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Sam was having second thoughts about her offer. Zack could tell by the way her eyes narrowed. She looked less like a beautiful tomboy and more like the woman who’d kicked him off the ranch.
“I don’t need to be here that long,” he added, trying to sound cool about it. “Just long enough to do my research.” Where he went after that...well, he’d just cross that bridge when he came to it. The bridge he was on right now was one that let him finish his work, sleep under a roof and eat real food. He’d just take things three months at a time.
A little softness crept in around her eyes. “Summertime is our busy season. I could use another hand for a few months anyway.”
He looked her over as best he could without staring at her, because he was reasonably confident that staring broke some kind of rule. She had on brown cowboy boots, those chaps, and the vest again. The bandanna today was red, but the hat was still white straw. She didn’t have on the sunglasses yet—the sun was behind them—so he could see her eyes again.
Her head snapped around and her eyes zeroed in on his. “What?”
Hell, he must have been staring. His brain scrambled for something appropriate to say. Just because she’d put the rifle in its holster didn’t mean she wouldn’t still shoot him. “I don’t have any of the stuff you’re wearing, except the jeans. And some t-shirts.”
One eyebrow notched up. “Granny will come up with something to hold you until the weekend. Saturdays are short days, and I feed the horses on Sunday. Everyone gets a day and a half off. You can get your truck then.” She looked him up and down again, and he remembered that she’d been watching him—with his fly open. What else had she seen?
“I’ll give you a week’s pay to get outfitted,” she went on. She gave nothing away. “You need a good pair of boots and gloves.”
“I’d offer to pay you back, but...”
That got him an even prettier smile. Well, it didn’t get him that smile—she smiled at the horse—but he’d take whatever bone he got tossed right now. “I’ll get it out of you, one way or the other.”
He started. Did she mean... No, he decided as she led them down a narrow path. She meant she was going to work him to death. He thought.
But maybe she didn’t. She didn’t act like any woman he’d met before, but there was no denying the curve of her hips as they swung from side to side with each step. He’d never really had the chance to appreciate a woman in chaps, but he was starting to realize that was going to be one hell of a fringe benefit.
His blood began to circulate at an increased rate of speed, which was a huge mistake. He could not be getting a hard-on for Sam Kenady. He didn’t even know what team she was batting for—or if she had any other guns on her person.
Luckily by the time he got down the path, the house was in view. It looked much the same as it had the last time he saw it—big trees blocking out the sun, wrap-around porch with a swing on it—but they were coming at it from a different angle. He was sure he hadn’t noticed how tall the place was. Had to be three stories, at least.
This time, he heard the porch door shut. The old woman came out, the wolf-dog beside her. At least the dog’s tail was thumping. Zack took that as another good sign.
The old woman grinned wide as they trudged through the last of the waist-high grass and onto the mowed lawn.
“Find what you were looking for?” Zack was sure the old woman was laughing.
Huh?
“Granny,” Sam said, her voice something of a warning, but not quite. When they got closer to the house, she added, “Granny, you remember Zack Baker?”
“That nice young man who stopped by a few weeks ago?” Sam’s Granny gave him an even wider smile. “Of course I remember you.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you again.” This whole thing felt a little awkward, but he wasn’t about to let Sam see him sweat. The old woman seemed happy to see him, but Sam was unceremoniously dumping all his gear onto the ground. Talk about mixed messages.
“Granny, Zack here is going to be working for me for the summer.”
“How wonderful.” She picked a sack up off the porch. “Might as well take lunch with you. Now go on, scoot. Andy’s worried about you. I’ll get this young man settled in the barn and—” She turned to Zack again and appraised him. “I’ll see what I have that’ll fit him.”
“Thanks.” Sam hopped up onto the porch and kissed her grandmother on the cheek, a gesture that bordered on sweet. “See you later.” She turned back to Zack. Her gaze moved over him. It should have felt like she was undressing him, but he had the distinct feeling that she was standing in judgment of him—and finding him lacking.
He felt like he should be saying something—thanks?—but before he could get a proper response out, Sam was in the saddle and riding hard back the way she’d come. Just like that, Zack was alone with the old woman. And the dog who was possibly a wolf.
“For the summer, eh?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He didn’t often call women Ma’am, but if there was ever a time for it, this was it.
She laughed again, the same laugh he’d heard when he’d said he’d prefer to discuss his business with Samantha. Maybe Ma’am hadn’t been right after all. “My name is Granny. I’ll show you where you’re going to be living for the next three months. Come on, Katydid.”
“Thank you.” He grabbed his duffle—the rest of it would have to wait—and followed Granny toward the huge barn.
She moved with unexpected speed up the drive, but again he noticed that she walked without her heels touching the ground. The wolf-dog—Katydid?—loped along beside her, close enough that Zack was sure she was brushing up against the woman’s legs. He noticed Katydid was wearing a leash, but it trailed uselessly on the ground. Within a minute, Granny was inside the huge barn. Zack hurried to catch up with her.
Several seconds passed before his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. The aisle was wide, and he counted four stalls on either side, plus a room with a closed door and an open space where he was pretty sure he recognized a currycomb. The barn smelled like wood shavings and old leather. The stalls were painted a bright white, giving the whole place an aura of clean.
“Now, this place gets hotter than hell in the summer,” Granny was saying as she mounted up a dusty flight of wooden stairs to the right of the doorway. “Should be a fan up here, but I’m not so sure it works anymore. No one’s stayed in the barn for a good six years or so.”
“I can take the heat.” What choice did he have?
Granny paused on the top step. She looked over her shoulder, her profile in shadows. “That remains to be seen.”
That sounded like something her granddaughter would say. Zack stepped into the open space at the top of the stairs.
It was open, all right, with two small windows on either side to bring in light. The pitched ceiling had four ventilation fans along it, all running.
“They operate on solar power,” Granny said, following his gaze up. “Keeps the air flowing.” She began removing sheets from the furniture.
Not that there was a lot of it. Furnished turned out to be a lumpy-looking twin bed, a card table, two folding chairs, and a mini-fridge/microwave combo, the likes of which he hadn’t seen since his dorm days in college. The only light was an overhead florescent tube. On the far side, he saw a shower curtain. He hoped that both the toilet and the shower were behind it.
Better than a tent, he had to remind himself as dust filled the air.
“You like it?” Granny was now standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, watching him.
He could see it now, the Lakota Indian in her face. Her hair was salt and salt, but her lined face was brown and her eyes...wait. Her eyes were odd.
She was waiting for an answer and Zack was in no mood to be caught staring for the second time that day. He swallowed nervously. Actually, the place was only about three steps above the truck, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “It’s a lot like my first apartment.”
Granny let out a cackle. “Must have been a real hellhole, then. I do laundry on Mondays and Fridays.”
“You don’t have to do my laundry.”
She shot him an I-know-best look. “Oh? Where else you going to do it? The creek?”
Zack felt his face get hot, even though all four vent fans were running at top speed.
“Uh huh.” Granny let loose with that cackle again. “You’re lucky she didn’t shoot you.”
Actually he was thinking the same thing. “She ever do that before? Shoot someone?”
Granny’s amused smile hardened a little and again, he saw a bit of Sam in her face. If Granny had some of Sam’s prickliness, did Sam have some of Granny’s humor? “If she did, I’m sure she had a good reason. Here now, let me get you measured.”
“I’m a 32...what are you doing?”
Granny walked right up to him and put her hands on his arms. “Stand still. I won’t grab anything I ain’t supposed to.”
His personal space was much less personal. “Don’t you have a measuring tape?”
Granny snorted. “What good would that do me?” She looked up into his face. Up close now, he could see a thin film of white over her brown eyes.
Blind, he realized way too late in the conversation. She was completely blind. Man, he was not doing well with Kenady women.
“Got sick back in the ‘50s.” Her hands measured around his neck, then moved down his shoulders. “Been blind as a bat ever since.”
“I’m sorry.” Which seemed like an inadequate response, but he was too confused about this strange world filled with stranger women to come up with anything more poetic.
“Don’t be. Not your fault.” Granny felt around his waist. When she was done, she said, “Six. Take off one of your shoes.”
This was beyond weird. He hoped he’d get to keep his pants on. As requested, he removed a shoe. Thankfully, though, she didn’t feel his foot. Instead she measured his shoe the same way she’d measured his waist. Her eyes were open and her brow furrowed as she concentrated. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“You’re about the same size as my husband. The boots may be a little big, but you’ve got socks, right?”
“Yes.” Any good bachelor had enough socks and shorts to last him a few weeks.
“Good.” She dropped his shoe and waited for him to put it back on. Then her hands moved toward his face. “I like to know what everyone looks like, if you don’t mind.”
“Um, sure,” Zack said, not knowing what that really meant.
What it meant was she was going to touch his face. Her fingertips started at his forehead and slowly pressed down over his eyes, nose, and chin. No one had ever felt his face before. Luckily the whole thing didn’t veer over into creepy. Instead it was asexual. Thank God for that, because he’d hate to have to bail because some little old lady was feeling frisky.
Finally she finished. Granny stepped back and looked him over—with sightless eyes. That, Zack decided, was the weirdest of all. “Sam explain the rules to you?”
“No men in the house, except the kitchen; keep my hands to myself; showers first; no shit in the house; no drinking; and no campfires on the range.”
The old woman smiled. Instead of the wide grins she’d been giving him, it was a sly, lazy thing, like this was all part of some master plan and she was pulling the strings. “That about covers it. You might just make it out here. I’ll have some lunch for you at noon. You can pick up the boots then.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she replied as she went down the steps. “You’ve still got to make it through tomorrow.”
***
By the time he got his gear moved up to the attic, it was about 115 degrees up there. He found the fan, but the blades didn’t go any faster than sluggish, which didn’t cut the heat. Lunch was the best grilled chicken sandwich he’d ever eaten, and a pitcher of lemonade. He drank the entire pitcher himself as he finished his food on the porch.
“These ought to hold you.” Granny dropped a lumpy garbage bag at his feet. “I want it all back,” she added before she was back inside, the screen door slamming shut.
Zack peered through the screen. What did a house populated by nothing but women look like? He was greeted with a low growl from Katydid. Great. Even the canine was keeping tabs on him.
He hefted the garbage bag. It didn’t clear the ground. The whole thing must weigh about forty pounds, and Granny had been tossing it around like it was nothing.
Zack decided pissing off Granny was second only to pissing off Sam. Neither were on his to-do list today.
He threw his back into it and hauled the bag off the porch, Santa Claus-style. By the time he got it dumped out on his bed in that furnace of a room, he was sweating again.
Wow. Real cowboy boots, a pair of short chaps, a belt with a fancy silver buckle, a leather vest, and a battered old hat—all black. Three long-sleeved and two short-sleeved button-up shirts—red, white, and blue. Zack gaped at the spread of authentic cowboy paraphernalia. What would he have given to have had all this stuff back when he was a kid? All he was missing were the six-shooters and a lasso, and he was pretty sure there was a lasso somewhere in this barn.
For the first time, Zack allowed himself to feel excited. All that longing he’d held onto as a kid—to be the strong, silent hero who rode into town, picked off a few bad guys, and kissed Maureen O’Hara—threatened to break free. He’d loved watching John Wayne movies with Dad. Sitting on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, The Shootist playing on the VCR—that was one of his best memories of his father. His dad would be so proud to know Zack wasn’t just some brainiac pencil-head, but had the chops to be a real cowboy.
Sheesh. He hadn’t even gotten his butt in a saddle yet and already he was in danger of calling the wrong woman Pilgrim. He shook himself out of the puberty flashbacks. This wasn’t some shoot-’em-up movie. He was going to be riding a real horse, with a real rope, working real cattle. And his father wasn’t here. His father hadn’t been anywhere for fourteen years.
He shook out the chaps. The leather was creased, but it was still butter-soft in his hand. He had no idea how long it had been since Granny’s husband had passed, but all the gear was still spit-shined and ready to go. Well, he was supposed to wear it, wasn’t he?
That’s how Zack found himself with only one butt cheek in the chaps when the thundering of hoof beats filled the air. Suddenly the barn was filled with the quiet—and not-so-quiet—feminine voices.
Nothing but cowboys, he told himself as he eavesdropped against his will. They were nothing but cowboys.
“Is he here?” If his memory served him, that was Heaven.
“Don’t get any funny ideas.” Andy? Yeah. That sounded about right.
“I thought we had rules here,” came a voice that could only be described as surly. Lindy, the teenager.
Great. Had he really offered to tutor her? Well, he’d had a good reason. A useful man was a man who had a place to sleep. He may not know a heck of a lot about daily ranch work, but he knew a boatload about what a high school senior ought to know before they got to college.
“I thought everyone had to follow the same rules,” Lindy added, sounding more sullen by the second.
“You need more rules in your life,” Heaven snapped. “Juvenile delinquent.”
“Whore,” Lindy snapped back.
“Ladies,” Andy thundered, but the bickering didn’t let up.
“Showers.” That was definitely Sam, the boss in action. A tense silence fell over the barn. “Go.”
He was a little disappointed he couldn’t hear anything else being said, but that emotion was cut short by the sharp bark that came up the stairs. “Zack.”
“I wasn’t listening.” Oh, for Christ’s sake, he groaned to himself. This was why John Wayne never talked. Significantly reduced the chances he had to dine on his own foot.
Silence followed—a long, awkward silence. He decided the best he could hope for was that Sam had stormed out of the barn.
“I’m going to be back out here in half an hour. You better be dressed,” Sam said.
He had no idea if she was pissed or amused. No telling with that woman.
And there was no telling what she wanted. True, he was supposed to be wearing the chaps to work—he wasn’t exactly clear on what the chaps were for, although he knew all good cowboys wore them—but was he supposed to be dressed in them now?
Cowboys were confident. Self-assured. Unconcerned with such trivial matters as what to wear.
Damn. Who was he kidding? He was no cowboy.
Not yet, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not yet.
In the end, though, he couldn’t bring himself to wear the chaps. Two pairs of socks made the boots snug; the belt fit on the third notch. The hat was about half a size too small, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that a tight hat was less likely to fly off his head than a loose one.
Finally, he was ready. He half-wished for a mirror so he could see what he looked like as a cowboy instead of a grad student, but that was just the vanity talking.
He was in the middle of debating if the red plaid shirt he’d pulled on over his t-shirt should be buttoned all the way or only half way when he heard footsteps. Not wanting to be called out like a schoolboy, he headed down.
And stopped dead in his tracks. He’d been expecting the same cowboy/girl that he’d seen the previous two times. Instead, before him stood a vision straight out of a country music video.
Sam Kenady was wearing her usual jeans, belt, and boots, but the similarities ended there. She had on a soft green shirt that was unbuttoned just low enough that he could see an equally soft white undershirt. The vest was gone, leaving the fullness of her curves in plain view. Her hair was damp and curled behind her ears ever so gently.
“Hi,” he croaked in sheer shock.
An odd smile graced her face. The scowl he’d seen on her was gone. Instead she looked...different. Beautiful. Stunning. The realization increased his heart rate again.
She hooked her thumbs in her belt lops and looked him over. Was he already screwing this up? “I knew Granny would have something that worked on you.”
This worked? Halleluiah. Don’t be a dork. Don’t be a dork. “She loaned me a pair of chaps, too. Do I need them?” Not too dorky.
“I’m just going to get you back in the saddle.” Was he imagining things, or did she blush?
Holy hell, he hoped he wasn’t imagining things, because that blush took everything that was hard and unisex about her and made it pretty and gentle and decidedly sexed.
The blush had just reached a peak of pink loveliness when she turned abruptly and walked out to the paddocks. Like she’d been doing it her whole life, she glided between the bars on the gate. The horse—the same one he’d attempted to pet two weeks ago—plodded over to her with a comfortable familiarity. “Since you were making friends with Taylor anyway...” she said as she slipped a halter over the horse’s head and led him to the fence.
Zack realized that she meant he would actually ride this horse. The kid-joy bubbled up again. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Seemed like a good one.”
She looked over her shoulder again as she fastened the horse to a rope, and then fastened the rope to the fence in one smooth movement. Was she smiling? “Taylor’s almost thirteen. He shouldn’t throw you.”
Touché. He was riding the kiddie horse. Now would be the perfect time to come up with something witty and bold. “Okay.”
Mental note: Work on witty and bold.
There it was again, that half-look over her shoulder with something that might have been a smile. Again, he found himself wondering which team she batted for, because this officially counted as flirting—if she was up at the plate. There’d been no indication she and Andy were a couple, but he wasn’t going to rule that out at this point.
“Pay attention. You’ll have to do this yourself tomorrow morning.”
Busted. He didn’t particularly like that she knew when he wasn’t focused. Well, he was, but not on the horse riding lesson. He was focused on the woman. “What time do we ride in the morning?” There. That was a perfectly reasonable question.
“Four thirty.” She began to brush the horse, using long strokes. “Don’t ruffle his hair,” she said as she brushed under the horse’s belly. “Flat and even.”
“Flat and even. Check.”
Zack was confident he could do this, even before the break of dawn. Being a grad student had sharpened his memory until he could remember most everything after the first reading. Made studying a hell of a lot easier if he only had to go through the text once. And he’d brushed a horse before.
Finished, she turned and walked past him. Zack was in the middle of trying not to flinch as she brushed past him when it hit him. Berries. She smelled like some kind of sweet berries. The scent was unexpected, and on her, unexpectedly erotic. His heart rate didn’t just increase. Other things increased at an uncomfortable speed.
He watched her walk away, those hips swaying back and forth.
Who was this woman?