Elle James - High Country Hideout

“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 come up with the money to pay one. But if she wanted to keep the ranch viable for her son to inherit one day, she had to have help.

The man reentered the barn and came out carrying a bale in either hand, the limp much more pronounced, his jaw tight with the strain.

Show-off .

Not one to sit around while others worked, Reggie climbed down from the fence and almost stepped on a large dark creature. Her first instinct was wolf ! She screamed and scrambled away. Her feet hit a patch of mud, slid right out from under her and she landed hard on her butt.

The animal stepped closer, its nose within biting distance of her face.

Reggie froze and then a long pink tongue stretched out and licked her chin, the dog whining its concern.

The ranch hand loped over to the fence and peered over the top to where she once again lay sprawled in the mud. “Are you all right?”

He started to climb over the fence, but she raised a hand. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting to be attacked.”

The man’s face split into a grin, his teeth shining white in the gloom. “Ranger is a highly trained purebred German shepherd and perhaps the most decorated dog in the US Army. He retired from active duty six months ago.”

“Well, hooray for Ranger. Can you call him off me?”

“Ranger, sit.” The man spoke softly and the dog responded immediately, squatting on his haunches.

Now that she knew it wasn’t a wolf, Reggie felt stupid. For the second time that day she picked herself up and tried to dust the mud from her jeans. Ah, who was she kidding? They’d have to be hosed down before going into the washer.

Feeling bad for her nonchalance about Ranger’s service, she reached out and scratched the dog behind his ears. In response, Ranger leaned against her leg and looked up at her with grateful eyes.

“Really tough, aren’t you?” she muttered, a sucker for soulful eyes and fur. She slipped through the fence. “That hay’s not getting itself out to the cows.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And stop calling me ‘ma’am’. I’m not that old.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes. “What did you say your name was, cowboy?”

“Angus Ketchum.” He held out his hand. “And you are?”

“Reggie Davis. The owner of the Last Chance Ranch.”

In the darkness, she didn’t miss his eyes flaring. When she took his hand, an immediate spark rippled up her arm and down her body. She had to look up at him to see his face, now shadowed in the dusk.

“You’re the boss?” he asked.

“Yes. Me.” She frowned and let go of his hand. “What? You don’t think a woman can run a ranch on her own?”

“No, ma’am. I just thought the owner would be a man.”

“Well, he was. A very good man, but he died last year. Now I run the ranch until my son is old enough to handle it himself. Do you have a problem taking orders from a woman?”

“No, ma’am.” Angus held up his hand. “You’re the boss.”

“Damn right, I am.” She slipped between the rails of the fence and strode across to where her horse was nosing his way into the herd, vying for a taste of hay. Snagging his reins, she led him into the barn.

Angus had gotten ahead of her and was carrying two more bales to the door. He paused and waited for her to lead the horse inside. In that moment, Reggie got a really good look at the man.

Dark hair, darker eyes and a chiseled jaw with the hint of stubble shadowing his skin. He certainly was handsome, in a rugged way. He sported dark smudges beneath his eyes and fine lines at the corners.

Yeah, he was handsome, but then, handsome wasn’t always a good thing. She’d learned that most handsome men were too full of themselves to think of others. Angus would have to prove himself in other ways. Looks weren’t everything. Honesty, loyalty and hard work were much more important in Reggie’s books. It took a real man to make a cowboy, not just a cowboy hat.

She tied Jake’s reins to a post and stepped into the tack room for a currycomb and brush. When she returned, Angus was loosening the girth on her saddle.

“I can do this,” she said.

“I don’t mind. It’s my job.”

“I can take care of my own horse,” she insisted.

“Never said you couldn’t. You take care of the horse. I’ll take care of the saddle.” He hefted the saddle and blanket and carried it to the saddletree in the tack room.

Having fended for herself over the past year, Reggie wasn’t used to someone else taking charge. She tried to be ahead of CW as much as possible to spare him the additional work.

She couldn’t lie; it was nice to have someone else carry her saddle to the tack room. After a long day out in the cold air and rocky hills, she was ready for a shower and sleep.

She’d be glad when her brother returned from his trip to Denver. The ranch was a lot of work. When he was there, it took some of the burden off her shoulders. Too bad he wasn’t living there. Then again, she couldn’t expect Will to spend all his time on a ranch he’d never own. As a Realtor, he needed to continue to build his clientele so that he could increase his sales and income. He’d been spending a lot of time with one of the Realtors in the firm he worked for. He’d gone with her to Denver for a seminar. Reggie suspected Will was falling for the woman. She’d met her once and hadn’t really liked the woman, but then she might not have given her the benefit of the doubt.

Reggie brushed Jake from nose to tail, pausing to check his legs and hooves. The front leg had a long scrape on it, probably from when he’d reared.

Returning to the tack room, Reggie grabbed a tube of antiseptic cream, a clean rag and filled a bucket with fresh water. In a few short minutes she’d cleaned the scrape and applied the cream to the horse’s leg. Then she took the time to work the tangles out of his tail.