Temporarily Texan. Victoria Chancellor
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goat cheese.”
She watched his smile fade. “Oh. Like I said, it smells…great.”
“It tastes great, too. Come on, be adventurous.”
“I’ve eaten goat cheese before. It’s just not my favorite. Give me a good sharp cheddar every time.”
“I brought this all the way from New Hampshire. I make it on my farm.”
“Okay, but it’s still from goats.”
She rolled her eyes and didn’t try to convince him that her goats produced the best milk, and consequently the best cheese, around.
He washed his hands at the sink while Raven watched his back. His wide shoulders and the muscles along his spine moved beneath the soft shirt, making her wonder what he’d look like without it. Which made her angry at herself for getting distracted by a tight body.
“You’re being awfully nice, cooking breakfast for me,” he commented, his back still to her as he dried his hands.
“I’m a nice person.”
“Even to cattlemen?” he asked as he turned around.
“I’m trying to be, but I’m not going to give up on changing your mind—on changing everyone’s mind—that eating meat is both bad for you and for the animals it destroys.”
“That fact is debatable.”
“Not by me.”
He sat at the table and picked up his fork, looking at the scrambled eggs as if they might suddenly jump up and run off the plate.
“You might as well taste them. The eggs have already sacrificed themselves for your breakfast.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! These aren’t fertilized eggs. We don’t even have a rooster.”
“It was a joke. Not a very good one, I suppose.”
“Joking about food is obviously not your talent. You do, however, make a good cup of coffee.”
“Why, thank you.”
He took a small bite, chewed, swallowed. Raven watched his jaw and throat move, watched the way the eggs slipped past his well-sculpted lips. She’d never thought eating scrambled eggs could be sexy, but apparently Troy Crawford accomplished that task with little effort.
“Not bad. The goat cheese is a little strong.”
“It has a different flavor to cow’s-milk cheese.”
“Hmm,” he replied, taking a bite of toast. He chewed, swallowed again, then said, “This is pretty tasty.”
“If you eat eggs, milk products, nuts and beans, you can get enough protein.”
“You’re beginning to sound like a vegetarian commercial.”
“It’s what I believe.”
“And I believe that ranching is an important industry in this state. In this country, for that matter.”
“There are other, better uses for land. Some studies show that production of cattle consumes more resources than it generates.”
“You can always find a study to support any theory.”
“Doesn’t it bother you at all?”
“No.”
“But what about those calves? They’re just babies—”
“I knew it! You’re trying to save them.”
She took in a deep breath and brought her chin up. “I’ll save any animal that I can.”
He walked over to the old percolator, refilled his coffee and raised his mug to her. “I’ll consider myself warned.” With that, he started to walk out of the kitchen.
“What are you doing now?”
“I’m going to finish my toast in peace, then e-mail my brother in Afghanistan that instead of the cattle expert he wanted, we’re housing an animal-rights activist who intends to save his cattle from their cruel fate.”
“I’m not an animal-rights activist! I’m a farmer who happens to love animals for something other than food.”
“Right. That will make Cal feel so much better.”
She didn’t want to irritate Troy’s brother while he was away serving in the military, even if he was a cattle rancher in civilian life. “Perhaps you shouldn’t make your brother feel as if his ranch is being taken over by PETA.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. And believe me, you’re not taking over.”
He was right, Raven admitted to herself as he strode into the office and shut the door. She was simply a guest until she found out where she was supposed to be or until Troy Crawford got tired of her opinions and tossed her out. Either way, she’d better come up with a plan.
AFTER USING TROY’S PHONE to call home and check on her animals, Raven took a shower, dressed in a calico skirt and peasant blouse, laced up her canvas sandals and drove into town. Pickles puttered along the two-lane road with predictable coughing on some of the turns. After driving just long enough to wonder if she was lost, Raven came across the town-limits sign, and then in another minute or so, Brody’s Crossing itself. She slowed down to the thirty-mile-an-hour speed limit as she passed a few run-down businesses and small homes, then a neat brick police station. She stopped on the corner at a flashing red light, right next to a bank that looked as if it could have been robbed by Bonnie and Clyde. On the other corners were a drugstore, a café and the town offices.
She drove around the two blocks that made up the downtown, seeing some thriving businesses, such as the beauty shop and café, and some that had obviously been vacant for a long time, like a dress shop and a furniture store. And, near the train tracks, a boarded-up hotel that at one time had probably been very nice.
She drove past some tidy frame houses with gardens out front and picket fences defining the sides and backyards. Then the houses became fewer and the yards bigger, until she was once again in the country. Only a few mobile homes dotted the landscape now, and as Raven pulled off the road to turn around, she had to admit that finding a place to stay in Brody’s Crossing wasn’t going to be easy. If she was staying in town, which she wouldn’t know until she talked to the heritage garden society.
The guest room at the Crawford ranch wasn’t luxurious, but it was available. And free. And there was one perk that couldn’t be duplicated even if she found a room for rent—Troy Crawford’s very distracting body.
TROY STILL DIDN’T HAVE A reply from Cal, so he shut down the computer and leaned back in the desk chair. His brother must be out on patrol or whatever they did during the day now. He tried not to think about how risky life could be in Afghanistan or he’d fret all the time about Cal, who really hadn’t expected to be called up or to be put in danger.
And Troy also had to worry about Raven, at least for a few more days. He didn’t believe she’d do anything to sabotage the herd, but he knew she wanted to “save” them. Couldn’t she understand that those Herefords were bred to be beef cattle and nothing else? That they were well treated, fed, wormed, and kept safe inside those fences that needed constant maintenance?
No, apparently she couldn’t. And he didn’t know how to get her off her soapbox about animal rights. All he wanted to do was look after this hopelessly antiquated ranch for his brother. Cal needed to have a place to come home to, not an eviction notice from the bank.
And Troy needed to know that he’d been the one to salvage the family ranch. Him. Not his father or his brother, but him. And if that was self-serving or arrogant or whatever, he’d just live with it. The old tried-and-true ranching practices were out of date. Maybe the association sending the wrong person was a sign that the time to act was now.
He pushed up from the chair.