by Em Petrova
They must really be hurting at four workers down. With the herds they ran, they needed three to four men on deck just to move a small herd to the feed troughs and a dozen or more to get them to the next pasture.
Not counting all the grunt work that filled a cowpoke’s day—hayin’, building or repairing fence, distributing supplemental feeds and checking the health of each and every animal on the huge ranch—he imagined they must be desperate, and the sooner he could get there, the better.
He looked around the garage and at the engine he had opened up with wires and tubes loose. It looked like a surgery patient left to wait for the next surgeon.
But if this was his chance, he had to take it. His father could deal with the engine and more.
Though he hoped the old man saw how much Noble did around the place to help out—he wasn’t only a pair of boots tucked under the supper table.
Moving to the garage door, he looked out over the land. The Blackburn was only twenty miles down the road, and he could still come back if he ever got time off and give his dad a hand around the place.
If he didn’t go, he’d regret it the rest of his life.
And his father would give him a boot up the backside.
They’d both been dreaming of this moment.
Noble walked out of the garage without a backward glance.
Chapter Two
“Dalton.”
Gracie turned at her name and hitched the strap of her duffle bag higher on her shoulder. Her gaze settled on the rough and rugged foreman standing there in dusty chaps and boots, his Stetson pulled low.
He gave her a slow once-over, but there was no sexual tension in that look—he was assessing her grit, pure and simple. Well, she was here on the Blackburn to prove she had enough of that trait to win her spot here and keep it too.
The foreman flicked his fingers at her to follow, and she did, ignoring the looks from the other guys gathered outside the door waiting their turn in line. They’d all given her a healthy share of smirks, and she’d even received a wink or two. But she wasn’t here for a boyfriend or to be treated like anything but one of the guys.
Her boot heels clunked on the floor with her long strides as she followed the foreman into an office.
“Close the door,” he said.
She did and dropped her bag at once. Might as well make herself at home.
The way his gaze tracked her action had her lifting her jaw a bit more.
“I’m here to apply for the position.”
“Ranch cook?” Under his hat brim, his skin was leathered by the elements, baked to a brown leather with creases from squinting into the sun.
She couldn’t help the quirk of her lips at his question. “I’m not really the cookin’ type, sir. I’m here for the cowpoke position you advertised.”
He didn’t bother sitting at his desk but leaned against it, folding his arms over his denim western shirt. “Do I look like a busy man to you?”
“Judging by the layer of dust you’re wearin’, I’d say you were up before dawn driving out to where you’ve got the herd in the spring pasture. Then you were out delivering the supplement to the steers. Gotta get their weight up before market.”
He cocked a brow at her.
She went on, “You probably took inventory and made a list so you can go to the feed store later on, and you most likely need some parts for some ranch equipment too, but you’ll check on that another time. You’ll wanna rotate the herd to another field so the land can be fertilized and the cattle have fresh forage, so you gave orders to the cowpokes you’ve got left here on the ranch, but since you’re short-handed, you had to jump in the saddle and do some of the heavy pushin’ yourself. Which, sir, is why you’re wearing so much dust.”
He was very still for a moment, and then he reached up and pushed the brim of his hat up with the tip of a bent finger that looked to have been broken more than once. From under it, his sharp blue gaze met hers.
Gracie had obviously convinced him she knew more about ranchin’ than she did cookin’.
“Sir, I’m sure you’ve got a sight more to do, and that’s why you should just give me the nod and tell me which cot’s mine, so we don’t waste any more of your time.”
For a long moment, he contemplated her, head tipped to the side. As she looked on, he pulled a toothpick from his breast pocket and stuck it in the corner of his mouth to chew on.
“You wouldn’t be part of those Daltons from Paradise Valley, would you?”
“Yes, I am.”
He didn’t move a muscle or even blink. She stood her ground, allowing herself to be sized up like cattle at auction. Finally, he flicked his jaw toward the door. “Bunkhouse is behind the barn. Find yourself a free bunk. But no funny business goes on with the guys, got it?”
“If they try anything, I know how to put a stop to it.” She held out a hand, palm up, and then clenched her fingers as if closing around a set of balls.
His mouth tipped up around the toothpick. “I go by Langtry. You might hear some of the guys call me Papa John.”
“All right.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Get settled and then find the other guys and see where you can lend a hand. I’ve got more interviews to give, and then I’ll get y’all into the field.”
She scooped up her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. At the door, she paused with her hand on the knob to shoot him a look over her shoulder. “Was that even an interview, Langtry?”
“You told me all I needed to know. Don’t make me kick you out of my office on the first day, Dalton.”
“It’s Gracie, in case you need that for the paycheck. But you can call me Dalton.” She sent him a grin and walked out, past the guys standing there with mouths agape and out to the bunkhouse.
Her heart was doing a happy country line dance, and she sucked in the scents of things she loved—sweet grasses, leather and cattle. As she made her way around the barn, she stopped to look in at the setup and found it as impressive as what her family had. One of her brothers had started raising and training horses as well, and they had a pristine and state-of-the-art operation.
The bunkhouse was a long building sided in logs, well-maintained and clean, unlike some she’d seen. This one had plenty of windows on the front, offering light, and above the door was the Blackburn brand scorched into the wood. The large B stamped over a circle gave her a sense of pride, and she’d been an employee all of two minutes.
Inside, the space was empty. A long dining table and chairs in the center was cleared off. At least she wouldn’t be sleeping with slobs. Against the walls were rows of bunks. She chose one that didn’t yet have a pillow and blanket on it and swung her bag onto it. Then she sat on the edge a moment.
Not the epitome of comfort but she’d slept rough outdoors plenty of times with her brothers, and whenever they visited their cousins, they ended up spread across the living room floor. She remembered those times with a happy kernel of warmth in her heart—she could only hope staying here on the Blackburn would give her a similar feeling.
The door opened again, and Gracie leaped to her feet, pushing her long dark braid over her shoulder as she watched another man enter. He was taller than her—and she was tall for a woman. He wore Wranglers and a denim shirt, a brown pinch-top hat that had seen a few things and worn boots to match.
As he pierced her in his gaze, she gave a nod. “I’m Dalton.”
“They’re lettin’ a girl on the ranch?”
“They’re lettin’ a damn good hand on the ranch,” she corrected with a lift of her jaw.
He nodded. “We’ll see, won’t we, when they pick two to stay.”
She stared at him. “What does that mean?”
“Didn’t they tell you?” He gave her a private smile at having information she didn’t, and it pissed her off immediately. “They took on four of us but are only keeping two. This summer’s a test.”
She stepped right up to him, hand out. “May the best man win, then.”
He arched a brow, and his hazel eyes glittered with amusement as he shook her hand. She squeezed hard, acknowledging his callused fingers and the fact he was gripping her like he would another man.
Good—it put them on an even playing field. If the other guys sharing the bunkhouse with her gave her the same consideration, she’d be content.
“What’s your name?” she asked as she let go of his hand.
“Watkins, Noble.” He stared at her hair and followed the braid down over her shoulder and where it hung across her breast. She resisted the urge to smack him and squared her shoulders.
“Which is your first name?”
“Noble.”
“We’ll see just how much you live up to the meaning of your name.”
“Pretty damn well. It was my grandfather’s name.” He opened his mouth to say more, but the other two newcomers entered the bunkhouse, and introductions were made.
She watched as they selected their bunks. When Noble tossed his bag onto the bunk above hers, and then turned and walked out the door, she shook her head. Of all the men she’d met so far, he was the one she’d least want to share a corner of the bunkhouse with.
Outside, they located the rest of the guys, six others who looked to be hardened into the same wood every building on this ranch was constructed of, each as crusty and work-worn as the last but most bearing welcoming smiles and nods to them.
Of course, they all eyed up Gracie as if she was Miss Texas standing here in her ball gown and tiara before them. But when Langtry came out and gave her a nod, she saw the men ease their glances away from her.
She felt a trace of a smile cross her lips.
Langtry had just made her one of the guys with a single nod of his head, and for that, she couldn’t be more grateful. But she also didn’t want any special treatment just because she didn’t have a set of balls hanging between her legs.
The rest of the afternoon was spent on a tour of the property, which stretched for miles in all four directions. The land wasn’t only flat grazing lands but some rolling hills and a dry creek bed cutting across one corner. All in all, it felt like home, being so similar to her family’s ranch.
Right off, they were shown miles of fencing that would need to be replaced in the upcoming weeks. When they circled back to the main ranch, they were given lunch of sandwiches and bags of chips. Sitting around outside in the grass, talk turned to accomplishments.
“I’m two times champion calf roper,” one of the new guys named Minich said around his sandwich.
Noble Watkins looked up, and Gracie’s gaze dropped to his waist, where he bore a gleaming gold buckle. He glanced at her, and she looked away.
“Well, Minich, you’ll be needin’ that skill when we have to castrate in a week or two,” Langtry drawled.
“I spent some time working on the Marshalls’ place next county over.” Drake Timms, the young guy who couldn’t be old enough to drink, wore a solemn look about him, as if he’d seen a lot in his short life. So far, he’d been courteous to all, and Gracie hadn’t seen anything she didn’t like about him.
“Heard Marshalls have been having some troubles. Longhorns dead.”
“Struck by lightning,” Timms responded, uncapping his water bottle and taking a swig.
“Damn, that’s bad luck.”
“Yeah, shot straight through their horns and took out half the herd in one strike.”
“Shit,” one of the veteran cowpokes drawled.
“What about you? What’s your story?” A man waved a hand at Noble.
The man grunted in response. “Just here to make my way.”
“He must be a drifter,” one of the guys said, elbowing his buddy. They struck up a conversation that Gracie quickly lost track of as she polished off her sandwich and crumpled the paper wrapping in her fist.
When she stood to go in search of a garbage can, someone called out to her.
“Hey. What’s your story, girlie? You here to offer up temptation?”
She stopped walking and slowly pivoted on her heels to fix the group in her stare, giving each a solid look in the eyes before moving to the next. She planted her feet wide, and a dozen eyes drank her in. She had an athletic build with curves where other girls wanted them, though Gracie gave them little thought.
As they watched, she pulled a pair of leather work gloves from her back pocket and drew them on slowly. “I’m here,” she said with even more deliberate slowness, “to kick each and every one of your asses and prove a woman can pull her weight the same as any man.”
* * * * *
Noble’s gaze latched onto the Dalton woman’s backside as she strode away from them. Silence followed, and then they started to get up, cleaning up their lunch mess as they did.
He shot her another look. He liked how direct she was—if she were a man. But he preferred his females softer, and Dalton was too rough around the edges for him. She did look capable of doing the work, but they’d see how tough she really was after a full day on the ranch.
They piled in the back of Langtry’s truck and bumped across one of the smoother roads to another that led to rugged country. The truck stopped, and they all piled out. When Noble jumped down before the Dalton woman, the manners his parents had taught him made him hold out a hand to her.
Her blue eyes washed over it, and then she nudged past him, leaping to the ground without even holding onto the side of the truck to steady herself.
He snatched his hand back, feeling foolish. But that was as much time as he had to think on the matter, because Langtry set them to work with shovels, digging up whatever scrub brush had grown up around the fence line.
“Gotta get this brush outta here,” their foreman said. “Too many places for cattle to get tangled or calves to get stuck. Get it all out of here, boys.”
Noble shot a glance at the woman, but she gave no indication she was affected by being lumped into the boys category.
Being here on the Blackburn was odd, for sure. He’d done plenty of ranch jobs in his area, and he and his dad kept horses. Recently, he’d spent more time acting as a diesel mechanic than anything else, and it felt good to be out here stretching his muscles.
The heat of the day had sweat trickling down his spine, and he paused in his work to take a handkerchief from his pocket and knot it around his throat. When he took up the shovel again, he found the woman looking at him.
What did the others say her name was? Grace? No, Gracie. Somehow just adding a single letter to the name gave her more of a feminine quality, though she was plenty girly enough despite her height and physical ability.
He hadn’t had a woman so tall before.
Not that he was having one now.
But standing next to her, he couldn’t help his mind from wandering to how good they’d fit together, her head tucked just beneath his chin.
And those long legs of hers could wrap around a man real good.
He jerked his attention from her, but it was brought right back when she took off her hat to swipe the sweat off her forehead with the back of one gloved hand. Whooeee… The pull of her top over her breasts, the damp hairs curling on her nape…
Damn, she really was a good-looking woman.
“Take a water break,” Langtry said after another half hour or so.
Two coolers in the back of the truck held water, and he was first to reach the bed. He grabbed one for himself, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Gracie, so he pulled out one for her too.
He offered it to her, and just as she had done with his hand up earlier, she ignored him and reached into the cooler. Dang, the girl wasn’t messing around with this whole fair treatment thing, was she?
He extended the water to Timms, who gave his thanks. Gracie watched the entire exchange over her upraised bottle. Noble was just turning away from the truck, when she lowered the water and fixed her stare on him.
“You’re wast
ing your time, you know,” she said.
Her ball-buster attitude was already getting on his nerves.
He grunted and tipped up his own water. He felt the cool liquid fill him up, running through his stomach and feeling as though it quenched his limbs too. Dropping the bottle from his lips, he said, “What’s a waste of my time?”
He waited for her answer that he wasn’t good enough to be on this ranch.
“Trying to do nice things for me,” she said instead. “I don’t need all that, so you’re wasting your time.”
Their gazes met for a long heartbeat. “Fine.”
For another second, she stood looking at him, a question in the crinkle of her brow as if she couldn’t quite figure him out.
Good. Let her think he was soft, offering women hands up or bottles of water. When he sneaked up behind and shoved her right out of the running for the permanent position, she’d know he was far from soft.
* * * * *
Gracie was up long before dawn, watching the sky lighten from velvet black to deep navy. When the first glimmer of sunlight touched the horizon, the alarm went off.
One of the older guys in his fifties named Vin smacked the clock and sat up in one fluid motion. For breaking his back day in and day out on the Blackburn, he sure wasn’t stiff in the mornings.
Gracie, however, couldn’t say the same. She was fit and had worked on her family’s ranch just weeks before, but all that digging from the previous afternoon had made her shoulders and triceps hurt.
No way was she going to show it, though. She already felt the other three cowpokes breathing down her neck. That guy Noble thought he could treat her like some pretty doll, probably hoping she’d slack off and get the boot first.
Well, that was not happening.
She jumped off the bottom bunk but just then, two bare feet with hairy legs landed right in front of her as Noble jumped from the top. She stifled a groan. Couldn’t the man have found another bunk to claim, rather than irritate her half the night with his heavy breathing while he slept?
At least it wasn’t heavy breathing from something else, she thought, and reached for her jeans.
