out.
“Most recently, I was over in Rapid City. The Big Bar Ranch, Mr. Linton. Before that, I handled the stock at the Missoula rodeo for Gateman Ames. Both of those men will give me a good reference. I didn’t have any problems on the job.”
She nodded. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.”
After what she’d been through, he didn’t blame her.
“I’m ready to fix that fence,” he said. “Where are your tools?”
“In the shed. Should be everything you need.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” He felt her gaze as he walked out into the sunshine and on toward the toolshed.
THE STEW MEAT SIMMERED on low heat, and Stephanie raked the carrots into the pot. While she had no intention of becoming a cook for the hired hand, she was also a realist. There wasn’t a burger joint or café within fifty miles of Running Horse Ranch. The ranch was nestled in a shallow valley at the foot of the Black Hills. The closest town was a long way off, and cell phone reception and even the satellite for her computer were highly unreliable. If Johnny Kreel was going to eat, someone at Running Horse Ranch was going to have to cook.
While she might get by with a peanut butter sandwich, she couldn’t expect Johnny Kreel to go without a decent meal.
She could hear the sound of the skill saw and then the solid thwack of a hammer against a nail as he repaired the fence. He was a fast worker. A hard worker. And she’d spent more time than she should staring out the kitchen window, watching him. A competent man at work was a pleasure to observe. Especially one who looked like Johnny.
He was handsome in a rugged way, and if she’d been in the market for romance, he’d certainly fit the bill—dark-brown hair with a slight curl, hazel eyes that shifted between gray and green, dimples, a hint of a five o’clock shadow. He certainly looked good in his cowboy shirt, and he moved with grace and economy.
The way he’d handled Black Jack intrigued her. Why had the horse responded so quickly to him when she’d worked for the past fourteen days—seemingly in vain—to build trust with the stallion?
That more than anything else captured her imagination. Horses were normally good judges of character. They didn’t trust all humans, but Black Jack had trusted Johnny. Could she trust him? That remained to be seen.
While she pondered the mysteries of Johnny Kreel, she chopped the onions and potatoes and added them to the bubbling stew. It wasn’t a fancy meal, but it would be filling.
She turned the stove down and picked up her cell phone. Luck was with her—she had reception. Within ten minutes, she’d spoken with Mr. Linton at Big Bar Ranch and Mr. Ames in Missoula. Both gave Johnny high marks as an employee and both said they hated to lose him, but that he’d been a man who kept moving. It was the cowboy way.
She hung up the phone and returned to the window. Johnny had finished the fence and was gathering up the tools. What kept a man on the move? In the days of the old West, it wasn’t uncommon for a cowpoke to drift from ranch to ranch, working the seasons of calving, branding and driving to market. But those days were gone.
Even cowboys needed regular pay, a place to live and insurance.
So why was Johnny Kreel on the move?
Maybe she’d never have an answer to that question, but she’d never forget that there was a question. No one was ever going to raise her expectations and send them crashing again.
“Meow.”
She looked down to find the black cat at her feet. He head-butted her shin and then looked up at her. “Meow.”
“Hungry?”
He did that slow nod again and she had to wonder—for at least the third time—if the cat was actually answering her question.
“Eleanor left some poached salmon for you.”
“Meow.”
It sounded like the cat said yes. Extraordinary. She got the fish from the refrigerator and prepared a portion for him. When he started eating, she shook her head as she set the table for dinner.
Dusk was falling. The days were short in October, and the nights could be nippy. She’d stocked the bunkhouse with blankets, but she had an extra down comforter.
She went to the back door. “Johnny, dinner’s ready!”
Before he appeared, she returned to her work in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she set the table for two.
GETTING INTO THE RANCH HOUSE was the first step. Johnny didn’t feel good about what he meant to do, but he didn’t have a choice. Not really. He was accomplished at his job, and that’s why he’d been sent to Running Horse Ranch in the first place.
He opened the screen and stepped into the delicious aroma of cooking stew. Despite Stephanie’s caustic words, she’d rustled up some grub for him. Against his better judgment, he felt a jolt of pleasure. He quickly reminded himself that he was at the ranch for a purpose, and one that would undoubtedly put him at odds with the horse trainer.
“Have a seat.” Stephanie pointed at a stout wooden table. A small cluster of wild prairie flowers in a delicate vase graced the rough-hewn table, and Johnny thought the contrast perfectly symbolized Stephanie. She was as beautiful as the flowers and the fragile vase, and as durable as the old, scarred table.
He stopped his thoughts dead. He could not afford to romanticize Stephanie Ryan. She was part of a mission, part of his job.
“Something wrong?” Stephanie asked as she brought the stew to the table and took her own seat.
“No.” He answered too quickly. He lifted the glass of red wine at his place and took a sip. Before he could swallow, something sharp and wicked gripped his shin.
He exploded up from the table, wine flying everywhere.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed.
Both he and Stephanie ducked to look under the table where Familiar sat, placidly licking his paw in total innocence.
Stephanie cleared her throat, leaned over and refilled his wineglass, ignoring the stain all down the front of his shirt.
“That cat is a dangerous beast,” Johnny said. He felt like an utter fool. The cat had caught him by surprise.
“That cat is an extraordinary judge of character,” Stephanie said, her level brown gaze locking on him. “He peed on Rupert Casper’s truck seat.”
Johnny didn’t believe her at first. It took only a few seconds for him to realize the truth of her statement. “That’s pretty incredible.” He grinned. “And pretty great. I can forgive him for making me spill the wine if he’s going to harass Rupert Casper.”
Stephanie held her spoon aloft. “I’m just wondering why Familiar found it necessary to attack you.” She left the words hanging between them.
“Maybe he doesn’t like the smell of cowboy,” Johnny said.
Stephanie
