by Reece Butler
“US Army decal in your windshield. You left your door ajar and then checked the back seat. Somebody’s in there, someone you’re worried about. You stand straight, you did a recon, and took your hat off before you came inside. How long were you in?”
“Sixteen years. You?” asked Jet.
Hard eyes assessed him. Whatever the guy had done to serve his country, he’d seen some action. It might’ve been a long time ago, but some things changed a man forever.
“I’ll admit to ten. And your buddy?”
“Houston has a few less than me.”
“How do you boys like your eggs?”
“Hot.” Jet pushed the two bills forward with his fingertips. “This is all we’ve got, but you’re welcome to it.”
The man turned away. At the far end of the room was a set of batwing doors. He pushed through. “Dorothy, we need a couple of full breakfasts for hungry soldiers.”
A woman answered, but Jet didn’t catch her words. Years disappeared from the older man’s face when he smiled. Still smiling, he returned as Jet took a gulp of the best coffee he could remember.
“You going to get your buddy?”
“Not till the food’s ready.”
“Fine with me. So, how did you get to Nowhere, Montana on two bucks?”
Normally Jet wouldn’t tell a stranger a thing. He rarely said much to people he knew. But there was a cost to everything. If they were to eat, and Houston needed it desperately, he had to talk.
“I had forty-two bucks this morning when I stopped for gas. They had a jar on the counter for a kid with cancer. Meant to put in a couple of bucks but I shoved the twenties in, instead.” Jet shrugged. “I can make more money, but a kid only has one life.” He cleared his throat. He hated asking for anything. In the army, you got what you were given and were glad of it. “Heard there’s a ranch near here looking for a hired hand.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“A bar in Dillon, last night. I was warned off by some punk, but I need work.”
“Oh?”
The word was only two letters long, but the owner put a lot more into it. Yeah, this guy was ex-army.
“Punk said somebody named Tank has the job sewn up.” Jet found himself drumming his fingers on the counter. He made a fist to stop himself. “Didn’t hear details, just that someone named Lila might get hurt.”
“You boys know anything about ranching?”
Jet nodded, then swallowed and set the mug down.
“Worked in the Dakotas for a few years, back in high school. My buddy’s busted up a bit, but he’s a good mechanic.”
“How long can you hang around?”
“We’ll stay until snow if there’s work.”
“Lila needs help for a month while her parents go on a trip. If she has things under control, they’ll take off for the rest of the summer.”
A month would be good, but a whole summer, surrounded by mountains and sky, would give him the grubstake he needed. Houston should be healed by then.
“Can you work for a woman?”
“If it’s a fair wage with half-decent food and a roof over my head, I don’t care what the boss looks like.”
“Did you see that tall, leggy blonde cross the street just now?”
Jet set his empty mug on the counter with a thud. Work for that gorgeous Amazon? He could work for anyone if he had to, and survive. Working for a woman who made his cock stand up and salute would be an exercise in frustration, especially if she already had a man in her bed.
If she was single and interested, the job might have a few fringe benefits. He shifted on the seat.
“Wouldn’t a beautiful woman like that have a husband or steady boyfriend to help?”
“Not Lila. She’s got a strong personality as well as muscles from ranching. Few men appreciate that.”
The quick glance he’d had at the woman made him think of a lioness. Beautiful to look at and deadly if crossed.
“Then they’re weak fools,” said Jet. “A strong woman is a challenge to a real man.”
“About time someone realized that. Name’s Tom White. Welcome to Climax. So, Tank was the reason Lila couldn’t find a hired hand. Makes sense.” He nodded. “You boys might work out.”
The ring of a bell announcing food made Jet’s mouth water.
“Go get your friend,” said White. “I’ll tell you where the Circle C is after you fill your stomachs. There’s a few other things you need to know.”
* * * *
Rascal gave a sharp bark of warning as Lila was halfway up the stairs. She stopped, coffee cup almost at her mouth. Sure enough, there was the sound of crunching tires outside. Groaning in annoyance, she shoved her damp hair out of the way as she tromped back to the kitchen. She didn’t see a truck out the kitchen window, so whoever it was had parked at the side. She was in the bathrobe Danny had given her for her sixteenth birthday, still damp from her shower, with her hair in long rat tails. Tough. She’d be damned if she’d go to any fuss just because someone came to the door. None of her MacDougal or Elliott cousins would care what he wore if someone banged on the door, and neither would she. She took another deep gulp of her coffee and leaned a hip against the counter. Whoever it was would let themselves in.
Rascal, the size and coloring of a wolf, sat staring at the door, eager to meet whoever showed up. He was excellent company, and they had some great discussions. Being male, he often disagreed with her. Being human, she usually got the last word.
Heavy footsteps crossed the front porch but the door wasn’t opened. A loud triple knock made her roll her eyes. Rascal gave a deep woof of welcome.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” She set her coffee on the counter with a thump, pulled her towel off her head, and padded on bare feet to the door. “I don’t know why Josh can’t let himself in like everyone else. But oh no, he has to act the important sheriff man, all formal and tough!”
Rascal grinned in agreement, tail wagging. After nudging him out of the way with her hip, she pulled the door open. Without bothering to look at Josh, she bent over and continued drying her long hair.
“You should have called first and saved yourself a trip,” she said. “Papa’s in town with Mom, and Dad’s at the workshop.”
Rascal shoved past her with a whine of welcome. He liked Josh, though the man complained about dog hair on his uniform. Go, Rascal!
“Ma’am?”
“Oh for God’s sake, Josh.” She ran her fingers through her hair to get out the worst of the knots. “You have to go all formal just because I’m in charge for now?”
“I hear you’re looking for a hired hand or two. My buddy and me are interested. Tom White at the diner said he’d call you.”
Lila’s heart stopped at the unfamiliar, way-too-sexy voice. She pushed her hair out of the way of one eye without standing up. The dusty work boots on the front porch were a scuffed tan, not police-issue black. Josh wore cowboy boots when he wasn’t in uniform.
They didn’t get visitors often, though family dropped in all the time. She had a reputation of being tough, one she’d worked long and hard to get. She’d been called a bitch and worse for standing up for herself. Too bad. She was no sweet little thing, and she was not going to bat her eyelashes over a man. This guy was a stranger, but with her luck he’d be two inches shorter and as ugly as a mule. But he and his buddy wanted work, Tom had given his approval, and she needed hired hands in the worst way.
She swept her upper body sideways to throw her long hair behind her back, and straightened. She started at the floor and looked up, taking her time. Above the boots were well-worn jeans snug around muscular legs. Long legs. He might even be her height. She checked the center of his hips to see if he wore a championship rodeo belt buckle. She judged people by whether they were tough enough to get the job done, and winning a rodeo took guts and determination. A battered black cowboy hat dangled there. Okay, that was a good start. Maybe he had his cowboy boots in his truck?
The denim
shirt had seen better days. She took in his massive chest and broad shoulders. A tuft of dark hair peeked out of his shirt below his strong chin. A faint scar, perhaps a knife slash, ran along one dark-stubbled jaw. Along with the broken nose, it suggested he’d not had an easy life. His face was either tanned, or had a natural dark undertone. She wouldn’t know which unless he took off his shirt and showed tan lines. Oh, yeah!
Dark, intense eyes caught and held her. What might have been her stomach dropped to just above her suddenly damp thighs. Something seemed to flip inside her. Instead of standing up to him in her usual brash manner, she fought a sudden urge to drop her head. She’d believed she’d never find a man who would turn her on.
She was not only wrong, he was standing on her porch!
The stranger topped her by at least six inches. If he hugged her, the top of her head would fit under his chin. He waited for her answer, projecting a seductive aura of power and control. She’d seen the look before, on her more dominant uncles. Uncle Keith didn’t do it often, but when he looked across the room at Aggie that way, her boisterous aunt seemed to melt.
An unfamiliar twinge struck between her thighs. Another made her nipples contract into hard buds. He cleared his throat. His hat covered a certain part of his anatomy. Was it on purpose? Was he interested in her? As long as he wasn’t in a relationship…
She dropped her eyes, breaking the spell and reminding her of what she wore, and didn’t.
Oh, God, now was not the time to meet Mr. Studly Dom. Not when her hair was still wet and tangled and she wore nothing underneath her old silk robe!
She looked up, belatedly crossing her arms to hide the evidence of her arousal. His lip twitched. Her face, which was already hot from her recent shower, burned. Dammit, she hated feeling unsure. It was a familiar feeling which, as usual, was quickly followed by anxiety. She hid it under a mask of bravado.
“Uncle Tommy didn’t call. I thought you were the sheriff.” She suddenly realized what he might think about her answering the door like this. “He’s an older cousin who thinks he should keep an eye on me.”
Damn, now she’d implied the law needed to check up on her!
She turned to Rascal, still grinning in welcome at her side. “Some guard dog you are!” He tilted his head at her. “I know, I didn’t listen to your warning,” she muttered.
The hand the man held out for Rascal to sniff was broad, with long fingers. The dog took it as permission and explored his jeans from waist to ankle. The stranger’s chuckle seemed to ripple down her spine and lodge between her legs.
“Hey, boy.”
“Rascal doesn’t usually take to strangers. He’s my guard dog.”
“He knows I’d never harm a woman.” He slid her a glance. “Especially one as pretty as you.”
Just once she would like some good-looking man to say she was pretty and mean it. This guy wanted a job, and thought a bit of flattery would help. Having a stranger arrive out of the blue, when she was at her worst, was bad enough. Having him see her, and wake a sexual longing she’d thought impossible, ticked her off.
He must know dogs, since he found the right spots behind Rascal’s ears. He had to bend over to reach. She was used to men this size. She was not used to the way his eyes assessed her, or how it made her feel. However, she was not going to behave like a silly female. Just because a handsome, hunky man wanted to work for her while her parents were gone…
She straightened up to her full five feet, eleven inches, lifted her chin, and glared at him.
“Who are you?”
“Jet Quartermain, ma’am. My buddy, Houston, is in the truck.”
She took a step sideways to peer around Jet toward the truck. It looked empty. It also looked like it was about to croak. How did he get across those mountain passes in that old clunker?
“Houston’s asleep. He’s a bit banged up,” said Jet, “but he’s a good mechanic. Tom White said you might need someone to fix a tractor. Houston’s used to army vehicles, but he can make any engine purr.”
She swallowed hard. Jet was doing a good job of getting her engine purring all by himself. Focus!
“You’re ex-army?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s where Houston got injured.”
The familiar ache struck out of the blue. “My cousin Danny was killed by a roadside bomb,” she whispered. “One of those IEDs.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he quietly replied. “It’s happened to a lot of good men and women. And service dogs,” he added, bending over to give Rascal another scratch.
Even if this Houston was no good for ranch work, she owed him for his service to his country. The tractor did need work, and her daddy hadn’t gotten around to tuning up the ranch trucks yet. Then there were the half-finished jobs he never got around to finishing because he got an idea for a new invention. Hell, the Valley could use a good mechanic, as Peters’s Garage had enough to do with town vehicles.
“Why isn’t he recovering with family?” she asked.
“Neither of us have any.” Jet looked up at her. “We can work as long as you need, no strings attached.”
His quiet words didn’t match the fire in his expression. His eyes lingered at her chest. Not lewdly, but showing interest. A man this size might prefer a big woman. The thought of having him show her what she’d been missing made her tingle.
The Circle C needed a pair of hardworking men. She wanted them to prove she was not frigid and ugly and all the other things she’d been called. She’d hire them to work, and hope they might satisfy each other as an added benefit.
“I’m Lila Frost. You and your buddy are hired. We’ll see how you do the first month. If it works for all of us, I’ll extend it until my parents wear out their travelling bug.” A chunk of hair slipped over her eye. She pushed it behind her ear. “You caught me at a bad time.” She didn’t want him to think she was a slacker. “I’ve finished morning chores and been into town. I tripped in the hog pen and fell into something ugly after I got back. That’s why I was in the shower.”
That was definitely a lip twitch. She cursed. There was no reason why she had to explain anything to a stranger, especially a man who’d be working for her. Luckily, he didn’t know how well she suited the color of her hair. She had a hard time concentrating as her brain bounced all over. But she was now the ranch boss and had to take charge. No more blurting things she should keep to herself. Definitely no more doing crazy, impulsive things. She’d never live down her past, but that was part of small town life. She would hold her head high, work with these men, and show everyone she deserved to run the Circle C ranch.
“Ma’am, is there something I could do while you, ah, finish getting dressed?” He half turned and gestured toward the barn, keeping his hat in front of his buckle.
A man could be caught by a potential employee in nothing but a towel and think nothing of it. She’d dressed as a male before, binding her breasts, padding her waist, and hiding her hair under a hat. They’d accepted her as an equal until someone outed her. Girls were not allowed to ride bulls.
Girls were not allowed to do too damn much!
It was too late to hide her overlarge body. The robe was thin enough that he’d have checked out whatever God had blessed her with. He’d seen her bare legs, whatever bulged around the belt cinched tight around her waist, and her long, damp hair, which flowed like blonde garter snakes down her back. She gritted her teeth and stared at the floor.
Oh, shit! He’d seen her ruby-red painted toenails. Nobody but Danny knew she got pedicures each time she drove to Missoula. They were chipped and half grown out, since it had been a while since she’d had them done.
She glared up at Jet. Was that a smirk playing around those full lips? Were those laugh lines around his striking eyes? A wave of fury swept up her body and exploded from her mouth.
“You know how to work, pretty boy? Or do you just stand around looking hunky?”
“I can work, ma’am.”
“Prove it!” Sh
e threw her arm out, pointing toward the barn. “There’s the barn. And I’m sure your buddy can find the dead tractor all by himself when he wakes up.”
He gave a brisk nod. He turned, lifting his hat onto his head as he did. She dropped her eyes to see if he had that buckle. There was no bull or bronco on the silver oval, but there was certainly something interesting below it. He cleared his throat, making her look up. He’d stopped, halfway turned, and looked back. His eyes dropped to her chest. His low, knowing chuckle quivered down her backbone, all the way to her pussy, which throbbed in response. He didn’t hide the grin as he continued toward his assigned task.
She looked down. The polite term for what she saw was a wardrobe malfunction. It must’ve happened when she angrily gestured at the barn. Had he seen a nipple, or just the curve of her breast?
Shit, shit, shit!
Once again, she’d acted impulsively and would have to pay the price. In this case, it would be embarrassment. That was nothing new.
No, she was not going to feel embarrassed. She’d caught him staring at her cleavage, and he’d caught her staring at his very impressive package. She wouldn’t have had anything to stare at if he didn’t find her at least a little bit attractive. Unless he was a horn dog and just looking at a woman made him hard?
“Guard, Rascal,” she said, pointing to the yard.
The puppy she’d trained from birth leaped off the porch and raced halfway to the barn. He stopped, tail high and waving, teeth grinning, eager for the man to join him. She trusted Rascal with her life. This Jet Quartermain was no threat to her physically, and if his buddy was all banged up, he wouldn’t be either. Her libido was another matter. Her blood pounded, making certain parts throb.
“Houston, looks like we got us a job,” he called through the cab window. “I’ll be in the barn. Dog’s friendly.”
“What about the boss?”
“Find out for yourself.”
