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She tried them on. They were too big but better than nothing.
He gathered the heavy-duty tie-down straps and bungee cords they’d brought and jumped off the bed. “I’m thinking I’ll load and you should get up there and make sure the boards stay stacked until we can strap them down.”
Dory smiled wryly, knowing that he was trying to keep her task light. “How about we both load and then worry about securing them?”
He studied her for a moment. “Hugh is the Reynoldses’ foreman. He’s the only one in the barn. If he sees you working, he’s gonna want to come out and help. The guy turned seventy last month and has a bad back.”
“Then quit talking and let’s get this done before he sees me.” She adjusted her gloves and tried to pick up four boards at once, but quickly found that her limit was three.
Clint mumbled something she couldn’t hear, and then more clearly said, “You stick to the trailer, and I’ll load the truck.”
She didn’t argue. With the trailer being lower to the ground it was easier for her to stack the boards and she’d be better able to keep up with his pace. On the negative side, given the distance between them, the capacity to ogle him as he worked was far greater. Unfortunately, she found the temptation hard to ignore with the way the worn denim of his jeans molded his leans hips and appealing backside.
Though after forty minutes working under the broiling afternoon sun, her thoughts pretty much narrowed to finishing the job. She was tired and thirsty and only sheer stubbornness drove her to keep picking up boards and swinging them onto the trailer. The steady rhythm she’d engaged was hypnotic, and when Clint called out for her to take a break, he startled her. She spun toward his voice, the movement dizzyingly fast, and she felt her body sway.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yep, fine.” She grabbed the trailer railing for support.
He pulled off his gloves and got them each a bottle of water from the truck’s cab. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She fumbled with the cap and then greedily downed two large gulps so fast that it made her chest hurt.
“Take it easy,” he said, touching her arm. “You shouldn’t let yourself get that thirsty.”
She nodded. “I know better.” The warmth of his skin on hers did nothing to help clear her head, so she moved her arm away.
Confusion flickered in his gaze and he seemed about to say something when they heard the pounding of hooves coming in their direction.
“Clint!”
Dory squinted into the sunlight and saw a woman riding toward them, her pale blond hair streaming behind her in the breeze. Her face flushed, the blonde reined in the beautiful brown-and-white horse, stopping the animal only several feet from where they stood. She leaped down and rushed to throw her arms around Clint.
His arms instantly came up to lift her in the air. “Why, Sara Lynn, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, grinning as he swept her in a circle before setting her back on the ground. “Every time I think you can’t possibly get any prettier, you go and prove me dead wrong.”
Laughing, she swatted his arm. “You always say that.”
“Only because it’s the God’s honest truth.”
The young woman groaned good-naturedly and smiled at Dory, curiosity sparkling in her blue eyes. “Hi, I’m Sara.”
“Dory Richards,” she said, extending her hand.
Sara accepted her offering, briefly wincing when Dory squeezed too hard.
Mentally kicking herself, Dory promptly released her. She tried not to look at Clint but caught the amused curve of his mouth out of the corner of her eye.
“When did you come home?” he asked Sara.
“Just yesterday. I couldn’t miss the Fourth of July shindig, now could I?” She looped an arm through his, her cheeks tinted a becoming pink and gazed up at him with undisguised adoration.
Feeling like a fifth wheel, Dory turned back to loading the trailer. The younger woman couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty, but she clearly had a mile-wide crush on Clint. Probably just his type, too, a real girlie girl. Even after having been out riding, her makeup was perfect, her hair tousled to perfection by the breeze, and for heaven’s sake, her jeans still had a crease in them.
“Hey, Dory. Relax a minute.” Clint took the boards from her hands. “You’re going to get overheated.”
“I’ll make lemonade,” Sara offered. “Come on up to the house.”
He touched a finger to the brim of his Stetson and nudged it upward, and then pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and mopped his forehead. “Thanks anyway, but we don’t have time.”
“Grover and Lenny are in the north pasture. I could go get them to help.”
“Nah, we’ll be done in a half hour or so.” Clint’s gaze narrowed on Dory. “You sore yet?”
She snorted. “I’m not the one who needed a break.”
Grinning, he stuffed his bandanna back in his pocket. “Seriously, I don’t want you to push too hard and end up out of commission all weekend.”
“Oh, please.” Dory adjusted her gloves.
“Hey, I have a vested interest in returning you alive. Kate will hurt me if I don’t.”
“Ah, I see. Nothing altruistic about your motives.”
Sara’s dramatic sigh netted her the attention she wanted. “I wish I could help but I don’t think I’d be much use.” She daintily put out her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Not with these nails.” They were long, fake and pale pink, the tips sparkling with red, white and blue glitter.
Clint’s patronizing smile appeared unnoticed by Sara. She merely beamed when he picked up one of her hands and brought the back to his lips for a quick kiss.
“These hands are a work of art. Wouldn’t want to mess them up,” he said, winking at her, before pulling on his gloves.
Sara giggled. “You better save me the first dance tomorrow night,” she said, while backing toward her horse. “I mean it, Clint Manning. I call dibs and I have a witness.”
“Wouldn’t dream of dancing with anyone else first, Sara Lynn.” He’d already started back to work.
“What dance?” Dory asked, stooping beside him to pick up a load of lumber. She hated dances. Didn’t even know how to dance. In high school, proms had been her worst nightmare.
“What dance, she asks.” Shaking his head in mock disapproval, he slid a stack of boards onto the pile, and then gave her a cocky wink. “Looks like you’re in for an initiation this weekend.”
3
THANKS TO DORY’S HARD WORK, they finished quicker than Clint had anticipated, and then headed back to the Sugarloaf. Still, making the unexpected pickup had put him behind schedule, what with the booths to build and the tables and chairs to set up for the barbecue tomorrow night. And since people tended to show up early in the morning, it looked as if he and the boys would be working until well after sundown. He really hated to put the crew out like that because it didn’t seem right to work them so hard that they’d be too tuckered out to enjoy the festivities, but if they wanted to be ready in time, he didn’t have much choice.
As if she’d read his mind, Dory asked, “What’s next?”
“For you, I suggest a warm bath. Soak those muscles you used today.” He looked over at her dirt-streaked face, cheeks flushed from exertion, and caught her eye-roll. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she would be sore later. “You were a big help.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Build the game booths.”
“Today?”
“I guarantee you we’ll have three dozen kids show up bright and early tomorrow morning, all of them raring to go.”
“I knew the party started tomorrow but I assumed the afternoon barbecue kicked it off. How many people are you expecting?”
“Generally between one-seventy and two hundred.”
“Good grief.”
He chuckled. “It’s not so bad. They don’t show up all at once. Except maybe for the rodeo and fireworks on Sunday, which is the last night.”
“Is Kate in charge of providing all the food?”
“Yep, but don’t worry, you saw how well she delegates.” They both smiled at that, and then he added, “You okay with making another stop?”
“Sure. I don’t know that we’ll have room to pick up anything else, though.” She twisted around to glance out the rear window at the overloaded trailer.
The way her T-shirt stretched over her breasts caught Clint’s attention, and he drove right through a deep pothole. The truck bucked and pulled to the left. Reflexively, he threw out an arm to protect her from flying forward and came into contact with the soft round objects of his distraction. He quickly retreated but not before he momentarily lost control of the wheel.
“Look out.”
A large dead tree partially blocked the road. He sharply turned the wheel but it was too late. The left front tire dipped into a rut and struck something hard and immobile. He managed to pull the truck back onto the road but skidded slightly, and he knew the rear tire had met the same fate as the front one. While applying the brakes, his gaze shot to the rearview mirror. The trailer had survived, although it had come a foot away from jackknifing.
His eyes met hers. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “You?”
Grunting an affirmative, totally disgusted with himself, he threw the gearshift into Park.
“What happened?”
He jerked open the door, a string of curses springing to mind, but he bit them back as he climbed out.
“It feels like we lost the front tire,” she said, and scrambled out after him.
He’d consider himself lucky if it were the only one. He suspected the rear tire had taken a hit, too. Crouching down, he surveyed the damage. The front tire was already flat, and he quickly spotted the gash in the rubber that had caused the trouble.
“Damn.” Dory had come to stand beside him and stared at the ruined wheel. “I hate to tell you but the back tire is losing air, too. But it seems to be a slow leak so it could just be a small puncture.”
Clint really had to work at holding on to his temper. None of this was her fault. The blame was totally his, and she didn’t deserve the sarcasm simmering inside him. He pushed to his feet. “I hope you’re right so we don’t have to call the ranch for a tow. Everyone is busy enough.”
“You have more than one spare?”
“Nope, but if it is a small puncture I have some of that spray stuff to use for a temporary fix.”
“Give me the jack and I’ll get started on the front tire while you check out the rear.”
Clint barked out a laugh. “You’re offering to change the tire?”
She blinked, clearly surprised at first, and then she narrowed her eyes. “And if I am?”
“You go sit in the shade and sip some water. I’ll take care of this.”
“Oh, brother.”
“Are we gonna stand here arguing, or can we try to get back before the barbecue starts tomorrow?” He stalked to the back of the truck, suddenly and painfully aware that although the spare was accessible under the bed, the spray can was in his toolbox buried under a mountain of lumber.
“Don’t get huffy with me. I wasn’t the one driving like an idiot.”
“Son of a—” He cut himself off, but vented his frustration by slamming an open hand on the side of the truck. Pain shot up his arm.
“What?”
He didn’t say anything, just stared at the load of lumber. No way around it. He was going to have to move half the boards over to the other side to get to the toolbox. The hell of it was he knew better than to find himself in this predicament. Now he’d sucked Dory into the mess.
She didn’t say another word. As if she sensed the problem, she got down on her haunches and worked at dislodging the spare stowed under the bed. Ashamed of himself, he hunkered down beside her, and took her by the shoulders.
Her upper arms were slim, but taut and lightly muscled under his grip, which didn’t surprise him considering how hard she’d worked beside him. What did catch him off guard was his reluctance to release her, the sudden itch to run his palms down her arms and take her hands in his. Resisting the urge, he gently forced her aside and got to work. He figured he’d done enough harm for one day.
WHEN THEY RETURNED to the Sugarloaf Ranch, Dory offered to help unload the lumber even though she knew he’d turn her down. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she’d regretted them. There were two guys standing around, waiting to help, but no, she had to prove she was as good as any man, prove that she could keep up with Clint. God, when was she going to learn to back off and quit acting like a dope.
She stood off to the side, out of the way, grinding her teeth. She was fit and buff and as capable as most men when it came to physical labor. That was something to be proud of, not something to be kicking herself over. So what that she wasn’t like Lisa or Kate or Jessica? Or most other women, for that matter. She was a tomboy, and always had been. That never bothered her, so why second-guess herself now?
Oh, heck, she knew why. She’d been a bully about changing the tire and hurt Clint’s pride. Did she really have to prove she could change a tire faster than he could? No wonder he’d barely spoken to her the rest of the way back.
“You don’t need to hang around,” he said gruffly as the last of the lumber was unloaded and he walked past her. “Go grab a shower while there’s still hot water.”
She dabbed self-consciously at her smudged cheeks. “Are you going to start building the booths now?”
“That’s the plan.”
She half skipped to catch up to his longer strides as he headed toward the barn. “I’m pretty good with a hammer.”
He slid her an exasperated glance. “I don’t doubt it for a minute.”
“Oh, come on, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” She cut herself short when she noticed that one of the men who’d helped unload was watching them with avid interest.
Clint whipped off his hat and smacked it against the front of his thigh. Without the brim shading his eyes, they looked incredibly green in the fading sunlight. “Kate might need some help in the kitchen. As far as the thing with the tire, you won fair and square. You beat me by a full three minutes.” He bowed at the waist and extended his arm with a flourish. “My hat’s off to you.” His gaze staying level with hers, he added in a grouchy voice, “Did you catch all that, Curly?”
The short, paunchy, older man who’d been watching them quickly averted his eyes and hastened toward the corral where the other guy had gone back to working with a mustang.
“Look, I can’t cook worth beans, okay? I won’t be of any use to Kate.”
Amusement hovered at the corners of his mouth. “Can you boil water?”
“With instructions, maybe.”
“Hell, then maybe we ought to keep you out of the kitchen.”
