Authors: Stacey Coverstone
“I’ll get Jordan’s and mine,” Cole assured, grabbing for them.
Wyatt was not going to have it. “It’s the least I can do since I barged in on the two of you.” He slipped a pair of glasses out of his pocket, put them on, and reviewed the two checks. “Mmmm. Prices are going up.” He dug into his pocket to pull out some dollar bills and dropped them on the table to leave as a tip.
“I can get the tip,” Cole said, obviously annoyed. He pushed Wyatt’s money back toward him. He then retrieved his wallet and laid some folded greenbacks down. Wyatt chuckled and collected his cash as he stood.
“Okay, sport. You can pay the tip. Goodbye, Jordan. It was wonderful to see you.” He tipped his head, which today was covered with a baseball cap, not a cowboy hat. “Have a marvelous afternoon. I’ll call you later, since I know the phone is working at the house.” He took two steps and turned sharply. “Do you have a cell phone? I could call you on that if you prefer.”
Jordan looked at Cole. She hadn’t given him her cell number. It wouldn’t be polite to give it to Wyatt.
“The house phone will be fine,” she said.
“Okay. That was one of the best lunches I’ve ever had.” He winked and patted his stomach.
“Goodbye, Brannigan,” Jordan said, watching him quickly disappear into the throng of customers. He stopped at the register and slapped the male cashier on the back after paying his tab. Before he could get out the door, several people stopped him to chat. He laughed and then turned suddenly and looked directly back at her. Even from a distance, those green eyes penetrated her. When he waved, she smiled and waved back.
Cole stood up. “Ready to go?”
“Yes.” She scooted out of the booth.
“Why’s he calling you later?”
Her answer was an honest one. “I don’t know.” The pair snaked their way out of the crowded café with people stopping Cole and speaking to him in the same friendly way they had spoken to Wyatt. These two must know every soul in town, she thought. They finally stepped through the door.
“It’s nice to get out of there. It was too noisy,” she said, inhaling a fresh breath of air. As they turned the corner to walk to where Cole’s truck was parked, they nearly ran into Joe Campbell and Cimarron Cruz. The two men halted their steps and glared.
“What are you looking at?” Cole boldly asked. Joe’s eyes narrowed into slits. Cimarron sucked his teeth.
“Were you talking to me, Roberts?” Joe’s tone was menacing.
Jordan grabbed Cole’s hand. “Please, let’s keep walking. Don’t start anything.”
Cimarron whistled and made a rude gesture toward her.
“Why, you son of a…” Cole lunged with his fist raised, but Jordan caught his arm and tugged, pulling him down the sidewalk. He spun around and strutted backwards, keeping his eye on the two men. They stood at the corner baiting him with jeers and gestures. When they reached his the truck, Cole said, “I was just going to tell them to stay off your ranch and leave you alone.”
“I know, but I don’t want them causing you any trouble. This is my battle. Hopefully Stillwell got my message today and that’ll be the end of it.”
He flung open the passenger door. “I’m afraid you’re being naïve, Jordan. You let me know if either of those jerks bothers you again.”
~ * ~
Back at the Lucky Seven, the two of them stood on her front stoop.
“Thank you for lunch and for the grand tour around Tulie. It was fun.” She was already calling the town Tulie, the way the locals did, and it felt good.
“It was my pleasure. I really enjoyed spending the day with you. I hope this is the first of many days we spend together.” He took a step forward, and his longing gaze delved into her.
Her pulse started to race. “It will be,” she joked, “once you get started on my renovations.”
“Right.” He nodded and stepped back, evidently realizing he was moving too fast. “I’ll go to my office and get that estimate worked up. I’ll call you with it as soon as I can. If you like the figures, I can get going right away.”
“Really? That’s terrific, but I don’t expect you to drop your other jobs for me.”
“Things are a bit slow. I need the work. You do have the money to pay, right?”
She liked the way he teased. “Yes, I have the money.”
“Okay then.” He held out his hand and they shook. His grip was firm and warm. “I’ll call soon.”
“Goodbye, Cole. And thanks again.” When he walked away, she sniffed the air, aware of how delicious his scent was, and then scolded herself for being so physically drawn to him. Even if she was ready to date again—and she wasn’t—she didn’t see him as the settling down type. It wasn’t wise to fool around with fire. She was afraid there weren’t enough firemen in Tularosa to put out the kind of blaze Cole was liable to start when he set out to woo a woman.
~ * ~
After a simple dinner, Jordan walked around the house holding paint samples up to the walls. She wanted her rooms to be the colors of the desert, the sky and the sun. When the phone rang she dashed to it, expecting it to be Cole with the estimate. He’d said he’d call soon. She grabbed the phone on the second ring.
“Hello.”
“How are ya?” The familiar voice was deep, soft and sexy. She smiled.
“I’m fine. How are you?” She hopped onto a bar stool.
“Just marvelous. What are you doing right now?”
“Choosing paint colors for my walls. What are you doing, Brannigan?”
He sighed. “Sitting here wishing I was visiting with a pretty lady such as yourself.”
Jordan’s heart fluttered. A picture formed in her mind. Wyatt reclining in a comfortable leather chair with his long legs stretched onto a hassock, cradling the phone in the crook of his neck as he petted his dog.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he drawled.
“Is that so?” She tried to keep her voice from trembling, but something about him sparked her. Her chest began to rise and fall.
“It is.” There was a moment of silence. If it was his plan to keep her guessing, it was working.
“And?”
“I was wondering if you’ve made plans for tomorrow.”
“No,” she replied, a bit too quickly.
“Good. I was thinking I’d come over early in the morning and we could get started mucking out those stalls. The sooner we get that done, the sooner I can bring over your horses.”
He was calling about the horses? Frowning with disappointment, she mumbled, “Okay. Sure. Tomorrow morning will be fine. But let’s get one thing straight.”
“What’s that?”
“I insist on paying you for your help.”
“Please. Don’t insult me, lady.” His voice still carried the same amiable quality.
“Don’t argue, Brannigan. Of course I’m going to pay. I’m not a charity case.”
He laughed. “I know that. I’m volunteering. That’s why they call it help, Jordan. I don’t know how things were handled in Denver, but that’s what neighbors do around here.”
She hemmed and hawed. “You must have other things—more important things to do with your time than to help a virtual stranger muck out stalls.”
“You’re not a stranger,” he said. “I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”
The admission floored her. Tingles coursed through her veins and flowed straight to her swollen heart. She found her tongue tied, unable to utter a word for a moment. “I… I… don’t know the first thing about horses or ranching,” she finally stammered.
“That’s exactly why I’ll be over early. Be ready to work and learn. See you around eight.” With that, the phone clicked and went dead.
A couple of hours later, after locking the door, checking the windows and flicking off the lights, Jordan slipped into her tee shirt and crawled into the squeaky bed. She lay there for thirty minutes or more, unable to get to sleep again. Her thoughts kept bouncing back and forth between Wyatt and Cole. Both were good men. She sensed that about them already. Both were outgoing, confident, and handsome. One was older. How much older? She wondered. The other was somewhat of a loose cannon. Physically, they were as different as night and day, but there was one thing the two had in common. If her radar wasn’t off, both seemed to be interested in her. What a change that was. She laughed out loud and pounded her pillow into shape with her fist. Oh, boy. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Wyatt parked his truck and trailer next to Jordan’s barn at eight on the dot. There she was, standing at the barn door looking fine in her tight Wranglers and a snug tee shirt that accentuated her shapely curves. There was a blue bandana tied around her neck and cowboy boots on her feet. The boots looked brand new, but he had to give her points for looking the part. His heart thundered at the sight of her. They’d only known each other two days, but the woman fired his blood—there was no two ways around it. Her mouth opened and closed, probably wondering what was in the horse trailer. He waved and she waved back. While stepping out of the truck, he eased on some leather gloves and jerked his head toward the trailer.
“I brought a few bales of hay to tide you over. Where’d you get those fancy mud kickers?” he teased.
She glanced down at her boots. “I’m from Colorado, remember?”
“Yes, I recall.”
“Don’t you think city girls wear boots? It’s the in thing to wear cowboy boots right now. Some women even wear them with dresses to work.”
He smiled, gazing into her hazel eyes that looked green one day and brown the next. “You’ve probably never worn a pair of boots in your life until today. Did you get them at the Dollar Store in Alamo?”
“Busted,” she admitted, returning the smile.
“I won’t hold it against you. I like ‘em. They look good on you.”He couldn’t help but let his gaze rake up and down her perfect little body.
“Well, thanks.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m ready to get to work if you are.”
“Then let’s start. After you.” He chivalrously let her step ahead of him, but his motives were anything but pure. As she sauntered into the barn, he watched her hips move from side to side. He’d always been a butt man, and hers did not disappoint. Jordan opened each of the stall doors, as he grabbed a pitchfork and shovel and dropped them into the wheelbarrow parked in the corner.
“Where are your gloves?” he asked, thrusting the pitchfork at her.
“Oops. I don’t have any.”
“What kind of rancher are you, Jordan? You’ll get blisters and ruin your delicate hands and fancy fingernails.” He noticed her long nails were painted pink. He strode into the tack room and searched for work gloves. “I’m sure there’s a pair around here somewhere.”
“I’m not so delicate,” she called out.
“Pardon?” He stuck his head out the tack room door.
“I said I may look it, but I’m not that delicate. I’m petite, but I’m strong. You’ll see.”
“Good.” The spurs on his boots jingled as he walked toward her. He handed her an old pair of gloves. “You need to be strong to make it as a rancher.”
She slipped the gloves on.
“Now you’re ready. You fork and I’ll shovel and unload.”
The job was back breaking, and the heat made an oven out of the barn in short time. Jordan pierced the dried manure patties with the pitchfork and tossed them into the wheelbarrow as he scooped, expertly catching only the manure and leaving most of the stall bedding intact. He’d had a lifetime of practice.
“I’ve got a load of cedar chips in the truck bed,” he rasped. “We’ll give each stall a fresh layer before the day’s over.”
“You’re pretty good at that scooping,” Jordan said. “Looks like you’ve got the technique down to a science.” She stopped long enough to wipe her perspiring face with her neck scarf.
“I’ve been mucking stalls all my life. I could do it in my sleep.” As much as he enjoyed talking to Jordan, when physical labor was involved, he tended to keep his mind on the work. There’d be time for talking later. He shifted his attention back to the shoveling and went silent.
She stared for a moment and then went back to forking dried poop. The man was amazing. He plugged along, bending and shoveling, and pushing the wheelbarrow out to the corner of the property where he dumped load after load, working like an ox. When he finally took a break late in the morning, his shirt was soaking wet. He removed his gloves, unbuttoned his shirt, and shrugged it off.
Breathing heavily, she leaned on the pitchfork and watched him wring the sweat out of the shirt like it was a dishrag. He tossed the shirt over the gate and bent from side to side to stretch his back. Her gaze was riveted to the man’s body. His shoulders were broad, and tiny beads of sweat glistened like diamonds on his curly brown chest hair. A strip of brown hair ran down the taut muscles of his stomach and stopped at the top of his belly button. For a guy his age, he was in great physical shape. A tingle pulsed through her body. If he looked up, he’d catch her ogling him. Wyatt stuck the shovel in the dirt and wiped his damp forehead with the back of his hand. Turning, his gaze met hers and locked.
“See something you like?” he drawled. Those lips lifted into a crooked grin.
She blinked and felt her cheeks catch fire. Dropping her gaze to the ground, she kicked the dirt with her boot feeling. “Would you care for some iced tea?” she asked quickly.
“I’d love some. It’s time for a break.”
“I’ll go pour us a couple of glasses.” She yanked off the gloves, tossed them on the ground, and started for the barn door.
“I’ll sit under the apple tree and wait for you,” he said, following.
“Okay.” She hurried to the house mumbling under her breath about how embarrassing that was. In short time she exited the adobe carrying a tray with two tall glasses of tea, a pitcher, a bowl of sugar, two spoons and some store-bought cookies. Wyatt was where he’d said he’d be—waiting for her under the apple tree, still bare-chested. He sat on the grass, leaning against the trunk with his long legs stretched out before him. He smiled as she handed him a brimming glass.
After chugging it in a single long gulp, he held the glass out for another and licked his lips. “That sure hits the spot. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She refilled his glass and offered him the sugar bowl. “Do you take sugar with yours? Not knowing, I left it unsweetened.”