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He grunted. Didn’t he? Hadn’t that been a grunt she heard?
“Uh, Grant?”
A grunt. A definite grunt. One with sort of a question mark at the end of it.
“I really didn’t expect anyone to ride by. I truly didn’t…”
“Steph.”
She gulped. “Yeah?”
A pause. Her dread increased. Was he irritated? Amused? What? She just couldn’t tell.
Then he actually looked at her again and gave her one of those gorgeous heartbreaker smiles of his. “Don’t sweat it, okay? I know the feeling.”
She felt her mouth bloom wide in a giant smile. “You do?” God. She sounded like such a dumb, innocent kid…
But he was nice about it. He was always nice. “Oh, yeah. Nothin’ like a cold, clear creek on a hot day.”
She clicked her tongue at Trixiebelle, who was showing more interest in cropping grass than in moving it along. “Well,” she said, and couldn’t think of a single clever thing to say. She finished lamely, “Good…”
They rode in silence the rest of the way. Stephanie tried to concentrate on the beauty of the green, rolling land around them and not to think about how he really must be irritated with her no matter how hard he tried to ease her embarrassment. He was so quiet, so reluctant to turn her way.
Bart, the old spotted hound, came out to meet them when they got to the house. He wiggled in delight, whining for attention from his old master.
Grant dismounted and took a moment to greet him, “There’s a good boy.” He gave the dog a nice scratch behind the ear.
Rufus emerged from the tack room as they walked their horses into the barn. He shook Grant’s hand in greeting and then started giving orders.
“Go on in the house, you two. Leave the horses to me. I’m still good for a few things around here, you know.”
So they thanked him and headed across the open dirt yard to the plain, white-shingled, two-story house. On the wide front porch, Steph paused to pull off her muddy boots.
Inside, the old wood floors had a warm scuffed gleam and a short walk through the front hall past the simple oak staircase led them to the kitchen in back.
Marie Julen had the oven door open. She pulled a sheet of cookies out and set it on a rack to cool. And then she turned, her face breaking into a welcoming grin at the sight of Grant. “Well, look what the cat drug in.”
Grant grinned. “Sure does smell good in here.”
“Get over here, you.”
In two long strides, he was across the room, grabbing Steph’s mom in a hug. When he pulled back, he held her by her plump shoulders. “You bake those cookies just for me?”
She grinned up at him. “Well, of course I did—even though I had no idea at all that you were coming to visit today.” She sent Steph a knowing look, taking in her soggy clothes and wet hair. “I’m guessing that cow is now safely out of the pond.”
Steph nodded. “And I really need a shower—hey!” She faked a warning look at Grant, who’d already grabbed a couple of cookies. “Leave some for me.”
“I’m makin’ no promises.” He winked at her when he said it and she dared to hope that the awkwardness between them was past.
She turned for the stairs as her mom tempted him with her fine cooking. “Pot roast for dinner.”
Stephanie’s heart lifted as she heard him answer, “Sounds too good to pass up. I’ll stay.”
Grant was downright relieved when Steph went upstairs.
He needed a little time to collect himself, to get used to the idea that she’d somehow grown up right under his nose, to get over his shock at how damn beautiful she was. How could she have changed so much, so fast? Shouldn’t he have noticed she was becoming a woman—a beautiful woman—before now?
He needed to stop thinking about her. He needed to remember his purpose here today. It wasn’t going to be easy, telling them about the sale.
But then again, now he’d said he’d stay for dinner, there was no big rush to get into it. He’d break the news during the meal. That way Rufus and the other hand, Jim Baylis, would be there, too. He could tell them all at once, answer whatever questions they had right then and there, and reassure them that he’d find other work for all of them.
Steph already gave riding lessons at the resort, by appointment only. He was thinking he could get her something full-time at the stables. And maybe he could arrange to get Marie something where there would be cooking involved. Not at the resort, but possibly in town. She did love to cook and she was damn good at it, too.
He washed his hands in the sink and took a seat at the kitchen table. Marie, as usual, read his mind.
“Beer?”
“You bet.”
She set the frosty bottle in front of him and then went back to the oven to take a peek at the other sheet of cookies she had baking in there. A born ranch wife, Marie loved taking care of the house and keeping the hands fed and happy. When she was needed, she would get out with the rest of them and drive cattle to higher summer pastures or work the chutes at branding time.
As he watched her bustling about, he couldn’t help comparing mother to daughter. Steph had inherited Marie’s light hair and green eyes, but she’d got her height and build from her dad. Andre Julen had been as tall and lean as Marie was short and round.
When Grant was growing up, the Julens had owned and worked the next ranch over, the Triple J. Marie and Grant’s mom, Helen, were the best of friends. So were Andre and John. Grant’s sister, Elise, and Steph used to play together, running up and down the stairs, giggling and whispering little-girl secrets while their mothers sat at the table where Grant sat now. Marie and Helen would drink strong black coffee and share gossip while they did the mending or snapped the beans for dinner.
Helen and Elise Clifton lived in Billings now. They’d signed over control of the ranch to him, though they still shared in any profits—including the big windfall that would come with the sale. His mom and sister seemed happy in Billings.
Marie and Steph, though.…
For them, losing the Triple J six years ago had been like losing a husband and a father all over again. They were ranch folk to the bone….
“I heard that resort of yours is full up for the Fourth of July.” Marie put the lid back on the cast-iron pot.
The Fourth was three days away, on Wednesday. Grant tipped his beer at Marie. “You bet we are.” Teasing her, he quoted from a recent brochure. “Treat yourself to magnificent mountain views, sumptuous luxury, and thrilling recreation at Thunder Canyon Resort.” He brought his beer to his heart and really hammed it up. “You’ve come to us for the best in winter sports and entertainment. Now, you’re invited to explore our winding mountain trails, weaving in and out of lush forests, dotted with cascading streams.” He paused, dramatically, then announced, “Thunder Canyon Resort. The ultimate vacation or conference spot—peaceful, refreshing, with an endless variety of activities. Come to relax. Come to party. We offer fun and excitement, rejuvenation of mind, body and soul in a majestic setting, year-round.”
Marie laughed and clapped her hands and joked, “Sign me up.”
He shrugged. “I admit, after Independence Day, things’ll slow down. But hey. We’re doing all right—and Marie, you’ve got to quit calling it my resort.” Grant did have shares in the partnership, but the resort had started out as the dream child of the most powerful family in the area, the Douglases.
“They’re lucky to have you working with them,” Marie declared, loyal as the second mom she’d always been to him.
He thought about the sale of the ranch again. And hated himself a little. But he’d made his decision. He was never coming back here and neither were his mom or Elise. For the old man’s sake, he’d given Clifton’s Pride his best shot, but he wasn’t a rancher and he never would be. Better to get out while a great offer was dangling right in front of his nose.
Marie added, “Everyone knows it was your idea to keep the resort open year-round.’ Nother beer?”
Grant thanked her, but decided to stroll on out to the barn and have a few words with Rufus instead.
The grizzled cowboy sat on a bale of hay, his hat beside him, rolling a cancer stick in those stiff, knobby hands of his.
“Try not to burn the barn down while you’re killin’ yourself with that thing,” Grant advised.
Rufus only grunted and stuck the rolled cigarette behind his ear. “You leavin’ already? I just took the saddle off your horse.” Stiffly, shaking his gray head, he started to rise.
Grant waved him back down. “I’m staying for dinner.”
“Smart thinkin’. That Marie, she can cook.” Rufus nodded sagely as he settled back on the bale. “Pot roast, I hear.”
“That is the rumor…”
The old cowboy took the cigarette from behind his ear, shook his head at it and stuck it back there without lighting it. “She’s doin’ just fine, in case you wanted to know.”
Grant knew exactly who she was. But for some reason he refused to examine too closely, he played it dumb. “Who? Marie?”
“No,” Rufus said with great patience. “Not Marie. I mean little Stephanie—who ain’t so little as she used to be, in case you didn’t notice.”
Grant ordered the image of her glorious bare backside to get the hell out of his mind and played it noncommittal with a deceptively easy shrug. “Yeah. Seems like only yesterday she was running around the yard in pigtails.”
“She’s a born rancher, that gal. Works hard. Loves every minute of it. And smart as a whip. You keep her on as top hand, I got a feeling she’ll shock us all and make this ranch a profitable operation.”
Clifton’s Pride turning a profit?
Now, that would be an accomplishment. Even John Clifton, who’d given it his all, hadn’t really managed to do that. Somehow, the Cliftons always got by. But a profit?
Not a chance. And for seven years after his dad’s tragic death, Grant had tried his damnedest to make a success of the place himself. Same old, same old. Somehow he stayed afloat. Barely. But that was the best he ever did.
It had been the same when Rufus took over. The ranch had yet to go under, but it was no moneymaker and Grant didn’t believe it ever would be.
He sent Rufus a narrow-eyed look and muttered darkly, “You weren’t thrilled in the least when I hired her on to take over for you. And now, all of a sudden, you’re her biggest booster?”
Rufus picked up his hat and hit it on his thigh. “It’s true. I had my doubts about her runnin’ things. But I’m a man who’s willing to give credit where credit is due. That girl has got gumption. She’s got stamina. She knows what she’s doin’. She also has ideas and they are good ones.”
“Damn, Rufus. You’re starting to scare me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so gung ho about anyone—or anything—in all the years you been working here.”
Rufus chortled and said something else.
But Grant didn’t hear a word of it. He just happened to glance toward the wide-open doors that led to the yard.
He saw Steph.
Steph. In clean Wranglers, fresh boots and a little red shirt that clung to those fine slender curves he’d only that very day realized she had. Her golden hair hung, dry now, sleek and shining as pure silk, to her shoulders.
And those slim hips of hers? They swayed easy.
She tempted him with every step and all she was doing was walking toward him.
Grant watched her coming, struck dumb all over again by how beautiful she was. His breath was all tangled up in his throat and his heart was doing something impossible inside his chest and all of a sudden his jeans were too damn tight.
Damn. He was making a total fool of himself.
All Rufus had to do was look down to see how sweet, innocent, smart-as-a-whip Stephanie affected the boss.
How in the hell, Grant wondered, could this be happening to him?
Chapter Two
Stephanie entered the barn, the bright sun outside lighting her gold hair from behind, creating a halo around her suddenly shadowed face. Grant, his senses spinning, somehow managed to get his boots under him and rise from the bale.
She came right for them. “Hey, you two. Mom said I’d find you out here.” She reached him, slid her warm, callused hand into his and flashed him a smile. “C’mon. Got some things I want to show you.”
Prickles of awareness seemed to shoot up his arm from the hand she was clutching. Her scent taunted him: shampoo, sunshine and sweetness. It took a serious effort of will not to yank her close and slam his mouth down on hers—with Rufus sitting right there, fingering that cigarette he hadn’t quite gotten around to lighting yet.
This is bad. This is…not like me, Grant reminded himself.
And it wasn’t. Not like him in the least.
Yeah. All right. He knew that in town, folks considered him something of a ladies’ man.
And he did like a pretty woman. What man didn’t? But he never obsessed over any of them, never got tongue-tied as a green kid in their presence.
Not until today, anyway.
Stephanie. Of all the women in the world…
By some minor miracle, he found his voice. “Show me what?”
“You’ll see.” She beamed up at him, those shining eyes green as a matched pair of four-leaf clovers. “Come on.” She tugged on his hand.
He let her pull him along, vaguely aware of a chuckle from Rufus behind them and the hissing snap as the cowboy struck a match.
Inside, she led him to the office, which was off the entry hall, not far from the front door. She tugged him over to the desk and pushed him down into the worn leather swivel chair that used to be his dad’s.
He sent her a wary glance. “What’s this about?”
“You’ll see.” She turned on the new computer she’d asked him to buy for her when she started in as top hand.
“What?” he demanded, his senses so full of her, he thought he’d explode.
“Don’t be so impatient. Give it a chance to boot up.” She leaned over his chair, her gaze on the computer screen, that fragrant hair swinging forward. He watched, transfixed, as she tucked that golden hank of loose hair back behind her ear. He stared at her profile and longed to reach up and run the back of his hand down the smooth golden skin of her throat, to get a fistful of that shining hair and bring it to his mouth so he could feel the silkiness against his lips. “There,” she announced. By then, she had her hand on the mouse. She started clicking. “Look at that.” She beamed with pride.
He tore his hungry gaze from her face and made himself look at the monitor. “Okay. A spreadsheet.”
She laughed. The musical sound seemed to shiver all through him. “Oh, come on. Who’s got the fancy business degree from UM? Not me, that’s for sure.” She pointed. “Look. That’s a lot of calves, wouldn’t you say? And look at the totals in the yearling column. They’re high. I think it’s going to be a fine year.”
He peered closer at the spreadsheet, frowning. She was right. The yearling count was pretty high. He muttered gruffly, “Not bad…”
“I’m working on making sure they’re all nice and fat come shipping day. And as far as the calves? I think the total is high there because of that new feed mixture I gave their mamas before calving time. Healthy cows make healthy calves.” She laughed again. “Well, duh.
As if you didn’t know. And you just watch. Next year, when those calves are ready for market, they’ll be weighing in at close to seven hundred pounds each—which is really what I’m leading up to here. Yeah, my new feed mixture is looking like a real success. But bottom line? Winter feeding is expensive. Not only because of all the hay we have to put up, but also in the labor-intensive work of caring for and feeding our pregnant cows in the winter months when the feed has got be brought to them. If you really stop and think about it, we work for the cows. My idea is to start letting our cows work for us, letting them find their own feed, which they would do, if there was any available during the winter months…”
