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“Okay. So I don’t know the woman. And I’ll take your word that she isn’t like Linda. But that doesn’t mean I want or need her as a lawyer.”
Neal continued to regard him, then with a quick shrug, he said, “Okay, Ross, if you don’t want her representing you, you’re going to have to be the one to tell her so. As soon as she gets here in the morning, I’ll send her out to the T Bar K.”
Feeling certain he’d just come out the winner, Ross smiled like a spoiled tomcat. “And I’ll be waiting.’
Isabella couldn’t believe she was finally home. Well, Aztec wasn’t exactly the Jicarilla Apache reservation, but it was much closer than Las Cruces, where she’d spent the past two years working in the D.A.’s office. And Aztec was just a temporary stay for her. She’d already rented a house in Dulce, and as soon as the construction was finished on her office building there, she would truly be moving back home.
But first she had to deal with the problem on the T Bar K. That thought had her full lips faintly twisting as she steered her car over the bumpy dirt road. Ross Ketchum wasn’t exactly the sort of person she’d choose for a client. He certainly wasn’t the type she’d worked through arduous hours of law school to represent. He was rich and spoiled. And from what her friend Neal had told her, he was both cocky and arrogant. But Ross needed her, Neal had said. And that had been the key word in her decision to accept this job. That along with the fact that Neal Rankin had helped Isabella’s mother, Alona, at a time when she’d desperately needed it. The least Isabella could do now was to help his friend Ross.
The road ahead began to climb and twist through a mixture of spruce, pine and aspen trees. To her left, the Animas River flowed violently over huge boulders and ate at the red earth banks on either side. By July, a month away, the snow melt would end and the river would sink and crawl like a gentle baby. By that time, she hoped, she would be back on the reservation and this thing with Ross Ketchum would all be history.
A few minutes later, the mountains opened up and a smattering of barns and buildings begin to appear. Horses and cows were penned in several different spots, while everywhere she looked there seemed to be cowboys and pickup trucks.
Even though she’d never been on the T Bar K before, she’d heard of the ranch. She supposed everyone in northern New Mexico knew of the place. Over a hundred thousand acres, it boasted some of the best cattle and horses to be bought in all the western states. Plus, old man Ketchum had had a reputation that rivaled some of the state’s more notorious outlaws, like Billy the Kid and “Black Jack Ketchum,” whom Neal had assured her was no relation to Ross or his family.
Still, she knew firsthand that regular folks in the area liked to make the connection. She could only hope Ross hadn’t followed the outlaw trail his father had supposedly taken.
Eventually, she made her way up to the ranch house itself, a massive log structure with long wings running from both sides of the main structure. After parking her car, she walked through a small yard gate, then onto a wide porch that ran for at least forty feet along the front of the house.
A large woman with dark-brown skin and graying black hair answered the door. From the blank look on her face, Isabella surmised she wasn’t expected this morning.
“Hello,” she said warmly. “I’m Isabella Corrales. I’m here to see Ross.”
In spite of the wary look in her eyes, the older woman nodded. “I’m Marina. I cook for the Ketchums. Ross isn’t in the house now. He’s down at the barns. You like to come in and wait for him?”
Isabella glanced at her wristwatch. It was fifteen minutes past the time she was supposed to be here. Normally she wasn’t late for appointments, but she’d not counted on the road to the ranch being so rough. Still, you’d think a man with trouble hanging over his head would be anxious to meet his new defender, she silently reasoned.
“Do you think he’ll be back to the house soon?”
The large woman shrugged one shoulder. “He don’t worry about time.”
Isabella glanced thoughtfully away from the house. The working ranch yard was not that far back down the mountainside. Rather than wait for him to come to her, she’d go find the man.
“In that case, I think I’ll walk down to the barns.”
The cook eyed Isabella’s pale beige dress and matching high heels. “It’s dusty down there, señorita,” she warned.
Isabella smiled at the woman. “A little dust never bothered me. And please, call me Bella. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming days.”
She could feel the cook’s shrewd gaze on her back as she turned and walked off the porch. As she headed toward the cluster of barns and cattle pens, she wondered how much, if anything, the woman knew about the shooting that had taken place three weeks ago. Not much probably. With a property this massive, comings and goings could occur without anyone here at the ranch house ever knowing. A fact that could be both helpful and harmful to Ross Ketchum.
“Yippee! Ride ’im, Ross! Don’t let ’im get his head down!”
“He’s a devil, Ross! Watch out—”
Following the cowboys’ shouts of encouragement, Isabella walked up to a round pen made of metal fencing just in time to see a big white gelding rearing straight up on his hind legs. In the saddle, a dark-haired man wearing a black cowboy hat and a pair of scarred brown leather chaps was doing his best to hang on.
“Excuse me,” she quickly said to one of the spectators sitting atop the fence. “Did you call the man out there on the horse Ross?”
With a disinterested glance at her, the old, rail-thin cowboy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That’s Ross Ketchum.”
Stunned that the owner of this ranch would be doing such physical work, she stepped closer to the fence and peered out at the battle going on between man and beast.
“Oh! Oh, no!” she cried suddenly as she watched the horse’s back heels suddenly kick toward the heavens and her client land with a thump in the dirt.
“Don’t worry, ma’am. He ain’t hurt. Ross is like a cat with nine lives.”
Isabella glanced in disbelief at the old cowboy, who continued to keep his seat on the fence. “Well, aren’t you going to help him out of there?” she asked in total dismay.
“No, ma’am. He’s not finished with old Juggler. He’s gotta show him who’s boss around here.”
Isabella expelled a shocked breath. “You mean he’s going to get back on that killer?”
For an answer, the ranch hand motioned toward the middle of the pen where Ross had gotten to his feet and was about to climb back into the gelding’s saddle.
With anxious fascination, she watched the dark-haired cowboy clench a tight rein in his fist, then touch his spurs to the horse’s sides. This time the animal walked obediently forward. After he’d traveled the complete circumference of the circle, Ross urged him into a smooth, short lope.
On the third lap, Isabella caught his eye and he reined the big horse to a skidding halt a few feet away from her. Chunks of dirt flew up from the animal’s hooves and splattered the front of her dress.
“Hey, Skinny,” he called, “who’s your new friend?”
The grizzled old cowboy glanced at Isabella. “Hadn’t had a chance to ask her yet.”
Isabella’s lips pressed together in disapproval as she looked up at Ross Ketchum. Neal Rankin had warned her to expect a cocky man in his mid-thirties. He hadn’t warned her that the owner/manager of the T Bar K was also devilishly handsome. Six feet of hard, lean muscle, eyes as green as a willow tree, hair the color of rich sable and dimples bracketing a perfectly masculine mouth. His looks were the kind most women swooned over. But not Isabella. She knew his kind all too well.
Lifting her chin, she said coolly, “I’m certain you know exactly who I am, Mr. Ketchum. You were supposed to have met me at the house thirty minutes ago.”
He slanted an eye up at the morning sun. Isabella’s gaze zeroed in on his wrists to see he wasn’t wearing a watch. Apparently Marina’s comment that Ross didn’t worry about time was true. But running a place of this size surely forced him to keep up with time and schedules, didn’t it?
Ross swept off his hat and held it against his heart. “I must apologize, Ms. Corrales. Time gets away from me when I’m having fun.”
Her brows swept mockingly upward as she watched a wave of thick, dark hair plop onto his tanned forehead. “You call biting the dust having fun?” she asked.
The grin on his face deepened, as though he found her and the whole morning full of amusement. “Every good cowboy gets thrown from time to time, Ms. Corrales. It goes with the job.” He reached up and affectionately stroked the white gelding’s neck. “And if a horse isn’t strong enough to throw a rider, he’s not strong enough to be in the T Bar K remuda. Juggler here is one of the best.”
“In other words, a horse has to be part outlaw to work your range,” Isabella replied.
A full-blown smile spread over his face, rewarding her with a flash of white teeth against his dark skin. Isabella found herself staring, completely mesmerized by his striking appearance.
“I couldn’t have said it any better, Ms. Corrales.” He swung himself out of the saddle and threw the reins at the old cowboy. “Take care of him, will you, Skinny? Linc will probably want to use him later this morning.”
“Sure thing, Ross.”
The cowboy called Skinny climbed off the fence and took charge of the horse. Ross Ketchum ducked his head and climbed through the metal rails. Once he was standing directly in front of Isabella, she was struck by the full potency of his presence. She’d never seen any male as masculine as this one. Nor had she ever felt her heart doing such a pitter-patter race inside her chest.
Jerking off a leather glove, he extended his right hand to her. “Hello, Ms. Corrales.”
Tough calluses scraped against soft skin as the warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers.
“Call me Bella,” she said, while wondering why she suddenly felt so breathless. She’d met far more important men than Ross Ketchum.
“Isabella Corrales,” he mused softly. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
Isabella felt the scorching trail of his clear green eyes as it swept her face, then fell inch by inch down the front of her slim body.
Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand from his grasp. “I’m not here for decoration, Mr. Ketchum,” she said briskly. “I’m here to help you.”
He pulled the glove off his left hand and stuffed the pair of them in the back pocket of his jeans. When he looked back at her, all amusement was gone from his face.
“I told Neal I didn’t need you. He should have told you that. But he’s stubborn. He wanted me to do it.”
Her heart suddenly sank, which didn’t make sense. She’d not really wanted this job in the first place. She didn’t like men of Ross Ketchum’s caliber. She should be glad he was giving her the boot. It would free her time so that she could get on with her moving. But she didn’t like the idea of being fired before she’d ever started the job.
“So you’re saying you don’t want me for your attorney?”
“I’m saying I don’t want any attorney.”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue as she tried to decide how to deal with the unexpected problem he’d just handed her.
“Oh. So you plan on defending yourself?”
He smiled then, but there was no humor about the expression. “I’m not going to need to be defended. The law will get this thing straightened out before it comes to that.”
She studied his face as she tried to figure out if he was simply unconcerned about the trouble hanging over his head or if his attitude had something to do with her being a woman. An Apache woman, at that.
“And what if they don’t?” she persisted.
He shrugged. “Then I’ll hire somebody who will.”
She bristled. “Do you think I can’t do my job, Mr. Ketchum?”
He grimaced. “Look, Ms. Corrales, I don’t want to turn this into something personal.”
Her lips tilted into a dry smile. “But you just did, Mr. Ketchum, by firing me.”
“I didn’t fire you. I only told you I didn’t need you.”
Swatting at the tiny clumps of dirt on her bodice, she said, “I believe you need to rethink that decision.”
Damn Neal Rankin, Ross silently cursed. His friend should have warned him that the woman was young and beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Straight black hair was clasped at the nape of her neck and fell like a shiny scarf to the middle of her back. Delicate brows arched over a pair of soft gray eyes, which were veiled with long, luxurious lashes. A straight nose that flared slightly at the nostrils led down to a set of dusky pink lips that were full and velvety. Her high, molded cheekbones and caramel-brown skin said she was a Native American, but the paleness of her eyes told Ross she also possessed white blood.
“What I think is that Neal got a little nervous,” he drawled. “And jumped the gun.”
Resting a hand on one slim hip, she looked away from him. Ross watched the earrings of cedar beads and chunks of turquoise brush against her neck. Right at a spot that would be so kissable, he thought.
“And you don’t think you should be getting a little nervous yourself, Mr. Ketchum?”
The only thing that was making Ross nervous was being near her. She had an earthy sexiness about her that called to every male particle in his body. And the last thing he wanted was to be attracted to a career woman like Isabella Corrales.
“An innocent man doesn’t have anything to be nervous about, Ms. Corrales. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work waiting on me.”
Tugging the brim of his hat down low on his forehead, he turned and started in a long stride toward one of the barns. Not to be deterred, Isabella followed.
“We haven’t discussed your problem, Mr. Ketchum.”
“I don’t have a problem.”
Grimacing, she skipped every other step to keep up with his long-legged steps. “But you could have a problem with the law at any given moment. That’s when you’ll need me.”
Pausing, he turned to give her a droll look. “Let’s set things straight right now, Ms. Corrales. There’s not a woman on this earth that I’ll ever need.”
Although there was no outward bite to his voice, Isabella detected an underlying hostility that took her by surprise.
“Do you have a problem with women?” she asked bluntly.
“I love women,” he answered, then grinned lecherously. “When they’re in their right place.”
Her mouth fell open as he turned and continued on his path toward the barn. Outraged, Isabella raced ahead to block his path.
Looking up at him, she said tightly, “Neal warned me that you were arrogant and possessed a temper. He didn’t tell me you were also coarse and rude.”
The goading smile fell from his face. “But at least I’m honest. That’s probably more than you can say for most of your clients.”
Once again her mouth popped open, then snapped shut. “I haven’t had a client—until you. I’m a prosecutor. Or I was.”
His brows lifted to a jeering arch. “Then I guess you’re still a prosecutor. Because you don’t have me, either.”
Her teeth ground together. She should be telling Ross Ketchum exactly where he could go and stay for a hot eternity. But if a lawyer limited her cases to only those clients she liked, she’d quickly go to the poorhouse. And in her case, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Plus, starting her private practice with a client as well-known as Ross would be a great advantage to her.
“Sorry, but Neal has already paid me a retainer.”
He shrugged. “That’s all right. Keep it for your trouble.”
He was going to let her go. Just like that. The money meant nothing to him. But why would it? she asked herself. He had more than he needed. Getting rid of her was much more important to him. But why?
Her delicate jaw hardened to a firm line as she lifted her eyes to his. “Is your problem that I’m a woman? Or that I’m Apache?” she challenged.
Something flashed in his green eyes. She was trying to figure out exactly what it was, when he muttered, “Oh hell.”
“Don’t—” Before she could say more, he took her by the upper arm.
“Come here,” he demanded.
For one instant she started to plant her heels in the ground and tell him he wasn’t going to manhandle her. But she wanted answers and insulting him wasn’t the way to get them. Besides, she thought, something was wildly exciting about having his strong fingers wrapped around her arm in such a totally masculine way.
She allowed him to lead her across the red dusty ground until they were standing under a wide overhang that shaded a row of horse stalls. Here the odors of alfalfa hay, horses and manure were pungent, but not nearly strong enough to drown out the uniquely male scent of Ross Ketchum.
“Look, Ms. Corrales, I—”
