Pablo asked in Spanish, “Ask her if she knows how much El Patron is paying the sheriff.”
Chance ignored his cousin. He pointed to the near perfect square shape. “Somebody poured gas around the edges, tossed and match and let the wind do the rest. Lightning usually sparks a patch and builds out. And trust me, you’d hear it hit the ground. And except for the occasional heat lightning, you generally need a few clouds around before you have lightning.” He looked at the utterly clear sky, then at the blackened earth. “You have a solid square here. Looks very deliberate to me.”
He jerked his head toward the ranch road. “Saw a couple of other patches like this on the way in. Somebody’s been giving you a pretty hard time, haven’t they?”
She felt as if a tremendous weight had been removed from her shoulders. “No one’s been hurt,” she said.
“Except the grassland. And your nerves.”
She gave a half shrug. Now that someone else had seen the damage and believed her, she discovered her nerves weren’t nearly so frayed. “What are you doing out here?” She added hurriedly, “Not that I’m objecting, of course.”
He looked almost embarrassed and exchanged a look with his friend, who suddenly busied himself dusting off his worn jeans.
“It’s good you don’t object, because the thing is we’re here about that job for the cowhands.”
“Cowhands?” she asked blankly.
The smaller man said something in Spanish, and Chance gave a brief chuckle. “Cowboys,” he corrected. “We came to apply for the job.” He waved his friend over. “This is Pablo Garcia. He’s a distant cousin of mine.”
“You’re applying for the job?” she asked. She’d wanted him to apply. She’d dreamed of him applying. But because she’d leaned into his touch, because she’d thought he was going to kiss her, she didn’t know what to think. His working for her wasn’t in the picture, was it?
“Between us, we’ve got all the experience you need.”
“But—” Jeannie suddenly didn’t know why she was arguing. He and his friend had proven invaluable in an emergency. His being there was one of the ranch’s miracles, not a problem.
“I don’t want to be pushy, ma’am—”
She smiled at him, “I hear a but coming.”
He grinned. “But I’m pretty sure you could do a lot worse than us.”
Almost as if in answer to this statement, they heard the sound of two car horns honking from the main ranch road. Four men poured out of each dusty vehicle and swiftly made their way across the rough terrain.
“Carámba,” Chance’s cousin Pablo muttered, stiffening.
Jeannie was aware that Chance had tensed, as well.
When the eight men were within hailing distance, one of them called, “Señora McMunn? You having some trouble?”
She was surprised they knew her name. She’d never seen them before, that she knew of.
The man who had called slapped his chest. “I’m Rudy Martinez. Nando Gallegos sent us out here. The sheriff? He said you talked with him? You’re expecting us, no?”
Before she could stammer an answer, Chance stepped in front of her. “Sorry, Rudy, but the lady’s already hired out.”
Jeannie blinked at his falsehood, though she couldn’t help but smile at his sheer audacity and was glad his broad back hid her grin from the sheriff’s boys. She stepped from behind Chance and somehow wasn’t surprised that he sidestepped again, as if providing a shield for her with his body.
Instead of looking chagrined or disappointed, the spokesman for the eight men laughed. “She hired you and Pablo? Didn’t know she was throwing a rodeo for ladies’ men and errand boys.”
Pablo muttered something under his breath and started forward, only to subside at a single hand gesture from Chance.
Rudy stepped to the side, not in any fear of Pablo, but apparently so he could talk directly to Jeannie. His grin still covered his swarthy face. “Since I promised my cousin I’d keep an eye out for you, I’ll come back in a couple of days. If you’ve changed your mind and want to hire some real men, you can tell me then. Until then, señora, I’d lock my doors both day and night.”
He signaled the remaining seven, and almost as one they turned. About halfway across the field, they broke into laughter and looked back, only to laugh all the harder.
Pablo spat on the ground in overt defiance of their hilarity.
Chance turned and met Jeannie’s eyes. “So…do we have the job?”
“Those were the sheriff’s men,” she said.
Chance looked from her to the retreating cars. “Right,” he said, and met her eyes. “So do we have the job?” he repeated, grinning at her.
Jeannie could only stare at him, half admiring his brazen disregard of the ordinary conventions and half appalled at herself for this admiration.
Pablo said something in Spanish, and Chance’s grin broadened. “Pablo wants to know what kind of horses you’re offering us.”
“I don’t—I mean, we don’t have any yet. I was…” She trailed off, realizing she was as much as admitting they had the job as she was apologizing for not having the horses as yet.
“No problem,” Chance said, picking up the shovel and the empty fire extinguisher and tossing them to Pablo, who caught them with a laugh. “We’ll hit the next horse auction in Carlsbad or maybe up in Roswell, and we’ll help you pick out a couple of good ones.” He took her arm and began leading her to their vehicles.
Pablo said something, and again Chance translated. “He says he hopes dinner’s pretty soon, he’s nearly starving.”
Jeannie stopped in her tracks and stared at the two men.
“What’s wrong?” Chance asked, and then grinned as if he knew exactly what was troubling her. Pablo grinned, too.
“Nothing,” Jeannie said, resuming her pace and smiling broadly. She knew it was crazy and that her friends Leeza and Corrie would probably never stop kidding her for her impulsiveness and that she’d probably just made an enemy of the local sheriff, but she hadn’t felt so good in ages. “Nothing’s wrong at all. I was just thinking that for the first time in a long time, I simply can’t wait for dinner.”
Chapter 4
C ontrary to Jeannie’s orders, José and Dulce stood waiting for them on the front veranda of the main house. The protective anger in Dulce’s eyes—and the wide-eyed fear in José’s—quelled any remonstrance Jeannie might have uttered.
“It’s all right,” she said, jumping out of the Jeep. She signaled to Chance that he should wait a minute while she got the key to the bunkhouse. She reached out and ruffled José’s straight black mop of hair and lightly touched Dulce on the shoulder. While José leaned into her touch, Dulce shrugged away from it.
José pointed to Chance’s pickup.
“Who are those weirdos?” Dulce asked as if translating. She lifted her chin at the two men in the truck.
Jeannie gave her a repressive look then said, “They’re two men who helped me put out another fire. I’ve just hired them to help out with things here at the ranch.” She felt almost dazed by the admission. She’d hired two strangers as cowboys for her ranch. Was she crazy?
“Things like us kids? I knew all this lovey-dovey stuff wouldn’t last very long.”
Jeannie felt her breath hitch. Lovey-dovey stuff? She’d been walking on proverbial eggshells around the two of them. The most she’d done was touch a cheek or pat a shoulder. If the girl considered that lovey-dovey, she’d probably expire on the spot from a real hug.
“No,” Jeannie said as breezily as she could manage through her constricted throat, “they’re here to take care of things like cattle, fences and range fires. I expect everyone on this ranch to treat these men with respect. Is that clear?”
José nodded, his eyes solemn. Dulce snorted. “I give as good as I get. They treat me right, I’ll think about doing the same. Otherwise, screw ’em.”
“They’re going to help us get some horses,” Jeannie said. She hoped her tone was l
ight. She brushed past the girl to the rack of keys just inside the front doors.
She was halfway back to the Jeep when she heard Dulce call. “Are you gonna let us kids ride horses, too?”
Jeannie turned in time to catch a look of intense longing on Dulce’s features, possibly the first genuine sign of girlhood she’d seen on that painted face. “Of course,” she said, grinning. “This is a ranch, isn’t it?”
Dulce hitched a shoulder, turned away without another word and stomped inside the house.
Jeannie fought the urge to call the girl back. When she’d found the advertisement for this broken-down ranch in southeastern New Mexico, she’d dreamed she could create a happy home for troubled children. She’d pictured herself—and her two friends—playing sweet home mothers to countless children who needed them.
She hadn’t taken the children themselves into account. Or reality.
From the moment the two children had arrived at Rancho Milagro, she’d begun to slam face first into her misconceptions. José couldn’t be sweeter, however noncommunicative, but Dulce was a walking world of pain.
As she did every time the girl grated on her nerves, Jeannie tried telling herself that what had been destroyed in Dulce’s life with harsh words and scowls could be built up with laughter and a caring touch. She’d dared to hope that was true. But she was afraid that too many years of anger and distrust had left an indelible mark on the prickly child.
She lifted her hand in a wave to José and signaled him to wait for her. He waggled little fingers at her and gave a tiny smile, and Jeannie realized that while she might have mountains yet to climb with the queen of recalcitrance, José was a total mystery but a darling one. And at least Dulce was curious enough to ask about horses.
Jeannie felt a sudden wave of hopefulness sweep over her. She didn’t know if the hope’s source lay in the small toehold of rapport with the children. Was it a residue of the fire’s adrenaline rush? Or could it be laid at the feet of Chance Salazar, who once again was waiting patiently for her?
She found herself abruptly confident. She hopped into the Jeep Cherokee and pulled forward, motioning for Chance to follow her.
Moments later, she stopped in front of the long, low-slung bunkhouse. The building had once been a crumbling adobe barn, but Jeannie and her partners had designated it quarters for a few of the teachers or ranch hands they might eventually need. It sported eight separate bedrooms, smallish to be sure, but perfectly adequate, and two large communal-style shower rooms and bathrooms—his and hers. The living quarters were spacious, with four separate sofas, a few comfortable chairs, a large television and VCR combination and a stereo, none of which were new, but all were attractive and functional. The living room and dining room were under the same beamed high ceiling, which they had elevated to add a clerestory window, and the kitchen would easily accommodate five industrious chefs using the utensils and flatware stacked neatly in the open cabinets.
Except for the myriad inspectors and the contractors, Chance and Pablo were the first two strangers to see the results of her efforts at Rancho Milagro. Jeannie found herself showing the bunkhouse as if to prospective buyers, and their very silence added to her pride.
She risked a glance at Chance and found she couldn’t read his expression. His eyes were on a Holly Huber print hanging on one of the bedroom walls. It was of a bucking horse, bent nearly double in his defiance, flying mane and tail in raging motion. While the painting was comprised only of sketch lines and a vivid green color wash, the overall effect was one of sheer power and raw anger.
“That horse reminds me of the girl back at the main house,” Chance said. “All sound and fury.”
Jeannie gazed at the print as if for the first time. He was right. The similarities between the girl and the horse were subtle but deep—wild things, refusing any and all attempts at taming. She wondered if knowing such a thing would help her with the girl. She surmised that if Dulce suspected Jeannie thought such a thing, the girl would hate her all the more for seeing through her defenses.
Chance found his breath catching as the soot-streaked redhead beside him studied the painting on the wall of the elegant bunkhouse. She looked for all the world as if she was analyzing the print for proof of his statement. He’d never had someone take his words so to heart before.
She frowned and then sighed. He could read her emotions as easily as a first-grade primer. Just as her comments in her notepad jumped from subject to subject, her every emotion seemed to flit across her features—curiosity, determination, fear, hope. Every nuance of what she felt seemed to leap to the soft curves of her lovely freckled Irish face.
“I wouldn’t want to tame her,” she murmured. “I think enough people have tried doing that to her that she’s wild out of sheer last resort.”
“There’s breaking and there’s gentling,” he said.
She turned to him, and he wished he hadn’t spoken, for her eyes were luminous and too blue. He had the strangest image of a child they might jointly produce, one with dark red hair and blue-green eyes.
A soft smile curved her lips, and he suddenly wanted to touch them, to run a finger across her cheek, as much to see if she felt like the freckled peach she resembled as to wipe away a smudge of soot.
Her lips parted slightly, and he found himself leaning forward, as though her mouth had become a magnet that could command his entire body.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, and her eyes let him know this was nothing short of the absolute truth.
Her words, the simplicity of them and the almost dreamy expression on her face—not to mention the outrageous image he’d conjured of their child—served as a glass of icy water tossed directly into his face. He tended to run with women who had been around more than a couple of blocks. They generally sported short skirts, big hair and no tears the morning after. They seldom spoke of feelings beyond like or dislike of the latest country and western tune and would never have revealed their shellacked hearts by uttering such a disarming statement.
He edged back a step and found himself struggling not to shuffle his feet. “Yeah, me, too,” he muttered, lying through his teeth.
This had been a damn fool idea. He’d thought he could play the hero, rescue the girl, vanquish the bad guy and ride off into the sunset unscathed and undiscovered. Riding the rodeo circuit and as a federal marshal, he’d made a career of rushing in to save the day and disappearing as quickly. He’d never had to reckon with a red-haired siren who wore her vulnerability on her skin.
As if she could see right into him, she smiled gently and laid her hand on his crossed arms. “Thank you, Chance.”
His mama had taught him to say you’re welcome when thanks were offered, but manners were the furthest thing from his head. And saying you’re welcome would somehow imply much more than it should.
She released his arm, and he felt as if he could breathe again. She turned to the door. “I’m assuming you need to go back to town for your things….”
“No, ma’am,” he said and, with her safely some ten feet away, felt his confidence return. He grinned at her, somewhat enjoying the turning of the tables. She’d made him feel as off balance as a man could feel. It was only fair he do the same to her. “We brought our stuff with us. Just in case.”
“Oh.” She frowned, then seemed to shrug whatever she was thinking away. “That’s good. I suppose you’ll want to clean up before dinner. Juanita usually serves it around six.” She smiled and lifted a hand in farewell. “See you both then.”
As soon as the door of the bunkhouse—which was far more like a real house than either he or Pablo had seen in a host of years—closed, Pablo said, “You gonna tell her, boss?”
“Tell her what?” Chance asked, going to the window to watch her drive to the main hacienda. When she’d disappeared from view, he found his eyes focusing on the freshly painted wall of another of her out-buildings. She’d made a beautiful job of the restorations. Everything about the place subtly suggested
peace and tranquillity. He found himself more determined than ever to outsmart El Patron—if he was indeed the source of her harassment.
“You gonna tell her that you’re really a marshal?”
Chance sighed. If she were anyone else, he wouldn’t give the notion a second thought. Both in business and in his personal life, he operated strictly on a need-to-know basis. “I can’t think of a single good reason for doing so,” he said finally.
“I can,” Pablo said.
“Name one.”
“She’s nice. And she’s smart, too.”
“Okay, she’s nice and she’s smart. Those aren’t reasons for telling her we’re undercover here.”
“She’s not the kind of woman you play games with.”
“I’m not going to play games with her. I’m just going to make sure El Patron doesn’t mess with her ranch.”
“And if we don’t catch him soon?”
“What are you saying, Pablo?”
“How long are we gonna stay? A week? Two? Six months?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Okay, boss.”
“I mean it, Pablo. There’s no reason to tell her anything. We’re here now, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Okay, boss.”
“I’m not out to date the lady, much less hurt her. I’m here to do a job. Nothing more.”
“Okay, boss.”
“Cut it out, will you?”
“Didn’t you tell me she had a housekeeper and her husband working here?”
“Yeah. Doreen said they’re a couple that used to work at Job Corps in Roswell. Originally from Mexico.”
“Where were they when the fire started, do you think?”
Chance looked at his friend and distant cousin and smiled. “That’s a very good question, Pablo. Why don’t we get cleaned up and go find out?”
Chance wasn’t sure what he’d expected the main house to look like, perhaps a cross between the front cover of a modern design magazine and southwest corny. Instead, the immediate impression the house gave was one of rich harmony of textures, earth colors and warmth.
Cowboy Under Cover Page 5
