moved out of there.”
“What happened to cattle trucks?”
“Too costly for a herd that size, even if a fleet of trucks could get in there, which they can’t. They tell me the only road into this ranch is under construction. It’s rugged country. Of course, once the drive reaches the rail line, stock cars will ship the steers to Purgatory.”
“Oh, of course. Just a matter of— How far did the lawyer say the rail line was? I’m afraid at that point in my conversation with him I wasn’t listening too carefully.”
“A hundred miles. More or less.”
“That little?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Through rough country?”
“Yeah.”
She stared at him. He stared back, a clear challenge in those potent blue eyes. What was she doing, standing here crossing swords with him? The man was brash, almost to the point of being rude. Not only had he made it his business—which it wasn’t—to track her here, he actually expected her to explain herself.
Samantha didn’t like this, defending her decision to a stranger to whom she owed absolutely nothing. She didn’t care for the gaze that remained locked with hers and was so intense it positively sizzled. She was unprepared for the impact of that gaze on her senses, and in the end her courage deserted her. She looked down at the tiles on the floor of the balcony, pretending to be very thoughtful.
“Why?” she asked.
“Come again?”
“Why add more cattle to the Walking W when there must be plenty of cows already on the ranch?” She didn’t care to know why. She’d simply needed to end the silence that had stretched between them so tautly. “You seem to have made it your business to learn all the particulars, so why would my grandfather have acquired another herd?”
“They’re special. Longhorns.”
She found it safe enough now to look up again, though she avoided meeting those compelling blue eyes. “Even I know that longhorns aren’t special. They’re back on the scene, including right here in Texas where they started.”
“They tell me this herd is special. Took years for the Colorado ranch to develop the strain. They’ve got more meat on them than the traditional longhorns, plus they’re able to withstand the extremes of both heat and cold, and they can graze on what other cattle won’t touch. Interested?”
“Fascinated. But not enough to chase longhorns through the Rocky Mountains so I can be tested to see if I’m fit enough to inherit Joe Walker’s kingdom. Because that, Mr. Hawke, is really what this cattle drive is all about.”
“And you want nothing to do with it.”
“I want nothing to do with it. And even if I did, I wouldn’t need the services of a bodyguard.”
“Guess Ebbersole didn’t explain that part of it.”
“Oh, he made it very clear. How my grandfather’s broken hip was the result of a fall from his horse, which he shouldn’t have been riding at all at his age, and certainly not on his own through a ravine that, if I remember correctly, is in an isolated corner of the ranch. And how he insisted it was no accident and that gunfire spooked his horse. Deliberate is the word I think he used to the sheriff.”
“And you don’t buy that.”
“I have no reason to, not when his faculties were probably no longer reliable. Not when the sheriff looked into it, found not a single spent bullet in the area, and was satisfied that if someone had been shooting out there, it was probably a hunter after rabbits.”
“And not after Joe, you mean?”
Samantha gestured impatiently with the clipboard. “My grandfather must have had his share of enemies. He was ornery enough. But I can’t imagine any of them would have tried to kill him. Or have any reason to be a threat to his granddaughter.”
“You’re probably right,” Roark said casually, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “More than likely, the whole thing was just the paranoia of an old man. On the other hand…”
She set the clipboard on the table and faced him squarely again. “What? You’re determined to say it, so go ahead.”
“Maybe that old man was smarter than we gave him credit for when he bought my services. A thing like a cattle drive in wild country…well, it’s got to have certain risks to it, doesn’t it? Accidents can happen, maybe even fatal ones.”
“Not to me, because I’ll be right here, safe in San Antonio. And I don’t appreciate your suggesting I might be in any danger just so you can—”
“Collect a fee? I don’t operate that way, Ms. Howard.” His eyes narrowed in a flash of cold anger, and then just as swiftly they softened. “But all else aside, it’s too bad you and I won’t be on that drive together.”
There it was again, she noticed. Something smoldering on his strong face and in the brazen gaze that made her breath quicken. To avoid it, she lowered her own eyes again. But just slightly this time, to prevent him from thinking she was in any way intimidated by him. Only, this was worse. She found her eyes fastened on his deeply tanned throat where his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly as he swallowed. The action was like a pulse, both mesmerizing and arousing.
She made an effort to steady her breathing, to respond carelessly. “Is it?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice slow and disturbingly husky, almost seductive. “I think it would have been some experience all right. All those long nights under the stars. People share things in situations like that. Things that can get downright interesting.”
Intimate things. That’s what he was saying. This had gone far enough. “Sounds like fun,” she said with a lightness she was far from feeling. “It’s a shame I’ll have to miss it.”
He was silent for a few seconds, taking her measure again. This time she managed to hold his gaze. “Then your decision is definite?”
“Very,” she said with emphasis.
“Guess I’m wasting my time here.”
To her relief, he leaned down and collected his Stetson from the chair. When he turned to go, she reminded him quickly, “You’re forgetting your business card.”
“Keep it,” he said, tugging the hat over his dark hair. “You never know.”
Watching his tall form stride away through the dining room, Samantha felt as though she had just escaped from something potentially dangerous to her. Roark Hawke had had that kind of effect on her, and she wasn’t happy about it.
Since the scene below the balcony was much safer than the sight of his departing figure, she turned to it. Looking down through the feathery foliage of an ancient cypress, she watched the tourists strolling along the cobbled, sun-dappled walkways on both sides of the stream. She saw them wander in and out of the souvenir shops, or focus their cameras on flower beds vibrant with color.
Only,
