Sweet Enemy

"I won't go!" Maggie Kirk said stubbornly, and turned away
from her friend's cajoling pleas. "It's like asking me to walk into
a Bengal tiger's cage with a sirloin roast tied around my
neck!"

"But, Maggie," Janna protested, her dark eyes pleading softly,
"it's just what you need. Remember how we used to escape to
the ranch when we were in school, how we looked forward to riding
and picnicking by the river?"

"My memories are a little different," the slender brunette said
with a grimace. She perched on the edge of the bed, studying
the legs of her brown denim jeans. "I remember being put over Clint
Raygen's knee for riding that surly stallion of his, and being
locked in my room for going on a picnic by the river with Gerry
Broome."

"Clint did warn you about High Tide," her small friend reminded
her, defending the brother she worshipped. "And you know what Gerry
tried to do. Clint knew he was too old to trust you with."

Maggie blushed with the memory of Clint finding her fighting her
way out of Gerry's furious embrace, and the sight of blood when his
big fist connected with the younger man's nose. The lecture that
followed hadn't been pleasant, either. She sighed. It had
always been like that. She and Clint had been enemies from their
first encounter, when she was eight and he was nineteen and she
threw a baseball bat at him.

"It was a long time ago," Janna reminded her. "You're
twenty now, and it was all right when we went down to spend a week
with Clint and Mama last summer, wasn't it?"

"Of course it was all right, he was in Europe!" Maggie erupted.
"This time, your mother's in Europe, and Clint's home, and Lida's
just dumped him and he's going to be an absolute pain in the
neck!"

"That's why I think you should go," Janna said.

Maggie gaped at her. "Janna, old friend, have you been tippling
the brandy bottle again?"

"Well, here you are just getting over that rat, Philip," Janna
explained, "and there he is just getting over that ratess,
Lida…"

"Haven't you ever noticed that although your brother and I are
probably very nice people when we're separated, we seem to turn
rabid when we come face to face?"

Maggie asked patiently. "The last time," she reminded the
wide-eyed girl, "he threw me, fully clothed, into the river, I hit
my…my embarrassment on a rock," she faltered.

"You kicked him," Janna replied. "Hard. On the shin."

"He called me an idiot!"

"Well, what would you call somebody who tried to stone a
rattlesnake to death from four feet?" Janna threw up her hands.
"Honestly, Maggie, when you get around my brother, you lose every
ounce of sense you have."

"There you go again… Oh, never mind." She propped her chin on
her elbows. "It's no use talking about it, anyway.
Clint won't have me down to the ranch without you, and we both know
it."

"Yes, he will. I asked him."

"What did you tell him?" Maggie asked suspiciously, her emerald
eyes sparkling.

Janna shrugged. "That you and Phil had split, that's all."

"Just that…not how we broke up?" she asked quietly.

"I swear, Maggie. I'd never do that to you."

She forced a wan smile. "I didn't mean that. It…I guess it hit
me a little harder than I expected."

"Clint said you could fill in for his secretary while
she's on vacation," Janna continued brightly, "and have a working
holiday that you'll get paid for. He said it would be the best
medicine you'd ever swallowed."

"And, knowing Clint, he'll add a teaspoon of arsenic just
to flavor it," Maggie grumbled. "Arrogant, hard headed,
bossy…"

"You are between jobs," Janna reminded her.

Maggie sighed. "If I were drowning, you'd toss me an anchor,
wouldn't you, my bosom buddy?"

"Oh, Maggie, it's a golden opportunity I'm giving you. Three
weeks with the most eligible bachelor in the Sunshine State,
good-looking, rich, desirable…"

"I think I'm going to be sick," Maggie said, turning her gaze to
the budding trees outside the window.

"Haven't you ever had a romantic thought about Clint, in all
these years?" Janna persisted.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but, no."

"The best cure for a broken heart is to get it broken
again."

"Golly, gee, Janna, look at the pretty bird on the limb here,"
Maggie said enthusiastically. "Isn't he just too
gorgeous?"

"Okay, okay. Will you at least go to the ranch?"

"Next to hell, it's my very favorite place when Clint's
there."

"It's pretty on the ranch right now-all the wildflowers are in
bloom." Janna sighed. "Clint's always out on the range somewhere, with the cattle or the field hands, and you know he
almost never gets to the house before dark."

"And there's always hope that he'll get captured by rustlers and
held for ransom until my vacation's over, right?" Maggie
grinned.

"Right!" Janna laughed.

Maggie was never really certain why she decided to take the bus.
Perhaps it was because so many pleasant memories of her childhood
were connected with it, when she had ridden from her parents' home
in Atlanta to her grandparents' home in South Georgia on the big,
comfortable bus. And from there, it was just a pleasant drive to
Janna and Clint's family's ranch in Florida.

Maggie's eyes were drawn to that long, level landscape, where
pine trees, pecan orchards, and spacious farm houses stood
sheltering under the towering oaks and chinaberry trees. Her
childhood had been spent here, riding over these fields on horseback with Janna.
Usually Clint was in hot pursuit while she bent low over the
horse's neck. The wind would cut into her face as she urged her
mount on, after flinging back a challenge to Clint. The tall
man's eyes always had a pale green glint to them when she
challenged him, and he always gave her just enough rope to hang
herself.

She smiled involuntarily at the memory. She and Clint had never
actually decided on the boundaries of their relationship. The
banter between them was usually friendly, although it could get
hot. But it had never been really malicious or cruel. They were the
eternal odd couple, always rubbing each other wrong, always wary
around each other as if they held an uneasy truce and were afraid
it might fall and break.

Clint was too rugged to ever be called handsome, but he drew
women. He always had them hanging on his arm, and Maggie was
determined from the beginning never to be one of those poor moths drawn to his flame. She resisted
his charm effortlessly, because he never wasted it on her, and she
was glad. She'd never been completely sure how she'd react to Clint
in that kind of relationship. Because she was afraid of it, she
worked minor miracles to prevent it from ever happening.

A buzz of conversation caught her attention, and she drew
herself back to the present just in time to see the people across
the aisle staring fixedly out the window. The bus slowly
ground to a halt as a rider came straight toward it on a black
stallion that gleamed like silk in the sun.

Maggie didn't have to be told who was riding the horse. The
man's tall, easy arrogance was a dead giveaway, even
without the cocky angle of his range hat and the khaki work
clothes that seemed to be a part of him.

He reined up at the door as the bus driver opened it with a
grin.

"Man, can you ride," he laughed, shaking his curly dark
head appreciatively.

"I've had my share of practice," Clint Raygen said with a
lopsided smile. His dancing green eyes found Maggie moving up to
the front of the bus in her powder blue pantsuit and he raised a
lazy eyebrow at her.

"Thank God you're still tomboy enough to wear pants, Irish," he
said, throwing down the gauntlet effortlessly with that hated
nickname from her childhood. "I don't have time to meet the bus.
We're tagging some new cattle. Hop on."

"Hop… on?" she echoed weakly. "But…my luggage?"

"The driver can drop it off in town, can't you?" he asked the
man. "We'll get it later."

"I'll do it," the driver said, "on condition if
I ever get two days in a row, you'll teach me to ride a horse like
that."

"I own the C bar R," Clint told him.

"You're welcome anytime. Maggie, hop aboard"

There was a muffled giggle from behind her, and she didn't have
to turn to know it was a couple of teenagers who were in the seat
behind hers. She straightened her shoulders. There was no way out
of this, for sure, not without becoming the object of everybody's
conversation for the rest of the way into town.

"I haven't been on a horse in a year," she told him, as she took
the lean, brown hand he held out.

"Step up on my boot and swing your leg over," he said in his
best you-Jane-me-Tarzan voice, and she could almost see the
teenagers swooning.

She managed to get herself up behind him without too much
effort, but it was a disturbing new contact, and she had to hold on
tight to his hard waist to keep from sliding off the big horse. It
was like digging her fingers into solid steel, those whipcord
muscles were so powerful.

"All set, Maggie?" he asked over his shoulder.

"All set," she murmured in a low voice that wouldn't carry
farther than his ear.
^"
Ready to gallop away in a cloud
of dust and leave your adoring public gasping in the wake of your
dramatic exit!"

She felt his chest shake under her hand as he urged the stallion
into a slow canter and headed out across the field.

"If this isn't dramatic enough for you, Irish," he said
arrogantly, "I'll put Whirlwind into a gallop."

Both slender arms went around him and she held on for all she
was worth. "Oh, please don't, Clint, I'll be good," she said
quickly.

He chuckled deeply. "I thought you would. I'll drop you by the
house on my way to the feedlot."

"You sure picked an unusual way to meet me," she remarked,
watching the high grass wave along the path the horse was
making.

"I didn't plan it," he said casually. "I just happened to see
the bus, and I figured you'd be on it."

She wondered at that. Clint always seemed to know when she was
coming. He always had. It was as if he had a built-in radar where
she was concerned.

She stared at that broad, unyielding back. "Thank you for
letting me come," she said quietly.

"Janna said you needed a job," he replied
matter-of-factly. "And I happen to be between secretaries," he
added in a taut voice. It went without saying that Lida had been
the last one.

She turned her attention to the long horizon, dotted with
pine trees and scrub palmettos and red-coated Herefords with
their faces tiny dots of white in the distance. Involuntarily, a
smile came to her face.

"Janna and I used to play cowboys and Indians in those fields,"
she murmured. "I always had to be the Indian."

He glanced down at her leg in the loose slacks. "You still dress like one," he said. "I've hardly ever
seen you in a dress, Irish."

She shifted restlessly. "They're a little out of place on a
farm, don't you think?" she grumbled. It was the old argument
again, he never tired of chiding her about her preference for
slacks.

"I hadn't planned on using you to tag cattle and bale hay," he
growled.

She drew a sharp, angry breath. "How I dress is my business,"
she replied. "All you have to worry about is if I can type and take
dictation."

He reined in abruptly and half-turned in the saddle, twisting
his tall body so that he could look back at her. His narrowed eyes
were a menacing pale green.

"I'll remind you once that there's a line you don't cross with
me, little girl," he said in a soft tone that cut more surely than
shouting would have. "Your whipped pup of a boyfriend may have
taken backtalk with a grin, but don't expect the same con-sideration from me. I still say a woman's got only one use to a
man, and I think you know what I'm talking about."

She did, and nothing could have prevented the blush that
colored her high cheekbones. She looked away quickly.

He studied her quietly, his eyes tracing the delicate profile
turned toward him. "Why do you screw your hair up like that?" he
asked suddenly.

She gritted her teeth. "It keeps it out of my eyes," she replied
tightly.

"And keeps a man's eyes turned the other way," he added. "How
did that city dude ever get through the layer of ice around you,
Irish? With a blowtorch?"

That brought her emerald eyes flashing around to burn into his.
"Would you rather I'd have come in a slinky, skin-tight dress with
my face plastered in makeup, batting my eyelashes at you?" she
asked hotly.

His bold, slow eyes ran over her face, down to her soft mouth,
further down to the full, young curves of her body. "You did that once," he
recalled gently, meeting her shocked, uncertain gaze. "When you
were seventeen, and I suddenly became the star in your young sky
after Gerry Broome threw you over."

The memory was like an open wound. He'd never let her forget it.
She couldn't forget, either, how she'd run after him shamelessly,
finding excuse after excuse to follow him around the ranch that
unforgettable summer. Until finally he'd gotten tired of it
and shattered her pride into a thousand aching pieces by
confronting her with the crush, a confrontation that had shamed her
into hiding. She'd never quite recovered from the rejection,
keeping it buried in her subconscious. It was one reason she
fought him so hard, keeping anger like a safe, high fence between
them.

She dropped her eyes to the broad chest in front of her. "That
was three years ago," she said quietly.

"And now there's Philip," he added.

There was a note in his deep, slow voice that defied analysis.
"Isn't there?"

She clenched her jaw. "No," she whispered achingly, "there
isn't. Didn't Janna tell you that we'd split?"