by Renee Roszel
“Miss Andrews,” he chided. “If you care for my horses the way you express yourself, I must assume they’ve all keeled over dead by now.”
Her temper flashed, and she gave him a quelling glare. “I love horses,” she said. “And I would do everything in my power to keep one of them from keeling over.”
His eyes sparked at her unspoken implication. “I don’t give a bent penny how you feel about me. As long as you do my horses no damage, you can stay on—for a time.” With a quick jerk of his head, he ordered, “Let’s go. I’ve got a couple of green-broke two-year-olds that need to learn some basics.”
Her cheeks flamed. What he was asking her to do was so elementary it was embarrassing. A green-broke horse was one broken to the saddle, but just beginning its training with rein and knee signals. Not much challenge involved. Her boss obviously had no intention of allowing her to work with his prize horses, like Doc Hazard. The four-year-old chestnut stallion’s dam was Doc’s Sweetheart, who’d won the Futurity, the Derby and the Super Stakes—cutting’s Triple Crown. He was sired by Hazard’s Little Rio, also a cutting champion. And so, Doc Hazard was literally the best piece of horseflesh to come on the scene in years. Having already won the Texas Futurity this spring, he was a trainer’s dream.
Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, Anna challenged, “I thought I was here to train horses to cut cattle.”
“You’re here to do what I tell you to do, Miss Andrews,” he warned as he descended the kitchen steps to the brick walkway. “Be grateful I’m not having you dig a manure pit.”
“I thought you wanted Doc Hazard to get some heavy training in before competing again this fall. He’ll need—”
“For the next thirty days, I’ll train him—when I have time.”
Dusty’s tone told Anna that he didn’t intend to debate the point. She was not to be trusted with his young champion.
Her boss’s strides were long and deliberate, making it difficult for her to keep up. Quickening her step, Anna hurried toward his receding back. “Do you know who my uncle is?” she demanded, pride forcing her to go on in spite of his disapproving attitude. “He’s Bud Sawyer. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“I know about your uncle. That he was one of the best trainers and competitors two decades ago, before that horse fell on him and crushed his legs.”
“Well, then?” Anna said. “Don’t you think I deserve a chance?”
He halted abruptly on the brick walk that curved along the manicured lawn toward the stables. Anna nearly collided with him. As he turned to confront her, she regained her balance and stared, fearful of what he was going to do.
“Miss Andrews,” he said with deceptive calm, as though trying to reason with a half-wit, “my mother was a full-blooded Cherokee, and my father was part English and part Scottish. I have a relative in Scotland who’s a member of the Queen’s Highland Guard. However, that doesn’t mean I can do the Highland fling.”
He pivoted and headed away from her, never giving her a chance to respond. She was irritated by his impatient dismissal, something she should be used to by now, having been dismissed by so many potential clients over the past two years. But she wasn’t used to it, darn it! She never would be. As a matter of fact, she was angrier than she’d ever been. Highland fling, indeed! His sarcasm hurt. “Why don’t you give it a try?” she muttered under her breath. “Go Highland fling yourself off a cliff!”
He stopped briefly, which unnerved her. She had no way of telling if he’d heard her remark, for he said nothing, just resumed walking toward the stables.
Anna followed, fuming. Dusty Dare didn’t intend to take her seriously. Well, she’d show him. She’d have the place ticking along like a thousand-dollar watch. And by heaven, she’d be on the back of Doc Hazard before the week was out. Mr. Dustin Dare would eat his doubting words.
Maybe Dusty Dare couldn’t do the Highland fling, but Anna Andrews could cut a heifer out of a herd. Uncle Bud used to brag that she could turn a horse on a meat pie and never nick the crust. She was good! And she planned to show this man exactly how good—if for no other reason than the extremely galling fact that he thought she was worthless.
ANNA SAW Nicole Pratt again that afternoon. A pretty fifteen-year-old, she had long, straight black hair and deep blue eyes. Even though Anna had seen her only a couple of times, it was obvious that Nicole had a crush on Dusty. She tagged after him, wearing a moony expression that was so lovestruck it was comical.
Anna sat astride a two-year-old green-broke mare, teaching the rudiments of pushing signals from reins and legs. As she talked softly, soothing the horse, she used the reins to make small corrections to the animal’s stance, to keep head, neck and shoulders aligned as needed for the mare to be guided through a new move.
From her vantage point, Anna watched with growing amusement as Nicole preened and simpered before her attractive stepuncle. Looking as though he was trying to ignore her, Dusty was cleaning Doc Hazard’s hooves. Anna pretended to be absorbed in her duties, simpleminded though they were. She’d caught Dusty glancing her way a time or two, and his expression, though shadowed by the brim of his beige straw Stetson, was clearly one of sullen animosity, as if to say he was being bombarded from all directions by bothersome women.
“Uncle Dusty?” cooed Nicole, her lashes fluttering—a femme fatale in training. He grunted in response and lowered the stallion’s foreleg, then stepped back to work on a hind leg.
“Uncle Dusty?” Nicole repeated, tugging on his sleeve. “I was wondering if you’d help me get a speck out of my eye.” She paused as he continued to scrape the hoof, then added pitifully, “It hurts real bad.”
Anna saw Dusty’s hesitation, then watched as he lowered the horse’s leg and straightened. “You wouldn’t want these hands near your eyes,” he said tersely. “They’re filthy.”
“Aw—” she sighed “—you’ve got real nice hands.” Leaning forward, she poked out budding young breasts in a very unnecessary gesture for someone suffering from a speck in the eye. “I’m not worried.” She lifted her face expectantly.
Anna had to press her lips together to keep from grinning. So, this tougher-than-nails man had puppy-love problems. She had to give her boss credit. He was trying to be a gentleman with his new niece, though the set of his jaw told Anna that he wanted to drop Nicole in a cold creek. Witnessing Dusty’s struggle made Anna feel somewhat avenged for the rotten way he’d treated her since they’d met.
“I don’t see anything, Nicole,” Dusty said impatiently.
“Look closer,” the teen coaxed, moving against him.
Dusty backed abruptly away. Then to Anna’s surprise, he turned to give her a disgruntled look. “Miss Andrews?” he shouted. “Come here.”
She dismounted and tethered her horse to the tie rail. “Yes?” She headed toward them, struggling to keep her expression passive.
Nicole looked at Anna, too, her expression a pout.
“What do you need, Mr. Dare?” Anna asked as innocently as she could manage.
Cocking his head toward the girl, he said, “She has something in her eye. Without my glasses, I can’t see a thing.”
“You don’t wear glasses, Uncle Dusty!”
He turned back to his stallion and took up a hoof. “For that speck, I do,” he grumbled.
“Okay, Nicole,” Anna said, barely keeping a straight face. “Let’s have a look.”
The teen shook her head. “Nah, it’s okay now.” She shuffled off, plainly unhappy that she hadn’t received more attention from the object of her affections.
Anna watched her go, then glanced at her boss as he reached out and stroked a scrap of red mane that dangled between the horse’s keen bright eyes. Long tanned fingers moved gently and lovingly as he brushed the horse’s forelock. For one crazy instant, Anna was envious of the animal and the casual intimacy it received from its master.
She was appalled to discover she’d been musing—no, more like indulging in romantic fa
ntasies—about a man who was little more to her than a stranger, a stranger who didn’t even like her. Troubled, she cast her gaze away.
The green-broke mare gave a high-pitched nicker, and the soft innocent sound helped to gentle her ragged emotions. She glanced around and for the first time was struck by the beauty of the day. She’d been working so hard since she’d arrived, frightened by her boss’s disapproval, that she hadn’t allowed herself to notice. Bent River Ranch was enchanting—except for one troublesome man.
“Is there something else, Miss Andrews?” Dusty asked sternly.
She shrugged, wishing she really had this job, that she really belonged on this ranch—and that Dusty Dare lived somewhere else. Iceland seemed like a good place. “Not a thing,” she retorted, trying to maintain a facade of disinterest. “And since the speck seems to be out of your niece’s eye, I’ll get back—”
“You and I both know there was no speck in that kid’s eye!” he snapped. “I could see you out there barely able to keep from laughing.”
She hadn’t realized he’d noticed. The man was amazingly perceptive. Maybe that was part of the reason he was so successful. All she could do was shrug again. “Nicole’s an impressionable girl who has, as I understand it from Max, lived in Tulsa in a condo all her life. You must be her first cowboy. Give her time. She’ll get over her crush.”
“I have a ranch and a business to run.” He sounded exasperated. “Everywhere I’ve gone today, I’ve stumbled over her.”
For some odd reason, Anna took pity on him. He did have a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders with his brother gone and his stable manager, er, gone, too. “She’s just lonely and bored. I’ll get her to do chores with me, if it’ll help.” She’d made the offer without conscious thought. When the words left her mouth, Dusty’s startled expression couldn’t have been much different from her own. But there was no backing out now. And in truth she didn’t mind. She liked young people. Besides, if Nicole was going to live on a ranch, she might as well start learning about ranch life. Who better to teach her what a woman could do than another woman?
To Anna’s surprise, instead of grinning and being grateful, Dusty’s expression closed with skepticism. “I’d be crazy to allow that,” he said, an edge to his voice. “You can’t handle what you’ve got to do as it is.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. Incensed by his I-doubt-if-you-can-hack-the-job attitude, she met his skepticism with a jutted chin. “You’re welcome. Think nothing of it. And just for the record, let me be the first to congratulate you on your absolutely terminal charm!” She whirled on her boot heel and headed back to her mare.
“By the way, Miss Andrews,” he called, sounding unbothered by her scorn, “exactly when did your brother say he’d return my carving?”
Dusty’s reminder was like a dousing with ice water, and the heat of anger drained from her cheeks. Reluctantly she turned back. “I... He hung up before I had a chance to tell him about your offer.” Trying not to allow his scowl to dismay her, she hurried on defensively, “But I have the word out, and I know it’s only a matter of days, maybe hours, before he brings back your carving.”
Dusty’s legs were braced wide, one hand clutching the forgotten hoof pick, while the thumb of his other hand was looped behind his leather belt. His striking features were marred by severe doubt.
Unable to stand his censure an instant longer, she pivoted away and stalked out toward the mare, who was pawing the ground skittishly, as if sensing the tension that crackled in the air.
Ten minutes later, after successfully getting the mare to do her first tentative sidestep, Anna noticed Dusty leading his now-saddled stallion out of the stable. Dusty swung gracefully onto the horse’s back, kneeing him into a gallop. A fine brown haze rose as man and mount headed off toward a lush pasture. It wasn’t long before they’d disappeared into a thick stand of oak and pine.
Anna had no idea where they were going. Checking fences? Maybe cattle? Or simply heading out on a relaxing ride. She doubted that, though. Anna didn’t think Dusty allowed himself to relax.
She shook her head. It wasn’t hard to see why Nicole had a crush on him. Anna had made light of the fact that Dusty was probably Nicole’s “first cowboy.” No way was it that simple! With his muscular good looks, he was the essence of the legendary American cowboy—tall, ruggedly sexy—not to mention his Indian mystique!
Just now, with that Stetson pulled low on his brow, shadowing his features, he’d seemed to belong to the time when guns were worn low on the hip, and good men died on their feet. What girl—or woman—wouldn’t experience a quickening of her pulse upon seeing that lean and lethal cowboy stalk in her direction?
She recalled his eyes, dusky and secretive one minute, flashing with fire the next. The vision haunted her, and she was finding it hard to ignore the attraction she felt. But she would ignore it, she vowed, because Dustin Dare not only disliked her and considered her a bottom-of-the-barrel, temporary hired hand, he was also a fireworks man. He’d never be happy with what he had, and his wife, if he ever married at all, would probably be a young beautiful trophy. No thanks!
As the day wore into evening, Dusty didn’t return. Anna, Hunky, Ben and Flint groomed the horses and returned them to their stalls at feeding time. Nicole had been there, too, but she was frightened of the horses and whined more than she helped.
Finally, around seven, the day was over. Anna talked to the hands about what she wanted them to do the next morning, then made a list of things she needed to discuss with Mr. Dare. But with his continued absence, she was at a loss. While she ate dinner in the kitchen, Max went about his chores quietly and Nicole groused about hating horses and cows and ranch life in general.
“What if one of those big smelly beasts steps on my foot?” she whined. “I’ll die and my mother will sue you.”
Anna shook her head at the girl. “By the time your mother gets back, you’ll be a regular Annie Oakley.”
“Who?” Nicole asked.
“She’s a famous cowgirl.” Indicating Nicole’s untouched plate of steak, carrots and hash browns, she said, “Now eat.”
The girl made a face, but did as she was told, and the only sound was the clatter of dishes as Max filled the dishwasher.
Anna’s dinner became a hard mass in her stomach. She needed to get away, take a ride. It was a lovely night, and an outing around the ranch would be calming.
Now that Nicole seemed engrossed in the meal, Anna gathered up her plate and ice-tea glass and asked Max, “Do you suppose Mr. Dare would mind if I went for a ride?”
He shook his gray head. “I s’pose your evenin’s your own, miss. Still, can’t figure why he ain’t back.” He took a scrubber and bent to work on an iron pot. “Dusty don’t usually stay out ridin’ this late, ’less he’s riled ’bout somethin’.”
Anna swallowed hard. He was riled, all right. With effort, she managed a smile. “Well, I guess I’ll take a little turn around the ranch, then. See you in the morning.”
“Do I have to wash your horse, too?” Nicole asked, a forkful of meat poised near her mouth.
Anna grinned at the girl. “No. The rule is, you ride it, you wash it.”
“Good!” Poking the meat into her mouth, she mumbled, “I’m never gonna ride, then.”
Anna managed a grin. “That’s the old pioneering spirit,” she teased, heading toward the back door.
“You need anything in your cottage, miss?” Max asked over his shoulder. “I can bring out some towels and the like.”
Anna shook her head. “I’m fine. It’s a lovely little place.” At the kitchen door, she paused and turned back. “Actually, Max, there is something. When Mr. Dare gets back, would you tell him that I need to speak to him this evening?”
The cook nodded as he scrubbed. “Sure thing, miss. But shoot, ya might meet up with him on the trail.”
Anna closed her eyes, disconcerted by the thought. “I’d rather kiss a bug,” she whispered gloomily, heading out in
to the moonlit night.
CHAPTER THREE
DUSTY LOUNGED on his back under an old pine, nibbling on a blade of grass, his head supported by his saddle and blanket. Staring up through the spiky boughs at the full yellow moon, he listened to the churning gurgle of the stream that danced and splashed only two feet away. The sound usually calmed his spirits on rotten days. But it wasn’t working this time.
Hazard snorted restlessly and moved toward his reclining master to nudge him on the arm.
“Don’t bother me,” Dusty objected. “We’ll go back when I’m ready.”
He’d ridden out that afternoon, mad enough to eat the devil, horns and all. Steven Andrews’s theft had come at the worst possible time. Dusty needed a good trainer now, more than ever. It was critical that Hazard’s workouts be intensive. The Texas Futurity he’d won this spring was a prestigious victory, but for a prize stallion like Hazard, it was only the beginning. There would be some fierce competitions and millions in prize money ahead, and Hazard needed to be kept in top form.
But instead of an expert, Dusty was saddled with a fragile-looking woman whose main traits were youth and inexperience. She was probably twenty-four or -five, but she looked about eighteen. How could she expect to train a champion cutting horse, let alone run a stable as large as his? Her lack of experience in that alone would have been enough to make him double over laughing—if he hadn’t been in such a serious bind.
He spat out the grass and hauled himself up, expelling a low-pitched oath. Hanging around out here, swearing in the dark, wasn’t doing him any good. He might as well head back. And if he had any sense he’d fire Anna Andrews the minute he returned. But there was more than enough work to exhaust several men, and tomorrow being Monday, he had a full day of meetings at the Tulsa office. He supposed he’d hold off firing her for a while. She had a point—a minimal manager was better than no manager at all. He’d keep her on until he found a suitable replacement. That, unfortunately, might take some time.
