Her Cowboy Boss

by Patricia Johns

  And yet, here he was holding her hand on a dark night, and his voice sounded comforting and warm.

  “No brothers or sisters. Just me,” she said, relenting. “How about you?”

  “Four sisters. All married. All with kids.” She could hear the tension between the lines there.

  “Is that four sisters intent on setting you up with someone?” she asked.

  “Yes... Well, they might have lost some of their steam lately. I’ve been remarkably stubborn in that department.”

  “How come?” she asked.

  “Because I’ve been there before—married and divorced. Not willing to do it again.”

  His grip on her hand tightened, and he stopped in his tracks.

  “What’s the matter?” she whispered.

  “Shh.” His arm tensed, the biceps hardening against her cheek.

  Avery’s heart hammered in her throat. She held her breath, listening, then looked around in one quick swivel. What had he seen? A wolf?

  “Don’t...move...” he ordered.

  * * *

  HANK SAW THEM coming out of the grass at the side of the road, waddling out onto the gravel. He might not have noticed them were it not for the white stripes down their backs. A mother skunk and three kits.

  “What—” she began, and he squeezed her hand again. Then he heard her exhale. There it was—she’d seen them, too. The trick with skunks was not to scare them. A scared skunk would spray, a happy skunk would not. They were also a remarkably nearsighted animal with a hair-trigger defence system.

  The skunks wandered closer, the mother first and the babies close behind. Avery started to move and he dropped her hand to slip his arm around her waist, pulling her firmly against his side. He could feel the rise and fall of her ribs against his hand. Her head came up to his shoulder and he could make out the faint fruity scent of her shampoo. If he could just keep her still for another minute...

  “Don’t move,” he repeated softly, and when he felt her relax slightly, he loosened his grip. The woman in his arms was diverting his attention away from the skunks. He couldn’t help but notice the way she felt—warm, firm, and he could feel the beat of her heart.

  The skunks lost interest in their footwear and waddled off a few feet. Hank scooped up Avery’s hand again and tugged her with him, slowly backing away. When they’d made a wide enough distance between them and the skunks, he let out a breath of relief.

  “Oh, my goodness...” Avery laughed softly. “I thought there was a wolf or something.”

  “Ever been sprayed?” he asked wryly.

  “No.”

  “I have. Trust me, you don’t want to scare a skunk.”

  “So I suppose I should be glad of the personal escort.” Her eyes glittered in the darkness, and he wasn’t entirely sure if she was joking or not. There were dangers out there that she had no idea about.

  “Let’s get you back.” He didn’t let go of her hand, though, and she fell into step beside him.

  When was the last time he’d held a woman’s hand...for any reason? He’d taken a few women out for dinner over the last couple of years, but it hadn’t gone much further than a first date. This was probably the most physical contact he’d had with a woman since his divorce, and this was supposed to be practical—just getting her back to her room in the dark. But his body was reacting like a whole lot more was going on, and he was noticing things about her, like the softness of her skin against his, the scent of her, the sound of her breath as she hurried to keep up with his long stride. He slowed a little.

  “You said that you won’t let your sisters set you up?” Avery asked.

  “You don’t get derailed from a conversation very easily, do you?” he asked with a low laugh.

  “I guess not,” she replied. “So how come?”

  “You’re young and idealistic. I’m not.”

  “Who says I’m idealistic?” she asked. “I watched my mother get divorced.”

  “Alright.” He could make out the light from the windows of the bunkhouse now. “But you are young...and that makes a difference.”

  “Maybe it does,” she agreed.

  And he wished she’d been willing to fight with him a little bit over that one instead of agreeing so easily. Not that it mattered. He’d met Vickie when he was young and romantic. He used to write love poetry, for crying out loud. Terrible, rhyming love poetry that made him grimace even to remember it.

  “Have you always been so bossy?” she asked after a moment of silence.

  “What?” He looked down at her.

  “You. You’re bossy.” She peered up at him, and again, he wasn’t exactly sure how serious she was.

  “I’m not... I’m just your boss.” He gave her a quick smile.

  She laughed at that. “You like giving orders. Being in control.”

  “Someone has to.”

  “I’m just saying, it’s off-putting,” she said.

  Was it? It wasn’t like he was like this with women he wanted to date. He was like this at work, and speaking of which, she was supposed to be his subordinate. But then again, they were holding hands. He let go of her. If she went into a pothole, she’d survive.

  “I’m still your boss,” Hank reminded her. “And I saved you from rabid skunks.”

  “They weren’t rabid,” Avery said with a laugh.

  “Fine. Skunks, all the same.”

  “I will give you that. And you saved my job.”

  “See? Bossy isn’t so bad.”

  What did she even want from him? He wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t asking. The moon came out from behind a cloud and they were suddenly illuminated in silver light. He cleared his throat and stepped back.

  “Is that why you don’t date?” she asked.

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m not sure.” He could hear the honesty in her tone. “I guess I like you.”

  As a person, or as more? It had been a long time since he’d talked with a woman like this—a little flirtatiously, no intentions whatsoever...

  “Fine.” Hank slowed his pace. They were getting close to the bunkhouse now, and he glanced toward it, then back to her upturned face. “I don’t date because I don’t want to fall in love again. My wife broke my heart. Besides, I like my life the way it is. I know that most women want the wedding. Can’t say I blame them, but I’ve already done it. So I keep things uncomplicated.”

  “Oh.” Avery was silent for a beat, then said, “You’re right, though. I know I want a wedding.”

  “Even after your mother’s miserable luck?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She shrugged faintly. “I believe in something bigger than luck.”

  He smiled at that. A breeze picked up, blowing her hair over her face, and she ran a finger through her curls, pulling them back. She was beautiful in the moonlight, her skin glowing pale with the scattering of freckles over her nose and down her cheeks. She had the kind of beauty that made a man’s rational thoughts drain from his head, made him want to do things that he should know weren’t good for him or his career... There was one red strand stuck to the moisture on her lip, and he reached forward and pulled it free. Those lips... They parted as she inhaled, and his gaze moved back up to her eyes.

  This was where he was supposed to walk away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and for the first time, looking down into those clear eyes, he was positive that she wasn’t joking.

  “What’s bigger than luck?” Hank asked softly.

  “Love.”

  He wished he could agree with her, but he’d already been burned, and he knew better. Love didn’t always last, no matter how well-intentioned the people were who stumbled into it. And he’d loved Vickie once upon a time.

  “I’m jaded,” he admitted.

 
Avery’s gaze met his and then she nodded slowly. “I know...”

  Was it so obvious? But standing with her in the starlit night, he wished he could forget about logic and ideals just for a little while, and let himself feel something again. But he knew what was waiting for him if he did—recriminations, hurt feelings, resentment when he had to tell yet another woman that he couldn’t give her what she needed. Besides, if he started something up with an employee, he’d also find himself out of work.

  She dropped her gaze and looked at her watch. “I have an early morning.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Avery turned toward the bunkhouse, and he realized he didn’t want her to go. She’d told him already that she was in town to learn more about her mother, but there was more to it—call it a gut feeling, but he was seldom wrong.

  “Wait.” He kept his voice low, and she turned back. “So I’ve told you about me. Don’t you think I deserve just a little bit of truth from you?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why are you really in Hope?” he asked.

  She was silent for a few beats, and for a moment he thought she might not answer. Then she said, “My mom left Hope pregnant and never came back. I never knew my dad, but I’d like to get to know him, if I get the chance.”

  Her dad... Had she applied for the only job available to buy herself a little more time in town...or did she think Mr. Harmon was her father? He had questions, but she was turning away again.

  “Good night, Hank,” she called softly over her shoulder. “See you at breakfast.”

  He waited until she got inside before he headed back toward the road. He was cynical from a messy divorce and she was looking for a dad she’d never met. It was the reality check he needed. Attraction was one thing, but he liked to be realistic. He was her boss, and if he let those lines get blurred, he’d lose his job, smear his reputation and find himself back down at the bottom of the heap on another ranch. He had a cousin who owned about eight hundred acres, but he didn’t want to work for Chet Granger. That felt too much like cap in hand. He wanted to build a career for himself that was based on his ability, not on a cousin’s sense of duty. He’d worked too hard to get where he was on the Harmon ranch to ruin it with a flirtation, especially with someone who was here with ulterior motives.

  He was a good cowboy, a better ranch manager and a bossy SOB who knew how to go it alone.

  He’d stick to his strengths.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning’s breakfast turned out rather well. She’d made scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausages, toast and porridge. Her timing was still off and she ended up serving the eggs cold, but no one complained, which at this point was Avery’s goal. She didn’t burn anything, either. When Hank had surveyed the breakfast spread, he’d shot her a grin and given her a thumbs-up. She’d never felt more accomplished in her life, and she felt a smile come to her lips now as she remembered it.

  She wasn’t supposed to be looking forward to seeing Hank, but last night had shown her a different side to the cowboy. Under that reserved, commanding exterior was a sweet guy. She could still remember the feeling of her hand in his, the sensation of his hand clamped against her side as the skunks investigated them. Except she was leaving in a week to reopen the flower shop, and there were rules around here that could ruin Hank’s whole career. Entertaining these thoughts was a waste of time and energy.

  She wrung out her dishcloth and hung it over the tap, then turned in time to see the swinging door open. It wasn’t Hank, it was Louis, his hat tucked under his arm, and she brightened. Her father had come to find her, instead of her pursuing him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Harmon,” she said.

  “Good morning.” The older man’s cowboy boots echoed against the tiled floor as he walked into the kitchen and looked around. “How are you settling in?”

  “Really well,” she said. “I think breakfast was a success.”

  Louis nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

  Did that mean her job was still safe? It was strange to be wondering at the stability of a job she was about to quit, but keeping it for a week mattered. It was her chance to get to know Louis on some level. She might not ever call him Dad, but she’d never forgive herself if she squandered this time.

  “I actually came by to give you these.” Louis pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “I was going through some old photos last night, and I found these pictures of your mother from when we were both teenagers. I thought you might want them.”

  “Pictures?” Winona had never shown her any photos from her teenage years, and Avery eagerly accepted the envelope. “Thanks.”

  “I was thinking about your mom...” He smiled sadly. “I hadn’t thought about her in a long time, and with your arrival, well...it brought back some memories.”

  Avery opened the envelope. She examined the first photo: four teenagers in the bed of a pickup truck. They were wearing a lot of denim, and she spotted her mother right away. Her hair was teased up in the front, the rest of it in permed curls. Like the others, she wore a faded jean jacket and she sat with her elbow resting on a boy’s thigh who was looking at her adoringly. He wore a faded baseball cap backward. Could that be Louis in his youth?

  “Who is that?” she asked, pointing to the enamored boy.

  “Chris Mayfield,” Louis replied. “Football player.”

  So, not her father. She flipped to the next photo, her mother sitting with some other teenage girls, all of them laughing at something. Her mother had a cigarette between her fingers and a bottle of beer between her boots. She had to look twice to make sure—this was not the mother she remembered!

  “My mother smoked and drank?” Avery shook her head. “I’d never have thought...”

  “She didn’t tell you about that, huh?”

  “Not a peep.”

  “I’m a father, and I’ve kept a few secrets of my own from my twins. As a parent, you want them to make positive choices, and you certainly don’t want your youthful mistakes to serve as a bad example, you know.”

  “I suppose I’m old enough now to be left unscathed,” she said wryly.

  The next picture showed her mother standing alone beside that same pickup truck again. She wasn’t posed. She was looking down at her fingernail, her lips pursed in concentration. Her hair shone in a halo of backlit sunlight, and there was something almost soulful in her mother’s expression. This was the kind of snapshot a young man took when he felt something for the subject—the kind of beauty a guy on the sidelines would see.

  “Who took this one?” Avery asked.

  “Me.” Louis’s voice was low.

  She looked closer at the photo. “Did you love her?”

  Louis cleared his throat and glanced away. “Well, you see...it was a long time ago.”

  “You must have had some sort of thing between you...” she prompted.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I think I told you before. We were friends, your mom and I. Good friends, even. But she didn’t go out with me. I was a bit of a dork back then. Look—”

  He tugged out the last photo, a snapshot of Winona and Louis together. She had her arm through his, and he was smiling. There were about six inches between her hip and his. Louis was skinny, with some acne and a cowlick in the front of his hair, and his expression in the photo was one of doting admiration.

  “You look like you had a bit of a crush,” she said with a low laugh.

  “We all did,” Louis replied. “Your mom was more grown-up than the other girls. At least it seemed that way to me. She was popular, too, but she wasn’t interested in guys like me. I...well, I hadn’t exactly bloomed yet, so to speak.”

  “Hmm.” Obviously, something had happened at some point between them, and maybe Louis was too much of a gentleman to say. Or too much of a cowar
d. She wasn’t sure which.

  “If you see that girl there—in the background,” Louis said. Avery could just make out a girl standing some distance from the truck in the first photo. She was plump, with teased hair, and looked to be chewing her nail. “I married that one.”

  “That’s your wife?” she asked in surprise.

  “That’s her. Carla. She hated your mom. I’m sorry—that’s an awful thing to say, but since they’re both in Heaven now, I imagine they’d be past all the pettiness. But Carla hated Winona because Winona was so...” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Womanly. She didn’t walk, she sashayed. And Carla was a country girl who lifted bales all summer. She was no dummy, either. She saw the way I looked at your mom, and ever after she couldn’t stand her. I hadn’t asked Carla out yet in that picture.”

  This version of her mother was so different from the Winona Southerly Avery had grown up with. Her mother had been fun, but cautious. She toed the line, didn’t swear, watched the length of her hemlines. She was a church lady to the core...but obviously not quite to the core. Avery kind of liked that—the rebel in her youthful mother was appealing.

  Her mother had sashayed.

  “My mom was so careful not to even look like she was flirting... She volunteered in church, went to Bible study midweek...” And maybe this had been why her mother had been so cautious in everything—there didn’t seem to be a lot of love lost for the sexy, teenage beauty.

  “Chris Mayfield is the pastor at our church now,” Louis said.

  “This guy?” She held up the photo with her mother in the bed of the pickup.

  “That’s the one.” Louis chuckled. “His parents sent him to Bible college straight after high school, and I guess it worked. He went on to a seminary, and he moved back about fifteen years ago as the local pastor.”

  “Was she dating Chris?” Avery asked. They certainly looked like a couple, except their relationship wasn’t the one that produced her.

  Louis nodded. “Off and on. She wasn’t too serious about anyone in particular.”

  Was Louis trying to make a point here? Because it sounded to her like he was trying to steer her toward Chris Mayfield. She hadn’t told Louis that she was looking for her father...but she had told Hank. At any rate, the good pastor wasn’t her father, and she knew that.