Bachelor Cowboy. Roxann Delaney
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at the truck’s door.
“Did my driver quit?” he asked, wondering what had become of the headstrong redhead.
Aggie stared straight ahead, her voice filled with vinegar. “Kate had some errands to take care of. I can drive this old truck.”
Dusty tipped his hat back to get a good look at her and grinned. “’Course you can. Any reason why you don’t do it full-time?”
She turned her head and looked him over, her eyebrows raised over snapping blue eyes. “Maybe because I don’t like doing it?”
“If you say so.” He didn’t believe her excuse for a minute. Aggie had the same love of land and farming he sensed in her redheaded niece.
Aggie’s stubborn expression turned to one of disgust. “Bad knee,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice.
Dusty only nodded.
“I can drive some,” she hurried on. “But I can’t take a full day of it. Working the brake and the clutch is more than I can take after a while. If I do it for too long, I can’t walk the next day, my knee gets to aching me so bad.”
He could relate. His body had taken plenty of abuse riding bulls. “Understandable. I have my own aches and pains.”
“Dinner should be ready by the time I get back from the elevator. Keep an eye out for Trish so you’ll know when to quit.”
He noticed the combine bin had nearly finished emptying, so he moved away. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Thought you might be.” Aggie chuckled, but her mouth settled in a tight line when she started the truck.
He watched her drive away, bumping along the rough road, and then he climbed back into the combine cab to set the machine in motion again. Folks around Desperation admired the woman. She might be the brunt of jokes about her unmarried state, but Agatha Clayborne was a woman people respected. He was hard-pressed not to agree. And she’d raised a niece who had caught him off guard and had him wondering what the next few weeks might bring.
Chapter Two
The aroma of freshly fried chicken hit Dusty like a sledgehammer when he stepped onto the porch. He’d seen Trish waving to him from the edge of the field and had forced himself not to rush his last round.
Inside, Trish was crossing the room with a heaping bowl of buttery mashed potatoes in her hands. Having been raised a gentleman, Dusty hurried over to lend a hand.
“Let me help.” He took the hot bowl from her and quickly dumped it on the table, wishing he’d thought to take the oven mitts, too.
Laughter rippled from behind him. “She keeps it warming in the oven until we’re ready,” he heard Kate say.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Kate took the same chair she’d had that morning. “Go ahead and clean up at the sink, and we’ll get started. We don’t wait on ceremony during harvest.”
After washing and drying his hands, Dusty planted himself in the chair he’d sat in at breakfast, next to her. “Aggie should be back any minute unless there’s a long line at the elevator.”
“We can warm things up if there is,” Trish said.
The platter of chicken Kate passed him drove any thought of work from his mind. He hadn’t seen chicken so perfectly done since he was a kid.
Choosing a golden-brown thigh from the platter, he took a bite, and the chicken seemed to melt the instant he wrapped his mouth around it.
Before he could swallow and remark on it, the back door banged open, and Aggie entered, heading for the sink. “Those brakes feel kind of mushy to me,” she announced, quickly washing her hands.
“I’ll take a look at the brake fluid,” Kate answered. “I need to remember to do the same with the old tractor. I noticed last fall that the brakes were kind of soft.”
Dusty slid a glance at her, and his pulse picked up. But now wasn’t the time, and he concentrated on the meal while the others discussed Trish’s wedding plans and other womanly things that held no interest for him.
When he’d finished eating, the urge to kick back and enjoy the contentment of a more than satisfying meal was cut short by the need to get the work done. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had better fried chicken,” he said.
Beside him, Kate’s chair scraped on the tile floor. “I’ll get those brakes checked,” she announced and jumped to her feet.
Dusty heard the door swing open and slam shut behind him. He looked from Aggie’s pinched face to Trish’s astounded one. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” Aggie replied. “She just doesn’t like people making a big to-do over her cooking or seeing the rest of us enjoying our meals too much when there’s work to be done.” She turned to Trish. “Let’s get the table cleared before the heat settles in for the day.”
Sensing he’d better get moving, Dusty grabbed his hat and strode to the door, eager to get back to work, too.
“Dusty,” Aggie called when he pushed open the door. “See to it that Kate checks that brake fluid.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A backward glance at the plate Aggie was picking up told him Kate hadn’t bothered to finish her dinner. While he was at it, he planned to find out what burr had gotten under her saddle and sent her scurrying.
He found her headfirst under the hood of the big truck, her feet off the ground, and the bottom half of her the only thing in view. And what a view! When he walked up behind her, his fingers itched to place themselves on her enticingly displayed backside, but he fought it.
He stopped less than a foot from her, still admiring her shapely bottom. “Need some help?”
Kate jerked upward and narrowly missed hitting her head on the hood. Sliding to the ground, she turned to face him, a belligerent tilt to her chin. “Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?”
“No more than you did with that gun this morning,” he reminded her. Her bright blue eyes sparked with green lights of fire under delicately arched brows. They stood staring at each other until his gaze dropped to a pair of lips so set in a frown, his only thought was to kiss them into a soft smile.
Slapping her hands on the same set of hips he’d been admiring from behind moments before, she snapped him out of his dream and growled. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothin’.” He knew he had a grin on his face, but there was no way he could stop it. Not with the irresistible picture she made.
“Then let’s get this wheat cut.”
She turned to walk away, but he sidestepped and blocked her path. He pretended to look at the engine, crowding her, and caught the scent of spring rain, tempting him to take a deeper breath. Inhaling, he found he preferred it to even the aroma of the fried chicken they’d just finished and wondered what perfume she wore that could smell so good.
“Did you get that brake fluid in?” he managed to ask.
After hesitating, she moved away from him. “Of course I did. I know what I’m doing.”
He turned slowly, gazing down into the deep blue pools of her eyes. When he spoke, his words were a husky whisper. “Do you?”
Kate opened her mouth, but immediately clamped it shut and spun on her heel. He watched her climb up on the bumper of the truck and struggle to reach for the hood. His gaze never leaving her lithe body, he moved next to her and pulled the hood down to within her reach. Without looking at him, she slammed it shut. He stood his ground while she walked around him and opened the door, nearly hitting him with it. Climbing into the truck, she gunned the engine.
“Let’s get to it, McPherson,” she said. She popped the