him packing before he put in too many hours. Easy enough. Dealing with her grandfather was an entirely different challenge.
For now she needed to focus on the only lucrative business on the place. The riding lessons, which had started as a way to make a little extra income for her and the girls, had grown into a financial supplement for the ranch. Until they brought in the herd and sent them off to auction, they were pretty well broke. The riding school put food on the table for Lindsay’s family and the ranch hands until cash flow improved.
An SUV pulled to a halt in front of the barn. Stacy Giordano climbed down and waved at Lindsay. “Hey, girl, sorry I’m late. It’s been insane at the governor’s place.”
“Hi, Stacy.” Lindsay hurried toward Stacy. “I’m running late, too.”
“Did you hear about the governor’s accident last night?”
Lindsay ground to a halt in front of the vehicle, her stomach flip-flopping. “Accident?”
“Yeah, I spent my day at the hospital with the governor, her bodyguards and her driver.”
“Holy smokes. What happened?”
“Not sure yet, but they think someone threw nails all over the road. Two of the tires blew and sent them into a ditch.”
“Is everyone all right?”
Stacy nodded. “Mostly minor injuries, but the driver suffered a concussion.”
“Any idea who might have done it?”
“Not yet. The sheriff is checking into it. In the meantime, we’ve had to tighten security even more. Much tighter and we won’t be able to breathe.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Stacy opened the back door to her SUV and helped her son down.
“Hey, Zachary, good to see you.” Lindsay turned toward the barn. “You guys wait just a minute while I catch Whiskers.”
“I can wait, but Zachary will be chomping at the bit to ride.”
Lindsay smiled and waved at Zachary as she passed by. “Let him stand by the fence while I get a bridle.” She stopped again, dug in her pocket and turned to the boy. “Here, you can help me. Hold out your hand with this and Whiskers will come to you.” She pressed a sugar cube into the boy’s hand and curled his fingers around it.
Zachary stared at his closed hand.
“Come on, Zachary. Let’s go see if Whiskers will come to you.” Stacy took his other hand and led him toward the wood-rail fence.
Lindsay raced into the barn grabbing a bridle from the nail on the wall.
A movement in the shadows made her jump.
Frank Dorian pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning on, a pitchfork in his hand, the stall beside him open and untouched.
“Are you supposed to be cleaning the stalls?” she asked.
Frank shrugged. “Maybe.”
Anger flared and Lindsay came to a complete halt in front of the big cowboy her grandfather had hired several weeks ago. He had issues taking orders from a woman.
Lindsay didn’t have issues with calling him on it. “Either you are or you aren’t. Which is it?”
The man stepped up to her and looked down his nose into her eyes. “I can think of a lot more interesting things to do in a barn than mucking stalls.” He reached out and trailed his finger down her arm.
Lindsay knocked his hand away, rage burning a path up her chest into her cheeks. “Don’t. Ever. Touch me again.” She glared at him, her lips pressed tightly together. “Do you understand?”
He stepped closer, his chest pushing against hers. “Or what?”
Her heart hammering behind her rib cage, Lindsay refused to step back, refused to back down. “Or I’ll have your butt fired so fast you won’t know what happened.”
“Your grandfather hired me.”
“And I’m telling you, I can fire you.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Care to test the theory?”
Frank leaned down, his lips next to her ear. “Just so you know, no one fires Frank Dorian.”
A shadow blocked the sun streaming in through the barn’s open double doors. “Is there a problem here?”
The low, resonant voice raised gooseflesh along Lindsay’s arms. If she wasn’t so distracted by Frank, she’d swear the voice was familiar. Only one man she’d ever known had the ability to make her shiver all over. “Is there a problem, Frank?” Lindsay asked the man who’d just threatened her.
“No problem.” Frank stepped away from Lindsay and entered the dirty stall, pitchfork in hand.
As soon as he moved, a broad-chested man came into view. With his back to the outside door, his face remained in the shadows.
“Can I help you?” Lindsay asked, moving closer, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention, her knees suddenly wobbly.
“I thought maybe I could help you.”
That voice again.
Lindsay clutched the bridle with nerveless fingers, all the blood draining from her face. It couldn’t be. Not now. Not him.
As though dragged by an invisible rope, she moved closer until she could see the man’s face.
She gasped, her hand going to her throat and then reaching out toward him. He had to be a mirage. “Wade?”
The man with ice-blue eyes and coal-black hair nodded. “Hello, Ms. Kemp. Or should I say Mrs. Murphy?”
Chapter Two
Wade stared down into Lindsay’s gray-green eyes, drinking in every detail of her face from the finely arched brows to her stubborn chin and the freckles sprinkled liberally across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She’d pulled her glorious mane of fiery auburn hair up into a loose, messy knot, but curling wisps had escaped, framing her face, giving her a vulnerable appearance, belying her strength and fierce independence.
She took his breath away.
“What…” She gulped and started again. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Iraq, Afghanistan or somewhere dangerous.”
He shook his head. “Not anymore, unless you consider the Long K Ranch dangerous.” He had been in both Iraq and Afghanistan, and to hell and back. Nothing could be as bad as being in the sandbox of the Middle East.
“Why here?” Lindsay whispered. “Why now?”
“I’m home. Your grandfather hired me on as a ranch hand.”
Lindsay’s face paled
