“To Nathan Hazard? Don’t get me started again. I’ll never sell to that man. Nathan Hazard is the meanest, ugliest son of a—”
Harry never got a chance to finish her sentence because Luke arrived at the door and announced, “I’ve buried those lambs. Anything else you’d like me to do while I’m here?”
“No thanks,” Harry said, scrambling to her feet. “We’re about finished here.” She put the empty nippled Coke bottle on the kitchen counter and said, “I really appreciate your help, Luke.”
“You’re welcome, anytime.”
It took a moment for Harry to realize that although Luke was speaking to her, his attention was totally absorbed by the woman still sitting on the floor feeding the last ounce of milk replacer to a hungry lamb. From the look on Luke’s face it appeared he would gladly take the lamb’s place. Harry had wondered why Luke had come visiting with the Fish and Wildlife agent. Now she had her answer.
Harry was envious of what she saw in Luke Granger’s eyes. No man had ever looked at her with such raw hunger, such need.
Unless you counted Nathan Hazard.
Harry watched as Abigail raised her eyes to Luke, a beatific smile on her face, watched as the smile faded, watched as Abigail’s eyes assumed the wary look of an animal at bay.
Luke’s gray eyes took on a feral gleam, and his muscles tensed and coiled in readiness.
The hunter. And the hunted. Harry recognized the relationship because she’d felt it herself. With Nathan Hazard.
An instant later Luke reached out a hand and pulled Abigail to her feet. Harry was uncomfortably aware of the frisson of sexual attraction that arced between them as they touched. She observed their cautious movements as Abigail inched past Luke in the tiny kitchen and joined Harry at the sink.
“I suppose Luke and I should get going,” Abigail said. “We’ve got a few more ranchers to ask about wolf sightings before the day’s done. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Harry. I wish you luck with your ranch.”
“Thanks,” Harry said with a smile, as she escorted Abigail and Luke back outside. “I need all the luck I can get.” She turned to Luke and said, “I hope you’ll come back and visit again soon, neighbor.”
“Count on it,” he replied, tipping his Stetson.
“And I hope you capture that renegade wolf,” Harry said to Abigail.
Harry watched as Abigail gave Luke a determined, almost defiant, look and said, “Count on it.”
Abigail had trouble getting the passenger door of the pickup open, and Harry was just about to lend a hand when Luke stepped up and yanked it free. Abigail frowned at him and said, “I could have done that.”
He shrugged. “Never said you couldn’t.” But he waited for her to get inside and closed the door snugly behind her before heading around to the driver’s side of the truck.
“So long,” Harry shouted after them as they drove away. “Careful on that road. It’s a little bumpy!” A perfect farewell, Harry thought with an ironic twist of her mouth, seeing as how this had been a day for understatement.
Harry felt sorry to see them leave. She was probably being unnecessarily stubborn about trying to manage all by herself. Nathan Hazard was convinced she couldn’t manage on her own. She should probably take advantage of Luke’s offer of help and avoid making any more costly mistakes. But the whole purpose of coming to Montana, of putting herself in this isolated position, was to prove that she could do anything she set her mind to do on her own. She wasn’t the person she’d led her parents to believe she was.
Harry had realized over the past two months that she wanted to prove that fact to herself even more than she wanted to prove it to them.
It would be too easy to stop resisting Nathan Hazard’s interference in her business. Harry reminded herself that Nathan didn’t really want her to succeed; he wanted Cyrus’s land. And he wanted to take care of her, as one would care for someone incapable of taking care of herself. Letting Nathan Hazard into her life right now would be disastrous. Because Harry didn’t want any more people taking care of her. She wanted to prove she could take care of herself.
Harry had another motive for wanting to keep Nathan at a distance. Whenever he was around she succumbed to the attraction she felt for him. At a time when she was trying to take control of her life, the feelings she had for Nathan Hazard were uncontrollable. She wanted to touch him and have him touch her, to kiss him and be kissed back with all the passion she felt whenever he held her in his arms, to share with him and to have him share the feelings she was hard put to name, but couldn’t deny. Those powerful emotions left her feeling threatened in a way she couldn’t explain. It was far better, Harry decided, to keep the man at a distance.
The next time Nathan Hazard came calling, if there was a next time, he wouldn’t be welcome.
Harry woke the next day to the clang of metal on metal. She bolted upright in bed, then sat unmoving while she tried to place the sound. She couldn’t, and quickly pulled on a heavy flannel robe and stepped into ice-cold slippers as she headed for the window to look outside. Her jaw dropped at what she saw. Nathan Hazard stood bare-chested, wrench in hand, working on the engine of Cyrus’s farm tractor.
Her first thought was, He must be freezing to death! Then she looked at the angle of the sun and realized it had to be nearly midday and would be much warmer outside than in the cabin, which held the cold. How had she slept so long? The lambs usually woke her at dawn to be fed. She hurried to the kitchen, and they were all there—sleeping peacefully. A quick glance at the kitchen counter revealed several empty nippled Coke bottles. Nathan Hazard had been inside her house this morning. He’d fed her lambs!
Harry felt outraged at Nathan’s presumption. And then she had another, even more disturbing thought. Had he come into her bedroom? Had he seen her sleeping? She blushed at the thought of what she must have looked like. She’d worn only a plain white torn T-shirt to sleep in Cyrus’s sleigh bed. Harry was disgusted with herself when she realized that what upset her most was the thought that she couldn’t have looked very attractive.
It took three shakes of a lamb’s tail for Harry to dress in jeans, blue work shirt and boots. She stomped all the way from her kitchen door to the barn, where the tractor stood. Nathan had to hear her coming, but he never moved from his stance, bent over concentrating on some part of the tractor’s innards.
“Good morning,” she snarled.
Slowly, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world for him to be working on her tractor, he straightened. “Good afternoon,” he corrected.
Harry caught her breath at the sight of him. She didn’t see the whole man, just perceptions of him. A bead of sweat slid slowly down the crease in his muscular chest to dampen the waist of his jeans. Only the waist wasn’t at his waist. His jeans had slid down over his hips to reveal a navel and a line of downy blond hair that disappeared from sight under the denim. She didn’t see any sign of underwear. The placket over the zipper was worn white with age.
When she realized where she was staring, Harry jerked her head up to look at his face and noticed that a stubble of beard shadowed his jaws and chin. Hanks of white-blond hair were tousled over his forehead. And his shockingly bright blue eyes were focused on her as though she were a lamb chop and he were a starving man.
Harry’s mouth went dry. She slicked her tongue over her lips and saw the resulting spark of heat in Nathan’s gaze. His nostrils flared, and she felt her body tighten with anticipation.
The hunter. Its prey.
Only Harry had no intention of becoming a sacrificial lamb to this particular wolf.
“Don’t you know how to knock?” she demanded.
It might have seemed an odd question, but Nathan knew what she was asking. “I did knock. You didn’t answer. I was worried, so I came inside.”
“And fed my lambs!” Harry said indignantly.
“Yes. I fed them.”
“Why didn’t you come wake me up?”
Nathan had lea
rned enough about Harry-et Alistair’s pride to know he couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d looked tired. More than tired, exhausted. He had figured she could use the sleep. So he’d fed her lambs. Was that so bad? Obviously Harry-et thought so.
But her need for sleep wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t woken her. When Nathan had entered Harry-et’s bedroom, she was lying on her side, with one long, bare, elegantly slender leg curled up outside the blankets. The tiny bikini panties she’d been wearing had revealed a great expanse of hip, as well. Her long brown hair was spread across the pillow in abandon. One breast was pushed up by the arm she was lying on, and he’d seen a dark nipple through the thin cotton T-shirt she was wearing.
Not that he’d looked on purpose. Or very long. In fact, once he’d realized the full extent of her dishevelment, he’d backed out of the room so fast he’d almost tripped over her work boots, which lay where they’d fallen when she’d taken them off the previous night.
He’d wanted to wake her more than she’d ever know. He’d wanted to take her in his arms and feel her nipples against his bare chest. He’d wanted to wrap those long, luscious legs around himself and… No, she was damn lucky he hadn’t woken her. But he could never tell her that. Instead he said, “Anybody offered me another hour or two of sleep, I’d be grateful.”
Harry sputtered, unable to think of an appropriate retort. She was grateful for the sleep. She just didn’t like the way she’d gotten it. “What are you doing to this tractor?”
“Fixing it.”
“I didn’t know it was broken.”
“Neither did I until I tried starting it up.”
“Why would you want to start it up?”
Nathan leaned back over and began tinkering again, so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye when he said, “So I could plow your fallow fields.”
“So you could…” Harry was flabbergasted. “I thought you were too busy doing your own work to lend me a hand.”
Nathan stood and leaned a hip against the tractor while he wiped his hands on his chambray work shirt. “I had a visit yesterday from a good friend of mine, Luke Granger. He was with an agent of the Fish and Wildlife Service, Abigail—”
“They were here yesterday. So?”
“Luke pointed out to me that I haven’t been a very good neighbor.”
Harry felt her stomach churn. “What else did he have to say?”
“That was enough, don’t you think?”
Harry met Nathan’s solemn gaze and found it even more unsettling than the heat that had so recently been there.
Nathan never took his eyes off her when he added, “I think maybe I’ve been a little pigheaded about helping you out. On the other hand, Harry-et, I can’t help thinking—”
The blaring honk of a truck horn interrupted Nathan. A battered pickup was wending its way up the rutted dirt road.
Harry recognized Luke Granger and Abigail Dayton. “I wonder what they’re doing back here today.”
“I invited them.”
Harry whirled to face Nathan. “You what?”
“I called Luke this morning to see if he could spare a little time to do some repairs around here.” He took a look around the dilapidated buildings and added, “There’s plenty here for both of us to do.”
“You all got together and figured I needed help, so here you are riding to the rescue like cowboys in white hats,” Harry said bitterly. “Damn. Oh, damn, damn, damn.” Harry fisted her hands and placed them on her hips to keep from hauling off and hitting Nathan. She clamped her teeth tight to keep her chin from quivering. She wanted to scream and rant and rave. And she was more than a little afraid she was going to cry.
Nathan couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. In all the years he’d been offering help to others, the usual response had been a quick and ready acceptance of his assistance. This woman was totally different. She seemed to resent his support. He found her reaction bewildering. And not a little frustrating.
He should have been glad she didn’t need his help. He should have been glad she didn’t need any caretaking. But he found himself wanting to help, needing to help. Her rejection hurt in ways he wasn’t willing to acknowledge.
He turned and began working on the tractor again, keeping his hands busy to keep from grabbing Harry and kissing some sense into her.
“Hello, there,” Luke said as he and Abigail approached the other couple.
“Hello,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth. Her angry eyes remained on Nathan.
Nathan never looked up. “I ran into a little problem, Luke. The tractor needs some work before I can do anything about those fallow fields.”
“Anything I can do?” Luke asked Nathan.
Harry whirled on him and said, “You can turn that truck around and drive right back out of here.”
“We just want to help,” Abigail said quietly.
“I don’t need your charity,” Harry cried in an anguished voice. “I don’t need—”
Nathan suddenly dropped his wrench on the engine with a clatter and grabbed Harry by the arms, forcing her to face him. “That’ll be enough of that!”
“Just who do you think you are?” Harry rasped. “I didn’t ask you to come here. I didn’t ask you to—”
“I’m doing what a good neighbor should do.”
“Right! Where was all this neighborliness when I had lambs dying because I didn’t know how to deliver them? Where was all this friendly help when I really needed it?”
“You need it right now,” Nathan retorted, his grip tightening. “And I intend to give it to you.”
“Over my dead body!” Harry shouted.
“Be reasonable,” Nathan said in a voice that was losing its calm. “You need help.”
“I don’t need it from you,” Harry replied stubbornly.
“Maybe you’d let us help,” Abigail said, stepping forward to place a comforting hand on Harry’s arm.
Harry’s shoulders suddenly slumped, all the fight gone out of her. Maybe she should just take their help. Maybe her parents had been right all along. She bit her quivering lower lip and closed her eyes to hold back the threatening tears.
But some spark inside Harry refused to be quenched by the dose of reality she’d just suffered. She could give up and give in, as she had in the past. Or she could fight.
Her shoulders came up again, and when her eyes opened, they focused on Nathan Hazard, flashing with defiance. “I want you off my property, Nathan Hazard. Now. I…” Her voice caught in an angry sob, but her jaw stiffened. “I have things to do inside. I expect you can see yourself off my land.”
Harry turned and marched toward the tiny log house without a single look back to see if he had obeyed her command.
Chapter 5
What do you say when asked, “How’s it going?”
Answer: “Oh, could be worse. Could be better.”
Nathan spent the rest of the afternoon working outside with Luke, while Abigail worked in and around the barn with a still-seething Harry. Luke and Abigail left just before sundown, knowing Harry’s fallow fields were plowed and planted and that the pigpen gate, among other things, had been repaired. Nathan worked another quarter hour before admitting there wasn’t enough light to continue. He pulled on the chambray shirt he’d been using for an oil rag and headed toward the only light on in Cyrus’s log cabin.
He knocked at Harry’s kitchen door, but didn’t wait for an answer before he pushed the screen door open and stepped inside. Harry was standing at the sink rinsing out Coke bottles. She turned when she saw him, grabbed a towel from the counter and wiped her hands dry. She stood backed up against the sink, waiting, wary.
“I’m sorry.” Nathan hadn’t said those two words very often in his lifetime, and they stuck in his craw.
It didn’t help when Harry retorted, “You should be!”
“Now look here, Harry-et—”
“No, you look here, Nathan,” she interrupted. “I thought I’d made it plain to
you that I didn’t want your help. At least not the way you’re offering it. I wouldn’t mind so much if you wanted to teach me how to run this place. But you seem bound and determined to treat me like the worst sort of tenderfoot, which I am—a tenderfoot, I mean. But not the worst sort. Oh, this isn’t making any sense!”
Harry was so upset that she gulped air, and she trembled as though she had the ague. Nathan took a step toward her, wanting to comfort her, but stopped when she stuck out a flat palm.
“Wait. I’m not finished talking. I don’t know how to make it any plainer. I don’t want the sort of help you’re offering, Nathan.”
Nathan opened his mouth to offer her the kind of help she was asking for and snapped it shut. Even if he taught her what she wanted to know, she would be hard-pressed to make a go of this place by herself. And if, by some miracle, she did succeed, he would only be stuck with another Alistair planted square in the middle of Hazard land.
“All right, Harry-et,” he said, “I’ll stop trying to help.”
Her shoulders sagged, and he wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Neither reaction pleased him. So he said, “I think maybe what we ought to do is call a truce.”
“A truce?”
“Yeah. You know, raise the white flag. Stop fighting. Call a halt to hostilities.” He tried a smile of encouragement. It wasn’t his best, but apparently it was good enough, because she smiled back.
“All right,” she agreed. “Shall we shake on it?”
She stuck her hand out and, like a fool, he took it. And suffered the consequences. Touching her was like shooting off fireworks on the Fourth of July. He liked what he felt. Too much. So he dropped her hand and turned to leave.
Before he even got to the door he had turned back—he didn’t have the faintest idea why—and caught her looking bereft. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “What would you say to a dinner to celebrate our truce?” She looked doubtfully around her kitchen, and he quickly added, “I meant dinner out.”
A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing Page 6
