A Groom For Gwen. Jeanne Allan
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coolly. Jake might not share her enthusiasm for local history, but he didn’t need to be rude. “Bert called her a buckskin.”
“So you can’t ride,” Jake said in disgust. “If you could, he wouldn’t have put you on that old nag.”
“She’s not a nag. She’s perfectly sweet.”
“She’s so old if you fired a six-shooter behind her, she’d barely switch her tail.” He sighed heavily. “There’s no help for it. Be at the corral by the barn after breakfast.”
“I plan to spend the morning going over Bert’s books.”
“Change of plans. The corral after breakfast.”
“That sounds like an order, Mr. Stoner,” Gwen said tightly.
“Good. I wouldn’t want you to think you have a choice in the matter.” He smiled lazily across the table.
“Now see here, Mr. Stoner, I will not—”
. “What? Succeed? Learn? Become a rancher?”
“I will not be ordered around by someone who works for me.”
“Do you know when to move the cows?” he asked.
“I’m sure Bert wrote it down somewhere.”
He gave her a pitying look. “You don’t know. Do you know the difference between noxious weeds and good grass? And I don’t mean that stuff that grows in town. Do you know if the stock ponds are filling okay? If the calves are getting enough milk? When to wean them? Which bull to put to which cows?”
“I’m a CPA, not a rancher. I hired you and Tom to tell me those things.”
“Honey, you were a CPA. Now you’re either a rancher or a squatter who doesn’t know a damn thing about livestock or the land and who’ll go belly-up.”
“I don’t see how—”
“You will by the time I get through. Tomorrow morning. At the corral.” Jake pushed back his chair and stood up. “If you’re a good girl and do what you’re told, maybe I’ll let you play boss the rest of the day.” He strolled out of the room.
A slight choking sound broke the silence. Gwen turned on Tom who was hiding the lower half of his face in his napkin. “You think that’s funny? Wait until he tries to run your life.”
“Don’t come across many like him anymore. All rawhide and iron,” Tom said, his voice filled with admiration.
“All bully and blowhard.”
“The man’s right, you know. You need to learn if you’re going to keep this place going. He’ll make a good instructor. I watched him this afternoon. He’s patient, thorough, even-tempered, and careful. Jake’s not one to rush heedlessly into a situation without checking things out, and he’s steady. It’d take a lot to disturb his equilibrium.”
“Equilibrium is a pretty big word for you, isn’t it? What happened to words like purdy and aint?”
“Jake told me he disclosed my little secret.”,
“After the fact.” Another example of him thinking he knew better than anyone else. “And I wouldn’t exactly call Jake Stoner overly cautious.”
“I didn’t say overly cautious. The man knows his worth, I’ll grant him that. Some might even make the mistake of thinking he’s on the arrogant side.”
“Thinking that is no mistake. He’s a cocky, presumptuous, arrogant, overconfident male who suffers from excessive testosterone.”
Tom chuckled. “You’re not talking about his ranching abilities. You’re talking about him kissing you this afternoon.”
Gwen sprang to her feet. “Was the whole world watching? I was not talking about a stupid kiss. I’d forgotten all about it.”
Gwen walked slowly toward the corral by the barn. She wanted to ride a horse. Jake’s order had nothing to do with her decision. She wouldn’t even allow him to ride with her. She’d tell him to saddle up Susie, and then she’d order him to—to do something. Something out of her presence. Something to remind him who was boss.
A mud-colored horse with white down its nose threw up its head and watched Gwen walk toward the corral where the horse was penned. The buckskin mare grazed on the other side of the pasture.
Jake Stoner leaned back against the corral fence, his elbows resting on the top rail, one boot hooked over the bottom rail. “Shouldn’t have slept half the day away. It’s going to be hot.”
“Do you practice being obnoxious, Mr. Stoner, or does it come naturally?”
“Call me Jake, honey.”
“I’m going to call you unemployed, if you don’t quit calling me honey. My name is Gwen.”
“With that honey-colored hair, I think you’d be used to men calling you honey.”
“My hair is ash blond, but men don’t call me ashes,” she snapped. “Now call Susie over so I can ride.”
He nodded over his shoulder. “He’s an eight-year-old gelding. Mostly quarter horse. Some Arabian. Your friend Bert knew what he was doing when he trained horses. You’ve got some good, well-trained ones. I think you and this horse will work well together. He’s not too spooky for a beginning rider, but enough of a horse to challenge you.”
“I’m not riding Vegas. I prefer to ride Susie,” Gwen said firmly.
“Sure, riding her once in a while won’t hurt. Today you’re working with him, Vegas, if that’s his name.”
“It’s his name, and I’m riding Susie today. Right now.”
Still leaning against the corral, Jake shrugged his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay.”
Gwen tapped her foot. “Well? I’m waiting.”
“What for? If you want to ride the mare, go ahead.”
“I would like her saddled.”
He nodded to his right. “There’s a saddle.”
Gwen silently counted to ten. “I want you to call Susie over here and I want you to saddle her for me.”
“Nope.”
“What do you mean, nope? You can’t refuse. I gave you an order.”
“You’re sure a great one for giving orders, aren’t you?”
“You listen to me, Mr. Stoner. This is my ranch, my land, my horses, and my saddles. I own them, and you work for me. When I tell you to saddle me a horse, I expect that horse to be saddled.”
“The Indians used to say a man couldn’t own the land. I’m not sure you can own a horse, either. If a horse trusts you and wants to work with you, he will. If he doesn’t, he won’t.”
“Then, Mr. Stoner, I’ll fire the horse just like I’m firing you.”
“Honey, when are you going to get it through that pretty head of yours, you can’t fire me?”
“Don’t call me honey and I certainly can fire you.”
“Don’t call me Mr. Stoner, and you can’t fire me because you need me, or I wouldn’t be here. And as soon as you quit acting like a spoiled little brat, and admit you’re scared spitless, we might get somewhere.”
“I am not afraid of horses.”
“I didn’t say you were. Most ranchers were born and raised to it. You don’t know a cow from a heifer. You’d be an idiot if you weren’t scared about pulling up stakes and bringing your little girl down here to start a new life. I’d be terrified if I had to walk into some