“By tomorrow morning?”
Jeff nodded. “Just tell me what time you want it out there.”
She turned to Clint. “9:00 a.m. okay with you?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. And given the fact he’d wanted to mow down all those bushes anyway—and did not have a working tractor of his own—Clint figured this would give him a head start. “Sure, why not.” Jeff handed him a set of contracts that covered all manner of product endorsements and included an extensive general liability clause. Clint had expected it to be a generic fill-in-the-blank document. Instead, his name and address were preprinted on everything.
He frowned suspiciously at the two people standing opposite him. “How the heck did the manufacturer know I would say yes?” The company’s legal department had set the first advertising component of the work to begin ten to fourteen days after signing. Which—he noted by the date on the documents—they had expected to be today?
Rose flushed guiltily.
It wasn’t hard for him to jump to the next assumption. “You said yes for me?” Clint asked in disbelief.
Rose cleared her throat and made a dismissive gesture. “Tentatively. But only because I knew I could talk you into it.”
Damn, but she had moxie.
The prettiest sage-green eyes.
And the softest, most kissable lips.
Oblivious to the nature of his thoughts, she defiantly stood her ground. “With the crop ripening any day, there was no time to waste. And it wasn’t that big of a gamble. You’re a businessman as well as a rancher. I figured it wouldn’t take long for you to see the light. You’ll get sixty-five cents from my operation per pound of fruit.”
He stopped her with an imperious lift of his palm. “Make it a dollar.”
She scowled. “Now, wait just a red-hot minute, cowboy! I still have to clean, sort, package and market the berries for you.”
“Not to mention pick up and deliver,” he added. “Since I don’t have a produce truck, either.”
She stared at him. “Seventy-five cents, McCulloch. And that’s my ceiling.”
He stared right back, then shrugged. “Done.” He extended a hand.
Rose slid her palm into his. The sensation of her surprisingly soft and silky skin, coupled with the strength of her grip, sent heat pouring through his veins.
He hadn’t been this aware of a woman in ages. If ever. And judging by the stunned look in her eyes, she was feeling the same.
He thought about how long it had been since he’d been close to anyone and swore silently to himself. What had they gotten themselves into?
“What’s wrong?” Rose demanded early the next morning.
How about everything? Clint thought, directing his full attention to the woman striding toward him. Although it was due to heat up later in the day, right now it was damp and cool. Rose had hooked a pair of sunglasses into the neck of her bright-yellow T-shirt and thrown a denim jacket over her slender shoulders. Snug-fitting jeans and boots covered her lower half. Her straw hat hid her cloud of ash-blond curls.
Not stopping until they stood toe-to-toe, she persisted, “Why do you have that look on your face?”
Clint cut a glance at the long line of pickups and tractors driving onto the Double Creek Ranch, then turned back to her, keeping his temper in check. “You really have to ask?”
She shrugged, her expression more innocent than the situation warranted. “I told you I’d get you a loaner tractor delivered today.” She waved a hand in the direction of the tractor dealership flatbed leading the way. “And I have.”
It looked like a nice one, too. Brand spanking new. With an air-conditioned cab, a fact he was sure to appreciate as the sun rose higher in the sky.
Clint jerked his head at the convoy. “And the rest of this?”
“Oh.” Rose spared him a look. “I called in a few favors to get other farmers in the area to help us make the rows. This way we can get it done in one day.”
He lifted his brows. “You didn’t think to ask me first?”
Her pause went on a second too long.
“Or you did think to ask and decided not to.”
Another shrug and a small, mischievous smile. “I might have discovered—after I finished organizing everything last night—that it was too late to call you.”
He narrowed his eyes, not buying that excuse for one hot second.
“Or...I might have had a feeling that you’re one of those gotta-do-it-all-myself types.” She became serious. “With the first of the berries ready to be picked tomorrow, we really don’t have time to waste.”
Uh-huh. Just as he had thought.
“Deal or not, Ms. McCabe, this is still my ranch.”
“Oh, I am aware.” Tossing her head, she lifted a lecturing finger his way. “But that doesn’t change the fact you have agreed to sell those blackberries to me, McCulloch! Or in any way alter the fact that I, in turn, have promised those same berries to a number of local stores, as well as the members of the Rose Hill Farm co-op! All of whom, as it happens, know the importance of bringing a crop in at just the right moment.”
He couldn’t argue. Any berries left to fall on the ground were money down the drain. “You seem to have it all figured out.”
A shadow fell over her face—as if he’d struck a nerve. “You’ll thank me when I cut your first check.”
He supposed he would, at that.
“In the meantime...how about getting off your high horse long enough to come and thank all the neighbors who have so kindly agreed to help us?”
Clint fell into step beside her. “I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised,” he murmured, nodding at the farmers coming forward to greet him. “Laramie is a place where neighbors help each other out.”
Rose smiled, sweetly this time. “You’re darn right about that, cowboy. That’s how we farmers and ranchers all survive.”
* * *
“LOOKING GOOD AROUND HERE,” Gannon Montgomery told Clint later that evening when the two met at the Double Creek to settle their monthly accounts.
Friends since childhood, both were back on the ranches where they had grown up. Clint paid Gannon a grazing and usage fee for running his cattle and cutting horses on Gannon’s ranch—the Bar M. In return, Gannon paid Clint to keep up the pastures on his land and exercise and take care of his family’s horses.
Moreover, Gannon was a prominent local
