The Rancher's Untamed Heart (8 page)

As I drove back down the gravel road, my heart started to beat quickly at the thought of meeting Clint again. Would he touch me? Would our passionate kiss earlier this week be a fluke? Perhaps he'd realize that he could do better, or perhaps our bodies would no longer ignite one another.

Even still, under all of my insecurity, arousal started to coil in the bottom of my stomach, and my nipples started to tingle against my bra.

When I got to the ranch, I didn't see anyone nearby, so I pulled my truck into the same shady spot where I parked before.

I checked to make sure I had my cell phone and wallet and, after a moment of hesitation, picked up the purse with my spare clothing in it and threw it over my shoulder before grabbing my clipboard.

When I stepped out of the truck, I called "Hello! Inspector here!"

Two men stepped out of the nearest barn. One was short and stocky, with brown hair in a ponytail. He was handsome enough, and his smile would normally have made my heart turn over, but I only had eyes for the man next to him.

Clint Cannon was tall and lean, with dark hair and amazing blue eyes. Like the strange man, he was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. The shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and an open button at the top allowed me a glimpse of a dark shadow of chest hair.

I felt a smile start to spread across my face, just as the coiled arousal in my stomach started to spread until I could feel tingles up my spine and heat in my groin.

Waving once at the two men, I walked over to them, sticking my clipboard under my left arm and sticking my right hand out to shake.

"Good afternoon," I said, and the strange man shook my hand, grinning broadly. His skin was smooth and supple, with the hard calluses of any good ranch hand, but his touch did not electrify me in the way Clint’s had earlier in the week - or in my thoughts.

"Afternoon," he said, "My name's Liam Marshall, but you can call me Brandon."

Clint did not smile. He didn't shake my hand, either. He only stood and stared off into the distance, looking over my shoulder without seeming to see me.

Brandon asked me a question about my work, but I didn’t want to think about my work. I wanted to cry, or storm away, or yell at Clint, and more than anything, I wanted to feel his soft mouth on mine.

I blinked, and shook my head a little to clear it.

“Uh, yes. I’d like to go ahead and start by checking the hay,” I said. “Would that be all right, Mr. Cannon?”

“Fine,” he said. Curt. Sharp. “Brandon’ll show you.”

With that, he walked away, leaving me blinking after him in the dust.

“He does that to everyone, you know,” Brandon said. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“Sorry?” I asked. I really had to start paying more attention to the other man.

“That brooding thing, where he says two dozen words all day and none of them are ‘please’ or ‘thank you,’” Brandon replied. “His daddy was the same way. Worse, even. Clint’ll perk up sometimes and give you a smile or ask about your day, but I don’t think I ever once heard his father say anything that wasn’t about sheep or supper.”

“Is his father still around the place?” I asked. If Brandon wanted to talk about Clint instead of sheep, that would be fine by me.

He made a polite after-you gesture and indicated the way to the hay barn. We started to walk over as Brandon answered my question.

“Nope. His momma passed a while back, broke everyone’s heart.  Mr. Cannon died about four years ago, when Clint was twenty-seven. I was Clint’s friend back in school, and when he took over running this place he asked me to come work for him for six months. Turns out, he offered me a pretty good deal, and I don’t have any particular reason to leave yet.”

“Oh,” I said. I wanted to ask him more questions about Clint, but it would be rude. Decisions, decisions.

I was saved from having to work on conversing right away by our arrival at the hay barn. I began to do a more thorough inspection of the premises and the hay, taking samples of the hay itself and measurements of the facilities, becoming totally absorbed in this familiar part of my job.

Eventually, the only duty in this barn that was left to me was a simple visual inspection of the hay. Through all of my measuring and muttering, Brandon was extremely patient, not following me around, but remaining alert enough to promptly answer any question I happened to shout.

Finally, this, most tedious part of my job done, I jotted down a few more notes on my findings and retraced my steps through the long aisles of hay, trying to ignore how quiet and creepy it was to walk alone through these dark and dusty corridors.

When I got back to the entrance, I found Brandon straddling a haybale, legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows, slowly rolling his shoulders in strong circles. I’d spent enough time with farm workers to know that many relished the opportunity to stretch the muscles that, in some seasons, they used from sunup to sundown with very little break. He was a fine, strong figure of a man, and on any other day I might have been interested in the sight he presented.

Today, I just wanted him to be Clint.

Trying to move on from the disappointment I was feeling, now that I was out of my reverie of work, I smiled at Brandon.

“Could we take one more walk around the rest of the property?” I asked him.

“Sure, no problem,” he said.

As we walked along, I asked him where he was from, and told me a little bit about growing up nearby. Apparently, he’d been friends with Clint Cannon since the two of them were toddlers.

I took a risk.

“Does Clint get to town often?” I asked casually. “This place is a bit of a haul to get to.”

“He doesn’t think he can leave this place too much. He goes out to buy what he needs, sometimes he catches a movie or stops by the library. Generally, though, he gets a case of beer or a bottle of Jack, and he and I kill evenings together.”

Brandon pointed at a little cabin, just visible in front of a stand of trees a few rolling hills away from the house.

“That’s where I bunk.”

I was surprised, most hands these days stayed in town and made the long drive out morning and evening.

“So he doesn’t go out much? Not a lot of friends to visit, no girlfriend in town?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.”

“Clint? He hasn’t been with a girl since the last one broke his heart,” Brandon said absently. Then, he stopped walking and looked me up and down, a smile growing across his face until he had a wicked grin.

“You’re thinking of trying for him?” he asked, as though Clint were a trophy I could win.

I’m pretty sure I blushed. I hope I didn’t, but I’m pretty sure I blushed.

“Of course not!” I blustered. “It would be very unprofessional. Not that I’m interested, of course. You just don’t see too many setups like this any more and I got curious.”

“Yes, of course,” Brandon said, so seriously that I knew he had to be teasing me. “Well, just in case anyone in the nearby vicinity happened to set their cap for Clint Cannon, let me just go on record as saying that I approve, anything that would cheer that tightass up is fine by me.”

As my inspection of the farm finished, it was around five, and the sun was fading. Clint walked up to us.

“You done?” he asked, twisting his mouth.

“Yep, thank you. I am just about set. Unfortunately, I do need some signatures from you, and to go over the results of the inspection. It shouldn’t take long. Do you have an office where we can sit down for a few minutes?”

“We just got that shipment of new ropes in, they’re all over your office. No room for two people,” Brandon volunteered.

Clint tapped his foot angrily a few times.

“Brandon, can you take over for me here tonight? She and I can go up to the house and do the paperwork in the kitchen,” he said.

Brandon grinned.

“Sure, no problem.”

I couldn’t help myself, I tingled all over at the thought of being alone with Clint in his house. Was this a ploy to get me alone?

I could hardly wait.

Clint held the door open for me, letting me into the large, bright kitchen.

“This is beautiful,” I murmured, stepping aside to let him through, “I like the size.”

He looked around, a small smile twisting one side of his handsome face. I took him in with the surroundings, comparing his broad form with the clean, strong lines of the kitchen where we stood. The style, plain pine wood and dark countertops, was pretty typical of big houses on ranches in the area, but it was on a slightly smaller scale.

Of course, that wasn’t saying much. Instead of just the kitchen being the size of my entire apartment, the main living area was.

Clint apparently ignored my polite compliments of his home.

“Here will do,” he said, pulling out a chair for me at the end of a rectangular dining table that would seat. He took the chair next to it, at the head of the table. I sat down where he indicated, feeling the smooth pine under my fingers as I scooted my chair closer to the table.

The table was old, clearly used by many years of busy people, but the years had polished it to a smooth shine instead of destroying it. Furniture like that spoke quietly of money to me.

“So, are we ready to get this taken care of?” I asked.

“Suppose so,” Clint grunted, pulling the first sheet closer to him and peering at it.

“This one is saying that you gave me a tour and did not try and hide anything,” I began.

“No offense meant,” Clint said, “But you don’t need to tell me, I’ll read it anyways.”

Some of the people I dealt with would simply pull the stack of paperwork over to them and sign anywhere that looked like a line. Some of the people were methodical and untrusting, preferring to read every line for themselves and come to their own conclusions.

I didn’t really mind either way. My boss, Herman Banks, liked to joke about sticking bills of sale to their ranches in the piles, to teach the hasty signers a lesson.

“Suit yourself,” I said, and smiled at him.

He looked up briefly and nodded at me. I tried to tell myself that he was not being unfriendly, simply all business.

“Would you mind if I did some work on my phone while you go over that?” I asked.

He looked up again, meeting my eyes and smiling slightly.

“Suit yourself,” he said.

The smile reassured me, and I relaxed at the old table, tapping away at my phone, skimming through the e-mails I’d gotten while inspecting the ranch. Most of them I could read quickly and dismiss, but there were a few that needed quick replies, and two that needed in-depth responses that I’d send first thing Monday morning.

When I’d done that, Clint was still reading the small print on the back of one form.

Very methodical.

I shrugged to myself and looked back down at my phone. It was after six, I was definitely off the clock, and I’d taken care of everything I really needed to do today.