Heartbreaker by Linda Howard

with his boot heels.
    Nev watched him ride away. “Good riddance,” he muttered. Whatever was chewing on the boss had put him in the worst mood Nev had ever seen; it would be a relief to work without him.
    John’s horse covered the distance with long, easy strides; it was big and strong, seventeen hands high, and inclined to be a bit stubborn, but they had fought that battle a long time ago. Now the animal accepted the mastery of the iron-muscled legs and strong, steady hands of his rider. The big horse liked a good run, and he settled into a fast, smooth rhythm as they cut across pastures, his pounding hooves sending clods of dirt flying.
    The more John thought about it, the less he liked it. She’d been trying to work that ranch by herself. It didn’t fit in with what he knew of Michelle, but her fragile hands bore the marks. He had nothing but contempt for someone who disdained good honest work and expected someone else to do it for them, but something deep and primitive inside him was infuriated at the idea of Michelle even trying to manage the backbreaking chores around the ranch. Damn it, why hadn’t she asked for help? Work was one thing, but no one expected her to turn into a cowhand. She wasn’t strong enough; he’d held her in his arms, felt the delicacy of her bones, the greyhound slenderness of her build. She didn’t need to be working cattle any more than an expensive thoroughbred should be used to plow a field. She could get hurt, and it might be days before anyone found her. He’d always been disgusted with Langley for spoiling and protecting her, and with Michelle for just sitting back and accepting it as her due, but suddenly he knew just how Langley had felt. He gave a disgusted snort at himself, making the horse flick his ears back curiously at the sound, but the hard fact was that he didn’t like the idea of Michelle’s trying to work that ranch. It was a man’s work, and more than one man, at that.
    Well, he’d take care of all that for her, whether she liked it or not. He had the feeling she wouldn’t, but she’d come around. She was too used to being taken care of, and, as he’d told her, now it was his turn.
    Yesterday had changed everything. He’d felt her response to him, felt the way her mouth had softened and shaped itself to his. She wanted him, too, and the knowledge only increased his determination to have her. She had tried to keep him from seeing it; that acid tongue of hers would have made him lose his temper if he hadn’t seen the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. It was so unusual that he’d almost wanted to bring back the haughtiness that aggravated him so much… . Almost, but not quite. She was vulnerable now, vulnerable to him. She might not like it, but she needed him. It was an advantage he intended to use.
    There was no answer at the door when he got to the ranch house, and the old truck was missing from its customary parking place in the barn. John put his fists on his hips and looked around, frowning. She had probably driven into town, though it was hard to think that Michelle Cabot was willing to let herself be seen in that kind of vehicle. It was her only means of transportation, though, so she didn’t have much choice.
    Maybe it was better that she was gone; he could check around the ranch without her spitting and hissing at him like an enraged cat, and he’d look at those cattle in the south pasture. He wanted to know just how many head she was running, and how they looked. She couldn’t possibly handle a big herd by herself, but for her sake he hoped they were in good shape, so she could get a fair price for them. He’d handle it himself, make certain she didn’t get rooked. The cattle business wasn’t a good one for beginners.
    He swung into the saddle again. First he checked the east pasture, where she had said the fence was down. Whole sections of it would have to be