She paced herself to finish at the same time as the men on either side of her. One had given his name as Santiago, but she didn’t catch the other’s. When they all stood and filed toward the door, Grace did the same.
“Santiago.”
When the man in front of her stopped in his tracks, Grace barely caught herself before smacking into him.
“Sí, boss.” Santiago eyed Mr. Dominguez.
“You’re in charge of Miss Harper today. Tell Juan to give her one of those three-year-olds he’s finished with. I want you two with the main herd while the rest of us ride the outside lines.”
Grace fought the urge to nibble her lip. Might as well speak up now instead of waiting. She took a step to the side so she could see both men. “Call me Grace.”
Both heads swiveled to face her, along with everyone else in hearing distance. What was wrong with these men that they froze every time she spoke up? Hadn’t they seen a woman before?
She raised her chin and met Mr. Dominguez’s gaze.
He raised a single brow. “All right. Santiago, you and Grace stay with the herd.” Then he turned and strode from the room.
Juan, the aging wrangler in the barn, brought Grace what seemed like a decent mare. A bit leggy still, but the muscle along her shoulders and haunches was well-defined, and her chest would continue to widen with regular work.
“You think we’ll get along, girl?” Grace kept up a steady murmur as she settled her saddle blanket on the chestnut mare and reached for the saddle. The horse stood quiet, only shifting a foot to balance her weight as Grace settled the heavy leather on her back.
“I call this one Pepper, because her coat in the spring is as red as a habanero.” Juan approached the mare’s off side and rested a hand on her shoulder. “She’ll be good for you. Is still learning to think like the cattle, but she has a nice gait that won’t be hard to sit a long day.” The man’s heavy Mexican accent laced each word, and his wrinkled smile gave him a gentle look. Like he would be most comfortable gathering the children on his knees to tell stories.
“I’m sure we’ll get along fine.” Grace pulled the cinch tight and stroked the mare’s neck. She could imagine the fire of the chestnut hairs once the mare shed the thick, wooly winter coat. “The mare I came with should be fine for me to ride again after she’s had a few days’ rest. Georgina’s a good cow horse, but it was a long trip from California. She deserves a break.”
“Sí.”
Several figures came into view through the barn door. The men were ready to ride out. Grabbing her bridle, Grace slipped it over the mare’s head, then placed her left boot into the stirrup and vaulted into the seat. Home. She settled into the comfort of the leather as it encased her legs. No matter where she was, the back of a horse had been home for as long as she could remember.
Giving the old wrangler a thankful smile, she signaled the mare forward and headed toward the rest of the group.
Santiago reined over to her with a grin, and Pepper fell into step with his bay gelding. As they rode, the man shared bits and pieces about the ranch. His voice held a hint of Mexican accent, but not nearly as strong as Juan’s. In fact, over half the men now riding out toward the pastures shared the same dark coloring of Mexican vaqueros. Not an unusual sight for Grace, since most of the cow hands on their ranch in California had at one time come over the border from Mexico.
Her gaze wandered up to Mr. Dominguez. He rode tall and comfortable on a paint gelding, one hand gripping his reins and the other resting easily on his chap-covered leg. He certainly could sit a horse—and look good doing it.
The man riding beside him spoke, and Mr. Dominguez glanced at him with a word and a smile. The look softened his face in a way she’d not seen on him before, certainly not when he looked at her.
Something tugged in her chest. She’d have to make an effort to get one of those smiles from him.
Soon, they topped a hill and a wide valley spread out before them, surrounded by trees on two sides, and open land on the other two. A massive herd of longhorns grazed across the area. Grace inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. The familiar aroma of dust and manure and cow hide all blended together, easing a bit of tension from her shoulders.
The men fanned out, scattering in pairs around the outskirts of the herd. Santiago motioned for her to follow him toward the tree line along the western side.
“The others will be searching for the wanderers, but we’re to keep the animals close to the herd. Next week, after all the cattle are gathered, we’ll do the branding. Then comes the big roundup with the other ranches.”
Grace nodded. “How many ranches are in the area?”
Santiago shrugged, his dark eyes widening. “I don’t know—fifteen, twenty. But not many as big as the Double Rocking B. Señor Jacob and his Pa, they are good with the cattle and good with the men. Monty, too, although don’t tell my cousin I say good things about him.” He gave her a wink.
Mr. Dominguez was his cousin? To be expected, she supposed. Perhaps that’s why the foreman had assigned Santiago to work with her. Someone to determine whether she was up to the job. Maybe once Santiago saw her capabilities, the grim boss would relax his concerns.
“How far does the ranch property spread?” They were entering the woods now, so Grace reined her mare back behind Santiago’s horse.
“It follows the Guadalupe River along the south side. Prettiest sight on the property, too. Then two-fork creek on the west. We call this the north pasture, and it’s where we’ll do the branding, and where we keep ‘em in the worst of the winter. There’s a line shack down in that far corner if the weather turns bad.” He motioned toward the northeast. “Then there’s another little pasture on the other side of the house. All told, I think it’s close to five hundred acres or so. Jacob’s bought up a couple of small ranches since his pa died.”
Grace gulped, but tried not to look too surprised. In California, their three-hundred-twenty-acre ranch had been one of the largest in the area, which meant Pa was one of the wealthiest and most influential men within three counties. This Jacob O’Brien seemed awfully young to hold that same standing.
A low mournful sound drifted through the trees ahead of them, and Grace followed Santiago as he turned that direction. “Looks like a little one’s got himself stuck.”
The calf came into view as they rode closer, tangled in a hopeless mess of vines and briars. They’d not had such thick underbrush in California. Mostly cactus and sagebrush.
Santiago dismounted and pulled a long knife from a scabbard on his saddle. Grace slid to the ground and wove her way through the vines until she stood a few feet from the animal’s head.
The calf looked to be a yearling, or maybe a little younger, with pointy horns about six inches long. But those six inches stuck straight out, and were now wrapped snuggly in the vines and underbrush. The animal stood with its head locked tight, neck contorted in an obviously uncomfortable position. Poor fellow.
She glanced back at Santiago, who was trying to cut his way through a cluster of vines to get close enough. “Here. I can get most of the vines from where I’m standing.” Grace held out her hand for the knife.
He hesitated, taking in her position compared to his own. He looked about to speak, then clamped his mouth shut and extended the knife to her—handle first—through a gap in the brush.
Grace pinched her lips against a smile. It would take time for them to trust her, but at least this man was willing to try.
She crooned to the young bull while she sliced away his restraints, and the animal stood mostly still. But as his bonds loosened, the calf grew restless, pulling and jerking to free himself.
“When he’s free, we should mount quickly.” Santiago eyed the squirming creature. “If the animals are tangled for long, they become nasty. Were he much bigger, I would not have left my horse’s back.”
Grace glanced back to flash the man a wry smile. Yes, she was familiar with a longhorn’s temper.
When only a
single, thin vine held the animal, she backed out of the brush. As the calf thrashed to clear himself from his entrapments, she and Santiago sprinted toward their horses and mounted.
One of the first things Rusty had taught her on Papa’s ranch was respect for the longhorns. Of course, the teaching hadn’t really sunk in until she’d experienced the dangers firsthand, when she’d dismounted to free a young calf trapped between two rocks. The mother cow hadn’t appreciated her efforts as much as Grace would have expected. It was a wonder she’d walked away with only a scar on her thigh to remember the experience. That incident had also given her a healthy respect for a well-made pair of leather chaparejos, even in the scorching southern California sun. She hadn’t worked cattle without them, since that day nine years ago.
Of course, that danger was nothing compared to what she was running from now.
~ ~ ~
MONTY WATCHED FROM the edge of the tree line as Grace and her horse emerged from the far patch of woods, herding three steers toward the larger herd. He’d stayed close most of the day, just out of sight to keep an eye on her. But she seemed to handle herself well with the animals. He’d expected Santiago to keep her at his side all day, just in case she made any green mistakes that might endanger her or the horse. But the man had allowed her to work alone for several hours now, checking in every so often. Had she already sweet-talked his cousin into ignoring his better judgment? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to let her team up with Santiago this first day.
Monty had always kept the new riders at his own side until he was sure they had enough cow sense not to get hurt. But something about this woman put him off-balance, and it had seemed like a good idea to keep a bit of distance. Was it only the danger that concerned him? She’d certainly seemed like bad news from the start, and what little Jacob had told him last evening was enough for Monty to stew in his thoughts all night.
Lord, show me what to do with this woman.
The idea for her to shadow Santiago had seemed like a good compromise. Monty could keep an eye on her from a distance, without having to spend time in her company. And Santiago seemed smitten enough to ensure the woman’s safety.
A niggle of shame crept up Monty’s chest. It wasn’t right of him to take advantage of one of his men that way. He’d always said he’d never ask any of the hands to do something he wouldn’t do himself. But that’s just what he’d done.
Tomorrow, would be different.
Monty nudged Poncho forward and rode into the meadow. Maybe time with her tomorrow would help him get a better read on the woman’s intentions.
And the danger she brought with her.
Chapter Three
THE NEXT MORNING, Grace found herself riding beside her tall boss, heading a different direction than the rest of the cowpunchers. He’d said he wanted to show her the lay of the land today, although she suspected it had more to do with keeping an eye on her. She’d caught glimpses of him yesterday, watching from the trees, or just over the slope of the hill.
It seemed today his observation would be a bit more blatant. Did he really think she was so inept she had to be supervised like a nursemaid with a child? But maybe this would be an opportunity. He could see her interact with the animals, and perhaps she could get him talking—break through whatever barrier stood between them.
She inhaled a breath, cutting a glance at his stoic form. Now was as good a time as any to start. “Have you worked on this ranch long, Mr. Dominguez?”
He didn’t look at her, didn’t show any visible reaction to her words. In fact, for several moments, Grace wasn’t sure he’d even heard them. Did the man have a bad ear?
“Been here since I was twelve.”
Twelve. She slid another sideways glance toward him. The man looked to be five or six years older than her, which would put him in his early thirties. So he’d worked at this ranch for twenty years? That was loyalty in its purest form. No wonder he sat a horse and rode this land like he belonged here.
“That’s impressive.” She wanted to ask more, but every question she could think of sounded like prying. Had his parents died young? For surely they wouldn’t let their twelve-year-old leave home to work full-time on a ranch.
“You’ve hired on as a cowhand before?”
The question pulled her from her thoughts. The man spoke without being prompted? A wonder. “I worked on my father’s ranch in California. Not such a big spread as you have here, but a decent size.” And that was all she planned to say on the place. Any more would give away too many details. Make it too easy to connect a stranger’s questions to her.
“You punched cattle there?”
“For the last nine years. Growing up, he always kept me with him out on the range—when Mama would let him. But after she died, there was nothing to stop me.”
“I’m surprised your father allowed you to leave. I wouldn’t easily part with a good cow hand.”
She almost missed the tilt of his chin as he stole a glance at her. But the insinuation was clear. “My father didn’t have a choice in the matter. He died six months ago.” And that was all she would say about her family, even if she had to be rude to keep silent.
He didn’t probe farther though, and the tension in her neck gradually eased under the steady rhythm of her mare’s stride. Yet, the strain thickened the air between them. What could she say to put him at ease? She’d have to prove herself, she knew. But it would be much easier if they could start off on level ground. Or at least a gentle slope, not a rocky cliff.
Summoning her courage and a deep breath, she started in. “Mr. Dominguez—”
“Monty.”
She blinked at the lightning-quick interruption. “All right. Monty.” The name fit him. Strong, rugged. Very masculine. She swallowed to gather her thoughts again. “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot that first day. I’d like to make a clean start if we can.”
He didn’t even try to hide the look he sent her way. Appraising. But she couldn’t decipher the result of his assessment. Did he think her too bold? Surely not. Men out west appreciated honesty. At least, men of her acquaintance in California had. The decent ones, that is.
“Not sure you’d wanna go all the way back to the start.”
Was that a touch of humor in his voice? Sarcastic humor maybe. Was he implying she wouldn’t have the job if they started over? Grace sat a bit straighter. “You mean you wouldn’t have hired me?” She’d known she might have a challenge finding work in a man’s occupation, but from her first conversation with Mrs. O’Brien, it seemed the folks at this ranch wouldn’t be as prejudice against her gender. Maybe she’d been wrong.
“Not sayin’ that. Just that I wasn’t given the choice.” He drawled the words, but the slow cadence only gave them more punch.
Grace sucked in a breath as the bigger picture came clear before her. When Mrs. O’Brien had seemed to force him to accept her choice to hire Grace, it wasn’t because he’d disliked employing a woman. It was because he was the one who usually handled the hiring.
Hadn’t Mrs. O’Brien said during their initial interview that she’d never hired a cow hand before? Grace had assumed that meant her husband usually handled such matters. But when she’d offered to wait for the man, Mrs. O’Brien had waved the concern away. Back home, either Papa or Rusty hired on help, depending on who the prospective employee spoke with first. But that must not be the case on this ranch. Not with this man, who wore his authority like a well-broken-in hat.
She had to clear up the matter, and maybe an apology would help. “I’m sorry if you felt ramrodded into hiring me, sir. That wasn’t my intent. I merely asked to speak with the boss of the place and was escorted to Mrs. O’Brien. I offered to wait for her husband to discuss employment, but she said it wasn’t necessary. Back home, either my father or our foreman handled hiring matters. But I realize that’s not the case everywhere. My apologies if I overstepped. That wasn’t my intent.”
The outline of his solid posture didn’t change
as she spoke, nor in the long minutes of silence afterward, but a furrow formed in his brow. She knew that look well, although she was used to seeing it on a much older face. Rusty’s lines would crease into deep grooves when he was mulling over his response to a situation.
She typically gave Rusty time to think, but maybe one more tidbit would help this man come to a positive conclusion. “I just want you to know, sir, I’ll work hard for you. I have good experience with cattle, and you won’t be sorry to have me on your payroll.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and after several beats, he offered only a single nod.
She’d take it. Grace settled back in the saddle and eased out a breath. Maybe the explanation had helped. At least she’d done what she could.
Now it was time to show what she was made of. She could only hope it would be enough.
~ ~ ~
GRACE RUBBED THE itchy spot behind Georgina’s ears, as the calming effect of the evening darkness settled over the barnyard. A horse snorted in the distance, answered by the chirrup of a cricket and the stomp of an animal’s hoof. A ranch after dark could be a magical thing, whether in California or Texas.
The mare bobbed her head, pressing into Grace’s hand, protesting the fact that her scratching had slowed. “You like that, girl?”
A soft thud sounded from inside the bunkhouse, where a glimmer of light shone under the door. The men had settled in quietly after caring for their equipment following dinner. She should be doing the same.
But after an entire day under Monty’s shadow, she’d needed a few quiet moments with her old sidekick. Just her and the animals. Not that Monty had been rude or hard to work with. In fact, they hadn’t really done much work. Mostly rode from one pasture to the next, checking stock and cowboys. He showed her the property boundaries on each side, and they followed the Guadalupe River for a long stretch. Santiago had been right about its beauty. The gentle flowing sound of the clear water soaked into her soul, settling peace over her—if only for a moment. Monty had even given her a chance to dismount and touch the frigid river water.
The Rancher Takes a Cowgirl Page 2
