one step closer, Jeff raised his hand and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, then let his fingers linger in the softness. He watched the sun get caught in her eyes and fleck the brown with gold as she narrowed them at him, then stepped back.
“If you value your hand, you won’t do that again,” Tish said, her voice suddenly cold as a mountain stream.
So she was skittish, like a newborn filly. She didn’t seem like the average city-bred tourist who came to Red Rock for a ranch vacation, Jeff thought. She was too good a horsewoman and definitely not interested in a flirtation with a cowboy. No rings on her fingers, he noticed, so she probably wasn’t attached. If she was a SPEAR agent, he hadn’t heard of her. His gaze slid to her mouth, that full lip that seemed to invite a man to explore. No, he definitely hadn’t met her before. He’d have remembered that mouth. He’d love to question her, but he decided it might be more fun to allow her to think he was a hired hand. For now.
Jeff dropped his hand, gave her a lazy smile. “No offense meant, ma’am. I guess you don’t like to be touched.” It was his turn to narrow his gaze, as if sizing her up. “But maybe you just need to be touched by the right man.”
Now there was fire in her eyes as she stiffened. Without another word, she turned and caressed the mare’s flank, noticeably angry when she saw that her hand wasn’t steady. “See you tomorrow, baby,” she whispered to Belladonna. Turning, Tish walked away, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders obviously tense.
Jeff watched her go until she was out of sight, then led the mare to the side pasture to walk her awhile before wiping her down after that vigorous run. “Sure wish you could talk, Belladonna,” Jeff commented. “I’d love to hear all about that lady.”
Red Rock Ranch consisted of several outbuildings including separate barns for milking cows and newborn calves, others for insemination and birthing as well as horse stables. There was also a large bunkhouse where the ranch hands lived and an adjacent mess hall that had its own cook. The tourists vacationed in a luxurious three-story building that offered spectacular views from deluxe suites. Their dining room took up nearly half of the lower floor.
SPEAR agents stayed in the two-story main house with large, homey rooms with private baths on the top floor. On the lower level was a rustic lobby with slate flooring, a conference room, the manager’s office and a great room with a huge stone fireplace, comfortable furniture, a large-screen television and a full wall of bookcases filled to over-flowing.
There was also the dining room which could easily rival that of a five-star hotel. Breakfast was served from five to ten, lunch from twelve to two and dinner was a leisurely affair available from six on into the evening. In between, snacks could be had by phoning the kitchen and would be delivered to the agent’s room, provided Elsa Winchester, the cook, liked you. All others had best stay out of her way, for she ran her kitchen with an autocratic hand.
Jeff deliberately hadn’t gone down for the evening meal. The first reason was that Elsa was a terrific cook. Too terrific. He’d had a big breakfast and a mammoth lunch, at Elsa’s insistence, since she remembered him from his earlier visit and still thought of him as a growing boy. If he added a huge dinner, he’d be taking in as many calories as the cowhands who spent twelve or fourteen hours using up energy while he was doing precious little to work off gigantic meals. The last thing he wanted was to balloon up, so he decided to drop by around the time he figured most of the agents would be either finished or having coffee.
The second reason was that he’d mosied over to the tourist quarters and discovered that Tish Buckner wasn’t staying there. Next he’d cornered the clerk at the front desk of the main house for the real lowdown. Naomi Star had red hair, thick glasses, an infectious smile and knew everyone and everything that went on at the ranch. Jeff had turned on the charm and Naomi had revealed that Tish wasn’t married, was a very private person and, that as far as she knew, Tish was at Red Rock on vacation.
Armed with that knowledge, Jeff sauntered into the dining room around seven just as the sun was streaking the sky outside the cathedral-style windows with gold and orange and magenta strokes before it disappeared behind the mountains. He was in luck for Tish was there, seated between Slim Huxley, the ranch manager, and John Winters, a fortyish, dark-haired agent Jeff had only just met yesterday. The three other chairs at the table were vacant. Of the dozen tables in the room, only two others were occupied.
Tish was deep in conversation with Slim and didn’t notice Jeff’s arrival. Jeff walked to the side board, poured himself a cup of steaming coffee and slowly carried it over to Tish’s table.
Slim was the first to spot him and smiled a welcome. “Join us, won’t you, Jeff?” He glanced toward the swinging kitchen doors. “I know Elsa wouldn’t mind getting you something to eat.” Slim was nearly fifty with laugh lines around his eyes permanently etched into his tan face, a tall man with thinning sandy hair who never gained a pound no matter how much he ate.
“Thanks, Slim, but I’m not hungry.” Jeff pulled out a chair, sat down and greeted John before swinging his gaze to Tish. He saw that she looked puzzled and just a little suspicious.
“I don’t know if you’ve met Tish Buckner, Jeff,” Slim continued, “one of our agents who just arrived for a little R and R. Tish, this is Jeff Kirby. Or should I say Dr. Kirby?”
“Hello.” He smiled at Tish, waiting for her reaction.
“We met this afternoon,” Tish began, acknowledging him with a wry smile. “He’s the cowboy I asked to cool down my horse after a run.” The smile spread to her eyes, which were a shade of coffee brown this evening.
So she could laugh at herself, Jeff thought, pleased. By turning the joke on herself, she’d defrayed the embarrassment.
“You’re kidding!” Slim commented, grinning. “You thought he was a ranch hand?” He laughed out loud while John just smiled. “You’ll have to tell that one to East, Jeff.”
Sipping his coffee, Jeff watched her face, could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. She was wearing a yellow silk blouse tucked into khaki slacks tonight and looked better than anything he’d seen on the dessert table.
“You’re related to Easton Kirby?” she asked, curiosity obviously getting the best of her.
“He’s my father,” Jeff said, then watched confusion wrinkle her brow as she did the math. He was aware that he looked older than twenty-four, but even if he hadn’t, it would be unlikely that East fathered him. “My adoptive father.”
Tish nodded. “I met East some years ago at Condor. He’s a wonderful man.”
“Damn right he is,” John Winters added, rising. “Saved my life back when we worked together years ago.” He reached in his shirt pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “’Scuse me, I’m going outside to grab a smoke.”
Was he the only one feeling the vibes across the table? Jeff wondered as he studied Tish. No, he could tell she felt something, too, the way she’d been looking at him from beneath thick lowered lashes. She dropped her gaze and picked up her cup to drink, then noticed it was empty.
“Can I get you a refill?” Jeff asked, pushing his chair back.
“No, thanks.” She rose, smiling at Slim. “I think I’ll turn in. Five o’clock comes around real fast.”
Slim leaned back in his chair. “I told you, Tish, you don’t need to get moving that early.”
