him. “Can you stop for a moment? I need to talk to you.”
Stepping over to the edge of the loft, he lifted a dark brow at her. “So talk.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you’re going to work here, Mr. Cassidy, I would appreciate some measure of respect.”
Not the least impressed with the threat, he only grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Anything you say, ma’am. Is there anything else, ma’am?”
“Yes,” she snapped, her blue eyes shooting daggers at him. “I need the small plot of land by the breakfast room cleared so I can plant a rose garden. Then you can drive me into town so I can buy the roses.”
“No problem. How does Friday morning sound?”
“Friday!”
“I’m busy,” he retorted. “I’ve got some time Friday morning.”
If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead right there on the spot. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. I’m not waiting until Friday. I want to get this done today.”
Even as the words were coming out of her mouth, she realized that she sounded like a spoiled brat. Mortified, she wanted to kick herself, but there was something about John, about the way he looked at her, challenged her, that rubbed her the wrong way. And he knew it. She could see the glint in his eye. He knew how to push her buttons with nothing more than a quirk of his brow, and he loved it!
Not the least impressed with the fact that she was pulling rank, he just looked at her. “Sorry, sweetheart, but if you want a rose garden put in today, then you’re doing it yourself. I’m not a gardener, I’m a foreman in charge of a one-man operation while your brother’s gone, and I’ve got work to do.”
“Yes, you do,” she retorted, cringing at her inability to shut her mouth. “You have some ground to clear for my garden.”
“Fat chance,” he replied, sobering. “And before you remind me that you’re my boss, let me tell you a thing or two, Miss High and Mighty. When you know something about ranching and what it takes to run a ranch, we’ll talk about whether you’re my boss or not. You don’t know how to ride a horse, rope, repair a fence. Hell, I bet you can’t even collect eggs from the chicken coop, let alone make homemade biscuits. If you’re going to be a woman rancher, you need to at least know how to feed your ranch hands.”
Indignant, she snapped, “I’ll have you know, I can make biscuits! And as for collecting eggs, any six-year-old can do that.”
“Really? Then why haven’t you? The chicken coop’s on the south side of the barn…or hadn’t you noticed?”
Not missing the challenging glint in his eyes, she should have told him to go kiss a duck, she didn’t have to prove herself to him. But she was afraid he would accuse her of being afraid, and he would have been right. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d been afraid of chickens and horses, and she didn’t even know why. She just knew she wanted no part of either.
Her pride, however, wouldn’t let her admit that. Chiding herself for being so easily manipulated, she turned on her heel and headed for the chicken coop. And with every step she took, the fear that was lodged deep in her throat grew thicker and thicker.
Behind her, she never saw John scramble down the hayloft ladder…or the grin of admiration that tugged at his mouth as he followed her. Two steps behind her, his gaze trained on her slim back, he had to admit that the lady had a way about her.
He’d never seen a woman less eager to deal with a chicken. The second she reached the door to the chicken coop, she stopped dead in her tracks. Fighting a grin, he said innocently, “Problem?”
“No!”
“Then let me get the door for you.”
He stepped around her and pulled open the small door to the chicken coop. Grinning, he motioned for her to precede him. “Ladies first.”
Another woman would have told him to go to hell. Instead she said, “Stuff it,” and stepped through the door.
That was as far as she got. Her gaze settled on the ten hens sitting on their nests, staring at her with wary eyes, and she couldn’t go any farther. John found himself sympathizing. The first time he’d had to gather eggs, he’d been more than a little terrified, himself. Of course, he’d hadn’t even been in school yet. Elizabeth was a long way from that.
“Don’t let them scare you,” he said quietly. “Give me your hand.”
She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Do I look like a fool?”
“Far from it,” he chuckled. “Give me your hand, Elizabeth.” When she hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to let anything hurt you. C’mon, just give me your hand.”
Even as he said the words, he realized that she really had no reason to trust him. She barely knew him, and the fact that he was the Broken Arrow’s ranch foreman meant nothing. The last foreman not only blew up the ranch’s old Spanish mine, which had been lost for two hundred years before Buck and Rainey found it again, but he’d also tried to kill Rainey. John couldn’t blame Elizabeth for not trusting anyone in Colorado except her family. He’d have felt the same way if he’d been in her shoes.
“I’m just going to show you how to handle the chickens,” he said quietly. “We may butt heads, and I may tease the hell out of you, but I don’t get my kicks hurting women. So if that’s what you’re afraid of—”
“No!” she said too quickly, color stinging her cheeks. “I know that…. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Then give me your hand. If you’re going to be the boss…”
He had her there and they both knew it. She glared at him, and he just barely suppressed a smile when she stepped forward and slapped her hand into his. Then his fingers closed around hers.
Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t the heat that jumped from her hand to his. Frowning, he stared down at their joined hands. Why hadn’t he noticed how small and delicate her hands were? And her skin…could he ever in a million years have guessed how soft it was?
“I realize you’ve probably never held a woman’s hand before,” she said dryly, “but you can’t keep mine. I’m sort of attached to it.”
Suddenly jerked back to his surrounding, he glanced up abruptly and found her watching him with a wry glint in her blue eyes. Caught red-handed, he was shocked to feel himself blush. “I can see why you would be,” he quipped, releasing her. “It’s a nice hand. Soft. Not used to a lot of work.”
“There you go again,” she sighed. “Just when I thought I could like you—”
“I opened my mouth and ruined it,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’re about to toughen you up. First, we’ll start with the chickens and then move on to riding and roping and riding fence. So go ahead…get an egg.”
Elizabeth couldn’t believe he was serious. “And how would you suggest I do that?”
“By putting your hand under the hen,” he said patiently. “Just reach under her and grab an egg.”
