The grizzled old cowboy glanced at Isabella. “Hadn’t had a chance to ask her yet.”
Isabella’s lips pressed together in disapproval as she looked up at Ross Ketchum. Neal Rankin had warned her to expect a cocky man in his mid-thirties. He hadn’t warned her that the owner/manager of the T Bar K was also devilishly handsome. Six feet of hard, lean muscle, eyes as green as a willow tree, hair the color of rich sable and dimples bracketing a perfectly masculine mouth. His looks were the kind most women swooned over. But not Isabella. She knew his kind all too well.
Lifting her chin, she said coolly, “I’m certain you know exactly who I am, Mr. Ketchum. You were supposed to have met me at the house thirty minutes ago.”
He slanted an eye up at the morning sun. Isabella’s gaze zeroed in on his wrists to see he wasn’t wearing a watch. Apparently Marina’s comment that Ross didn’t worry about time was true. But running a place of this size surely forced him to keep up with time and schedules, didn’t it?
Ross swept off his hat and held it against his heart. “I must apologize, Ms. Corrales. Time gets away from me when I’m having fun.”
Her brows swept mockingly upward as she watched a wave of thick, dark hair plop onto his tanned forehead. “You call biting the dust having fun?” she asked.
The grin on his face deepened, as though he found her and the whole morning full of amusement. “Every good cowboy gets thrown from time to time, Ms. Corrales. It goes with the job.” He reached up and affectionately stroked the white gelding’s neck. “And if a horse isn’t strong enough to throw a rider, he’s not strong enough to be in the T Bar K remuda. Juggler here is one of the best.”
“In other words, a horse has to be part outlaw to work your range,” Isabella replied.
A full-blown smile spread over his face, rewarding her with a flash of white teeth against his dark skin. Isabella found herself staring, completely mesmerized by his striking appearance.
“I couldn’t have said it any better, Ms. Corrales.” He swung himself out of the saddle and threw the reins at the old cowboy. “Take care of him, will you, Skinny? Linc will probably want to use him later this morning.”
“Sure thing, Ross.”
The cowboy called Skinny climbed off the fence and took charge of the horse. Ross Ketchum ducked his head and climbed through the metal rails. Once he was standing directly in front of Isabella, she was struck by the full potency of his presence. She’d never seen any male as masculine as this one. Nor had she ever felt her heart doing such a pitter-patter race inside her chest.
Jerking off a leather glove, he extended his right hand to her. “Hello, Ms. Corrales.”
Tough calluses scraped against soft skin as the warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers.
“Call me Bella,” she said, while wondering why she suddenly felt so breathless. She’d met far more important men than Ross Ketchum.
“Isabella Corrales,” he mused softly. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
Isabella felt the scorching trail of his clear green eyes as it swept her face, then fell inch by inch down the front of her slim body.
Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand from his grasp. “I’m not here for decoration, Mr. Ketchum,” she said briskly. “I’m here to help you.”
He pulled the glove off his left hand and stuffed the pair of them in the back pocket of his jeans. When he looked back at her, all amusement was gone from his face.
“I told Neal I didn’t need you. He should have told you that. But he’s stubborn. He wanted me to do it.”
Her heart suddenly sank, which didn’t make sense. She’d not really wanted this job in the first place. She didn’t like men of Ross Ketchum’s caliber. She should be glad he was giving her the boot. It would free her time so that she could get on with her moving. But she didn’t like the idea of being fired before she’d ever started the job.
“So you’re saying you don’t want me for your attorney?”
“I’m saying I don’t want any attorney.”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue as she tried to decide how to deal with the unexpected problem he’d just handed her.
“Oh. So you plan on defending yourself?”
He smiled then, but there was no humor about the expression. “I’m not going to need to be defended. The law will get this thing straightened out before it comes to that.”
She studied his face as she tried to figure out if he was simply unconcerned about the trouble hanging over his head or if his attitude had something to do with her being a woman. An Apache woman, at that.
“And what if they don’t?” she persisted.
He shrugged. “Then I’ll hire somebody who will.”
She bristled. “Do you think I can’t do my job, Mr. Ketchum?”
He grimaced. “Look, Ms. Corrales, I don’t want to turn this into something personal.”
Her lips tilted into a dry smile. “But you just did, Mr. Ketchum, by firing me.”
“I didn’t fire you. I only told you I didn’t need you.”
Swatting at the tiny clumps of dirt on her bodice, she said, “I believe you need to rethink that decision.”
Damn Neal Rankin, Ross silently cursed. His friend should have warned him that the woman was young and beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Straight black hair was clasped at the nape of her neck and fell like a shiny scarf to the middle of her back. Delicate brows arched over a pair of soft gray eyes, which were veiled with long, luxurious lashes. A straight nose that flared slightly at the nostrils led down to a set of dusky pink lips that were full and velvety. Her high, molded cheekbones and caramel-brown skin said she was a Native American, but the paleness of her eyes told Ross she also possessed white blood.
“What I think is that Neal got a little nervous,” he drawled. “And jumped the gun.”
Resting a hand on one slim hip, she looked away from him. Ross watched the earrings of cedar beads and chunks of turquoise brush against her neck. Right at a spot that would be so kissable, he thought.
“And you don’t think you should be getting a little nervous yourself, Mr. Ketchum?”
The only thing that was making Ross nervous was being near her. She had an earthy sexiness about her that called to every male particle in his body. And the last thing he wanted was to be attracted to a career woman like Isabella Corrales.
“An innocent man doesn’t have anything to be nervous about, Ms. Corrales. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work waiting on me.”
Tugging the brim of his hat down low on his forehead, he turned and started in a long stride toward one of the barns. Not to be deterred, Isabella followed.
“We haven’t discussed your problem, Mr. Ketchum.”
