when his own were in question, Angus angled toward the pen to see if he could help. He slipped through the wooden rails and waded through the cattle milling around waiting for the gate to open with the promise of being fed on the other side.
The rider nudged his horse toward the gate and leaned down to open it. Apparently the latch stuck and refused to open. Still too far back to reach the gate first, Angus continued forward, frustrated at his slow pace.
As the horseman swung his leg over to dismount, the gelding screamed, reared and backed away so fast the rider lost his balance and fell backward into the herd of cattle.
Spooked by the horse’s distress, the cattle bellowed and churned in place, too tightly packed to figure a way out of the corner they were in.
The horse reared again. Its front hooves pawed at the air then crashed to the ground.
Unable to see the downed cowboy, Angus pushed forward, slapping at the cattle, shoving them apart to make a path through their warm bodies.
Afraid the rider would be trampled by the horse or the cattle, Angus doubled his efforts. By the time he reached him, the cowboy had pushed to his feet.
The horse chose that moment to rear again, his hooves directly over the rider.
Angus broke through the herd and threw himself into the cowboy, sending them both flying toward the fence, out of striking distance of the horse’s hooves and the panicking cattle.
Thankfully the ground was a soft layer of mud to cushion their landing, but the cowboy beneath Angus definitely took the full force of the fall, crushed beneath Angus’s six-foot-three frame.
Immediately he rolled off the horseman. “Are you okay?”
Dusk had settled in, making it hard to see.
Angus grabbed the man’s shoulder and rolled him over, his fingers brushing against the soft swell of flesh beneath the jacket he wore. His hat fell off and a cascade of sandy-blond hair spilled from beneath. Blue eyes glared up at him.
The cowboy was no boy, but a woman, with curves in all the right places and an angry scowl adding to the mess of her muddy but beautiful face. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing on my ranch?”
Reggie Davis never got thrown from her horse. She prided herself in her horsemanship and ability to work long hours in the saddle without complaint or incident.
To be thrown in front of a witness and then tackled like a quarterback in a football game didn’t sit well with her. Especially when she had no idea who the man was.
She scrambled in the mud to get her feet beneath her and stood. Then she stooped to snatch her hat off the ground, slapping it against her thigh. She’d have to let the mud dry before she could brush it off. Just what she needed, to be slammed into the mud by a big man with broad shoulders and ruggedly attractive features.
Her attacker rolled to his side and pushed to his feet, with a little help holding on to the wooden fence to pull himself upright.
When he straightened, Reggie’s heart skipped a couple beats. The man towered over her. At five foot three with her boots on, that wasn’t too darned hard. But it put her at a distinct disadvantage if the man decided to attack her again.
Knowing the best defense was a good offense, she crossed her arms, her boots planted wide, and glared up at the intruder. “Well? Are you going to explain yourself?”
His lips twitched and he bent to scoop his hat off the ground. “Next time I’ll leave you to be trampled.”
“I was doing fine on my own, thank you very much. Until you decided I needed a mud bath.”
“Sorry, ma’am. A little mud can be washed off. A dent in the head won’t wash out in a bath.” He held out his hand. “Angus Ketchum, the new ranch hand.”
Ignoring his hand, she kept her arms crossed. “We didn’t hire a ranch hand.”
“CW, the foreman, did. He said you needed a hand.” Still holding his hand out for her to shake, he waited for her response.
She stared at him for a moment, refusing his outstretched hand. With the sun sinking quickly behind the mountains, the air chilled. The mud soaking her clothing cooled against her skin and she shivered. “I need to have a talk with CW. Don’t start unpacking your bags yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded toward the cattle. “Want me to get the herd into this pasture?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You ever worked cattle?”
“Most of my life.”
“Then yes. Have at it.” She stood back and waved a hand at the cattle now strung out, some heading back the way they’d come.
“First, let me get you out of harm’s way.” He grabbed her around the waist and she squealed, grabbing his shoulders as he lifted her to sit on the top rail of the fence.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she commanded, strangely breathless at the way his big hands had splayed around her middle and lifted her so effortlessly.
“I won’t unless...you want me to.” He winked, snagged her horse’s reins, soothing him with murmured words of assurance. He ran his fingers over his neck and down to his hooves, checking them one at a time. “Can’t see any injuries that would have caused him to rear like that.” He glanced up. “I’ll take him into the barn and give him a good going-over.”
Reggie nodded, entranced by the quiet confidence and soothing manner the man displayed with the animal.
The cowboy led the gelding through the gate Reggie had been aiming for earlier and through the back door of the barn.
Reggie sat on the rail, letting her heartbeat return to normal.
A few moments later her cowboy reappeared with a bale of hay, carrying it to the far side of the pen.
The man walked with a strange gait, limping slightly, more pronounced with the heavy bale in his grip.
As soon as the cattle spotted him and the hay bale, they raced through the gate, every last one of them, including Reggie’s horse.
So, he knew what motivated cows. Anyone with half a brain would have figured it out. It still didn’t give him the right to tackle her into the mud.
“They could use about five more of those, while you’re at it,” she called out. If he was applying for a position as ranch hand, he might as well feed the cows and save her the trouble. She still had her horse to curry, feed and stable, not to mention stalls to muck.
CW worked hard, but he was getting older and slower. After he’d thrown out his back last year, Reggie hadn’t wanted him doing too much. By having him drive to town to pick up Tad from school, it made him slow down enough he wasn’t killing himself with ranch work.
He’d been asking for a ranch hand for a while now. Reggie had finally agreed, unsure of where she’d
