Beth Cornelison - Rancher's Covert Christmas

He sent her a quick side glance as he grabbed the saddle off the floor and draped it over the horse’s back. “It’ll do. But if you want to preserve the condition of those rather expensive-looking shoes, I’d swap out for a pair of work boots around the corner by the front alley door. While you’re there, grab some gloves.”

She followed his directions, and by the time she’d swapped her boots out and found a small pair of work gloves in a plastic bin, he was leading his horse—Sarge, he’d called the large black equine—out to the alley. The top of the horse’s head rose taller than Zane’s by several inches, and the beast’s well-muscled flanks were sleek and shiny, his ears perked and alert. Just the same, she asked, “Sarge can manage both of us?”

“For a while. I won’t ask him to work with both of us in the saddle.” He motioned her closer. “You’ll sit in front of me until we get up to the part of the fence where the cows got loose. Then you’ll have to get down while Sarge and I round up strays. But you can observe. Maybe give Roy a hand with repairing the fence?” He slapped the saddle and nodded toward Sarge. “Need a leg up?”

“Onto this giant? Definitely.” She moved closer and poked her foot in the stirrup, a challenge in itself thanks to her tight, slim-legged jeans. As she hoisted herself up, she felt Zane’s large hands on her hips, his fingers digging into her with a firm grip. The heat from his palms sent shockwaves through her, and her breath snagged in her lungs. Erin worked to calm her scattered pulse as she settled into the saddle, sliding as far forward as she could to make room for him. But Zane had a rugged, magnetic presence that was hard to ignore. Especially when his touch made her blood sizzle like Fourth of July sparklers. He swung up to sit behind her, and his broad chest and muscled legs surrounded her. The press of his body against hers was like a vacuum, sucking all the oxygen from her lungs. Dizzying desire flashed through her as his arms circled her to take hold of the reins. “Ready?”

She squeezed the saddle horn, searching for balance as her head swam. She hummed her assent, because she doubted she had the breath left to speak without her voice cracking.

Zane clicked his tongue to the horse. As they rode out, he paused long enough to call to the two dogs that milled around the gate to the pasture.

“Ace! Checkers! What are you two lazybones still doing here? We have work to do.” He gave a whistle and the dogs sprang to action, running into the pasture in front of them.

Erin tried to focus on the blue heelers bounding over the frozen ground ahead of them rather than the hard male body pressed against her back. Easier said than done, especially when Zane settled his hand on her belly, anchoring her as he kicked his horse’s gait up to a canter. She clutched the saddle horn with one hand and his arm with her other.

“You okay?” he asked, his mouth beside her ear and his warm breath sending a tingle through her.

“I’m good,” she said, though her voice sounded choked. She hoped he credited her winded reply to the jostling of the horse.

They rode for several minutes in silence, crossing the rolling hills of frozen pastureland. She drank in the lovely setting, imagining what it might be like to live in this rural setting, working the land and managing a herd for a living. Peaceful, in many respects, she thought, then remembered the stress and concern Michael had expressed to her because of the sabotage. Being at the mercy of the weather was a constant issue for the ranch. Drought, blizzards, storms could all take a toll on the herd.

“Do you ever wish you did something else for a living? That you lived in town and had a nine-to-five job?” she asked.

“No,” he said without hesitation.

“Never? Not even when the herd gets loose right at dinnertime and you have to round up straying cows in the freezing cold?”

She felt the rumble from his chest as he grunted. “Inconvenient, yes. But ranching is my life. My heritage.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t want something else for yourself. You really don’t ever think about getting a different job?”

“No.” His tone was so certain, so final. She had to admire that he was so sure of his life path. She wondered sometimes if she’d chosen to be a private investigator for the right reasons. If Sean hadn’t been killed, what would she have done with her life?

When the cattle and other ranchers on horseback came into sight, she pushed the philosophical questions aside and took in the scene before her. She recognized Josh in his black hat riding in a wide arc around the straying cows. Brady was further out in the pasture, while another man sat with his back to them, astride an ATV near the fence line, talking to the foreman, Roy Summers. Zane rode up to these two and addressed them. “Erin came to observe. Dad, want to give her a hand down?”

When the man on the ATV glanced over his shoulder, she saw it was Michael McCall, his face marked by lines of strain and worry.

Roy stepped forward first and reached up to help her down from the saddle. She caught the faint whiff of alcohol as the foreman set her on the ground. “Thank you, Roy.”

“Ma’am,” he replied, dipping his chin briefly.

“You can ride with me,” Michael said, patting the ATV seat behind him, “or you can stay up here with Roy.”

With another whistle to the dogs, Zane set off to help his brother and Brady head off the wandering cattle. She watched him ride away, a strange twinge in her chest. His command of his horse, his poise in the saddle, his whole confident demeanor struck her as infinitely sexy. He embodied the classic cowboy of American folklore, the rugged masculinity made famous by Madison Avenue advertisements. Her heart kicked, and her breath snagged as he galloped away.

“Ms. Palmer?”

She jerked her gaze back to Michael. “Oh, right. I’ll watch from here. I don’t want to be in the way.”

He touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment and said something to Roy she didn’t catch as he revved the ATV engine and drove off in the same direction Zane had gone.

“Can I do anything to help you?” she asked Roy. “I brought gloves.” She pulled out the leather work gloves to show him.

“Sure. You can hold the posts while I work on the barbed wire.”

A stiff cold wind blew up across the pasture, and she dug in her coat pocket again for the bright purple knit hat her sister had given her last Christmas. After tugging the hat on, she moved to kneel beside Roy, who worked to wind new wire on the downed posts. The longer she held the posts, the more she doubted the value of her contribution. Roy was clearly humoring the ranch guest. But the simplicity of her task allowed her to follow the action in the pasture. The flow of the men on horseback, the dogs and the ATV, gathering the far-flung cows and guiding them back toward the open section of fence, was mesmerizing. More and more, though, she found herself less observing the process as a whole and more tracking one man in particular. Zane .

She furrowed her brow when she realized what she was doing. What was her fascination with him? Josh and Brady were every bit as handsome, if happily attached. The other men had been more cheerful, though she couldn’t find fault in Zane’s behavior toward her. She’d witnessed his courtesy and thoughtfulness. Was it the veil of mystery and wariness that surrounded Zane that intrigued her?

She gave her head a brisk shake. She didn’t need to form any leanings one way or another about any of the McCalls or the ranch staff without further observation and interviews. She’d been on-site less than twenty-four hours, for Pete’s sake! Yet her first impressions had always been a valuable guide in the past. So...what did it mean that she had such a visceral reaction to Zane?