The Rancher Next Door. Cathy Gillen Thacker
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And probably harder than anything she had ever done before, Trevor thought. He wondered how long it would take her to give up and sell out, like every other dilettante who had a romantic instead of practical view of the ranching life. Hell’s afire.
Trevor exhaled in slow deliberation. “What makes you think she would listen to me?”
“Nothing, except you’re her age and well respected in the ranching community.”
“Are you sure your daughter is planning to work the property? Or just reap the financial rewards? After all, Miss Mim has never actually managed it. She’s leased it out to me, and other ranchers who needed extra land to run their herd.” Trevor wouldn’t have a problem with Rebecca living “next door” if she continued the lease.
Luke tapped his fingers on his desk. “If the risky financial dealings she’s concocted with that San Angelo bank go through—and I have to tell you, right now it looks as if they will—Rebecca plans to breed alpacas.”
“Alpacas!” Trevor echoed, gripping the arms of the chair. “She plans to raise alpacas in the middle of cattle country?”
“That’s what she says unless someone can convince her otherwise. Which is why—” Luke leaned across his desk and looked Trevor straight in the eye “—since you’re going to be living right next door to her, I’ve summoned you.”
REBECCA CARRIGAN was just turning the corner onto the street where her parents lived when she saw Trevor McCabe driving away.
“I don’t believe it,” she muttered to herself as she squinted against the brilliant April sun. She had warned her father not to try and run her social life—or lack thereof— the previous evening, or interfere in her new career. Obviously, he hadn’t listened.
Which left her two choices. Ignore what she had just witnessed, wait patiently for Trevor McCabe to make his move and then shut him down.
Or give chase and set him straight.
Always one to take charge when opportunity presented itself, she drove past the big turn-of-the-century Cape Cod she, her two sisters and brother had grown up in, and followed the dark green, extended cab pickup truck through the center of town to the feed store.
Trevor McCabe parked his vehicle in front of the store, and before she could do the same, disappeared inside.
No matter, Rebecca decided, sliding her small yellow pickup truck into the last slot. She’d just follow him in and ask him to step out.
Keys in hand, leather carryall slung over her shoulder, she marched through the doors of the cavernous warehouse.
It was as busy as usual. Stacked sacks of feed took up the majority of space. The rest was occupied by shelves containing various home-veterinary supplies.
Half a dozen ranchers and hired hands stood at the cash register. Another five or six strolled the aisles, mulling over choices. In the middle of the action stood Trevor McCabe.
As always, Rebecca found the sight of the thirty-year-old rancher a little intimidating. It wasn’t just that he was tall—he had to be six foot four—and buff in the way that men were who made their living through physical endeavor. It was the tough-but-smart aura he exuded, the cynical I-dare-you-to-try-and-put-something-over-on-me gleam in his hazel eyes. He’d had the same confidence back in high school, and it had only grown more daunting since. Not that she was going to let that stop her. Rebecca stepped right in front of him and tapped the toe of her boot on the cement floor. “Could I have a word with you?”
Trevor tipped the brim of his stone-colored hat away from his forehead and looked her up and down.
“Sure.” He started to take her elbow.
Rebecca backed away. Suddenly, the thought of having a private conversation with this very grown-up version of Trevor McCabe seemed risky as all get out.
“Actually, I’d rather talk here,” Rebecca said.
Trevor’s lips compressed. “I don’t discuss my private business in public.”
No surprise there, given the fact that he probably didn’t want everyone in town to know her father had just tried to convince him to make a play for her.
“Well, that’s too bad because here and now is the only way we’re ever going to converse.” All Rebecca wanted to do was set the record straight. Let him know she was definitely not interested in him—romantically or any other way, no matter how ruggedly appealing he had grown up to be.
Their eyes met and held. Electricity sparked between them with all the unpredictability and danger of a downed power line. Rebecca caught her breath, deliberately held it. And prayed and hoped she would get what she wanted from him—a promise he would never meddle in her life, at her father’s behest, or for any other reason. Independence mattered to Rebecca. She wanted Trevor—as well as everyone else in town—to respect and believe in her the way her family never had.
For a second, Trevor seemed tempted to hear her out but something—maybe it was the eyes of all the men in the feed store—had him doing otherwise.
“I don’t think so.” Trevor turned away.
Gosh darn it. What had her father said to him?
Unwilling to give up on this quest, Rebecca stepped closer. When he refused to acknowledge her, she tapped his arm. “I mean it, Trevor McCabe. You and I really need to talk.”
His bicep flexing enough to get her to immediately drop her hand, he swung toward her once again. He spoke, carefully enunciating each and every word. “As I said, I don’t think here and now is a good idea. I’d be glad to meet you later, however.”
Rebecca just bet he would.
The sexual heat in his eyes said he wouldn’t waste any time putting the moves on her.
She curled her fingers into a fist, to stop their tingling.
Noting he wasn’t going to budge on this, and that everyone in the building was definitely staring at the two of them, she felt her temper getting the better of her, and snapped, “Fine, have it your way. I’ll do all the talking.” Rebecca pointed a trigger finger at the center of his chest. “And you, cowboy, can listen.”
His brow arched. All conversation in the feed store had died.
Trevor had just dared her to go on.
Feeling the temperature between them rise, Rebecca propped both her hands on her hips. Perspiration gathered at her temples, on the back of her neck, in the hollow between her breasts. “I don’t care what my father said to you.” She paused to let the emphatic words hang in the air. “I am not—I repeat not—going to date you.”
He stepped in closer. Amusement glimmered in his eyes. “Is that so?”
Feeling as if she had picked the wrong man to humiliate, even if it had been by his choice, not hers, Rebecca angled her chin higher. “You can bet your cattle ranch, it is.”
Trevor rocked back on his heels, ran the flat of his palm beneath his jaw. “Well, that’s interesting.”
His rumbling drawl sent shivers over her skin. “Why?”
“Because I hadn’t planned to ask.”
Deep male chuckles surrounded them.
To her dismay, Rebecca felt her cheeks turn a self-conscious pink. “Then why did you even go and see my dad,” she asked, “if you weren’t willing to be part of his plan to get all of his daughters married off?”
A plan that Luke had told her started with her, since she was the daughter currently in so much “trouble.” Why did her father have a problem with her running a ranch anyway?
“If you want to know why I was talking to your dad this morning, ask him,” Trevor said.
“I’m