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“Do we get to go to that camp tomorrow?” Roxanna asked as Riley plugged in their night-light.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday, so not until the day after.”
She had made arrangements before they’d left Cooper for the girls to attend a summer day camp that would keep them busy while she worked—movies, arts and crafts, games. The woman she’d spoken to on the phone had agreed to take the twins even though it was last minute, but Riley wished she’d had more time to check out the camp more thoroughly. It was barely within their budget, and suppose the girls didn’t like it? Well, she’d have to cross that bridge if she came to it.
The twins scooted into bed. Wendy glanced up only once at the towel-covered buffalo head, and Roxanna, in a show of unexpected sisterly love, promised to hold her hand all night. “If it falls down on us, don’t worry,” she said solemnly, snuggling under the covers until Riley could barely see her face. “I’ll pull you out.”
Wendy’s eyes went huge. The possibility of being crushed hadn’t occurred to her.
Riley bent forward to plant kisses along her daughter’s brow and move aside stray bangs. “It’s not going to fall down. It’s probably been up there for a hundred years.”
“What do buffalos eat?” Wendy asked.
“Not people,” Roxanna answered. “Unless they’re starving.”
“Not people, period,” Riley said firmly, and kissed the girls good-night, giving them an extra ration of snuggling hugs.
A rocking chair made out of cattle horns and cow hair sat next to the bed. After snapping on the night-light, Riley settled into it. Since this was a strange, new place—big emphasis on the strange—she wanted to make sure her daughters didn’t have difficulty falling asleep.
They tossed and turned a few times, fussed with one another over bed space, then seemed to accept that nothing could harm them, especially with their mom in the room to stand guard.
Within ten minutes Riley heard their soft, slow breathing. The sound always made her feel oddly content. Really, they were her own little miracles, these two. They were the most important part of her life and the only part of her old life she had wanted to hold on to. After some initial stubbornness, Brad had been willing to turn them loose with embarrassing ease. She would never forgive him for that, even though she’d been shaking with relief to have full custody.
In return she’d had to hand over her share of their ranch and everything in it.
Exhausted, Riley cocked her head to rest her cheek against her fist. She ought to make up the couch. Go to bed, her weary brain ordered. But it felt so good to just sit and drift for a while, to put all her worries in the basement of her mind. It was so hard to plow your way through a life that offered no guarantees about anything.
She heard the air-conditioning kick on, and knew she should get up and boost the thermostat. The shorty pajamas she wore would offer little warmth if the unit ran all night. But under the veil-like prelude to sleep, she couldn’t seem to manage it. Really, who would have guessed that a chair made out of cattle horns could be so comfortable?
A SCREAM WOKE HER. High-pitched, terrified and familiar.
Wendy.
Riley’s eyes flashed open, then fought against the bright sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. She shot out of the chair, her breathing tight, her heart missing beats. Both her daughters were awake. Roxanna was struggling with the covers, while Wendy, her blond hair falling into her face, jumped off the bed and threw herself against her mother’s legs. Her eyes were wide and panic-stricken.
Riley caught Wendy by the shoulders. “What is it, honey?” she asked softly. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Her daughter pointed toward the buffalo head. “It moved, Mom! It’s coming down to get us!”
“It can’t come get us, dummy,” Roxanna said in a grumpy voice. “It doesn’t have feet anymore.”
“Sweetie,” Riley crooned gently, rubbing her hands up and down her daughter’s slim back. “It’s not going to hurt you.”
“No, Mom. Look!” Wendy said. “See what it did?”
The girl snatched up the bath towel they had used to hide the buffalo head. Sure enough, when Riley glanced up at the wall, the creature was no longer covered. And from this angle, he did look pretty mad.
“He threw it over my face,” Wendy exclaimed, tears sparkling in her eyes.
“Wendy. The towel must have slipped loose when the air-conditioning kicked on.”
“No, really! He tried to smother me in my sleep!”
“Oh, brother,” Roxanna muttered, sitting up in bed to scratch her head.
“Rox, be quiet,” Riley said with a twinge of frustration.
Since she’d spent those days in the hospital last year, Wendy had become clingy and fearful. She also tended to be a bit paranoid. Everything from the tiniest ant on the sidewalk to Bigfoot was personally out to get her. Riley didn’t have a clue how to fix it.
She sat on the bed hugging Wendy tightly, and stared up at the buffalo. Enough was enough. The damned thing was coming down.
Trying to lighten the mood, Riley yanked up her pajama bottoms and stood on the mattress. “All right, varmint,” she told the head. “This apartment isn’t big enough for the both of us.”
With a giggle, Rox bounced to her feet, nearly sending Riley off the side of the bed. Wendy had planted herself in one corner, waiting to see how her mother would save the day.
Now that she was standing, Riley was nearly eye-to-eye with the thing, and she could almost feel sorry for it. Its dark hair was matted and dusty. A huge chunk had been taken out of its left ear. She couldn’t help wondering if that had happened before or after it had met its tragic end. But it still had to go.
She reached up and grabbed a horn in each hand, wiggling the head to see if there was any give. There wasn’t. Whoever had mounted it up there had intended it to stay secure through a tornado.
Riley tugged some more, every which way she could think of. “Come on,” she groaned between clenched teeth. “Give it up. Come down from there.”
“Don’t touch it!” Wendy squealed from behind her, but there was a giggle in her voice.
“Go, Mom!” Roxanna encouraged. “You’re like the Incredible Hulk.”
The mounting plaque didn’t budge. The buffalo looked bored. All Riley succeeded in doing was breaking a fingernail. She blew hair out of her eyes and redoubled her efforts.
“No one scares my kids, you hear me?” she threatened. “Don’t make me get my chainsaw.”
Roxanna, bouncing on the bed, laughed at that.
Poor Wendy gasped, but at least she seemed caught up in this crazy new adventure. “You’re making it mad. What if it tries to eat us?”
Riley might have refuted that possibility, but she didn’t get the chance. From the doorway of the bedroom, a male voice said, “I’m pretty sure the buffalo is a vegetarian.”
This time, all three of them screamed.
CHAPTER THREE
WHATEVER QUINTIN HAD thought he would run up against when he’d heard that scream, it hadn’t been three pajama-clad females in a face-off with a stuffed buffalo head.
Returning from the trip to Dallas with five Dutch Warmbloods in his thirteen-horse trailer, he’d seen the muddy blue SUV parked close to the horse barn. He’d assumed it belonged to Riley Palmer.
But now, having let himself into the manager’s apartment with his spare key, he didn’t know what the hell was going on.
He’d found a woman, standing with her back to him, tussling with the buffalo head mounted above the bed. Two children—little girls—were cheering her on, and all three females were so intent on their mission that they were unaware of his presence. He blinked in surprise. It wasn’t every day you ran into a woman trying to go three rounds with a buffalo head, accompanied by her own small cheering section.
But he’d expected a man. One man only. Riley Palmer. This was definitely not that man.
He watched, filled with curiosity, as the blonde continued to rail against the buffalo. He couldn’t help staring—those thin, shorty pajamas defined her rear end nicely and complemented a pair of strong, slender legs that went on forever.
She seemed to be trying to amuse the children, or maybe lessen some unknown fear. That scream had been real enough. But now, with every one of her tugs, the kids urged her on, laughing in that little girl way that would make anyone want to be part of the fun.
The woman paused for a moment, and one of the kids gasped out her suspicion that the buffalo might eat them. Quintin had decided it was time to reveal himself, but answering the child’s question only seemed to scare the crap out of them.
Almost as though it was planned, they yelped and squealed in unison. The woman reached to gather the children close, a sweet, protective gesture. He’d bet money these were her kids.
The problem was, they were probably Riley Palmer’s, as well, and wherever the guy was right now, he and Quintin were going to have to talk. No mention had been made about bringing a family. Or even having one, for that matter. Lots of ranchers hired married couples to run both the house and the ranch, but that hadn’t been Quintin’s plan. He hadn’t wanted to bring an entire family on board.
Kids at Echo Springs, for God’s sake. Underfoot and in need of constant attention.
He felt a weary kind of irritation. Palmer should have told him. Now Quintin would have to send them packing. Valuable time lost, as well as an upheaval for this mom and her children.
They stared at him, mouths open, eyes full of uncertainty. Twins, he realized, with a lot of their mom in them. Same silky blond hair. Same eyes, the color of a tropical sea.
Their mother, obviously realizing how scantily clad she was, snatched up a portion of the sheet and pressed it against her breasts. In spite of his annoyance, Quintin almost laughed at that.
Relax, honey, he wanted to tell her. Believe me, I’ve pretty much seen everything you’ve got.
She might be another man’s wife, but Quintin could still appreciate a good-looking female, and this one had prettiness to spare. He’d been out of circulation for a while, but he couldn’t deny the effect a pair of big blue eyes and honey-blond hair could have on his system.
When she lifted that strong chin as if to brazen out the awkwardness of the situation, Quintin felt his lips twist. Palmer had chosen well. This woman was no shrinking violet.
“I’m sorry to have frightened you ladies,” he said. “I knocked, but I think you were too busy fighting with the buffalo to hear me.”
The woman came off the bed quickly, but with surprising grace in spite of the fact that she pulled the sheet with her. She marched over to him, straight as a drum major. In her bare feet, she was much shorter than he was in boots, even with those long legs.
She held out her hand. “You must be Quintin Avenaco. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He took her slim fingers in his. Her handshake was firm, and he felt an odd twinge of regret that very soon he’d have to send this family on their way. And where was Riley Palmer while his wife and kids were taking on stuffed monsters?
“I’m Quintin,” he confirmed. “And I assume you’re Riley Palmer’s wife?”
He saw her swallow hard before answering. Whatever she intended to say, she didn’t like it. “Actually… I’m Riley Palmer.”
Quintin felt a kind of lurch inside him, then a wild rush of anger as he realized what those four simple words meant. What they meant to his plans for the future. He had thought having this family show up was unacceptable. But this… The reality that he’d been deceived pretty much sent him over the edge.
Behind Palmer, her children were watching, listening to every word. For their sake he fought to keep his face neutral. “You’re not what I was expecting.”
“I know, and I can explain that,” she said quickly. “Just give me a minute to put on some clothes and get the girls in front of the television.”
He still had her hand in his, and he used it to pull her forward so that he could reach her ear. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said in a low, crisp voice. “You have an hour to pack your things and go. Take the buffalo head with you as a souvenir if you like.”
She inhaled sharply, but Quintin had already turned and left the room. “Wait a minute—” He heard her call after him, but he kept going, out of the apartment, out of her sight.
He took long strides back to the horse trailer. Halfway there, Riley Palmer pulled him up short by catching his arm. He noticed that she’d thrown on a robe, and her feet were tucked into a pair of unlaced sneakers.
“Mr. Avenaco…” She spoke his name with a raw undertone of clear desperation. “If you’ll just listen for a moment. Let me explain—”
“There’s no need,” Quintin replied. “We agreed to hold off making this job offer final until we had a chance to meet. We’ve met. You’re not what I’m looking for.”
“You mean because I’m a woman asking to be considered for a man’s job?” Her voice was flat, reproachful.
In his entire life, no one had ever accused Quintin of discrimination. Of any kind. Part Native American, he’d grown up with too much of it in Wyoming to ever indulge in the same himself. Her claim nearly tore the breath out of him.
Deliberately, his eyes riveted to hers, with an intensity he hoped would send her back to the apartment to pack. “No, not because you’re a woman,” he said plainly. “Because you’re a liar.”
She had the grace to flush. That flawless, creamy-white complexion went beet-red, even if the look in her eyes remained determined and defiant. “I never lied to you, really. I can’t help it if you assumed I was a man.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Lady, I don’t like being played for a fool. You made every effort to keep your sex a secret. Now I understand why you weren’t answering my phone calls. Whose voice was that on your voice mail?”
“My sister’s boyfriend. But I didn’t have him record the greeting to fool you. He did it months ago, because I was getting some crank calls.”
“Convenient. I don’t know how you thought you were going to pull this off once you arrived, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no job for you here.”
“I didn’t intend… I hoped we could talk this out, that you’d be fair—”
“Fair seems like an odd word coming from you. But I think you’ve wasted enough of my time. Have a safe trip back.”
He shook her hand off his arm and unlatched the back door of the trailer. He didn’t trust himself to speak, and hoped that being on the receiving end of the cold shoulder would do the trick and send her off. But while he ignored her and went through the process of removing safety gates and dividers that would allow him to back the first horse out of the trailer, he was aware of Riley Palmer standing there.
She was in an old-fashioned fury, he could tell, but she could hardly act on it. Not if she thought she could still sway him. Which she couldn’t. She could stand there until hell froze over if she wanted to.
“So you won’t even consider me for the job?” she asked, unable to keep a touch of belligerence out of her voice.
“Afraid not,” he replied mildly, in spite of the anger churning inside him.
He guided the first gelding backward, forcing the woman to move aside. Some horses didn’t trailer well, and he was pleased to see this one step down to the ground without the slightest sign of nervousness. Alert and curious, but definitely not afraid.
He began to lead the animal to the pasture gate, but Riley Palmer blocked his way. It seemed ridiculous that she was still here, standing with a stranglehold on the neck of her robe, trying to persuade him to change his mind. She looked like a woman controlling herself at some cost. He recognized it because that was pretty much the same way he felt.
He suddenly didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused by such determination.
“You read my résumé,” she said. “My experience—”
“Was any of that résumé even true?”
Oddly, the color didn’t come up in her cheeks again. They went a little pinker maybe, but mostly she seemed…hurt. In the bright sunshine, her features suddenly looked very young. He almost felt sorry for her.
Don’t, he cautioned himself.
She said in a voice that was slightly less antagonistic, “In spite of what I did, what you might think, I’m qualified for this position. I ran a three-hundred-acre spread for nine years while I was married.”
“If you ran the place, where was your husband?”
“Managing the Bar Seven, outside of Cooper.” She lifted her hand to stroke the gelding’s neck. “We raised cattle mostly, but I know horses, too.”
“These aren’t hack ponies I plan to rent out to Sunday riders. They’re going to need specialized attention and a nutritional regimen as stringent as any racehorse in Kentucky.”
