nail the bastards.”
As she rose to her feet, a shiver ran the length of Jenna’s spine. She wouldn’t want to be in the rustlers’ boots when he caught up with them. One look into those intense brown eyes told her Flint McCray could be a very dangerous adversary.
She felt Flint’s gaze boring a hole into her back as she climbed the stairs and entered her room. In his eyes, she knew no one was above suspicion. Not even her.
But that didn’t matter. He could think whatever he liked. But if she’d known he had this kind of problem on his hands, she might not have been so insistent that he honor their contract.
She shook her head and immediately dismissed the thought. Running from trouble was a coward’s way out.
And no one had ever been able to call Jenna Adams a coward.
“I tell ya, Jed, I thought I had that truck fixed or I’d a never loaned it to you last night,” Whiskers said, wiping the counter. “If Flint hadn’t said it scared Jenna into hurtin’ herself when it backfired, I’d a sworn you made it up.”
“Believe me,” Jenna said, entering the kitchen. “It happened.”
“Mornin’, Miss Adams.” Jed pointed to her bandaged hand. “After what happened last night, I’ll bet you’re just about ready to cut your losses and run.”
She shook her head and sat down to a delicious-looking plate of biscuits and gravy. “It’ll take more than a splinter to keep me from training a potential champion.”
“Flint said you got hurt,” Whiskers said, worriedly. “Maybe you’d better not try to work with Satin this mornin’.”
Touched by his concern, Jenna smiled and held out her bandaged hand for his inspection. “I’ll be fine. I’ve worked with much worse injuries than this.”
“I just don’t like the idea of a little gal like you climbin’ in the corral with that black devil,” Whiskers stated, picking up Jed’s plate to scrape the contents.
“Hey, I’m not finished,” Jed complained.
Whiskers placed the plate in the sink. “Yes, you are.”
Jed started to protest, but stopped when a gnarled finger pointed his direction.
“Somebody has to keep track of the vittles you poke down, cause it’s for danged sure you don’t know when to push away from the table.” The old man propped his hands on his hips. “The rest of the men finished up fifteen minutes ago. Now, get your shiftless butt outta here so I can get my work done.”
Jed jumped to his feet. “If you keep mean-mouthin’ people, somebody’s gonna tear your head off and shout down the hole.”
“Then who’d feed your worthless carcass?” Whiskers asked.
“That’s the only thing holdin’ me back, old man.” Jed grabbed his hat and walked through the door.
Shaken by the man’s obvious anger, Jenna’s appetite deserted her. “I’m not very hungry, Whiskers.” She rose from the table. “But thanks, anyway.”
“You cain’t be done.” When she nodded, he threw up his hands. “No wonder you’re such a puny little thing.”
“She has to be wiry and quick to work with horses like Satin,” Flint said, walking into the room.
Jenna ducked her head to conceal her astonishment. That wasn’t the argument he’d used yesterday when he tried to break their contract. He’d accused her of not having the strength to work with his horse, or any others, for that matter. What had changed his mind?
She decided to ignore the comment. All her concentration needed to be focused on Satin and his training. If she allowed her mind to wander while she worked with the stallion, she could confirm Flint’s first observation. And she’d rather run naked through a briar patch than let that happen.
She adjusted the shotgun chaps she’d put on before coming downstairs. “Speaking of Satin, I’d better get started.”
Flint’s mouth went dry when he noticed the way the leather hugged Jenna’s slender thighs and framed her blue-jeans-clad buttocks. He shifted from one foot to the other and swallowed hard. It was all he could do to keep from reaching for her.
For the life of him, he couldn’t forget what had taken place last night on the porch and in the hall. Her legs had felt incredible tangled with his when he’d kissed her. And the memory of her, half-naked, lying in his arms on the floor, had already driven him to a cold shower this morning.
Flint observed the way the open seat of the chaps emphasized the movement of her firm little bottom as she walked toward the back door. He thought his mouth might drop open.
“Dinner’s at twelve,” Whiskers called after her. His eyes dancing merrily, his toothless grin wide, he turned back to Flint. “Unless the big bad wolf gets ahold of her first.”
It took every ounce of effort Flint could muster to keep from turning a deep crimson. He should have known Whiskers would notice his discomfort. The old man had the eyes of a hawk.
Whiskers laughed. “I’m glad to see you takin’ an interest in that little filly. She’s a danged sight more tolerable than the one you used to be hitched up to.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Flint lied. He removed his hat from the peg beside the door. “I have no interest in Miss Adams aside from her training Black Satin.”
“Is that why you look like you’re gonna make her your next meal?”
Flint turned to glare at his housekeeper. “Dammit, Whiskers. I don’t—”
“Save it, boy. I’ve had the oven on this mornin’ and there’s already plenty of hot air in this kitchen.” Whiskers moved to the table to stack plates. “If I was forty years younger, I’d lasso her myself. Mark my words, that little gal’s a keeper if ever I seen one.”
“I have no intention of keeping her or any other woman.” Flint’s scowl deepened. “If you’ll remember, I gave it a try and it turned out to be a disaster.”
Whiskers waved a spoon at Flint. “Any time you play with a wildcat, you’re bound to get scratched. I told you about that woman before you ever got yourself hitched up to her. She’s the very reason you’re gun-shy now.”
“I’m not gun-shy.” Flint shook his head. “I just don’t intend to make the same mistake twice. That’s all.”
“There ain’t no way you could with Jenna.”
“Just when did you become an expert on women?”
Whiskers put the dishes in the sink and poured them each a cup of coffee. Motioning for Flint to take a seat, he lowered himself into a chair on the opposite side of the big oak table. “You can tell a quarter horse from a Thoroughbred, cain’t you?”
Flint knew he should let the matter drop, but instead of walking away, he sat down. “What do horses have to do with women?”
Whiskers
