was a pain in the patoot. The proverbial thorn in his paw. He didn’t want to admire, respect or worry about her. That signified that she meant something to him. She didn’t. They were polar opposites. Their approach to life was diametrically different. She took everything seriously. And to the extreme.
Damn, he’d almost stopped breathing when he’d seen Randi dive at that calf that outweighed her by at least a hundred and twenty pounds. He’d had a horrible vision of dragging her trampled body back to Tate and hearing himself say: Here you go, Chief. Sorry I got your niece killed in the corral because she was trying too hard to live up to my expectations.
An hour later, when the feeder calves had been loaded in trailers and the weaning calves were penned up, Vance breathed a tired sigh. He’d watched Randi throw herself in front of another oncoming calf and he had suffered another near coronary. At that point he’d called time out and given her quick instruction on where and how to use the whip so she didn’t have to tackle a runaway calf.
The woman might not know jack about ranching and farming, but she’d certainly taken very seriously the sentence Tate handed down to her. That get-thejob-done, do-or-die attitude of hers was admirable, but it was making him nervous. He didn’t want to consider how he’d react if he had to sit by and watch her handle some crazed criminal that was avoiding arrest. The thought gave him the heebie-jeebies.
Criminey. This was not going to work, just like he’d told Tate. After one morning with Randi, Vance was ready to call it quits and pay the fine. The woman was affecting him on too damn many levels and he was so aware of her that it was driving him nuts.
“What’s next, boss?” she asked as she walked toward him.
Vance noted the grimace that bracketed her mouth and the limp she was trying very hard not to favor. It upset him all over again. He wasn’t accustomed to being upset. He was the kind who shrugged, smiled and got on with life.
“You’re hurt,” he blurted out accusingly.
She forced a cheery smile. “I’m fine.”
“Are not, damn it,” he growled down at her.
Randi tipped her head back to study his black scowl then glanced at Wade and Quint. “I thought you said Vance was the happy-go-lucky joker of the family. Doesn’t look happy now.”
Vance’s arm shot toward his pickup. “Just load up, Calamity Jane,” he demanded.
She opened her mouth to protest his sharp tone, clamped her lips together then did as she was told.
“Sheesh, you’re in a mood,” Wade teased. “She’s really getting to you, isn’t she, hotshot?”
“She is not getting to me,” Vance denied huffily.
“Oh, gimme a break,” Quint said, and smirked. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her for the past two hours. She’s definitely getting to you.”
“I saw you grimace when she defended the pasture gate,” Wade put in gleefully. “You’re showing all the signs of a man with a woman on his mind.”
“Can you blame me?” Vance erupted uncharacteristically. Funny, this tormenting teasing between cousins had been more amusing when he was dishing it out rather than taking it. “The Robo Cop defied injury and death, right in my corral. I’ll be a basket case after riding patrol with her. No telling what brave deeds she plans to attempt in the name of truth, justice and the American way.”
“If you ask me, she’s trying to prove herself competent and worthy to you. Hmm, wonder why that’s so all-fired important to her?” Quint remarked.
“Good question,” Wade said, smiling wryly. “Could it be that you’re getting to her, too?”
“Are you two yahoos going to stand here harassing me or are you going to help?” Vance demanded crankily.
“Harassing is more fun,” Wade replied devilishly.
“I have to agree with Wade,” Quint seconded.
Swearing ripely, Vance shouldered past his cousins to climb into his truck. Dealing with this gutsy, fearless female was problem enough. Being hounded by his evil relatives was turning his stomach. Vance was beginning to wonder if he’d be able to get through the first day of his tortuous sentence without murdering one—or both—of his cousins. And don’t forget the very real possibility of getting Ms. Eager Beaver killed in a ranching accident, he mused uneasily.
EXHAUSTED, BRUISED AND unwillingly impressed by Vance’s commitment to his ranch, Miranda made use of his shower then changed into her uniform. There hadn’t been time to rush back to her apartment before she reported for patrol duty. There had been time at lunch, however, for her to make some hurried requests by phone. The secretive arrangements were her way of apologizing to Vance for the comedy of errors that had befallen him.
After contemplating the incidents of the past week Miranda decided the blame rested entirely on her shoulders. If she hadn’t taken her job—and herself—so seriously, hadn’t been so defensive about her physical attraction to Vance, they wouldn’t have ended up handcuffed together for seven long days and a considerable portion of the nights.
Fact was, Vance wasn’t what she’d expected. He was diligent, skilled and got on well with his family. He and his cousins combined forces to manage their ranches and help each other with various tasks. Part of the reason the Ryders could pull it off, she realized, was that Vance had a knack of neutralizing difficult situations with laughter and smiles. As much as Miranda loved her dad and brothers she wondered if they could work together with such ease.
Well, one day she’d have the chance to find out, she mused as she applied a thin coat of makeup. She was determined to fulfill her dream of joining her family at OCPD.
After a quick self-inspection in the bathroom mirror, Miranda veered into the hall. Earlier she’d taken time to admire Vance’s spacious home and countrified décor. Pictures of Vance and his cousins during their rodeo career hung on the walls of the paneled den. Trophies and silver belt buckles lined the shelves. She wondered if that scar she’d noticed on the underside of his chin was a battle scar from his wild rides on broncs while he traveled the suicide circuit.
Oh, yes, she’d been paying close attention while Wade and Quint filled her in on Vance’s past, during their short breaks. She’d discovered that the older generation of Ryder men had deeded their ranches over to their sons and headed south with their wives to a retirement village in Texas. They were living on the royalties of the oil wells that dotted these sprawling ranches.
She’d also learned that Vance had never wanted to do anything but excel on the rodeo circuit before he returned to run his ranch. According to Wade and Quint, ranching was in the Ryder blood. It wasn’t a job, they insisted, it was a way of life.
Miranda could relate to that because she’d never wanted to do anything except follow in her dad and brothers’ footsteps. You might even say she was driven to it.
“Should I strap on my six-shooters?” Vance asked as he followed her down the hall. “How much gunplay can I expect while patrolling with you?”
“You can leave your guns at home,” she told him as she led the way out the front door. “I’ll be the only one packing hardware on the night shift—” Her voice dried up
