Jeanne Allan - A Groom For Gwen

The squint lines fanning out from the comers of his eyes attested to a life spent working outdoors. Real cowboys didn’t have to be bow-legged and spit chewing tobacco. He could be a down-on-his-luck cowboy whose empty pockets had dictated he sleep out of doors the past few nights. He might look less lethal if he shaved.

He patiently endured her inspection, but she was under no illusion that he awaited her conclusions with any anxiety or doubt. He clearly intended to work for her no matter what she thought. This man had a high opinion of his worth. And he knew who had the greater need. His quiet assurance irritated her. “I’m sorry you lost your last job, Mr. Stoner, but I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere for a new one. I need some kind of reference or assurance a person knows one end of a cow from the other end before I would considering hiring him. Goodbye, Mr. Stoner, and good luck.” It startled Gwen that a man so relaxed could get his muscles moving so quickly. One second he was beside the building, the next he stood in front of her barring her way.

He held out his hands, palms up, and pointed to a weal running across one palm. “Rope bum. I was twelve and roped an old mossy back steer who had other ideas. I was just stubborn enough to insist he go along with my plans.”

She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Did he?”

“Eventually.” He stretched out a crooked middle finger. “Broke that when I tried to ride a horse who preferred I walk. This—” he pointed to a scar on the back of his other hand “—is where a Texas cow took exception to me getting between her and her youngun.”

The strong, rugged hands fascinated Gwen. No way could she see those hands operating a computer or elegantly holding the stem of a wineglass. Not that the long fingers, the unbroken ones, that is, didn’t have an elegance about them. She could see those fingers soothing a timid colt or a nervous mare. She could see them stroking naked skin. An image Gwen quickly shook off. “If you think your catalog of injuries serves as an adequate resume, you’re sadly mistaken. You’re clearly unqualified to work on a ranch.”

“I’ll have to respectfully disagree with you there, Ma’am. I’ve had lots of experience. And experience is the best teacher.”

He had an answer for everything. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself hiring this modern version of outlaw Jesse James. The truth was, she needed someone who knew cows and horses better than she did. A classification which covered most of the world’s population. The solution came to her in a flash. Prudence. “As I told you, Mr. Stoner, Ms. Owen is doing my hiring. We’ll go over to her office right now, and see if you can satisfy her as to your qualifications. Not that I’m making any promises about hiring you,” she added hastily.

He gave her an amused look. “You’ll hire me.”

Prudence took in her stride Gwen’s reappearance, this time with a cowboy in tow. “Have you any identification?” she asked briskly after Gwen explained their visit.

The man hesitated, then patted his back pocket before slowly pulling out his billfold. He handed it to the lawyer without a word.

Prudence extracted the plastic-coated license and quickly scanned it. “This seems to be in order.” She handed the billfold and license to Gwen.

Gwen silently read the information on his driver’s license. Jakob Carl Stoner. Six feet, three inches tall. Black hair. Gray eyes. She quickly computed his age. Thirty-one. That surprised her. For some reason, something about his eyes, she’d thought him older. Slotting the license back in his billfold, she glanced up to catch a puzzled look on his face as he stared down at his billfold. A look quickly erased as he noticed her looking at him. Had he expected her to count his money or snoop through his credit cards?

Prudence asked Jake Stoner a number of probing questions. His answers seemed to satisfy the lawyer. Thanking him, she asked the man to wait out in the reception area.

“Well, Gwen,” she said as soon as the office door closed, “I’d say you found yourself a cowboy. How did you happen to stumble across him?”

“Stumble is the right word. He was waiting for me down the street. You must have started calling people right after I left here earlier.”

Prudence frowned. “Actually, I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to make any phone calls.” Her brow smoothed out and she shook her head. “I’ve lived here most of my life, and I still can’t believe how quickly everyone knows everything that’s going on.”

“You really think it’s okay to hire him? You don’t think he looks kind of dangerous?”

The lawyer laughed. “I think he’s such a hunk I wish I needed a cowhand.” She sobered. “He seems to know ranching, and you’re darned lucky to find anyone on such short notice. Try him for a few weeks, and see how things work out. If you want, I’ll keep looking for another hand for you.”

Gwen could hardly say the man made her nervous, so she agreed to try him and stood up to leave.

Prudence leaned back in her chair and pointed a fountain pen at Gwen. “I think what it is, you’re used to city boys. This, my dear, is a man.”

Gwen didn’t need a lawyer to tell her that.

Closing Prudence’s door a little more sharply than she intended, Gwen carefully slid on her sunglasses. “All right, Mr. Stoner. I’ll hire you on a trial basis. One month. If your work is satisfactory, we’ll discuss a long-term arrangement.”

“I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

The words were innocuous enough, but somehow he invested them with deeper meaning. As if he meant more than the fact she needed an employee. As if he knew something she didn’t know. She narrowed her eyes behind her dark lenses. “What does that mean?”

“I’m a man who has to drift. I’m just passing through. When you don’t need me anymore, I’ll leave.”

“I’m not interested in hiring a transient,” she said sharply. “I’ve already had one employee run out on me. He didn’t even have the courtesy—or nerve—to face me. Slipped a note under my front door last night. I found it this morning. He went to Wyoming. How do I know you won’t do the same?”

The man met her eyes, his gaze clear and steady. “I’ll stay as long as you need me. I always do.”

Rod Heath’s eyes had been shifty, looking everywhere but at her. Gwen wanted to believe Jake Stoner. She had no choice but to believe him. “All right,” she said slowly. “When can you start?” Please, she thought, let it be now.

He held out his hand. “Soon as we shake on it, Ma’am.”

She didn’t want to shake hands with him. She didn’t want to touch him. The realization disconcerted her. She’d shaken hands with thousands of men in the course of business. Shaking hands with Jake Stoner was no different. Slowly she accepted his extended hand. An electric current zipped up her arm as his work-roughened palm closed around hers. Jake Stoner was more than the hunk Prudence had labeled him. He was overwhelmingly male. Gwen retrieved her hand. If she knew one thing, it was that Jake Stoner spelled trouble. And he worked for her.

He gave her an odd look, but said only, “I’ll get my gear.” Then he laughed softly and nodded across the room.

Gwen followed his gaze, and her breath caught in her throat. She’d left Crissie with Prudence’s receptionist while she consulted the lawyer. Now the child lay sprawled on the floor, sound asleep, one arm curved around an enormous yellow dog.

The dog opened his eyes. One blue eye and one brown eye stared at Gwen. She stood very still, not daring to breathe. Crissie sucked contentedly on her thumb, her head resting on the cowboy’s saddle. Gwen prayed her niece wouldn’t accidentally annoy the dog in her sleep. Quietly she asked, “Whose dog is that?”