Harden

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Harden whirled, his pale blue eyes glaring furiously at the other man.

Evan held up both hands, grinning. “Okay, I get the message. She was a dish, though. You might try your luck. Donald and Connal and I can talk you through a date…and the other things you don’t know about.”

Harden sighed. “Will you stop?”

“It’s no crime to be innocent, even if you are a man,” Evan continued. “We all know you thought about becoming a minister.”

Harden just shook his head and kept walking. Surely to God, Evan was a case. That assumption irritated him, but he wouldn’t lower himself enough to deny it.

“No comment?” Evan asked.

“No comment,” Harden said pleasantly. “Let’s go. The crowd’s already gathering.”

Despite Harden’s preoccupation with Miranda, the workshop went well. He had a dry wit, which he used to his advantage to keep the audience’s attention while he lectured on the combinations of maternal and carcass breeds that had been so successful back home. Profit was the bottom line in any cattle operation, and the strains he was using in a limited crossbreeding had proven themselves financially.

But his position on hormone implants wasn’t popular, and had resulted in some hot exchanges with other cattlemen. Cattle at the Tremayne ranch weren’t implanted, and Harden was fervently against the artificial means of beef growth.

“Damn it, it’s like using steroids on a human,” he argued with the older cattleman. “And we still don’t know the long-range effects of consumption of implanted cattle on human beings!”

“You’re talking a hell of a financial loss, all the same!” the other argued hotly. “Damn it, man, I’m operating in the red already! Those implants you’re against are the only thing keeping me in business. More weight means more money. That’s how it is!”

“And what about the countries that won’t import American beef because of the implants?” Harden shot back. “What about moral responsibility for what may prove to be a dangerous and unwarranted risk to public health?”

“We’re already getting heat for the pesticides we use leaching into the water table,” a deep, familiar voice interrupted. “And I won’t go into environmentalists claiming grazing is responsible for global warming or the animal rights people who think branding our cattle is cruel, or the government bailing out the dairy industry by dumping their tough, used-up cows on the market with our prime beef!”

That did it. Before Harden could open his mouth, his workshop was shot to hell. He gave up trying to call for order and sat down to drink his coffee.

Evan sat back down beside him, grinning. “Saved your beans, didn’t I, pard?” he asked.

Harden gestured toward the crowd. “What about theirs?” he asked, indicating two cattlemen who were shoving each other and red in the face.

“Their problem, not mine. I just didn’t want to have to save you from a lynch mob. Couldn’t you be a little less opinionated?”

Harden shrugged. “Not my way.”

“So I noticed.” Evan stood up. “Well, we might as well go and eat lunch. When we come back we can worry about how to dispose of the carnage.” He grimaced as a blow was struck nearby.

Harden pursed his lips, his blue eyes narrowing amusedly. “And leave just when things are getting interesting?”

“No.” Evan stood in front of him. “Now, look here…”

It didn’t work. Harden walked around him and right into a furious big fist. He returned the punch with a hard laugh and waded right into the melee. Evan sighed. He took off his Stetson and his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his white cotton shirt and loosened his tie. There was such a thing as family unity.

Later, after the police came and spoiled all the fun, Harden and Evan had a quiet lunch in their suite while they patched up the cuts.

“We could have been arrested,” Evan muttered between bites of his sandwiches.

“No kidding.” Harden swallowed down the last of his coffee and poured another cup from the carafe. He had a bruise on one cheek and another, with a cut, lower on his jaw. Evan had fared almost as badly. Of course, the competition downstairs looked much worse.

“You had a change of clothes,” Evan muttered, brushing at blood spots on his white shirt. “I have to fly home like this.”

“The stewardesses will be fascinated by you. You’ll probably have to turn down dates all the way home.”

Evan brightened. “Think so?”

“You look wounded and macho,” Harden agreed. “Aren’t women supposed to love that?”

“I’m not sure. I lost my perspective when they started carrying guns and bodybuilding. I think the ideal these days is a man who can cook and do housework and likes baby-sitting.” He shuddered. “Kids scare me to death!”

“They wouldn’t if they were your own.”

Evan sighed, and his dark eyes had a faraway look. “I’m too old to start a family.”

“My God, you’re barely thirty-four!”

“Anyway, I’d have to get married first. Nobody wants me.”

“You scare women,” Harden replied. “You’re the original clown. All smiles and wit. Then something upsets you and you lose your temper and throw somebody over a fence.”