Chapter Three

      The cool morning air greeted Jesse as he stepped outside. A few more weeks would bring the onslaught of summer. The Hill Country’s steady breeze was a blessing throughout the warmer months, keeping the heat at a tolerable level. Still, Jesse liked to complete any form of hard labor before the noonday sun.

      Outside the foreman’s house, a panting tongue and a wagging tail greeted him and Jesse bent to scratch the dog behind the ears. Max had been his ranch hand for the past five years, essential in training the cutting horses for roundup. His four-legged pal was the only thing around here these days that didn’t cause him any aggravation.

      Speaking of aggravation.

      Jesse glanced toward the main house. Mable wouldn’t arrive for a few more hours. That meant he could spend some time with Miranda, showing her, firsthand, how hard ranch life truly was.

      Dinner the night before went well enough. Mable’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes and buttermilk gravy were delicious enough to make his toes curl. A home-cooked meal was one of the many things he missed after the Carters had died. Every now and then, Mable would stop by the ranch with a plate of food or his favorite, spicy chocolate-mince pie. She always thought about everyone else.

      Miranda didn’t seem to know what to make of the fried chicken at first. She picked at it, and then tasted a small piece. After that, there was no going back. She dove right in and devoured the golden breast. Even licking her fingers clean.

      Didn’t they serve real food in D.C.?

      She disappeared a few times to try to call someone from her cell phone. When her frustration got the best of her, she joined them on the front porch. The remainder of the evening, she devoted her full attention to Mable. Of course, she paid no mind to him whatsoever. It was as if he weren’t even there.

      Mable recounted the ranch’s history and told stories about some of Ramblewood’s quirkier residents. Like the time Karen Johnson woke to Charlie Slater’s prize mule braying in her bedroom window after it escaped its corral. Or when the old timers broke into the Ramblewood jail in the middle of the night and locked themselves in cells, with their horses, protesting the No Horses on Main Street law. The law was quickly reversed.

      While Miranda was leery of some things, she laughed until she cried at others. Jesse wasn’t sure if she believed half of what she heard. Nonetheless, she seemed to enjoy herself.

      Miranda did need a lesson or two about the ways of the residents in these parts. Mable informed him she was none too friendly toward the townsfolk at the grocery store. He could only assume the people in D.C. were not a welcoming lot, judging by her amazement at Mable alone. This, too, could work to his advantage.

      “Might as well wake up Little Miss Ray of Sunshine.” Max barked in agreement and ran up the porch stairs. Dawn was on the horizon and there were chores to do.

      Jesse bounded up the stairs and tried the knob. Locked. He peered through the window and made out a motionless sleeping bag. He could have given her one of the mattresses from the bunkhouse like Mable asked him to before she left. But it would have made things too easy on her. Heck, he already did her a favor by hiring Mable.

      You did yourself that favor, pal.

      He knocked on the door. Nothing.

      “Miranda!” he hollered. The sleeping bag stirred and then went still again. “Miranda!”

      Miranda shot upright and scanned the room. After she spotted Jesse, he saw she was none too thrilled to have him as her first vision of the day.

      She struggled with the zipper on the sleeping bag. Unable to open it, she hopped to her feet and slid the bag down around her ankles. When she attempted to step out of it, she tripped and fell to the floor.

      Jesse held his laughter as he watched Miranda kick the bag. She leaped to her feet and tried to gain what composure she had left. She limped to the door and opened it.

      “What time is it?” Miranda peered out on the porch. “It’s not even light out.”

      She wore yellow flannel boxer shorts and a white cotton T-shirt. Her hair was wild and skin free of any makeup. Her legs seemed endless and her shirt accentuated the rise and fall of her breasts.

      Miranda followed his gazed and folded her arms across her chest, feigning a shiver.

      Beautiful or not, if he was ever going to get her off the ranch he needed to work her to death. Once she had a good dose of daily life on Double Trouble, she would pack up and head home in no time.

      “Rise and shine, sugar.” Jesse took off his hat as he entered the kitchen. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

      The kitchen was spotless. Miranda had completely stripped the wax from the floor and reapplied a fresh coat. A coffeemaker and freestanding electric mixer replaced the boxes on the counter. She must have gone back to work when he and Mable left for the night.

      “Get dressed and we’ll head out.”

      Miranda faced him, bewildered. She shook her head, turned and went into the living room. For a moment, he thought she was about to lie down and go back to sleep. Instead, she grabbed a duffel bag from the floor, dragged some clothes out of it and headed to the bathroom without so much as a word.

      A few moments later, she emerged, freshly scrubbed and her hair tied up in a ponytail. When she put on a pair of old sneakers, Jesse tried to hide his amusement.

      “Yes, I know. I should have listened to you and worn different shoes yesterday. You don’t have to rub it in.”

      “I didn’t say a word.” Jesse grinned.

      “Your look says it all.” Miranda stood and smoothed her hands over her jeans. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

      “First, we need to turn the horses out,” Jesse said as he led her through the door. Max greeted her with a playful bark. “Then we need to do some maintenance on one of the stalls.”

      “Turn the horses out?” Miranda questioned over her shoulder, almost missing the first porch step.

      “Watch it.” Jesse caught her arm before she fell. “You certainly aren’t the most graceful of creatures are you?”

      “What do you mean ‘turn the horses out’?” she repeated, ignoring his insult.

      “I mean putting them in the pasture over there so they can graze and exercise. Grazing prevents colic. It’s something I need to teach you to watch for.”