Familiar Showdown. Caroline Burnes
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but Stephanie hadn’t believed her. At least not one hundred percent.
“I’ll never be able to get that smell out of my truck,” Casper said angrily.
“I’m sorry, Rupert. As I told you, I don’t have any cats. Maybe it happened somewhere else and you—”
“If I see that black son of a—he’s dead.”
Stephanie shrugged. “I don’t know what to say.”
Casper got into the truck and slammed the door as hard as he could. He swung wide and made a U-turn in the middle of her yard. She watched him drive away.
She was still standing there when the cat sauntered out from behind a watering trough. He rubbed against her legs and purred.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” she asked, bending to stroke him. There was something special about Familiar, something uncanny.
“Me-ow.” He looked up at her and slowly nodded his head.
“Holy cow,” she said, kneeling so that she could scratch under his chin. “Eleanor wasn’t kidding.” She picked him up and kissed him. “And I’m proud of you. But we’d both better stay out of Rupert Casper’s way as much as we can.”
Chapter Two
Black Jack entered his stall willingly enough and even allowed Johnny to remove his halter. He stood docile and well-mannered until Johnny stepped out of the stall and started to close the door. Then he lunged. But Johnny was ready for him. He’d seen horses like Black Jack before.
And he knew what often happened to them. They paid with their lives for the mistreatment they’d received.
“You’ve got a chance here, boy,” he said softly. “That woman out there wants to help you. Me, too. But the hard work is going to be up to you. If you don’t come around…” He hung the halter on a peg outside the stall door and went to get Tex out of the trailer.
He examined the cut on Tex’s leg, hosed it down, re-wrapped it and put the gelding out to graze in the small paddock that adjoined his stall. All the while he kept glancing toward the ranch house, hoping to see Stephanie headed his way.
From the gossip he’d heard about her in the small town, he’d expected her to be beautiful. As best he could tell, that was one of the many problems she faced. Folks didn’t understand a beautiful woman moving out on an isolated ranch alone. It went against the norm and had added fuel to the fire of speculation.
In the two days he’d spent in Custer, South Dakota, before coming out to the ranch, he’d heard all kinds of rumors about her, everything from her practicing black magic to being some kind of felon hiding from the law.
None of that was true. That much he knew for certain. She was a strong woman who’d refused to give up on her dream even after suffering a terrible loss. But folks in town didn’t know that. Obviously, Stephanie didn’t feel the need to talk about her personal business, and thank goodness for that.
The townsfolk didn’t know anything about her past or the hardships she’d been through. But he did. It was her past that had brought him to Running Horse Ranch.
He felt a painful jab in his hamstring and whipped around to find the black cat digging his claws into his legs.
“Hey!” He tried to step away, but the cat stayed with him. “Let go!”
Familiar released his claws and sat down, his gaze steady. Johnny laughed uneasily. It was almost as if the cat had read his thoughts. While he had a healthy respect for the intuitive abilities of all creatures, he didn’t believe a cat could read minds. At least he hoped not. Because what he’d come to Custer to do required deception.
While the rodeo story he’d told Stephanie was true, it was a long, long way from the whole truth.
Footsteps thudded in the barn and he latched the door to Tex’s paddock, then turned to meet Stephanie. She was a tall, willowy silhouette in the barn door, and he felt again the pounding attraction.
“Is your horse okay?” she asked, walking to the stall door and leaning against it as she appraised Tex.
“He’s healing. He hung his leg in a gate.”
“Looks like you know your way around a bandage.”
Johnny nodded. “You work around stock, you have a lot of opportunities to learn first aid.”
“Where have you worked?” she asked.
Her dark gaze settled on him, and he knew she was nobody’s fool. He had to be careful, because Stephanie was the kind of woman who checked things out.
“Most recently, I was over in Rapid City. The Big Bar Ranch, Mr. Linton. Before that, I handled the stock at the Missoula rodeo for Gateman Ames. Both of those men will give me a good reference. I didn’t have any problems on the job.”
She nodded. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.”
After what she’d been through, he didn’t blame her.
“I’m ready to fix that fence,” he said. “Where are your tools?”
“In the shed. Should be everything you need.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” He felt her gaze as he walked out into the sunshine and on toward the toolshed.
THE STEW MEAT SIMMERED on low heat, and Stephanie raked the carrots into the pot. While she had no intention of becoming a cook for the hired hand, she was also a realist. There wasn’t a burger joint or café within fifty miles of Running Horse Ranch. The ranch was nestled in a shallow valley at the foot of the Black Hills. The closest town was a long way off, and cell phone reception and even the satellite for her computer were highly unreliable. If Johnny Kreel was going to eat, someone at Running Horse Ranch was going to have to cook.
While she might get by with a peanut butter sandwich, she couldn’t expect Johnny Kreel to go without a decent meal.
She could hear the sound of the skill saw and then the solid thwack of a hammer against a nail as he repaired the fence. He was a fast worker. A hard worker. And she’d spent more time than she should staring out the kitchen window, watching him. A competent man at work was a pleasure to observe. Especially one who looked like Johnny.
He was handsome in a rugged way, and if she’d been in the market for romance, he’d certainly fit the bill—dark-brown hair with a slight curl, hazel eyes that shifted between gray and green, dimples, a hint of a five o’clock shadow. He certainly looked good in his cowboy shirt, and he moved with grace and economy.
The way he’d handled Black Jack intrigued her. Why had the horse responded so quickly to him when she’d worked for the past fourteen days—seemingly in vain—to build trust with the stallion?
That more than anything else captured her imagination. Horses were normally good judges of character. They didn’t trust all humans, but Black Jack had trusted Johnny. Could she trust him? That remained to be seen.
While she pondered the mysteries of Johnny Kreel, she chopped the onions and potatoes and added them to the bubbling stew. It wasn’t a fancy meal, but it would be filling.
She turned the stove down and picked up her cell phone. Luck was with her—she had reception. Within ten minutes, she’d spoken with Mr. Linton at Big Bar Ranch and Mr. Ames in Missoula. Both gave Johnny high marks as an employee and both said they hated to lose him, but that he’d been a man who kept moving. It was the cowboy way.
She hung up the phone and returned to the window. Johnny had finished the fence and was gathering up the tools. What kept a man on the move? In the days of the old West, it wasn’t uncommon for a cowpoke to drift from ranch to ranch, working the seasons of calving, branding and driving to market. But those days were gone.
Even cowboys needed regular pay, a place to live and insurance.
So