufferable man she had ever met. She fought the urge to tell him so. Instead, she used her most clipped, professional voice as she said, “I’m sorry you can’t get past my looks and accept me as a person who is here to help you. I would like to be able to take credit for my looks, but I can’t. It’s nothing I achieved on my own. I happen to come from a couple of good-looking parents,” she informed him in a tight voice. Never mind that she didn’t look very much like either one of them. They were both blondes.
Her father had said her long black hair, almond-shaped midnight blue eyes and high cheekbones were a throwback to her French great-grandmother. Her full lips had come straight from her mother.
“Whatever,” he said, as if the subject bored him. “I’m not interested in participating in any study, or project, or anything else. I want to be left alone. I have a blocked stream I need to see to, so why don’t you leave?”
He couldn’t have made it any more clear, but Shannon wasn’t going to give up. She had dealt with pigheaded men before, though not ones who had insulted and infuriated her on their first meeting.
She ignored his invitation to depart. Instead, she plastered a cool smile on her face and said, “Water problems happen to be my area of expertise, among others. Why don’t I come along and help you solve it.”
“Because I don’t want you, Miss, uh, Kipper.”
“It’s Kelleher,” she corrected, speaking through her teeth. “Shannon Kelleher. Range conservation specialist.” She withdrew her card from the little pocket attached to the front of her clipboard and handed it to him.
“Kelleher,” he said quietly, as if he recognized her name. Reluctantly, he took the card she offered, his rough, callused fingers brushing hers as he did so. Shannon felt the warmth and texture of him, and for some reason, her eyes flew to his.
His gaze met hers with a steady assessment that she was startled to see was a little less disinterested than it had been a few minutes ago. For an instant, she thought he was seeing her as a person rather than a pretty face or an annoyance, but his eyelids flickered down, hiding his thoughts.
She couldn’t have explained the intense disappointment she felt.
Luke tucked the card into his pocket. “Fine. If I ever need a range management specialist, Miss Kelleher, I’ll be sure to call you,” he said in a when-hell-freezes-over tone of voice.
“How do you know you don’t need one now?” He started from the barn and she stalked after him.
“I’ve been ranching since before you were born. I don’t need you to tell me how to do it.”
Shannon seriously doubted the first part of that statement. In spite of his weathered skin and the lines that rayed out from the corners of his eyes, he didn’t appear to be much more than five years past her own twenty-seven. In the strong sunlight of the barnyard, she could see that his hair was a deep, rich brown, almost as dark as hers. It was thick, in need of a trim but untouched by gray. He ran his hand through it and settled his hat on his head.
“I’m not here to tell you how to ranch, but am I right in assuming you’re new to southern Colorado?”
He looked at her for a second as if weighing her question for hidden traps, then he nodded. “That’s right. I’m from Arizona. Near Tucson.”
She opened her hands wide. “There you go, then. We have different terrain, different climate, different plants, different water problems. I can help you learn about all of those things.”
He shook his head. “You’re as persistent as fleas on a dog’s belly, aren’t you?”
Shannon tucked her chin in and lifted her