His Kind Of Cowgirl. Karen Rock
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Shelton, Martin’s daughter. Claire, these are the reps I mentioned from Carne Incorporado.”
The middle-aged men, dressed in well-cut suits that looked oppressive given the balmy temperature, tipped their hats. Pressure built inside Claire. How to handle this?
The one with a thick moustache and large round glasses, Bill, grasped her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Nice country you got up here.”
She put on a smile that didn’t feel like one. “Thank you. Would you like some sweet tea? You must have had a long trip coming from—” Her voice trailed off. Her mind twisted until the place came to her. “Mexico City.”
“It was worth the drive,” the second man, Rick, replied. “We’ve been anxious to get up here since Tanner phoned.”
Rick shook her hand, his moist palm pressed briefly to hers. She itched to wipe it on her cut-off jean shorts but checked herself. Tried to exude professionalism despite her Daisy Duke outfit. Her eyes traveled down her soil-dusted black tank top and bare legs. Why hadn’t Tanner mentioned their arrival time?
“Tea would be nice. How about after we’ve toured the barns?” Bill pulled off his hat and waved it in front of his full, flushed face. “Something to look forward to while we talk business.”
“Business. Yes. About that.” Her chin jerked up. “I’m afraid our plans have changed and we’re not interested in expanding our buyers list at the moment. My apologies that this wasn’t communicated before your trip.”
Bill scratched his balding head. Looked puzzled. “We’ve been hearing about your top stud, Revelation. Would be a pleasure to take a look at him while we’re here.”
“He’s the biggest!” piped up Jonathan. He’d crept up behind them and ducked behind Claire’s back.
Rick smiled down at her boy. “That’s what we’ve heard. If he looks half as good as he does on paper, we’re hoping to put in an offer on him.”
Jonathan pulled at Claire’s shirt. “We’re not selling Revelation, are we?” he whispered.
Her fingers ruffled his soft reddish-brown curls. “No, sweetie.” All of the livestock would transfer to Mr. Ruddell when they sold him the ranch.
Tanner shot her an unreadable look, then stepped forward. “We’ll be happy to show Revelation to you. Follow me.” Without a backward glance, he unlatched a gate and ushered the men inside the grassy pasture that butted against red, pitched-roof barns.
Claire heard an angry buzzing, as if a wasp had gotten trapped between her ears. How dare he.
A tug at her arm stopped her from scrambling after the group. “Can I go?”
“You know the rule about the barns, Jonathan.”
“Yeah. You said I can’t go without a grown-up. So if I’m with you, I can come.” He peered up at her. “Right?”
Claire glanced between the disappearing men and her mutinous son. He had a point...and how rarely he asked for anything lately...still. She needed to focus on stopping Tanner’s business deal and couldn’t do that while keeping a close eye on Jonathan. She didn’t like him to be around large animals, even when they were restrained.
“Another time, honey. How about we make cookies when I get back?”
His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Is this a bribe?”
“Yep.”
A grin replaced his pout. “It’s a deal...if we make the kind we don’t bake. You know. With the peanut butter?”
She tickled his side. “You got it.”
“I’ll get the ingredients!” he yelled and a wistful smile crossed her face as she watched him bolt to the house. What she wouldn’t do to protect him...
“Love you,” she called after Jonathan when he bounded up the porch steps, Roxy hot on his heels.
“I know!” he called over his shoulder and disappeared into the house.
“Don’t let Roxy lick the peanut butter jar!”
Her father stood in the doorway, his firm gaze fixed on her. She didn’t have to hear him to know his thoughts. He wanted her cooperation. Her back starched. Well. That wasn’t an option. Nevertheless, her heart softened at his determined expression. He wanted the best for her, even if he was misguided. She blew him a small kiss before turning and striding after the group.
Time to shut Tanner down.
* * *
SUN SPILLED THROUGH the open windows, lighting the cavernous space housing their sire population. Stalls, sixty Tanner had counted, stretched from one, double-sized door to the other, and the sweet aroma of fresh hay mingled with the pungent dung and pelt smell of large animals. Charlie O’Dell, a hired hand headed to veterinary school in the fall, gave a short wave before he continued preparing the show cattle’s feed mix. Overhead, embedded circular fans whirred near the high ceiling.
Several gray Brahmans raised their heads as Tanner ushered in the Carne reps. Others continued feeding or drinking from the troughs in front of their stalls as they waited their turn to rotate into pasture, their drooping ears and large eyes giving them a docile appearance that matched their obedient nature. A good selling point for the seed stock.
“Denton Creek is a CSS Certified facility.” Tanner gestured to a framed document on a far wall above a hand-built desk holding an old-school rotary phone and a yellowed records book. He strolled down the walkway between the stalls, taking his time, giving these all-important buyers a good look at what he assessed to be prime studs. Revelation wasn’t the only bull he wanted Carne to purchase.
His head shot around when the barn door opened and Claire appeared, her face as stiff as cardboard. He waited for her to join them before resuming his talk.
“Denton Creek’s purebred Brahman herd consists of two hundred breeding-age females and sixty bulls with a large emphasis on embryo transfer. It’s primarily a closed herd, with focus on linebreeding exceptional cow families since 1944.”
“1944?” Rick stopped to examine Lucky Luke, one of their top sires, according to records. The majestic bull raised its head and stared them down, pendulous throatlatch and dewlap swinging. Rick ran his hand along the animal’s large hump, over the top of its shoulder and neck.
“We’re one of the oldest continually operating Brahman herds in existence in the United States,” Claire inserted. At her proud tone, longing seized Tanner. Here was the fierce woman he’d once loved... Fearless. Strong-willed. Undaunted. Infuriatingly resistant when it came to him...
He gave himself a tiny shake. He’d come to help Martin, not make amends with Claire, no matter how much she felt like an electric presence beside him, her arm brushing his. If anything, she’d grown more cautious than when they’d parted. Not exactly relationship material for a professional bull rider.
Your career can’t last forever.
The doctor’s warning returned to him, but Tanner shoved it aside. He’d figure out next steps, like the rodeo school, later. For now, he had to clinch his first deal for Martin. Prove to his old mentor he’d been right to entrust this job to Tanner.
“Lots of muscular tissue covering the processes,” murmured Rick before he backed away from the side-stepping bull.
Tanner nodded. “Denton Creek cattle are known for their conformation, muscle, fertility, breed character, carcass traits, efficiency and that signature eye-appealing style.”
They continued down the causeway, Rick and Tanner in front, and Bill and Claire following. “We only sell to southern and southwestern states,” she put in. “An international partnership would be out of our experience.”
Tanner turned to stare at her and her gaze turned flinty. Why was she so bent on crushing this opportunity?