prompted.
“I’m here to talk to you.”
The chestnut was hot and if Chloe didn’t keep him moving while he cooled down, his muscles would be stiff tomorrow. She had no intention of letting that happen, no matter what business this man wanted to discuss.
“You’ll have to let me put Banjo on the walker.”
She reined the horse away from him and headed over to the stable. Wyatt followed, carefully stepping around piles of horse manure as he went.
At the stable, Chloe jerked off the small racing saddle, tossed it over the fence, then led the tall chestnut over to where three other horses were being mechanically led around a large circle.
After she’d fastened Banjo’s lead rope to one of the free arms and put the horses in motion again, she walked over to the stranger and extended her hand to him.
“Sorry about the interruption, er—Mr. Sanders, is it?”
Wyatt hadn’t planned on shaking Chloe Murdock’s hand, but he found it impossible to rebuff her. The genuine warmth he sensed about her compelled him to remain a gentleman.
“Yes,” he answered. “It’s Sanders. Wyatt Sanders.”
She had a healthy grip for someone with such a small hand. He could feel calluses on her palms, something he’d never encountered on a woman before. But then he’d never known any woman who actually did manual labor such as this one obviously did.
“Well, Mr. Sanders, what can I help you with today? Are you looking for land in this area?”
Her assumption put a quirk of amusement on his lips. “What makes you think that?” he found himself asking.
Chloe shrugged as she once again eyed him with open curiosity. “You’re obviously not from around here. I thought you might be in real estate.”
The wind was playing with her shoulder length hair, whipping a few strands across her face. She had pale golden skin, he noticed, with one freckle a fraction above the edge of her upper lip.
He forced himself to drop her hand, but his eyes refused to leave her face. Incredibly, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. “I’m an oilman from Houston, Texas,” he told her.
She smiled at that and Wyatt felt something inside him jerk as though he’d been stung by an arrow.
“A Texas oilman,” she repeated with faint amusement. “What are you doing out here in New Mexico? Looking to buy or lease the mineral rights in this area? I wasn’t aware this part of the state had petroleum resources. ‘Course, I know there’s the big Conoco field over by Eunice and there’s oil down at Lordsburg, but you’re talking at least a couple of hundred miles from here. And that’s all desert land. You’re in the mountains now.”
So Wyatt had noticed. One minute he’d been in the desert, then before he’d realized it the terrain had changed, and he’d been winding through forested mountains and lush green valley floor. The change in landscape had surprised him almost as much as the sight of Chloe Murdock. “I’m not here looking for oil. It’s something more personal.”
Her eyes narrowed at his evasiveness. “Personal? Dear God, I hope you’re not going to tell me it has something to do with my father Tomas,” she said without preamble.
“It does. In a way,” he said and was struck by how much he wanted to avoid the issue that had brought him to this ranch and this woman. It would have been pleasant to simply talk to her a few more minutes.
“Look, Mr. Sanders, my father has been dead for several months. I’m not trying to make excuses, but whatever he owes you, we didn’t know about it. We’ve been trying to pay off his debts, but for right now, all I can say is you’ll just have to stand in line and wait your turn.”
The memory of Belinda’s coffin being lowered into the ground suddenly flashed through Wyatt’s mind. “What your father owes me could never be repaid.”
“I beg your pardon?”
His gray eyes clashed with the spark of her green ones. “You heard what I said. Your father took something from me that can’t be compensated.”
Chloe was fast losing her patience with this man. He’d obviously come here for money. Why didn’t he just spit it out and be done with all this dallying around?
“I’ve always heard Texans go at things at a slower pace, but do you think for this one time you could speed things along and get to the point? I have lots of work waiting on me and the morning is already half gone.”
His jaw clenched. “Your father can’t give my sister back to me,” he said tightly.
Chloe drew in a sharp little breath. “Who are you?”
He took a step closer. “I told you who I was.”
Her full lips twisted at his response. “An oilman from Houston. So what connection do you have with me or this ranch?”
Her voice, which up until a moment ago had been warm and lilting, was now sharp-edged and demanding. “My sister was Belinda Waller and your father killed her,” he said flatly.
The first spill Chloe had taken on the galloping track had knocked the wind from her lungs and scrambled her senses. For several minutes she’d been unable to tell if the ground was really the sky or visa versa. Hearing Belinda Waller had a brother left her feeling as though she’d just taken another walloping fall.
“My father didn’t kill anybody,” she finally managed to say. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”
Turning, she left him standing on the muddy hillside. She knew he would follow her. He hadn’t come all this way to let things go at that. But Chloe was too shaken, too stunned to simply stand stock-still while the man bored holes in her with those cold gray eyes.
“I’m not going to be put off, Ms. Murdock. We have things to talk about.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see he’d joined her in the long, dim stable. For a moment all Chloe could think was that he looked like an alien standing there on the wood shavings in his crisply ironed cotton and softly worn leather. He wasn’t from this world, so why had he come here?
With a flip of her wrist, she jerked the baseball cap from her head and shook her hair back from her face. “Then talk. Who’s stopping you?”
His teeth ground together as he watched her slap the cap back on her head, then toss a shovel into a wheelbarrow and push it into an empty stall.
“I’d think you’d have the courtesy to go up to the house and give me your undivided attention.”
Chloe didn’t bother to look at him. Instead, she scooped up a shovelful of dirty wood shavings and horse manure. “I don’t have time to go through social niceties with you. And even if I did, I wouldn’t.”
Oilmen, even the ones like himself who worked in plush offices and drove Mercedeses, were used to blunt, rough talk interspersed with a wide range of four-letter words. It went with the business. But that was from his male counterparts. The women he encountered
