A COWBOY'S SECRET

by Anne McAllister

  "I have a life," Lydia said.

  "Uh-huh." How could two syllables contain so much disbelief?

  Lydia poked at her coleslaw, irritated. She had always said she wanted to get married as well as be a lawyer. She had always wanted a family, a home. A life.

  It didn't seem too much to ask.

  And she had never been in any hurry – at least not until very recently – to get it. She'd always been convinced that it would happen when the time was right. Lately, though, she'd begun wondering just when that time would be!

  Maybe it was being over thirty that was doing it. She'd been over thirty for nearly two years, now, waiting patiently, and nothing had happened. It happened to other people.

  It had happened to Rance!

  She'd spent all summer working her tail off, while Rance, who should have been working his tail off right alongside her, had instead avoided the office – he'd literally "run away" – and in so doing, found the woman of his dreams.

  He'd not only got Ellie, he'd got four kids as well.

  Lydia wanted a child. She wanted a husband.

  Maybe her biological clock wasn't winding down yet, but she wasn't a teenager anymore – even though she felt like one around J.D.

  It was nuts. She was a competent, clever, successful lawyer. Yet around J.D., she felt like the gawkiest, most awkward, adolescent girl.

  She couldn't, for example, get what had happened last night out of her mind.

  Nothing happened last night! her mind protested.

  But she couldn't forget the way her boots had knocked against his boots. Her breasts had brushed his chest. And his … his … well, a very intimate part of J.D. Holt – that part just below his belt buckle – had brushed against her belly.

  The memory was vivid. Imprinted on her brain.

  She'd shoveled out the whole barn, determined to show him she belonged. And all the while, all she could think, like some idiot teenager, was not about the ranch, but that J.D. Holt had – however briefly – wanted her.

  Hadn't he?

  And that was the really distressing part. She wasn't sure.

  Lydia knew men's bodies were not really connected to their brains, and she guessed perhaps simple proximity to a female could have evoked such a response. But it wasn't as if he was still in high school, for goodness' sake! Didn't men get some sort of control eventually?

  She would have liked to ask Kristen if a man's body could really behave like that – that oddly, that quickly. Her own experience was so limited she had no way of knowing. Kristen, after ten years with Jerry, would know. And Kristen would love to be asked that question.

  But Lydia couldn't ask.

  Kristen would want to hear every detail. She would beam and feel justified. She would hope.

  And Lydia didn't know if she dared hope.

  Besides, there were some things you couldn't even tell your best friend!

  So she would just have to watch closely tonight – though she doubted she would get nose to nose, body to body with J.D. Holt again.

  * * *

  "What the hell—"

  J.D. knew he shouldn't have been surprised. He'd seen the lights on, after all, when he'd driven over the hill. But he couldn't believe she'd really just walked into his house. He'd thought his being an hour late would tick her off so much she'd leave.

  Instead she was standing at his stove asking, "How do you like your steak?"

  "What do you mean, how do I like my steak?" he demanded. "What are you doin' in my house?"

  "Well, technically, it's my house," she said mildly as she put the steak in the frying pan. "And I should think that what I'm doing is perfectly obvious." She nodded toward the potatoes boiling away and toward the oven where a green bean casserole was cooking. "But in case it isn't, I'm fixing both of us dinner. I said I would."

  "You didn't need to," he muttered.

  "You need to eat. You ate the cookies."

  He flushed with annoyance. "That was yesterday. I was hungry!"

  "And now you're not?" She smiled brightly, daring him to tell her he wasn't.

  He scowled. "I got stuff to eat. You don't need to cook for me."

  "Perhaps not. Perhaps I'm overstepping. But I looked around and saw what needed to be done. I believe you suggested that yesterday when we were conversing."

  "Conversing," he muttered under his breath.

  "What?"

  He glared. "Can't you just say 'talk' like anybody else?"

  "I apologize if my choice of vocabulary doesn't suit you. Now, if you'll go wash up, dinner is almost ready." Like she was his mother or something!

  He wanted to refuse, but he was filthy. Trey's list had seen to that. He grunted and headed toward the bathroom.

  "J.D.?"

  He stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder.

  "How do you want your steak?"

  There was a good half minute of silent battle before J.D. finally answered. "Medium."

  * * *

  She was a good cook.

  He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised at that, either. Every time he turned around, Lydia Cochrane was doing something else and doing it well. She even shoveled manure well. And cheerfully.

  It drove him nuts.

  "What shall I do tonight?" she asked him when they'd finished eating and he was thinking he hadn't had such a good meal in this house since his mother had cooked one.

  "Huh?"

  "To be a good rancher," she said patiently. "I need lessons."

  J.D. folded his hands on his flat but full belly and tipped his chair back on two legs. "Ranchin' lessons?" That sounded like Lydia. She'd told him at supper that she'd had piano lessons and art lessons and violin lessons as well as French and German lessons. It boggled his mind. She'd seen nothing out of the ordinary about it.

  "It's how I learn," she'd said.

  "Not me," he'd countered. "I hated school."

  "Not all lessons are in school," she'd said. Her mouth bowed into a very tempting smile. He wanted to kiss it.

  And where the hell had that come from?

  All four legs of his chair hit the floor with a crash. He bolted straight up. "Well, come on, then," he said gruffly. "We'll give you some lessons."

  "More shoveling?" she asked as she followed him out the door.

  "Not tonight. Tonight you can measure lumber and cut."

  "Help you with the corrals, you mean?"

  He cocked an eyebrow. "You reckon that's against the rules, Ms. Cochrane?"

  Slowly she shook her head, her very kissable mouth pursed. "Not as long as it needs to be done."

  They worked together until after ten. He brought the lumber up on the porch and turned on the light so they could work longer.

  He probably shouldn't have, but she wanted to get a taste of ranching, didn't she? Well, building a corral was part of it.

  Besides, it was sort of entertaining to watch her while she measured. She had this very intent way of looking, her gaze narrowed, her tongue caught between her lips. He liked watching.

  He liked watching her breasts when she sawed, too.

  They bounced.

  She didn't have big breasts, but her chest was by no means flat. He hadn't remembered her being quite so curvy when he'd been dating Letty. But he hadn't dated Letty very long – and he'd never really looked at Lydia back then – except to glare at her.

  He looked at her now.

  He tried to glare. He didn't want to.

  * * *

  She had a life!

  Other people might not think much of it, but Lydia was delighted.

  She still had her cases and her briefs and her confrontations in the courtroom. But she had more than that now. She had a ranch – and a barn and corrals and fences and hay that needed to be cut and cattle that needed to be tended, and she didn't know yet how to do half of it, but she was learning.

  And she could hardly wait to get out there every night.

  Because of the ranch, of course.


  Not J.D.? a voice inside her challenged.

  Ah, J.D.

  Lydia had expected that day-to-day encounters with him would teach her just how ridiculous her fantasy was. They would have nothing in common, she'd thought. They would have nothing to say to each other.

  But in fact it wasn't true.

  At first he'd been curt and hard-edged when she'd asked questions, but it wasn't long before his answers expanded, until he gave her examples, told her stories, made her laugh. He taught her how to change the oil in her car and hammer a nail straight and how to read the sky.

  "To know enough to come in out of the rain," he said with a grin.

  "And you think most lawyers don't know that?" She arched an only partly indignant brow.

  His grin widened. "Well, sure you do. If you watch the weather channel."

  Lydia had plenty of experience working with men. She knew how to work with men. But even with Rance she'd never felt quite at ease being "friends."

  Oddly, she did with J.D.

  He respected her law degree, but he didn't seem intimidated by it. Some men were. They avoided her. He didn't. He teased her about it.

  At night when she lay in bed and remembered what happened each evening, the memories made her smile.

  Was Kristen right?

  Was something happening?

  Did she dare hope?

  She was almost afraid to. And yet…

  And yet…

  * * *

  It wasn't any of his business.

  J.D. was a fence painter, an oil changer, a corral and stable builder. There was nothing in his job description – or in his agreement with the court – that said he had to care about Lydia Cochrane.

  But it didn't stop him poking his nose in her affairs.

  He couldn't believe that Trey had really sold her some of his cattle. What the hell did she know about cattle? The old man could have really shafted her!

  That was why he'd asked. Because it would be one more reason to think badly of Trey.

  "What's this about Trey sellin' Lydia cattle?" J.D. demanded when Skinny appeared with the blasted List of Chores.

  Skinny blinked and scratched his head. "Dunno. News to me if he did. Who said so?"

  "Lydia."

  "Well, reckon he must've then. Don't know why she'd lie about it."

  "She wouldn't." He was sure of that. She was a straight shooter, he'd figured that much out. If he'd ever thought she connived to get his ranch, the last week and a half had convinced him otherwise. With Lydia, like with him, what you saw was what you got.

  He liked her. He didn't want to see Trey jerk her around.

  "Well, if he did, he's out of his mind. Does he think she knows anything about workin' cattle?"

  "She said she wanted to learn."

  J.D. whirled around to see Trey standing there. The old man eyed him narrowly. "You got a problem with that?"

  "Damned right I do. She doesn't know one end of a cow from the other. She's gonna lose her shirt."

  "And that bothers you?" Trey's tone was mild but skeptical.

  J.D.'s fists balled. "I don't like to see people taken advantage of," he said through gritted teeth.

  "And that's what you think I've done."

  "You've done it before."

  This time Trey's fists curled and he was the one who took a step forward.

  J.D. squared around. "Try it," he invited softly.

  Skinny sucked in a nervous breath and grabbed J.D.'s arm. "Come on, now," he urged, flapping the list. "We got things to do. Got us some fence to fix."

  "Damn the fence." J.D. shook him off. His eyes never left Trey. "Which cattle did you sell her? Decent ones or the ones you wanted to dump?"

  "J.D.!" Skinny's teeth were chattering.

  "Get a list from Ole and make up your own mind," Trey said. Then he turned and staked back to the house.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  "I got some details about your cattle from Ole," he said to her that night when she was holding rails for him so he could hammer the nails in.

  She looked surprised.

  He shrugged. "Figured you might want to know something about 'em," he said gruffly. "Unless you're an authority."

  "Not even close. I … thank you. You can tell me about them?"

  "Every one."

  "Are they … good ones?"

  "Better'n I would've expected." Trey hadn't done badly by her from what J.D. had seen on the list Ole gave him.

  It rankled, to be honest. But maybe Trey didn't take advantage of everyone.

  J.D. set another nail and gave it a tap. "Course I haven't seen 'em in a while. You'll want to look at 'em yourself." He drew back the hammer and pounded the nail in.

  When he'd finished, he looked around at her. Solemn green eyes looked straight into his.

  "Yes," she said. "I would."

  "I can tell you where they're pastured."

  "That would be nice."

  He hammered in another nail. "Not that you'll know a damn thing when you look at 'em."

  "You're right."

  He scowled at her equanimity. "You prob'ly need somebody to hold your hand."

  "Or tell me what I'm seeing."

  He grunted. So, ask me, damn it. But she didn't say a word.

  She just moved where he pointed, grabbed another board and held it right where he wanted it. He pounded a nail in.

  "You maybe better get a book," he said, "to tell you what to look for."

  "I've got one."

  His head whipped around. "You do?"

  "Several," she admitted. "Last Monday when I was in Helena, I bought five."

  "Five? They've got five books on ranching?" He was amazed.

  She shook her head. "Not ranching. They've got hundreds on ranching. I was talking about cattle."

  He was flabbergasted. "You bought five books on cattle?"

  She nodded gravely. "I might not have got that many if I'd known what I was doing. But I thought it was better to learn too much than too little."

  He whistled. "Damn."

  "It's the best I could do," she said. "I had to start somewhere."

  "And you didn't figure the pasture was a good place to start?"

  "I wanted to know a little bit before I went out there. I don't like to be surprised."

  Neither did he. But he was finding Lydia Cochrane to be one surprise after another.

  "I'll see how helpful they were after this weekend," she said cheerfully.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. "You figure you're just gonna go out there with your books and make those cattle stand still and turn this way and that while you look 'em over, then read about 'em on page forty-three."

  She shrugged. "Unless you've got a better idea."

  He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "I reckon I could maybe come with you. Take a look at 'em for you. Tell you what your books ain't gonna mention. If you want."

  She beamed. "Would you? That would be wonderful!"

  Damn, but that was a smile worth waiting for!

  It was the most amazing thing about Lydia Cochrane. She was so all-fired serious most of the time that you forgot she had this great smile – and then you did something that made her happy and she knocked your socks off with it.

  "I reckon I could go tomorrow if you've got time."

  "Tomorrow?"

  "It is Saturday. One nice thing about this court deal," he said. "I don't have to be at work on weekends." He'd worked seven days a week for the past three years, had never even taken a vacation. Cattle didn't get time off. J.D. didn't take any, either.

  But he would take some now – as long as he was wielding a shovel and pushing a broom all day, Trey could do without him on the weekend.

  "You know how to ride?" he asked Lydia.

  "Yes," she said promptly. Then, "I'm not great," she admitted.

  "Well, ol' Hot Rod will prob'ly suit you."

  Her brows lifted. "Hot Rod?"

 
He grinned. "About twenty years ago."

  "Ah." She looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear it." She was still smiling.

  She was really pretty when she smiled. J.D. had had plenty of opportunity to study her over the past couple of weeks, and she was really pretty most of the time. But her smile was really something else.

  "You may be sorry," he warned her.

  She shook her head. "I haven't been sorry yet."

  She would be. Please, God, she would be.

  J.D. was liking Lydia Cochrane way too much for his own good.

  * * *

  "Lydia? Are you listening?"

  "What? Um, no. Sorry, Rance, I was … thinking about something else." Lydia put her feet squarely on her living room floor, sat up straight in her chair, and made herself focus on the voice coming through the phone she held at her ear.

  "Something other than Becker and Mulholland?"

  "Who?"

  "Ho, boy. What's going on up there? You got an even bigger case I don't know about?"

  "Hmm?" She couldn't bend her mind around this. She was too excited – had been ever since J.D. had promised to show her the cattle tomorrow. It was the food of a thousand fantasies. She and J.D. on the range. Sounds like some sappy 1940s children's book, she chided herself.

  "…what we've been looking for!"

  "What? I'm sorry, Rance," she said again. "I've had my mind on other things. What did you say?"

  "I said I found an 1887 precedent for Becker and Mulholland. A precedent we can use." Rance sounded excited, eager – the way he used to sound before he'd lost all interest in law earlier this year while he was pursuing Ellie.

  "Great." Lydia tried to summon a bit of her own mysteriously absent enthusiasm.

  "Yeah, I can tell you're thrilled," Rance said. "What other things? Your new ranch?" His voice held a smile and a teasing note.

  "Actually, yes."

  "I couldn't believe it when Dad told me."

  "Believe it."

  "What about J.D.?"

  "What about him?"

  "You don't have a thing for J.D., do you?"

  "What?"

  "Ellie said you might."

  "Don't make a big deal out of this. I just … want a ranch."

  "And a rancher?"

  "Rance!"

  "It's not a bad idea, Lydie," he said gently. "It's just … well, you and J.D…"