He smiled, gazing into her hazel eyes that looked green one day and brown the next. “You’ve probably never worn a pair of boots in your life until today. Did you get them at the Dollar Store in Alamo?”
“Busted,” she admitted, returning the smile.
“I won’t hold it against you. I like ‘em. They look good on you.”He couldn’t help but let his gaze rake up and down her perfect little body.
“Well, thanks.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m ready to get to work if you are.”
“Then let’s start. After you.” He chivalrously let her step ahead of him, but his motives were anything but pure. As she sauntered into the barn, he watched her hips move from side to side. He’d always been a butt man, and hers did not disappoint. Jordan opened each of the stall doors, as he grabbed a pitchfork and shovel and dropped them into the wheelbarrow parked in the corner.
“Where are your gloves?” he asked, thrusting the pitchfork at her.
“Oops. I don’t have any.”
“What kind of rancher are you, Jordan? You’ll get blisters and ruin your delicate hands and fancy fingernails.” He noticed her long nails were painted pink. He strode into the tack room and searched for work gloves. “I’m sure there’s a pair around here somewhere.”
“I’m not so delicate,” she called out.
“Pardon?” He stuck his head out the tack room door.
“I said I may look it, but I’m not that delicate. I’m petite, but I’m strong. You’ll see.”
“Good.” The spurs on his boots jingled as he walked toward her. He handed her an old pair of gloves. “You need to be strong to make it as a rancher.”
She slipped the gloves on.
“Now you’re ready. You fork and I’ll shovel and unload.”
The job was back breaking, and the heat made an oven out of the barn in short time. Jordan pierced the dried manure patties with the pitchfork and tossed them into the wheelbarrow as he scooped, expertly catching only the manure and leaving most of the stall bedding intact. He’d had a lifetime of practice.
“I’ve got a load of cedar chips in the truck bed,” he rasped. “We’ll give each stall a fresh layer before the day’s over.”
“You’re pretty good at that scooping,” Jordan said. “Looks like you’ve got the technique down to a science.” She stopped long enough to wipe her perspiring face with her neck scarf.
“I’ve been mucking stalls all my life. I could do it in my sleep.” As much as he enjoyed talking to Jordan, when physical labor was involved, he tended to keep his mind on the work. There’d be time for talking later. He shifted his attention back to the shoveling and went silent.
She stared for a moment and then went back to forking dried poop. The man was amazing. He plugged along, bending and shoveling, and pushing the wheelbarrow out to the corner of the property where he dumped load after load, working like an ox. When he finally took a break late in the morning, his shirt was soaking wet. He removed his gloves, unbuttoned his shirt, and shrugged it off.
Breathing heavily, she leaned on the pitchfork and watched him wring the sweat out of the shirt like it was a dishrag. He tossed the shirt over the gate and bent from side to side to stretch his back. Her gaze was riveted to the man’s body. His shoulders were broad, and tiny beads of sweat glistened like diamonds on his curly brown chest hair. A strip of brown hair ran down the taut muscles of his stomach and stopped at the top of his belly button. For a guy his age, he was in great physical shape. A tingle pulsed through her body. If he looked up, he’d catch her ogling him. Wyatt stuck the shovel in the dirt and wiped his damp forehead with the back of his hand. Turning, his gaze met hers and locked.
“See something you like?” he drawled. Those lips lifted into a crooked grin.
She blinked and felt her cheeks catch fire. Dropping her gaze to the ground, she kicked the dirt with her boot feeling. “Would you care for some iced tea?” she asked quickly.
“I’d love some. It’s time for a break.”
“I’ll go pour us a couple of glasses.” She yanked off the gloves, tossed them on the ground, and started for the barn door.
“I’ll sit under the apple tree and wait for you,” he said, following.
“Okay.” She hurried to the house mumbling under her breath about how embarrassing that was. In short time she exited the adobe carrying a tray with two tall glasses of tea, a pitcher, a bowl of sugar, two spoons and some store-bought cookies. Wyatt was where he’d said he’d be—waiting for her under the apple tree, still bare-chested. He sat on the grass, leaning against the trunk with his long legs stretched out before him. He smiled as she handed him a brimming glass.
After chugging it in a single long gulp, he held the glass out for another and licked his lips. “That sure hits the spot. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She refilled his glass and offered him the sugar bowl. “Do you take sugar with yours? Not knowing, I left it unsweetened.”
“I do, but I was so thirsty I didn’t bother the first time around.” This time he added three spoons of sugar to his drink before knocking it back.
“Why don’t you have a little tea with your sugar?” she teased. She sat cross-legged on the ground and sipped her drink, watching him.
He grinned. “I know sugar’s bad, but I’m too old to change my ways.”
Uh oh. He’d mentioned the very word that had been on her mind—old. She was dying to know his age. He was handsome, charming, witty, and had a great body. What if he was older than she suspected? Would it be too creepy to still be attracted to him? Noting ventured, nothing gained, she decided. Boldly, she asked, “Just how old are you, Brannigan?”
Mischief brightened his eyes. “How old do you think I am?” He picked a cookie off the tray and bit into it making a loud crunch.
“That’s not fair. I’m terrible at guessing ages. If I guess high you’ll be insulted. If I guess low, you’ll be…”
“Thrilled,” he interjected, finishing her sentence. “Go ahead and take your best shot. I can handle it.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She studied him like she was examining a fine piece of art. Then she placed her finger on her chin and pretended to seriously contemplate before answering, while hoping he wasn’t more than her estimate. “Forty-seven?”
He leaned back on his elbows and smiled that lazy smile again. “Nice guess, Jordan. Maybe I should have you pick a lottery number for me.”
“I’m right?”
“On the money.”
“That’s unbelievable. I’m usually terrible at that sort of thing.” She grinned, pleased with herself, and relieved that he hadn’t hit the big five-o yet. She stretched out on her side in the grass. “All right. It’s your turn.”
“Guess your age?” he queried.
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?” She feigned a pout.
“I’d like to live to see tomorrow, that’s why. I know how women are about their weight and their age. I’m not walking into that trap.”
She laughed. “Fair enough.” She quenched her thirst by downing the tea before gazing into the tree to admire its blossoms. She could feel Wyatt staring at her. “What?” she asked, trying to keep her gaze from drifting to his muscular chest.
“Come on, now. You can’t leave me hanging out to dry. You know my age. Tell me yours.”
Jordan hesitated and saw his eyebrows wiggle in anticipation. “It’s only fair,” he chided. “I have to know if I’m robbing the cradle or not.”
Robbing the cradle? That comment caught her off guard. A gasp caught in her throat and goosebumps prickled her arms. Had he meant to say that out loud? Was he teasing her again?
“Oh, okay. I’m thirty-five.”
“Mmmm.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Yep.” His stare was so powerful it seemed he was crawling into her soul. Then he wolfed down two more cookies. On the d
ay they met she noticed he didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t married. She had to get that nagging question out of the way before the flirting went any further.
“Brannigan, is there a wife over there at the Circle B? Someone chained to the stove or in the bedroom barefoot and pregnant?”
His eyes widened and he laughed—a deep masculine belly laugh that warmed her heart. “No, Jordan. There’s no wife at the Circle B or anywhere else on the planet.”
A sigh of relief seeped through her lips. “A woman needs to know these things about her…friends,” she said, tossing him a sideways glance.
“I understand. Is there…?”
She interrupted him with a firm “No.”
He nodded his approval.
Curious as to why a woman hadn’t snagged him yet, she studied his profile. Myriad questions popped into her mind. What type of woman was he attracted to? Did he have casual girlfriends? What’s he been doing all his life? If he wasn’t attached at his age, why not? And did he see himself ever settling down? Sitting next to him under the tree encouraged thoughts of home and hearth. It had been so long since she’d experienced the warm sense of belonging that most people associated with home and their growing up years. All of a sudden she ached to hear his story.
“Tell me about yourself, Brannigan.”
“What brought this on?”
“I don’t know. I just thought we should get to know one another since we’re neighbors and friends.”
“Friends. Okay. Being friends is a step in the right direction.”
Jordan sensed he would like their relationship to become more, but it was way too soon to consider anything romantic, despite the attraction she felt toward him. The bruises hadn’t fully healed from the break-up with Drew, and she barely knew this man.
“There’s not much to tell,” he began. “I’m a rancher. I have a dog. You met him. I raise and breed thoroughbred racehorses. And I do a little farming on the side. That’s about it.”
She wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “Did you grow up in New Mexico?”
“No. I’m from Montana originally.”
“Montana…” She thought about that a moment. “I don’t know anything about Montana. Tell me about it.”
“It’s beautiful in the summer and colder than hell in the winter.”
“You told me you’d known Lydia for over twenty years. When did you come to Tularosa?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
“You consider it home then.”
“It’s home.”
She waited for him to go on, but it was apparent she was going to have to prod him. “So tell me how you ended up in Tulie.”
“It’s a long and drawn out story.”
“I have plenty of time.”
Wyatt took another swig of tea and narrowed his eyes. “I was married once, a long time ago. When I was nineteen I married my high school sweetheart. The marriage lasted ten years. I worked the rodeo circuit back then, which meant I was hardly ever home. I was a team roper and we were always on the road. There were many temptations; liquor, other women… I’m not proud of some of the decisions I made. I’m just telling you how it was. I didn’t make good choices. It was hard on my wife, of course. It’s tough being married to a rodeo man.” He paused. “You sure you want to hear this?”
“Yes. Go on.”
“I drove in late one night. I’d been in Casper, Wyoming, and as usual, I’d drunk up my winnings, so I was hung-over and broke. There was a strange truck parked in the drive and a Dear John note tacked to the door. In this case, it was Dear Asshole. All my stuff was scattered on the lawn, and the locks to the house had been changed. I couldn’t blame her. She got tired of being alone. I wasn’t a good husband to her.” He cast a wary glance and Jordan pressed him to continue.
“I jumped in my pickup and started driving. I had no destination in mind. I drove for hours, which turned into days. When the truck broke down on the outskirts of Tularosa, New Mexico, I had no money left and no pride either. I walked into town, and the first place I saw was the church.”
“That lovely white mission?” she asked.
“Yes. I went in to pray. Mind you, it’d been some time since I’d spoken to God.”
“What happened?” She leaned toward him, inquisitive, with empathy crowding out her curiosity.
“There was a man sitting in the back pew. I didn’t know he was there at first. He must have heard me talking to God. I found out later his name was Hank Driscoll. He owned a big ranch outside of town called the Double D. He’d been praying for his wife who was dying of cancer. Long story short, he took me in as a ranch hand and became like a father to me. I’d lost my own dad when I was a boy. I’m proud to say I learned from Hank what it means to be a real man.”
Jordan smiled. She was thankful Hank had been sitting there that day.
“When Hank was killed in an accident two years later, childless and with no other family, I inherited his ranch.”
She gasped, unable to hide her shock. “The Circle B was Hank’s ranch?”
“Yep. I changed the name when it became mine. I didn’t think he would mind.”
Mulling the story over, Jordan was aware that Wyatt watched her carefully. “You never remarried?” she asked.
“Not yet.” His brilliant green eyes explored her face with hope, silently expressing his longing and desire.
“What about Nicki?”
“Nicki from the café?”
When she nodded, he threw back his head and laughed in earnest.
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Honey, Nicki and I go way back. She was one of the first people I met in town. I’ve known her for years. She’s a good friend. That’s all.”
Did he just call her honey? Jordan was not naïve. She knew friends could also become lovers. It was ludicrous to expect a vibrant man to have lived a celibate life for over twenty years. She just hoped he and Nicki had never been lovers, as he claimed. Although she shouldn’t have been judgmental, that thought did not sit well with her.
“Your turn,” he said. Apparently, he felt no need to give her further assurance that nothing had gone on between him and the flirtatious waitress.
“Excuse me?”
“You said you don’t have a husband, but what about a boyfriend? Is there anyone you left back in Colorado?”
She shook her head emphatically.
“I can hardly believe that. You’re so pretty, I’d think you’d be fighting men off with a stick.”
She had to give it to him. The man was charming and smooth as yogurt.
“Come on,” he urged. “I opened up to you, which, by the way, is not an easy thing for this cowboy to do.”
She met his gaze again. “You’re absolutely right.” She took a deep breath and prepared to relive the hurt all over again. “There was someone. I dated a man for two years. He was a photographer for a magazine, and he extensively traveled to exotic, far-off lands on assignment. He met another woman when he was in London. They fell in love and he decided to stay there. He broke the news to me over the phone.” She tugged at a loose thread at the cuff of her shirt. Her story was short, but definitely not sweet. There was no need to draw the heartbreak out.
Wyatt covered her hand with his and his smile faded. “I’m sorry, Jordan. That had to have been tough. That guy was a Class A jerk.”
His closeness unnerved her. Shivers raced up and down her spine as his warm hand stroked hers. She had the urge to run her hand across his chest and feel the soft, curly hairs between her fingers. It surprised her, but Wyatt stirred something inside.
“It was hard, but I believe everything happens for a reason. I wouldn’t have come to New Mexico if I were still with him. I would have sold the ranch sight unseen.”
“Now, that would have been a real shame,” he said, still touching her hand. “Look what you would have missed out on. Meeting me and learning how to muck a stall properly.” His
finger trailed up her arm.
She scrambled to her feet. Fire was igniting between them; a fire she might not be able to put out. Was that what she wanted? She didn’t know. Things were happening too fast. She dusted off her jeans. “Speaking of mucking, we’d better finish our work in the barn. Daylight’s burnin’. Isn’t that what the cowboys in the movies always say?”
His face sobered, but only for a moment. “Yes, ma’am, it is.”
They completed mucking the stalls and also cleaned and organized the tack room and swept the floor. Jordan dusted off the saddles as Wyatt shoveled fresh cedar chips into each stall. When she thought the work was done, he backed the trailer to the barn and unloaded twelve bales of hay.
When they were finally finished, he slipped his now-dry shirt on, and they stood next to his truck. “I’ve called the farmer I buy my hay from and arranged a delivery for you.”
Jordan watched his large fingers fumble with the small pearl snap buttons.
“I know the horses’ vaccinations are up to date, so that’s one thing you won’t have to worry about.” He tucked the shirt into his jeans.
“Thanks. You’ve worked so hard today.”
“So have you.”
“That’s true. I’ve never done that kind of physical labor in my life.” She rubbed her neck feeling the muscles tense. “But it felt good. Real good. We really accomplished something today.”
He grinned. “We sure did. We make a pretty good team.” Before she could respond, he said, “I can bring the horses over sometime tomorrow, if you’d like.” He ran a hand through his damp hair.
“All right. If you think I’m ready for them.” He must have sensed her trepidation, or seen the way she nibbled her lip nervously.
“Don’t worry, Jordan. I’ll teach you all you need to know about the animals. Just take one day at a time and you’ll be fine.”
“Okay. If you say so.” She extended her hand to shake. “I’m so grateful. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Just keep thinking that way,” he winked. As they shook hands, a spark flew between them. She jerked her hand back, feeling as if an electrical current shocked her. It was evident he’d felt it, too, because he made a joke.
Takin' The Reins Page 7
