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“Carter, can you show me again how to hold the rope?” a woman with a shrill voice and overpowering perfume asked.
“I think you’ve got it,” he said, his gaze returning toward the barn where Allie wrestled with the bales.
He hadn’t expected she’d move them alone. Had assumed she’d simply flash that gorgeous smile and one of the wranglers would leap out of his boots hurrying to take over the job. Obviously all the boys were gone, either leading riders on the trail or demonstrating how to work cattle out on the range. He’d prefer that sort of job rather than being stuck on the ground giving lessons. Already his patience with greenhorns, never in big supply, was quickly eroding.
It was far more enjoyable to ignore the guests and watch Allie, especially when she wouldn’t notice. She was definitely an eyeful. When she bent over the bales, her ass was clearly defined with two rounded cheeks sticking in the air. It wasn’t that her jeans were tighter than the other women’s; they just fit differently. No doubt she spent every dollar of her paycheck on designer jeans and sexy purple shirts that would unravel if faced with any real work.
She was too refined to even push a wheelbarrow. He’d pointed it out to her in case she hadn’t noticed it parked by the wall. No doubt any sort of physical labor was beneath her. When he first arrived at the ranch, he’d thought she was some sort of guest greeter. Then he saw her encouraging some white-haired seniors to splash around in the pool and hours later he’d heard her admonishing two brats for cannon-balling their baby brother. Lifeguard, he’d thought. But when he overheard her in the office, talking on the phone to some advertiser, it seemed publicity might be her thing. He’d asked another wrangler, subtly of course, what Allie’s job was.
“Whatever Boss wants, I guess.” But then the guy had winked and gone on to say that the best chance to chat her up was in the dance hall at the end of the night because Allie didn’t get up until mid-morning. And that only confirmed Carter’s initial impression, that she was the ranch eye candy, just like the requisite rodeo beauties.
“Carter, will you help me again?” a teenager with a whiny voice asked. He thought Allie had called her AnneMarie, but he didn’t see the sense in remembering all their names. He did recall she was the guest who had snickered at Allie, and that annoyed him too.
“In a minute,” he said, his gaze still on Allie. She was surprisingly strong, despite her centerfold attributes, managing to carry two bales at a time. But it looked awkward and she didn’t have gloves. It was a certainty the twine was rubbing her pampered skin.
Muttering under his breath, he left the arena and stalked toward the barn, accepting he couldn’t stand back and watch her struggle. That wouldn’t sit well on his conscience. He’d been four years old when his father had placed a cowboy hat on his head and said that wearing it meant he needed to follow a higher code, one that included looking after family, animals and the weaker sex. He’d gone on to learn that some women were tough as nails, especially the competitors on the rodeo circuit. But Allie was far removed from those fearless ladies.
He reached her side and wordlessly scooped the two bales from her hands. Her head jerked up, her beautiful eyes widening. Her surprise needled him, just like everything about her. Did she think he was such an asshole that he’d stand back and watch her struggle?
“Wouldn’t want you to break a nail,” he said, regretting the words as soon they were spoken.
“Oh?” She arched a shapely eyebrow. “I thought that’s exactly what you wanted.”
Her perception surprised him. He had wanted to make her uncomfortable, the way he always felt whenever he glanced inside the dance hall, where she enthralled everyone with her infectious smile and sexy wiggle of those hips. Or when he peeked over the pool fence and caught her luscious body in a formfitting swimsuit. When he’d felt nothing but a bolt of lust, reducing him to the lovesick status of every other red-blooded male on the property.
It was a certainty she never had to carry anything heavier than her phone. Indeed, Sharon Barrett might be the boss of the ranch but Allie was the queen. Everybody within her orbit rushed to fulfill her wish. Not surprising, considering her golden blond hair, that inviting pink mouth, and those damnable jeans. She was every cowboy’s wet dream... Almost everyone’s. Not his.
He knew her type from the first day he arrived. When she’d carried a cake to the dining table, smiling like she’d baked it herself. With her perfect hair and makeup, she was more suited to jump out of the cake. He thought he’d escaped fluffy women when he left the circuit. But now, simply because he hadn’t added his name to her long list of admirers, she was causing him trouble.
He resented the demeaning way she called him Mr. July, how she was so quick to sic the guests on him, as she had last night. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like people. He simply wasn’t one for small talk, preferring a few comfortable friends to scores of superficial ones, the same way he preferred his well-worn saddle to the gaudy silver-trimmed ones he’d won in competitions. Genetics had favored him with good bone structure and athletic ability, but he wasn’t so naïve as to think the fawning women actually cared.
He’d been honest with Sharon Barrett. He wasn’t coming to the Mustang River Ranch to humor guests or to babysit rich kids, and the deal was that he’d be given a tryout on Man Tracker. He’d earned the opportunity because of his rodeo success and while that had apparently sold some calendars, fame was fleeting. Cementing a position before next year’s round of cowboys arrived was crucial. And though he didn’t mind teaching a few roping classes, Allie’s maneuvers weren’t making life easy. This might be a game to her. It wasn’t to him.
He tightened his hands around the bales. She was still looking at him, that mouth parted in a teasing smile and damn if it didn’t muddle his thoughts. But women like her were trouble. Sweet and sexy on the outside, but like cotton candy, they had no substance. They disappeared when the going turned tough. But they weren’t in the dance hall now. She was a fish out of water here. Worse, she could get hurt.
“Look,” he said, dragging his eyes off her mouth and back to her eyes. “We both know you don’t belong here. Why don’t you call Sharon. Just tell her I don’t need you.”
“I already told her that.” Allie sighed as if she were being forced to do something she didn’t want to do, and for a moment, he felt a reluctant kinship. But then she wrinkled her nose. “Sharon wants me to stay though. Keep the eager women off you.”
It shouldn’t have bothered him that she seemed puzzled why anyone would want to get close to him. But it did.
“All right,” he said, half embarrassed, half irritated. “But you’re going to have to act more interested.”
“In you?” Her question was so matter-of-fact, it was obvious she was accustomed to following Sharon’s every order, humoring guests and faking feelings. That was another thing he despised about Allie’s type. They could make a man think they were half in love, when they were really playing him like a puppet.
“In the lessons,” he snapped. “No more yawning. And I’m not going to go easy on you.”
“Hey, I’m the only one lugging hay bales. And I’m not complaining.” She gave an airy wave of her hand. But all he saw were her pretty painted nails and how a red welt marked her palm. It made him feel bad, like he’d mistreated Bambi. And the morning had barely started.
“You shouldn’t have been too proud to push a wheelbarrow,” he said, still eyeing the welt on her hand.
“Proud? You think I’m proud?”
“Proud, stubborn, highfalutin. Pick a word. It doesn’t matter.” Exasperation roughened his voice because he was already feeling far too torn. Her skin must be tender to be marred so quickly. She was a hothouse flower, just like his last girlfriend. And that had ended badly, most especially for his horses.
He deliberately lowered his gaze, studying the cleavage exposed by her lacy shirt and the tiny silver belt that surrounded a waist so small he could probably span it with his hands. Weirdly he ached to do exactly that: to wrap his hands around her hips and coax her back into the privacy of the barn and taste that sexy mouth. He bet he could have them both satisfied within minutes. And dammit, that wasn’t going to happen.
He yanked his eyes up.
“You dress the cowgirl part real nice,” he drawled. “But tomorrow the contestants are joining the class. And I won’t have time to coddle.”
“I don’t want coddling.” She reached out, surprisingly indignant as she tried to tug the bales from his hands. “Besides, I didn’t ask for your help. I can carry the hay.”
“You’re too slow,” he snapped, frustration leaving his voice much harsher than the occasion warranted. “I can’t wait any longer. Just go back in the arena and talk to the students about coffee or yoga or something that you know.”
Hurt shadowed her face, leaving him wavering. Maybe he should ask her to carry out the plastic cow heads instead. They were light and she’d feel as if she were helping, something that seemed important to her. But then her mouth lifted in a tight smile and he realized he’d been mistaken.
Now she looked more disdainful than hurt. She even had the gall to throw him an impertinent salute before sashaying back to the arena. That was a relief. He certainly didn’t want her to know what a weakling he was—about women in general and her in particular.
