shade his eyes, and waited. Wyatt might be satisfied with the new groom’s explanations, but she didn’t fool Max for a minute
. If this chick is a groom, I’m a ballerina.
Not that he could fault her work. The horses looked better than they had in months, and the boarders seemed to like her. Well, everyone except Janet Pearlman. She didn’t like anybody.
He must have been nuts not to nix Wyatt’s lady groom idea, but he couldn’t put all the blame on Wyatt. Max hadn’t sent her on her way because something about her attempt to be secretive made him want to know more. Well, there was also that red hair and that body a man would go to war for. Max moved the toothpick to the other side of his mouth.
Today he would get some answers. Wyatt had the theory that Bree was running from a batterer, citing herspookiness and the jagged scar as evidence. Max didn’t think so. There was no doubt she’d been in some kind of fracas. But the guilty shadow in those whiskey eyes had him spending more time thinking about her than he wanted to admit. God knows, the ranch’s problems were enough to think about.
The subject of his conjecture walked out of the barn, saw him, squared her shoulders, and strode over. The knit black turtleneck clung to a lightly bouncing pair of ta-tas. Wranglers were made for that kind of body, slim legs and narrow hips.
Damn nice. Pretty as a filly, all long legs and big eyes
.
She took a key from her pocket. “We can take my Jeep.”
He pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “If you insist, but I’ve got to pick up castings for Tia’s garden.” He surveyed the trendy red Jeep. “I’d hate to get worm poop in your pretty—”
“Fine. Have it your way.” The words hissed from thinned lips.
Ducking his head to hide his grin, he tugged the passenger door handle. It didn’t budge. Damn, he’d forgotten. Last week, a bull had mistook the truck for competition and charged it. The dent was just one more in the ranch truck’s collection, but now the passenger door wouldn’t open.
“You’ll have to slide in from the other side.” She gave him a dubious stare but followed as he walked to the driver’s door and jerked it open. She looked at the truck, then at him. “What?”
“Where do you propose I sit?”
He squinted into the shadowed interior and felt his ears heat. Reaching in, he pushed tools, receipts, soda cans, and bits of baling wire to the floorboard with a brush ofhis arm. “Well, excuse me, princess. I wasn’t expecting royalty or I’d have brought ’round the Bentley.”
It was her turn to redden, and he enjoyed the view as she flounced into the cab and scooted to the far door. He climbed in, pulled off his hat, and hung it on the shotgun rack in the back window.
She moved as far away as possible, cranked down the window, and rested her arm on the sill. The engine fired with only a prolonged crank. They rolled down the dirt drive, and when the truck hit the asphalt, she dropped her chin on her arm and closed her eyes.
The scattered freckles on her cheeks stood out against her translucent skin. The dark circles beneath her eyes attested to the kind of tired that comes from long nights that don’t have much to do with sleep.
“I’m sorry about your dad.” She sounded sincere.
His knuckles on the steering wheel whitened. “Thanks.”
“You must miss him. Were you and he close?”
“Yep.”
“What was he like?”
He spit the toothpick out the window. “He was a Western cattleman. Out here, that means stubborn, hardworking, and an eternal optimist.”
“Wyatt says you’re a lot like him, but he doesn’t say it like it’s a good thing.”
Max kept his eyes on the road. “He was a hard man. The gene pool got watered down by the time it got to me.”
A snort from his right. “Was he a good dad?”
“To me he was.” Her hair swirled in the wind, bringing him the smell of lemons.
“Is your dad the reason Wyatt left?”
He reached in front of her. She
. If this chick is a groom, I’m a ballerina.
Not that he could fault her work. The horses looked better than they had in months, and the boarders seemed to like her. Well, everyone except Janet Pearlman. She didn’t like anybody.
He must have been nuts not to nix Wyatt’s lady groom idea, but he couldn’t put all the blame on Wyatt. Max hadn’t sent her on her way because something about her attempt to be secretive made him want to know more. Well, there was also that red hair and that body a man would go to war for. Max moved the toothpick to the other side of his mouth.
Today he would get some answers. Wyatt had the theory that Bree was running from a batterer, citing herspookiness and the jagged scar as evidence. Max didn’t think so. There was no doubt she’d been in some kind of fracas. But the guilty shadow in those whiskey eyes had him spending more time thinking about her than he wanted to admit. God knows, the ranch’s problems were enough to think about.
The subject of his conjecture walked out of the barn, saw him, squared her shoulders, and strode over. The knit black turtleneck clung to a lightly bouncing pair of ta-tas. Wranglers were made for that kind of body, slim legs and narrow hips.
Damn nice. Pretty as a filly, all long legs and big eyes
.
She took a key from her pocket. “We can take my Jeep.”
He pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “If you insist, but I’ve got to pick up castings for Tia’s garden.” He surveyed the trendy red Jeep. “I’d hate to get worm poop in your pretty—”
“Fine. Have it your way.” The words hissed from thinned lips.
Ducking his head to hide his grin, he tugged the passenger door handle. It didn’t budge. Damn, he’d forgotten. Last week, a bull had mistook the truck for competition and charged it. The dent was just one more in the ranch truck’s collection, but now the passenger door wouldn’t open.
“You’ll have to slide in from the other side.” She gave him a dubious stare but followed as he walked to the driver’s door and jerked it open. She looked at the truck, then at him. “What?”
“Where do you propose I sit?”
He squinted into the shadowed interior and felt his ears heat. Reaching in, he pushed tools, receipts, soda cans, and bits of baling wire to the floorboard with a brush ofhis arm. “Well, excuse me, princess. I wasn’t expecting royalty or I’d have brought ’round the Bentley.”
It was her turn to redden, and he enjoyed the view as she flounced into the cab and scooted to the far door. He climbed in, pulled off his hat, and hung it on the shotgun rack in the back window.
She moved as far away as possible, cranked down the window, and rested her arm on the sill. The engine fired with only a prolonged crank. They rolled down the dirt drive, and when the truck hit the asphalt, she dropped her chin on her arm and closed her eyes.
The scattered freckles on her cheeks stood out against her translucent skin. The dark circles beneath her eyes attested to the kind of tired that comes from long nights that don’t have much to do with sleep.
“I’m sorry about your dad.” She sounded sincere.
His knuckles on the steering wheel whitened. “Thanks.”
“You must miss him. Were you and he close?”
“Yep.”
“What was he like?”
He spit the toothpick out the window. “He was a Western cattleman. Out here, that means stubborn, hardworking, and an eternal optimist.”
“Wyatt says you’re a lot like him, but he doesn’t say it like it’s a good thing.”
Max kept his eyes on the road. “He was a hard man. The gene pool got watered down by the time it got to me.”
A snort from his right. “Was he a good dad?”
“To me he was.” Her hair swirled in the wind, bringing him the smell of lemons.
“Is your dad the reason Wyatt left?”
He reached in front of her. She
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