bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from pointing out that an over-revved Italian luxury car wasn’t the kind of “engine noise” horses heard in the normal course of ranch work. Neither was screechy bubblegum pop dialed up to full blast on a convertible stereo as his guest peeled out of the driveway.
Then again, she didn’t think she could muster an impartial “yes sir” when he was dead wrong about Carmen. Carefully, she quit gnawing on the inside of her lip so she could speak.
“Then I guess I’d better get her back to the barn.” Frankie managed a tight smile. “I’ll let the trainer know Carmen needs to broaden her musical tolerance.”
Xander’s head snapped up to look at her, his dark brows angling down with his frown.
Had that slipped out?
Her fake smile froze in place.
In the silent moment that followed, she became aware of the soft buzz of electric hedge trimmers as a gardener worked nearby. The scent of cut grass hung in the Texas June air, growing more sweltering with each breath.
“What’s your name again?” he asked, a warning note in his voice.
Was he going to write her up? He couldn’t fire her for being a smart-ass, could he? She really needed this job and the hundred hours of animal care that would help her get an interview for vet school. She might have been on staff for almost a year, but she’d only just started working more directly with the horses.
For the first six months she’d done only the worst of the grunt work, no doubt why the boss hadn’t recalled her name.
“Frankie Walsh,” she said quickly, kicking herself for spouting off and tugging her hat just a little lower on her forehead. Wishing she could hide. “Thanks for the key.”
He gave her a nod but didn’t step back, a barrier of impressive muscle and denim. “The rules are in place for a reason. Not just to keep Carmen safe, but the ranch staff, as well.”
That caught her off guard.
“Meaning me?” She shook her head, her ponytail swiping across her back as she thought about all the times she’d landed on her butt in local rodeo competitions. Bronc riding wasn’t for the faint of heart. “No need to worry about my safety. I’m tougher than I look.”
Turning to go, she hoped Xander would forget about the embarrassing encounter.
Her ego was the only thing bruised, after all. His safety concerns were misplaced. Clearly, he favored a softer kind of woman than Frankie would ever be, which was just as well since she should be concentrating on earning enough money to live her dreams instead of mooning over her off-limits boss. There was an open rodeo at a local county fair next weekend, and she needed to be focused if she was going to enter the saddle bronc competition, a sport attracting more women in recent years. She could ride better than most of the other hands at Currin Ranch, and it wasn’t like the small rodeo would attract many female competitors.
She hoped.
She had an outside chance of walking away with the prize—enough money to buy herself a coveted ticket to the Texas Cattleman’s Club Flood Relief Gala. The swanky event would be a great place to see the other side of the ranching world and meet the wealthy ranch owners she hoped to one day serve with her veterinary practice.
Better to scuttle back to the barns and forget about Xander. Romance was dead anyhow, right?
Even so, she could almost feel the foreman’s gaze following her as she rode away. And she’d be lying if she said it didn’t give her a Texas-sized thrill.
* * *
A battle of the bands was in full progress when Xander parked his truck outside the fairgrounds for a Friday night rodeo. Because Currin Ranch was a major sponsor of the event, he’d been allowed to park right near the barbecue cook-off pavilion where he was meeting his father for their weekly dinner together.
Normally, dinner with Ryder Currin was a long, drawn-out affair since his father appreciated five-star dining, an attentive waitstaff and the best vintages a wine cellar had to offer. But since Xander would take barbecue from a Texas grill master over a four-course meal any day of the week, tonight’s supper promised to be a whole lot more fun.
Besides, a shorter dinner meant less time for his dad to quiz him about when he was going to return to the front office of the family’s oil business.
Dropping his Stetson on his head, he stepped out of the pickup and into the hubbub of a rodeo night. Boots crunching on dry gravel, he walked through the VIP gate as the growing crowd broke into enthusiastic applause for the country band sweating under the gazebo’s canopy of decorative lights. The sawdust-covered dance floor was almost full even though it was early. The rodeo wouldn’t start for another hour, and the carnival rides were in full swing despite the heat. The scent of slow-roasted brisket hung heavy in the air, grills smoking around the perimeter of the pavilion where chefs from all over the state prepped their best ribs and pulled pork.
“Xander,” a familiar deep voice called from inside the covered dining area. “Over here.”
Spotting his dad, he edged past a family maneuvering a stroller through the crowd, then joined Ryder at one of the few private tables in the reserved section up front.
His father never wore a suit but somehow, even in jeans and a button-down shirt, he still carried himself with considerable authority. With his boots and his dark brown Stetson, Ryder wore much the same outfit as the rest of the rodeo-goers, yet looked like a man in charge.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering a little of everything.” Ryder leaned back in his chair as a curvy redhead in a fringed shirt and denim miniskirt delivered a tray full of barbecue steaming from at least ten different plates. Two beer bottles reigned over the center of the tray.
While the server set out a basket of biscuits, the beers and food, Xander steeled himself for the weekly interrogation about his life, his career plans and how soon he’d be ready to give up his “wild hair” of working the land. The dinners were Ryder’s thinly veiled way of delivering regular guilt trips about not fulfilling his family obligations.
Xander might still live in a private wing of his father’s home, but they rarely saw each other around the ranch. Ryder Currin kept his personal affairs closely guarded. Rumors had been flying around the Texas Cattleman’s Club recently that Ryder was seeing Angela Perry, the daughter of his bitter business rival, Sterling. But Xander wasn’t about to ask his dad about that.
“I happen to know she’s single,” Ryder observed as the server walked away from their table. He tipped his head in the departing woman’s direction. “In case you’re interested.”
Xander’s thoughts were so far from women it took him a moment to realize what his dad was talking about. Strangely, the only female who’d been circling his thoughts lately was a fierce brunette named Frankie, of all people.
The willowy ranch hand with the big green eyes and dust-smeared jeans wasn’t Xander’s type, but something about her prickly attitude and challenging stare had gotten under his skin.
“Definitely not interested,” he told his father honestly, taking his hat off and settling it on the empty chair beside him. “And I’m pretty sure I passed the stage where I needed
