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Sam’s hand was on the doorknob when Granny’s voice near startled her right out of her skin. “You’re up early.”
She should have known better. Nothing got past that woman’s ears. “It’s past four.”
Granny chuckled as she moved around the kitchen in the pre-dawn darkness. In seconds, the coffee was perking. “Sure it is—two minutes past four.”
Overhead, Sam heard the first alarm go off. The girls would be up soon. “I’m just going to check the fences on the north side.”
The fridge door opened, the light cutting a slice out of the darkness. Granny began assembling breakfast. “I talked with Lindy’s grandmother the other day. She won’t let that girl back into her house. Said she’d rather the girl go to jail. Said she’s got to learn her lesson.”
Four a.m. was awfully damned early to be having this conversation. “Not even if Lindy gets her GED?”
“Not even. I don’t know what it’ll take. I guess stealing your grandmother’s lone pine tree quilt that her grandmother made for her wedding and pawning it off to buy a phone has a way of making some people not so forgiving.”
Sam sighed. This was exactly why she’d tried to sneak out of the house early this morning. Lindy had made exactly no friends here at the ranch. This crew was a family. That’s why Heaven was still here, going on two years. And Lindy wasn’t a part of this family. “I’ll deal with Lindy. But that’s not it.”
Granny cocked her head to one side. “It’s about Andy, isn’t it?”
“No.” Her restlessness had nothing to do with the fact that Celine Ruzekia was coming for dinner in four days.
“You should be happy she found someone who likes her just the way she is,” Granny said in the same scolding tone of voice she’d been using on Sam since Sam was knee-high to a grasshopper.
“I am.” She was in no mood to talk to anyone, not even Granny. “Look, I’m just going to ride the line, okay? You know we can’t trust the Gundersons.” Although, truth be told, they hadn’t had many problems since Duke Gunderson had come home. Duke was the good brother. Royal was the pain in the ass. “Andy knows we’re going to work some calves in the north pasture. Tell her I’ll meet up with her there.”
“Sam,” Granny said, latching onto her arm, “if you go looking for trouble, you just might find it.”
Sam was torn between the urge to hug her grandmother and shake her off. Granny always seemed to understand the problem, even when Sam didn’t. Sometimes, that was the most irritating thing. “I’m not looking for trouble.”
Granny smiled—the wide, full smile of a woman who was happy with the life she’d led. “Guess you won’t know that for sure until you find it, now will you? Go on, scoot before those girls get down here.”
Sam saddled up Stitch, her roan quarter horse, and headed north. Stitch covered the ground easily as she rode to the north edge of the ranch, leaving her to her thoughts. Damn it, what was wrong with her? Lindy was a short-term problem. Either that girl would get her head on straight and start following the rules or she’d cross the line and Sam would have to deal with her. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but she’d do what she needed to.
Andy, however, had the potential to be a long-term problem. She was Sam’s second in command and could run this ranch just fine on her own. Plus, she was the only true friend Sam had ever had. She’d discovered who wasn’t her friend—which was everyone at the school—after the trial. Only Andy had stuck with Sam through it all. Losing Andy would be...well, it would be God-awful.
Sam sighed. She was being melodramatic and she knew it. What she needed to do was get her head on straight enough that she could be sincerely happy for her oldest friend.
She was happy for Andy, she really was. So why did the whole thing bother her so much?
Because Andy had found someone. A lot of the other women who’d lived at the L/C Ranch had gone off and gotten married to good men who worked hard for their living, but Sam and Andy had always held their outside relationships at a safe distance.
Sam was no fool. Heaven had been here a long time, but Sam knew that woman wouldn’t stay forever. Women came, learned to follow the rules, and then went on about their lives. Except for her. And Andy.
If Andy went off with this Celine Ruzekia, then...
Then Sam would be alone.
The thought was too daunting, so Sam turned her attention to the work. The work had saved her before; it would get her through this wrinkle. She rode the fence line in the shadow of dawn, keeping an eye out for stray cattle as much as for broken barbed wire. A few of those foxes darted through the brush ahead of her. When she was out this early, she saw them regularly, and every time, she thought of that Baker guy.
She needed to get out more. That’s what Andy had said, except Sam rarely got out at all. She didn’t like leaving the Ranch or the rules she’d made to protect it. She liked her days ordered, her saddles clean, and her fences secure. That had been enough for her. She thought it had been enough for Andy.
It hadn’t been.
Sam watched a momma fox carry her kit by the nape of its neck. Was all of this—the land, the cattle, the horses, the job—really was enough for her?
Maybe the problem wasn’t Celine Ruzekia. Maybe the problem was Samantha Kenady.
Sam topped a low hill. From here, she could almost see the Black Hills. She loved this spot and had ever since Grampa had led her up here on her first pony. Every time they came, he always said the same thing. “That’s yours,” he’d said, although six-year-old her hadn’t understood what that meant at the time. “Your Granny’s people used to run all over here.”
“And you bought the ranch to make her happy?” That had been the most important thing to Sam then. Grampa had made Granny happy. Grampa had made Sam happy, too. The land made her happy.
She was happy, damn it, and that was that.
Her mind made up, she turned Stitch toward the pasture. They had a lot of cattle to work today, and she’d been chewing her cud long enough. The girls would be waiting.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a faint movement above the land about three miles to the south. It wavered, almost as if it were flexing.
Panic dropped her stomach a good ten feet or so. Smoke? Smoke was bad. Unplanned prairie fires were very bad, worse when it’d been as dry as it’d been here.
Damn. No storms had rolled through last night—couldn’t be a lightning strike. Arson? Her temper flared. Damn that Royal Gunderson.
She touched Stitch’s side. The horse took off. Sam prayed it was just a little brush fire, close to a creek that ran through that part of the land. Something small and containable. She should’ve packed a shovel.
As she rode, she kept her eyes open. The smoke was a thin strand of white, not the billowing black plume that normally went with a prairie fire. She didn’t see any signs of wildlife fleeing. The last time the prairie had burned, the snakes, foxes, and prairie dogs had been heading for higher ground fast. Instead, everything seemed...normal.
The smoke was coming from a spot about a thousand yards away. Sam swung off Stitch and got her rifle. Moving silently, she crept through the grass and up over a low rise.
The fresh scent of coffee hit her nose about the same time she saw the tent about fifty feet away, right next to the creek. Campers? This wasn’t a national park. No camping allowed. Or had the tourists not seen the “No Trespassing” signs every fifty feet back on the fence?
A man came out of the tent wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. Plaid, she guessed. He stood up and stretched in the early morning light. His bare chest was right at eye level.
Whoa. Maybe she did need to get out more, because the prospect of a mostly naked man was making her a little lightheaded. It’s not that she didn’t see shirtless men—Heaven kept her all up-to-date on what the latest Hollywood hunks were doing—but this was different. When she saw a hot dude shirtless on the TV, she didn’t think much of it. Now, here, face to face with a real man’s real chest, she felt...funny.
Aware.
She blinked against the brightening light, but the image didn’t change. Broad shoulders led to long arms. His chest was smooth but he had more than enough muscles. The sight of that chest made her own tighten. The legs weren’t bad, either. Not scrawny chicken legs, but not the tree trunks that came on some of the local cowboys. No, he was well-proportioned. Good looking. He was—
Shucking his shorts.
Her mouth dropped open at the sight before her. Whoa.
Good morning, sunshine, was all she could think. Then the guy pivoted. Hell.
Sam flattened herself against the ground. What would he do if he caught her watching? She had no idea what kind of man was squatting on her land. Not a Gunderson, that much she was pretty sure about. Gundersons didn’t make her feel all funny, shorts or no shorts. But that left the field wide open between tree-hugger and psychopath.
She hugged her rifle, waiting. Agonizingly long seconds passed as she wondered whether or not a naked man was about to jump her.
The grass was quiet, but the water started talking to her. She heard the splash of the creek. He was swimming?
She leaned up. He was swimming, all right. She could just see a curved set of cheeks disappear in her creek. He ducked his head under the water and then began to...shampoo? Really?
He was taking a bath at, what? Six in morning? That creek couldn’t be much above sixty-five degrees. She was staring. But he was naked in her water. Staring seemed like an even trade-off.
His back matched his front, strong without being muscle-bound. And she’d already gotten a good look at everything else. A well-built man, no doubt about it.
He started out of the water, and she couldn’t help but look. How cold had that water been?
Cold. But he was still impressive.
She shook her head. She was staring at a naked man, and she hadn’t even had her coffee yet.
He wrapped a towel around his waist, shook the water from his hair, and lifted his face to the sun.
She gaped in silent shock.
Baker. Zack Baker was naked. In her creek. On her land.
Was she seriously crouched in the grass, getting kind of hot for the fox guy? The one who hadn’t even realized she was a woman?
He may not have figured she was a female, but damned if Sam wasn’t aware of him as a man. And it wasn’t just because she’d gotten a full look at him. It’d been a long time since anyone had made her stare.
Nope. She was not going to stare at him as he dried off. She was absolutely not going to get the hots for him.
Except she was, damn it, and that shouldn’t happen. She was the boss around here. She did what had to be done. Which was not gawking at a hot guy skinny-dipping. She had to get this guy off her land. It didn’t matter how hot—or naked—he was.
Baker slipped his shorts back on, checked the coffee and disappeared back into the tent.
Unbelievable.
She put the safety on the rifle and crept down the hill. She could hear him rattling around in his tent. At least he kept a neat site, she thought as she crouched down in front of the fire. The fire was in a pit lined with river stones and the coffee perking away on a grate. He’d hung his food in a bear bag on one of the pines near the water. She couldn’t smell the latrine and she didn’t see any garbage, just a clothesline strung between the tent and the tree.
He’d been here a while—long enough to do laundry.
Freaking unbelievable.
He was humming what sounded like “Rocky Mountain High.” Sitting on her heels, she kept the rifle on her lap and poured herself a cup of coffee. Tasted like brown water. Good. She needed to stay focused.
Zack Baker came out of the tent, t-shirt in hand, jeans up but not buttoned, still humming.
Awareness hit her again. When was the last time she’d been this close to a half-dressed man with a good chest? The better question was, when was the last time she’d wanted to be this close to a half-dressed man?
He hadn’t seen her yet. She almost smiled as she said, “You make lousy coffee.”
At the sound of her voice, he froze, one arm in a sleeve. Sam let her eyes take in all of that chest. Good? Hell, it bordered on amazing. Wasn’t her fault it was just about at eye level.
A moment of stillness followed while she waited for him to make his play. She took another sip of the coffee. At least it was hot.
He seemed to notice she was staring. His gaze caught hers and dragged it up to his face. One eyebrow notched up while half of that charming grin she’d seen two weeks ago took up residence on his face. Moving real slow, he pulled the shirt over his head and found her eyes again as he ran his fingers through his hair. Finally, he spoke. “I didn’t hear you get here.”
“I expect not, what with all the humming.” She managed to break his gaze, but found herself staring at his open fly. Plaid boxers, red and blue. They matched his reddish curls pretty well. “You want to button up there?”
She should not be staring as a man—a stranger—closed a five-button fly with one hand, but she couldn’t help it. Baker’s fingers worked with a speed that was both nimble and surprising. If Heaven were here, Sam knew she’d make some comment about how he was good with his hands. But Heaven wasn’t here and Sam kept her thoughts to herself.
When he was done, she looked up and saw the full-on smolder. That smolder seemed to say “good with my hands” and a whole hell of a lot more.
“I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”
Interesting. Whereas his eyes were all confidence, his voice sounded more like he knew exactly how shaky his position was.
If he had his shirt on, she didn’t feel like she was peeping. Right? “As a matter of fact, I am, being as I’m certain I told you to leave.”
He swallowed again, his eyes cutting down to the rifle in her lap. “You did.”
“And yet here we are.” She took another drink. “How can you stand this stuff?”
He blushed, which caused a little of that unfamiliar tightness to hit her low. When was the last time she’d made a man blush? “I can’t afford the good stuff.”
Something about that statement struck an odd note, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Start packing. You’re going home.”
All that color she’d been admiring washed out of his face. “I don’t have any place to go.”
That got her attention. “What?”
“Please, just let me explain.” His eyes locked on her gun. “But don’t shoot me.”
Mercy. Zack Baker was a man on the verge of begging for mercy. What do you know? Sam thought. That was a promise to Andy she never thought she’d get to keep. “The safety’s on. You can talk while you pack.”
“But I need to—”
“Look, Mr. Baker, I don’t care what you do or do not need to do. You can’t be out here in the middle of my range lighting campfires.” She almost, almost added, “or skinny-dipping in my creek,” but she was pretty sure that saying it out loud was admitting that she’d been watching him. “I don’t care how good a job you did building the damn thing.”
There was that blush again. He clearly hadn’t decided if he was terrified or flattered. “Thanks.”
“The bear bags are good, too.” Why she suddenly felt the need to stroke the male ego—this male’s ego—was a little beyond her grasp at this moment.
Oh. That grin was why. Heat flamed out from her cheeks to the back of her neck. Was she blushing? Dang.
“Thanks. Again. Boy Scouts.” He made a hesitant move toward the fire, and when she didn’t pull the trigger, he crouched down opposite of her. “Sorry about the coffee,” he said as he poured himself a cup.
She should be getting him off her land, not making small talk. Yet, she couldn’t see a need for rudeness. “I appreciate you sharing it. But that doesn’t change the facts. The fact of the matter is that we have rules about campfires around here. The last time we had a prairie fire get out of control, we lost over a hundred head of cattle. I can’t run the risk of you starting a fire.”
He sipped his coffee and made a face. “What if I promised not to have a fire? Could I stay then?”
Was he crazy? “You don’t understand. You’re going home, Mr. Baker.”
The moment was long, and then it got awkward. Everything about him seemed to shrink—and she’d already seen the shrinkage. When he finally did speak, Sam could feel the shame rolling off him. “I don’t have a home to go to.”
Maybe she hadn’t heard him right. “Beg pardon?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. “I was living in my truck.”
That didn’t seem right. He was a good-looking man, after all. “Don’t you have family? A girlfriend?”
He shook his head. “Mom died—breast cancer—and I haven’t seen my dad since I was a teenager.” At the mention of his father, his shoulders slumped. For a second, he looked like every slacker who couldn’t be bothered to care. “Girlfriends...they like men who can afford dinner and a movie every so often.” Then he raised his head and locked those eyes—pale blue—on hers. “And I’m not the kind of guy who just uses a woman, no matter how bad things get.”
Okay, now she was definitely blushing. Sam wasn’t exactly up to date on the state of men and women in this world, but she was willing to bet that there were plenty of women who would jump at the chance to be used by Zack Baker. The man had morals, she’d give him that. Not a hell of a lot of common sense, but a nice set of...morals.
Damn. She was blushing again.
She cleared her throat, trying to keep it all business. “I thought you said you were a graduate student?”
“I was. I am.”
She may not have any fancy college degrees, but even she knew his story wasn’t holding water. “Mr. Baker, perhaps you should tell me what the hell is going on. While you pack.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but appeared to give up. “I’m ABD—All But Dissertation, which means I’ve finished my coursework for my PhD in zoology.”
Shoot, not just a graduate student, but an almost-doctor. Smart. “ABD. Okay.” She motioned to the tent. “Keep going.”
He sighed, then ducked back inside his tent and began packing. “I had a job teaching the introductory biology classes at the university while I finished my classes, but...”
She could almost see him shrug his shoulders through the tent.
“The funding dried up and grad students are non-tenured.” He came back out with a stuffed duffle and a sleeping bag. He glanced at her and must have seen her confusion. “No permanent contract.”
Maybe she should be taking notes. “You lost your job?”
He nodded as he began to roll the bag. He rolled a nice bag, too. For an almost-college professor, he made a pretty decent Boy Scout. “At the end of the winter semester. I’d finished my research, but right before I lost my job, my advisor found a fatal flaw with the methodology.” He glanced in her direction and started over. “I screwed up the study. My advisor missed it. I’ve got to do it again.”
“Sounds rough,” she agreed.
That got her another smile. “I got another grant to finish my work. It wasn’t the end of the world—at least, it wasn’t until my position got cut. I’ve been living on that money for the last five months, waiting for the weather to get warm enough to do my field research. My lease ran out the day after the last time I talked to you.”
No wonder he’d seemed so desperate. “The money ran dry.”
He grabbed his clothes off the line. “If I can finish my dissertation and get it published, then I can get a job at a university. A real job—tenure-track ideally, or a post-doc position. I won’t get rich on foxes, but I like teaching.”
That all made sense. She’d heard about the state budget being so bad that instructors were being laid off left and right. But that still didn’t explain everything. “Why here? Why didn’t you try the Gundersons or the Hachettes?”
He produced a small Swiss Army knife from his back pocket and cut the rope that held the bear bag overhead. It landed with a thud at his feet, but he didn’t flinch. He was an odd combination of sheer manliness and academic dork, she decided. “The overlapping range of the kit fox and the swift fox is pretty narrow in this state. You’re on the southern edge of that. You were my last chance.”
She shook her head to hide her smile. “Why me?”
He looked up at her, and she saw the truth writ large on his face. Hopefully Baker didn’t play poker. “You didn’t shoot at me. Some guy at the ranch north of yours fired at my feet.”
That would be Royal Gunderson in a nutshell. Baker grabbed a bucket of water and waited until Sam got out of the way before he drowned the fire.
The flames sizzled and then died. “Look, I’m sorry I’m trespassing, I really am. But I’m out of options. I only need to finish my research. I won’t sue with the EPA and I won’t get in your way.” Even as he said it, he began to take the tent down.
The man was a lost cause if she’d ever seen one. Wasn’t that why Sam was here? The ranch had been her last chance. Andy’s, too. The same with Heaven. And Lindy, well, maybe the ranch wasn’t her last chance. Seventeen was too young to have no other options. But there hadn’t been a lot of other choices. Everyone here was a cast-off, so far down on their luck that they were underneath it.
Baker was watching her, waiting. He spoke the truth. He was, well, maybe not harmless, not with his shirt off, but certainly not dangerous. And Lord knew she had enough foxes.
She was probably going to regret this, but what the hell. “I don’t run a bed and breakfast. Everyone who stays here, works here. You work cattle in the morning and do your fox studying in the evening.”
He jolted like she’d hit him with a nine-volt battery. “Really?”
“I’m the boss around here. You do what I say, when I say it. Got it?”
To hell with batteries. He looked like she’d zapped him with a cattle prod. “You mean it?”
“You have my word.” She stuck out her hand.
That was the best smile she’d seen yet. She felt one of her own meeting it in return. “You won’t be sorry.” He wrapped his fingers around hers.
There it was again, that tight feeling of anticipation. Sam was suddenly very much aware that she was a woman and Baker was a man. An unusual man, but a man nonetheless.
And rule number one on the ranch was no men. The girls were going to have a field day with her for breaking her own damn rule. Her job was to make sure Baker didn’t have a field day with them. She tightened her grip on his hand. “We have rules around here, Baker. Break one and you’re gone.”
“Understood. Completely.” He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he kept a firm hand on hers as his head moved toward hers. Heck, he wasn’t going to do something stupid and try to kiss her, was he?
No. He stopped with plenty of room to spare. Instead, his eyes swept over her cheeks and he did that half-grin thing again. Was she blushing so bad the freckles were showing? Double shit. “And call me Zack.”
Part of her—the sane part—was real thankful she wasn’t going to have to shoot him. However, a small, clearly crazy part of her was more than a little disappointed he hadn’t kissed her. “Sam.”
Something in his eyes changed as he shook her hand. Shook? Hell. He was just holding it. “Sam.”
The way he was looking at her was unsettling. She didn’t recognize it at all, but suddenly she felt nervous. She dropped his hand. “It’s a long way back to the house. Let’s get gone.”
Together, they packed his stuff up on Stitch’s back and began the walk. “Maybe you should tell me the rules?” he asked after twenty minutes.
Oh. Yeah. She’d been so busy mulling over what Andy would say that she’d forgotten that part. “Rule number one: No men.”
He shot her a surprised look. “I think I’m going to break that one.”
“In the house,” she added. He wouldn’t realize that provision had never existed before, would he? “You eat in the dining room or the kitchen, but the rest of the time, you stay in the barn. There’s a furnished room in the hayloft. You even get your own bathroom.”
“Better than a tent,” he agreed. “Is real coffee a part of that deal?”
“Coffee’s on the house.”
He laughed, and she found herself on the verge of giggling.
What the hell? She didn’t giggle. Period. “But the rule holds.”
“No men in the house. I assume that extends to women in the barn?”
He was smart. “You mess with Heaven or Lindy, and I’ll shoot you on sight.”
He snorted, but not in fear. She was sure that had nothing to do with her seeing him naked and everything to do with the fact that the rifle was holstered. “Not Andy?”
She pulled up short. Better to get these things out in the open. “You’re not her type. You mess with Andy, she’ll shoot you herself.”
His eyebrows shot up, but they seemed to understand each other. “I see. Are you all sisters?”
Sure seemed like an innocent question, but she was sure she heard the couple question somewhere in there. She refused to rise to the bait. “Granny and I are the only kin here. Everyone else is from the same tribe.”
“You don’t look ...um...” There it was, that awkward confusion. “I didn’t realize you were a Native American.”
Native American. Lord, a girl got tired of PC terminology sometimes, but not as tired as she got of misplaced racial profiling. Just because she had lighter everything, people never believed she could be a registered member of the Lakota Nation. She must have glared at him, because he got all clammy looking again. “Both my parents were half. I’m half.”
Better to get it out in the open, she figured, even though she hated having to put herself in one little box. The last time Royal Gunderson had called her a half-breed, she’d put a hole in the side of his truck. “Everyone else is full-blooded. We’re Lakota.”
“Right. Absolutely. Don’t mess with Heaven or Lindy. Which one was which, again?”
“Heaven’s the—” The words “pretty one” hit the back of Sam’s teeth. She knew she wasn’t pretty. Once, maybe, but not anymore. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to point out her many shortcomings compared to Heaven. Not just yet. “Heaven’s the older one, a little thinner. Lindy’s still a teenager.”
“The one who was a tad surlier?”
Sam winced. “You could say that.”
“I know her type.”
She didn’t know quite what she expected him to say about having to work with a surly teenager, but that wasn’t it.
That sounded ominous. Lindy’s type was a headstrong, wild-child who did whatever the hell she wanted—drinking, drugs, men, fights—consequences be damned. Zack had said he didn’t use women, but what if the woman wanted to be used? “You do?”
He nodded. “She’s over fifteen, right? I taught introductory college classes—a bunch of eighteen- and nineteen-year-old kids who were being forced to take biology as part of the core curriculum.” He turned a sarcastic grin in her direction. “At 7:30 in the morning. Which is really early by college standards,” he hurried to add when Sam didn’t reply.
“You understand that 7:30 is really late out here on the ranch, right? I expect you to be out of bed by four.”
Zack’s step faltered—more like a long pause, really.
“Part of the deal,” she reminded him. If he couldn’t cut it, it was better to find out now, so she could send him on his way.
“No problem,” he said too quickly. He recovered swiftly. “I’m just saying that I’m used to dealing with teenagers who are none too happy to see you every morning.” He gave her a look. “I give you my word that I will keep my hands, feet and all other objects to myself while I’m here on the ranch.”
“Lindy hasn’t gotten her GED.”
Sam hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Zack said, “Really? I could maybe do some tutoring. I’m not one for history or dead authors, but I can handle high-school math and science. Obviously,” he added with a grin.
“Obviously,” she agreed. That’d be that ABD part he’d mentioned.
Sam mulled this over. Lord knew that her attempts to get Lindy to sit down and crack open a book weren’t going well. If Zack had experience dealing with surly teenagers in a classroom setting, he might be able to get the girl to focus.
Except that then Lindy would be hanging out with a man—a stranger. And Lindy hadn’t yet proven herself capable of following the rules. She might see exactly what Sam had seen—a good chest and a charming smile—and instead of remembering that she wasn’t supposed to be messing around with men, she might just decide to break another rule.
That could go south on Sam real fast. “We’ll see,” she decided, which wasn’t really a decision at all. “Might be helpful,” she added.
“Whatever you think is best,” Zack replied, sounding far more casual about it than Sam currently felt.
She wasn’t used to having a man defer to her. Where was the power tug-of-war that normally marked her interactions with members of the opposite sex? Then she remembered. Oh, yeah. The rifle. Well, she had to hand it to Zack Baker—he knew when he was beat, which was a far sight more than she could say for Royal Gunderson. “Until then,” she added, “just stay clear of those two, and you’ll be fine.”
“What about you?”
He couldn’t seriously be asking if he had to stay clear of her—could he? Or was he asking the lesbian question? She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching his feet as they worked their way through the waist-high grass. The lesbian question, she decided. He couldn’t be interested in her. She was nothing like the smart, pretty girls he probably went for. Plus, she had the rifle. “Just follow the rules, Zack.”
He seemed to take that in stride. Two strides, actually. “What else?”
“Rule number two: Showers first. Everyone gets cleaned up after we get in for the day. Granny doesn’t want anyone tracking shit through her kitchen.”
That got a laugh out of him. “That’s good, because I don’t enjoy tracking shit anywhere.”
“No drinking,” She almost told him about the Saturday exception, but decided against it. After all, she was the only one home on Saturdays, which is why it was the exception. She didn’t know if he would be around then or not, but she didn’t want it to seem like an invitation.
Andy went out on Saturdays. Everyone else had to go to bingo with Granny. Sam stayed home and enjoyed some peace and quiet. That’d been the way it was for years now. Anyone who stayed on the ranch went to bingo. That was the rule.
She didn’t mention bingo.
“I haven’t spent money on beer in months. It won’t be a problem.”
It didn’t seem right, that a man this good-looking could have such a fine set of...morals on him. Men who knew they were good-looking always seemed willing and able to use all their natural charm to string along dozens of women. Hundreds, even.
Zack Baker wouldn’t string along anyone, she knew with bone-deep certainty. Not even her. She knew that wasn’t just because she had the rifle.
Maybe she wouldn’t regret inviting him to stay.
They plodded along. Stitch was throwing his head around, expressing his displeasure at being used as a pack animal. That was another thing. He’d mentioned the Boy Scouts, but she hadn’t hired herself a Boy Scout. She’d hired herself a cowboy—she hoped. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”
“Oh, yeah. I went to a dude ranch when I was thirteen. Spent a month there.” He was real proud of that—she could tell by the way his head popped up. “I love horses. I can saddle a horse, muck a stall, and clean tack.”
That was all well and good. But... “Can you ride?”
“Absolutely.” Then the confidence faltered. “Well, I could fifteen years ago.”
He’s twenty-eight, she thought. He’s only one year older than I am.
She shook her head. This was business—just business. He was just another lost cause. Number fifteen. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you back in the saddle.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him grin. The full meaning of her words hit her. Triple hell. She was no good at this. Desperate, she changed the subject. “How long do you think your fox study will take?”
“I was hoping to get it done this summer, and submit the dissertation by the first of the year.”
Seven months. What had she gotten herself into? Could she really have this man on her ranch for seven months and expect him to follow all the rules? Hell, could she expect Heaven and Lindy to follow the rules?
She already knew part of that answer. Lindy wouldn’t. The question was whether or not he could.
She was asking for trouble, and she knew it.