Pamela Toth - Cattleman's Honor

A sudden image of himself in a rocking chair with gray hair and a blanket over his knees made Adam wince as he returned her hug. “Thanks, sweetie, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that,” he said dryly. For some reason, he pictured the way Emily Major had looked that afternoon, her cool smile a challenge he found hard to dismiss. Although remarriage wasn’t in the cards, he was still glad that he wasn’t ready for that rocking chair just yet.

Emily surveyed her new studio with a sigh of satisfaction. There were several long benches, two with recessed shelves underneath them for her cases of brass hand tools and other supplies. In a corner was a cabinet with drawers for type and a small iron nipping press bolted to the top. On one table were several other kinds of presses and cutters, an electric tooling stove and a grinder for her knives. A file cabinet held correspondence and records of books she had already restored. A fire-resistant safe contained two new projects, a very old family Bible and a sixteenth-century medical handbook. Mounted on one wall was a CD player and speakers. On another was a rack to hold rolls of raw Asahi silk from Japan.

Emily was eager to return to work, but right now she wanted to take a walk along the property line with Monty, the collie she and David had brought home the afternoon before, and see how the fence repair work was going. There was a stiff spring breeze, and the sun was shining. She wasn’t ready to shut herself inside with relics from the past, no matter how fascinating.

Monty thrust his cold, wet nose into Emily’s hand as if to remind her of his presence. He might not have been the dog they’d set out to acquire, but they’d made an impulsive—and fortunate—detour at the local veterinarian’s office on their way to check out a litter of blue heeler puppies at a house on the other side of Waterloo.

Monty’s owner had gone into a nursing home, and the vet told Emily he’d nearly given up finding a new family for the middle-aged collie. Lucky for Emily that David had fallen for the dog as quickly as she had. The moment they followed Doc Harmon into the back room of his office and saw Monty curled up on a braided rug by the heater, the dog had stolen her heart. When she was little, she’d always wanted a collie just like Lassie, and now she had one.

“Yes, you’re a good boy,” she cooed as she stroked his long, thin head. At first he’d been nervous, sniffing everything in the house and startling at the slightest noise. Eventually he’d settled onto his rug by David’s bed and slept there through the night. This morning after David had gone to school, Monty stuck by Emily’s side like a magnet on a refrigerator door. He minded well. So far she’d had no need to use the leash that matched his red leather collar.

A puppy would have been banned from her studio to avoid any risk of damage to her irreplaceable inventory or expensive supplies, but Monty, well past the chewing and piddling stages, would be great company while she worked.

Emily was about to shut the studio door behind her when the collie’s tulip-shaped ears pricked to attention and a low growl rolled up from his throat. Seconds later Emily saw a dust cloud and then she recognized the black pickup coming down her road.

“It’s okay,” she reassured the collie, glad for his presence. Coming from L.A., she wasn’t yet completely at ease with the wide-open spaces surrounding her or the sense of utter remoteness she felt when David wasn’t home.

The dog gave her a quick glance and then resumed his watchful stance as the pickup rolled to a stop. Adam Winchester emerged, one long leg at a time and, to Emily’s surprise, Monty’s feathery tail began to wag in great sweeping strokes.

“Some watchdog you are,” she scolded softly as the dog deserted her for her visitor, who immediately stopped and extended his hand.

From his black cowboy hat to his scuffed leather boots, Winchester was once again dressed like a working cowboy. All he needed was a six-gun strapped to his hip and he could have walked right onto the set of an old Western movie.

“Hello again,” he called out to Emily as he patted Monty’s head. The dog wiggled like a puppy. “What’s Mae Sweeney’s collie doing here?”

Monty glanced up at Emily, who hadn’t bothered to return her neighbor’s greeting. What part of I’m not selling hadn’t Adam Winchester understood?

“I didn’t steal him, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she replied defensively, ignoring her sudden attack of jealousy over her new pet’s defection. “I got Monty from the vet. He needed a home, and Doc Harmon said he’s got too many dogs already.”

“What are you going to do about him when you leave?” Winchester asked as he removed his hat and ran his fingers through his black hair.

“Doc Harmon?” She barely knew the man.

“No, the dog. I’ll take him, if you want. We can always make room for one more at the ranch.”

First her land and now her dog? What was it with this man? Next he’d be angling after her firstborn. Emily lifted her chin and braced her hands on her hips. “Who said anything about leaving?” she asked in her chilliest voice. “I happen to like it here.”

Winchester glanced around them with a speculative expression. “You planning on ranching your twenty acres?” His tone indicated that her property was too small for anything bigger than a pea patch.

“I may,” she retorted. “Not that it’s any of your business.” She’d actually considered buying some sheep, but she no longer had to explain her every action to some man. Let Mr. Hotshot Cattle Rancher think what he liked.

He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “My property surrounds you on three sides. Everything that goes on around here is my business.”

What arrogance! Emily forced herself to saunter over to where he stood with her dog. She would have liked to call Monty back to her side, but it would be too embarrassing if the collie chose to ignore her.

She wished Winchester didn’t tower over her by a head, but she refused to let his greater height and the width of his shoulders intimidate her. She was through knuckling under to anyone, and she’d go toe-to-toe or nose-to-nose to hang on to what was hers. This man might make her nervous, but he’d never know it.

“I think you’d better leave.” She snapped her fingers at Monty, who ducked his head and slunk to her side.

“Not before you name your price,” her neighbor insisted with a gleam in his eye, as though they were sharing a joke.

“A million dollars!” Emily said rashly.

His amusement faded like a light winking out. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it. Let me know when you’ve come to your senses.” Letting his gaze sweep over her one last time, he jammed his hat back on his head and spun on his heel.

Emily watched him climb into his truck, ignoring the way his jeans molded themselves to his masculine contours. “Don’t hold your breath,” she called out childishly, arms folded.

He looked down at her from the open window. “You’ll sell.”

His confident tone sent a shiver of foreboding down Emily’s spine. How far was this man willing to go to get what he wanted?

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