Under His Protection. Linda Turner
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back to the matter at hand.
The afternoon flew by, and without quite knowing how it happened, she heard the grandfather clock in the hall strike five. Pleased, she hurriedly printed out the info she’d spent the day collecting so that she could study it later, then headed for the kitchen. She hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, and she was starving.
The refrigerator was overflowing with the barbecue leftover from the reception, and she would have sworn the only thought in her head was eating. Then she heard John’s truck in the back drive. In the time it took to draw in a quick breath, she realized that she’d been listening for him all afternoon. Before she could stop herself, she stepped over to the window that sat above the kitchen’s deep, old-fashioned cast-iron sinks and looked out.
Although she didn’t move, didn’t wave, didn’t do anything to draw attention to herself as he pulled up next to the barn and parked, somehow he must have sensed he was being watched. He glanced toward the house suddenly, and in the gathering twilight, their eyes locked.
Time jarred to a sudden stop. How long they stood there, staring at each other across the homestead compound, she couldn’t have said. Then he nodded mockingly and strode over to the small cabin where he lived at the edge of the compound. It wasn’t until he disappeared inside that Elizabeth realized he’d stolen the air right out of her lungs.
How, she wondered shakily, was she supposed to ignore a man who could do that to her without coming anywhere near her?
That was a question that plagued her the rest of the evening. Regardless of how hard she tried to dismiss him from her thoughts, knowing that he was now just across the compound, within calling distance, changed everything. She decided to have just a salad for dinner and found herself wondering what he was having. Did he watch television in the evenings? Or work? When did he take a shower—
Frustrated and thoroughly disgusted with herself, she ate only half her salad, then spent the next two hours going over the info she’d collected on the Internet. When she finally went to bed at ten, she was exhausted. She still hadn’t adjusted to the time change and could hardly keep her eyes open.
Her night, however, was far from restful. She dreamed of Buck and Rainey and the love everyone at the wedding could feel…John and the challenge in his eyes when he told her she wasn’t his boss…a faceless enemy hiding in the shadows, waiting to reach out and grab her, hurt her—
Coming awake abruptly, her heart slamming against her ribs, she glanced at the clock on the night-stand and groaned in the darkness. Four o’clock. She had to turn her brain off! But when she punched her pillow into a more comfortable position and drifted back to sleep, the images that filled her dreams tugged her back to wakefulness again and again. By the time the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, she was exhausted. With a groan, she gave up and rolled out of bed.
Two hours later, after a shower and a pot of tea, her eyes were finally open. After all the research she’d done last night, she’d planned to check out locations for her shop, but she hesitated at the thought of driving. She could use the ranch pickup, but she hadn’t even tried driving in America yet, and today wasn’t a good day to start. She was tired and far from alert, and just the thought of getting behind the wheel and driving on the wrong side of the road set her heart pounding. She’d go another day, she assured herself. Today, she’d stick around the house and take it easy.
But doing nothing all day just wasn’t in her DNA. By ten o’clock in the morning, the silence of the house was closing in on her and she was going crazy. In desperation, she stepped outside and found herself wishing for the garden she had back home.
So plant one, a voice in her head retorted. There’s a perfect spot for a rose garden right outside the breakfast room. You can enjoy it every morning while you’re having breakfast.
Delighted with the idea, she inspected the area and decided that it would work nicely. She would ask John to clear away the grass, then drive her into town for the rosebushes she would need. With the right tools, she could plant them herself.
Pleased that she’d come up with a way to leave her mark on the ranch, she went looking for John and found him in the barn, cleaning out the hayloft. In the dusty, late-morning light, the man looked as if he belonged on a calendar. She took one look at him and wanted to touch.
Heat climbing into her cheeks, she felt at a distinct disadvantage as she frowned up at him. “Can you stop for a moment? I need to talk to you.”
Stepping over to the edge of the loft, he lifted a dark brow at her. “So talk.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you’re going to work here, Mr. Cassidy, I would appreciate some measure of respect.”
Not the least impressed with the threat, he only grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Anything you say, ma’am. Is there anything else, ma’am?”
“Yes,” she snapped, her blue eyes shooting daggers at him. “I need the small plot of land by the breakfast room cleared so I can plant a rose garden. Then you can drive me into town so I can buy the roses.”
“No problem. How does Friday morning sound?”
“Friday!”
“I’m busy,” he retorted. “I’ve got some time Friday morning.”
If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead right there on the spot. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. I’m not waiting until Friday. I want to get this done today.”
Even as the words were coming out of her mouth, she realized that she sounded like a spoiled brat. Mortified, she wanted to kick herself, but there was something about John, about the way he looked at her, challenged her, that rubbed her the wrong way. And he knew it. She could see the glint in his eye. He knew how to push her buttons with nothing more than a quirk of his brow, and he loved it!
Not the least impressed with the fact that she was pulling rank, he just looked at her. “Sorry, sweetheart, but if you want a rose garden put in today, then you’re doing it yourself. I’m not a gardener, I’m a foreman in charge of a one-man operation while your brother’s gone, and I’ve got work to do.”
“Yes, you do,” she retorted, cringing at her inability to shut her mouth. “You have some ground to clear for my garden.”
“Fat chance,” he replied, sobering. “And before you remind me that you’re my boss, let me tell you a thing or two, Miss High and Mighty. When you know something about ranching and what it takes to run a ranch, we’ll talk about whether you’re my boss or not. You don’t know how to ride a horse, rope, repair a fence. Hell, I bet you can’t even collect eggs from the chicken coop, let alone make homemade biscuits. If you’re going to be a woman rancher, you need to at least know how to feed your ranch hands.”
Indignant, she snapped, “I’ll have you know, I can make biscuits! And as for collecting eggs, any six-year-old can do that.”
“Really? Then why haven’t you? The chicken coop’s on the south side of the barn…or hadn’t you noticed?”
Not missing the challenging glint in his eyes, she should have told him to go kiss a duck, she didn’t have to prove herself to him. But she was afraid he would accuse her of being afraid, and he would have been right. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d been afraid of chickens and horses, and she didn’t even know why. She just knew she wanted no part of either.
Her pride, however, wouldn’t let her admit that. Chiding herself for being so easily manipulated, she turned on her heel and headed for the chicken coop. And with every step she took, the fear that was lodged deep in her throat grew thicker and thicker.
Behind her, she never saw John scramble down the hayloft ladder…or the grin of admiration that tugged at his mouth as he followed her. Two steps behind her, his gaze trained on her slim back, he had to admit that the lady had a way about her.
He’d never seen a woman less eager to deal with a chicken. The second she reached the door to the chicken coop, she stopped dead in her tracks. Fighting