by Reece Butler
She spoke quietly, continuing to smile though there was no welcome in those perfect white teeth. Her full lips were ready for kisses. His ability to charm women into his bed was legendary. He never coerced, finding seduction worked far better. It had been a few years since he’d used his skills. Maybe he was rusty. He suddenly noticed his mother sitting in the booth. His eager reaction wilted. He cleared his throat.
“How are you feeling, Mom? You want to go home now?”
“I’ve had better days,” she replied dryly. “I’ll be staying with Louise Jefferson. We’ve been planning to get together, anyway.”
Tom’s face was serious, though Trey could see the sparkle in his eyes. “Trey,” said Tom, “this is Miss Katie Winterbourne. She was taking the bus home and had her pack stolen. She managed to make it to Climax early this morning. Katie, this is Trey Elliott.”
She was not impressed. He dropped his eyes. Thumb-sized nipples poked out of her T-shirt. She growled something and crossed her arms to cover them. He snickered to himself. He’d trust body language over words any day.
“Where’s my big brother?” asked Trey. “I thought he was in town.”
“He’s picking up a prescription for me,” replied his mother. “He’s hired Katie to clean the kitchen to get ready for the haying. You don’t mind having her around?”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said. Katie looked toward the door, which had opened behind him. Her eyes widened and a scowl appeared.
“What are you doing back?” she demanded.
Trey turned to find his brother eying Katie as if she was a rattler. She wasn’t impressed with his brother, either.
“Seems we’re stuck with each other for a few days,” said Sam coldly. “You stay in the house and we’ll get along fine.”
Katie gasped. She looked at Tom, Dorothy, and then Trey’s mom. She pointed at Sam. “He’s your other son?”
“Yes, that’s my middle boy, Sam.” His mom nodded oh so innocently.
Trey rubbed his lip to hide a smile. Mom was up to something, all the way from her size-six toes to her baby blues. If it pissed Sam off, he was all for it.
“I’m Stella Elliott, dear. My sons are Ben, Sam, and Trey.”
It was easy to see that Sam was pissed off at Katie, and the feeling was completely mutual. What made it better was that Trey was known as a grade-A shit disturber. He’d support anyone giving Sam a crank. He also wanted to see more of this woman, both her personality and her curvaceous body. Was she a real redhead?
“You two know each other?” he asked, pretending innocence.
“We met this morning,” said Katie politely, though her eyes homed in on Sam like a heat-seeking missile.
“When she ran her fist into my nose,” said Sam.
“Well, well, Miss Katie! Did you knock my big brother on his ass?”
She lifted her chin. It came to his middle shirt button.
“Yes, I did. He startled me.”
Trey burst into a laugh. “I knew I’d like you. You gotta tell me all about it.”
Katie’s face turned pink. “Shouldn’t we be taking care of your mother?”
“I’ll take care of Mom,” insisted Trey. “Sam’ll take you home.”
“Marci will be over later with some clothes,” said Dorothy to Katie.
The woman had a body made for sex, but something had her knickers twisted so tight he’d need his eight-inch crash scissors to cut her loose. While she and Sam glared at each other, invisible sparks shot between them. This was going to be fun!
There was more to his eagerness than the possibility of sex. If Katie pissed off Sam enough to make him get this mad, she might be the one to crack the wall holding in his grief. The counselor said Sam wouldn’t have much chance of a happy future unless he could let go of the past. Sam had bottled his grief deep inside, stoically trying to take the place of both fathers. Trey had a reputation of playing the fool and pushing limits, but at least he enjoyed his life. Sam wouldn’t even swing off the frayed rope and fall into the swimming hole any more. He was sure he’d break something and the Rocking E would fall to rack and ruin.
He bet Katie would be swinging on that rope if she was here long enough. Trey would do everything possible to help her stay, and to turn his brother around.
If he could sample some of her charms along the way, so much the better.
* * * *
“You are one cranky woman.”
Katie tried to ignore Sam’s comment as she stared out the truck’s passenger window. She’d been spoiled these last six months, able to say what she really thought. Telling off a stranger while standing up for herself that morning was appropriate. Poking a tiger was not, especially when she had to share his home for a few days. Should she cave in, preparing herself to return home as a meek creature? Her gut clenched at the thought. No. She’d enjoy her freedom until the last moment. That meant getting along with this grumpy man and his playboy brother. Getting along did not mean giving in.
“Listen up, cowboy,” she said, snarling at him. “I’ve been surviving on little sleep or food while working my ass off for six months. Last night everything I had with me was stolen, and then some creep attacked me. And now you accuse me of acting like a two-year-old who needs a nap?”
His expression, tolerant amusement, did not change. Her fury rose. That expression, and attitude, was just like her Uncle Walter. No matter what she did, it was wrong. She couldn’t do anything to her uncle because he’d be CEO when her grandmother passed. But before she left this valley she was going to wipe that smirk off Sam Elliott’s face!
“I can see all that making you a bit tetchy,” he said finally, nodding at the windshield. “And you’re wrong about your ass. It looks fine to me.”
Stunned, she gaped at him for a moment before snapping her mouth shut. “Are you serious?” she demanded. It was a rhetorical question, yet his brows almost joined as he thought.
“Always. And the view from the front isn’t too bad either.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” She sputtered for a moment, unable to get the words out. “It’s guys like you who define and objectify women by our breasts and posteriors!”
“Objectify?” He frowned.
“Treating as an object, as having little other value.”
“I know what the word means. But you’re wearing a T-shirt so tight I can tell when you’re cold.” One side of his mouth turned up, but not in a smile. He purposefully turned his head to drill his eyes into hers. “Or hot. Are you advertising something you have no intention of selling?”
He was calling her a tease? Her fury went up a thousand degrees then froze. Two could play at this game. She flicked her eyes over him.
“You’re wearing a tight shirt designed to show off your muscles, one with snaps easily opened with one tug. Below that you have snug jeans which hug your muscular thighs and cowboy butt. And in front you’ve got a huge, shiny belt buckle. What’s the reason for wearing that, other than to draw attention to a certain part of your anatomy?” She snorted like a disgusted teenager. “I’m wearing the only clothes I have. You, Mr. Elliott are the one advertising.”
Why would a man who flipped her sexual switch also make her want to slam her fist into those rock-hard abs? Slam her fist, or run her fingers over him?
Both!
Once she arrived back in Oregon her life would again be defined by others. She’d work toward their goals during the day and come home late to a cold, empty bed. A lifetime of empty nights and bleak days stretched before her like a line of foam cups waiting to be filled with lousy coffee, powdered white stuff, and a couple packets of sweetener. To keep with her coffee metaphor, she’d discovered she craved a high-octane brew where she could say what she wanted, as she’d just done with Samuel Elliott.
The man she’d have to live with, day and night…
“Since you obviously know nothing of ranch reality,” he frostily informed her, “shirts are tight so they don’t get caught on th
ings that will haul you in and kill you, such as machinery or long-horned cattle. They have snaps so if you do get caught, they’ll pop open so you can haul the shirt off and leave it behind, rather than a body part. These are work jeans, and they fit me fine.”
Oh, they fit him fine, all right. She held back the smirk, though her cheek twitched.
“And for your information, little girl, I earned this belt buckle. I was state champion for calf roping in my senior year.”
“That where the guy falls off his horse, grabs the cow by the horns, flips her over, and ties three of her feet before throwing his hands in the air like a prize fighter? Or where he grabs the cow’s horns, tries to twist them off, and makes her fall on her side?”
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. She got the impression he would rather it be her neck. He took three slow, deep breaths. She waited for the explosion, but he took three more. His fingers now tapped on the steering wheel.
“We do not fall off, Miss Winterbourne, we do a controlled dismount. And we don’t wrestle cows, we use steers. That’s why it’s called steer wrestling,” He shot her a glare.
“I know what a steer is.” She looked pointedly at his lap. “I’ve imagined conducting that operation many times.” She looked him in the eye, daring him to comment as she made scissoring motions with her fingers. “Snip, snip!”
* * * *
Sam managed to keep from squirming at the thought of scissors anywhere near that part of his anatomy. He’d love to take her attitude down a few pegs. He’d also like to take her jeans down, flip her over his lap, and show her the error of her ways with the flat of his hand. He, however, had self-control.
Or he had until the woman beside him had staggered into town!
He held tight to the steering wheel to keep from reaching for her. He didn’t know if he wanted to throttle or arouse her first. He could see doing both at once. He’d put his hand around the back of her neck and squeeze, just enough so she knew he was the one in control. He’d use that strong grip to bring her sweet body toward him and…
His cock jerked. So did his feet, which made the truck lurch. Luckily, no one was near. A quick check to the side confirmed she hadn’t noticed.
Katie was a danger to his calm, controlled life. Tiny, except in the places where she was all woman. It was a good thing she had a great rack and ass since they balanced her out, front and back. Her mouth wasn’t small, in size or volume. She had more attitude than Old Yeller, the twenty-five pound Maine coon cat that liked to stomp down the middle of Main Street, daring dogs to make his day.
She’d had a lot happen to her in the last twenty-four hours. Yet there she sat, calmly looking out the window as if she was the rodeo queen of Montana. He took his eyes off the road for a moment, just enough for a look. Her nonchalance was a ruse. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. He got the impression she did that a lot. Stress, or something else?
Her size, femininity, and obvious tension made him want to protect her. He was the one who took care of others, who made sure things were safe and secure. She was a stranger come upon bad times, and his temporary employee. He should treat her kindly and distantly. How could he do that when she cracked his temper damn near every time she looked at him?
Did she really think he wore these clothes to show off? He was not going to even think of her comment about what rose behind his belt buckle. As for her steer wrestling comments, was she that ignorant about rodeos, or was she purposefully needling him?
Sam took three slow, deep breaths. And then he took three more. His fingers relaxed but would not stay still. He tapped them on the steering wheel until he could answer calmly. He realized he needed to set her at ease before they got home. After all, he was the host and he took his responsibilities seriously. Having gotten the last word, she seemed calmer. He cleared his throat and attempted to make polite conversation. That meant offering an olive branch.
“I expect you’ve run into a few rough situations while working in diners and bars. It must be tough, being so small.”
The silence stretched, though it wasn’t as strained this time.
“Sometimes that’s an advantage, because they don’t expect you to fight,” she said quietly.
The reminder had him touching his nose. It was still tender. “You fight.”
“Damn right I do.”
She went back to looking out the side window again, ignoring him. He shouldn’t care about her. She was just a temporary employee, a means to an end. Yet she was also a female in trouble, one whose laser green eyes had already melted the ice he’d locked around his libido.
“So,” she said after a few minutes. “Will I have to cook on one of those big black woodstoves?”
“Why? Can you cook?” He must have hit a sore spot as she pressed her lips together. “I heard most city women don’t know how to use anything but a microwave and maybe one of those ridiculously expensive coffee machines.”
Her jaw stuck out. She set her fists underneath her hips and pressed her shoulders back. Was she trying to seem taller, or stopping herself from punching him again?
“I can cook. We haven’t discussed duties.”
He knew she needed money, badly. She also wouldn’t take charity. He approved of that. Her stiff posture gave him the impression she wasn’t used to fighting back. He’d expect rambunctiousness would’ve come naturally with red hair.
“I’m in charge of the haying for the whole valley, which will start soon.” He slowed to cross a cattle grid. The whole truck vibrated. “If you do other stuff, we’ll add a bonus to your pay.”
“Other stuff?”
“You know, female stuff.”
Her eyes narrowed, reminding him of an ornery goat that used to chase them from the apple orchard.
“And that means?” she asked, too quietly.
“It would be a load off my mind, and would save me and Troy time, if you’d cook and do laundry as well as clean the place. All the chores women do.”
Her tension flowed away with his explanation. He suddenly realized why. Fury blasted through him.
“Jesus, Katie! Did you think I was going to force myself into your bed?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought they owned me,” she replied crisply. “I left a live-in job because the husband thought my services included caring for his needs as well as those of his children.”
Shit! He exhaled, blasting the air from between his lips. “That explains why you punched me when I went to wake you.”
“Sorry about that.”
She didn’t sound sorry at all. Smug, would be more like it. His lip tried to twitch. She was feisty, and proud of it when she let herself.
“You have every right to protect yourself, but you shouldn’t have to.”
She blinked rapidly, teeth clenched tight. Fighting tears? He hated that an attractive young woman had to be on the lookout, twenty-four-seven, in case of attack. After six months of that, no wonder she was cranky as hell. Or had it been even longer?
“Katie,” he explained, keeping his voice as quiet as if he was talking to his three-year-old niece, “you don’t have to be afraid of me, Trey, or any of our family and friends. Anyone who even thinks of abusing an animal or a person, unless the son-of-a-gun deserves it, isn’t left standing for long. Once we find out about it,” he added, thinking about Louise Jefferson’s brutal son, Tank.
“Thank you. I hope you can understand why I can’t believe you.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Fair enough.”
This woman was going to be sleeping in his home, just down the hall. He wasn’t usually drawn to petite women with fast mouths, but something about Katie had him all stirred up. The rational side of him didn’t like it at all. She was a stranger, though whatever she’d told Tom had satisfied the man. He shouldn’t have to worry about her stealing the family’s collection of gold nuggets. He wouldn’t mind frisking her to make sure she hadn’t stashed any in her pocke
ts. Not that she had any room for them in those jeans…
His cock stirred again, reminding him how long he’d been flying solo. Keep your pecker in your pants, he reminded himself. Her job was to cook and clean and his job was to get everything ready for the haying. Even if he wanted to kiss her, he had too much work to waste time on that.
Waste time?
Again his mind had supplied words seemingly out of nowhere. Why did he think kissing a beautiful woman and having her respond was a waste of his precious time? He was in charge of his own schedule, and could change it if he wanted to. He could damn well make time to kiss an intriguing woman.
And he did want to kiss her, and more. Lots more.
He had a sudden vision of walking out of the cold night into a clean and tidy home, supper hot on the stove, and a loving woman waiting for him with open arms. He shook his head, dislodging the possibility. That was out of the question. He’d have a wife, of course, but not the loving woman. Love had killed his dad. Of course Sam had quit college immediately to take over running the ranch. He’d been working day and night since. It got worse when Mom moved to town. She hadn’t returned once since, unable to face the memories.
Mom could’ve died today. And where would that leave him and Trey? Or Ben and Amy and the kids? Alone, that’s where. No, Ben and Amy would have each other, and their children. He’d still have them, plus aunts, uncles, and cousins, and his younger brother, of course. What he wouldn’t have, was someone to hold in the night.
Admit it, you’re lonely.
He pushed away the thought. Needing someone led to emotions overshadowing carefully thought out decisions. That led to risk-taking, accidents, and death. He would not fall into that trap. Practicality and good sense ruled his life. He didn’t need love. He had his work and his books and, when he wanted, more relatives than he could fit in his kitchen.
Whatever woman he and Trey married would have to accept getting all her comfort from Trey. Sam wanted someone to turn the house into a home, the way Amy did for Ben, but that was all. There’d been a lot of laughter at the Rocking E before Dad died. Unless James and Emily were visiting, there’d been little since, or even smiles. What had they to smile about?
