Page 17 of Wyoming Heart

Cousin Rogan had said that she needed at least one full-time man on the ranch, and she agreed that she did. But it would be expensive to hire somebody, and she wasn’t about to trust her purebred bulls to just some person she knew from a newspaper or trade advertisement. Still, she could afford it now, with the money from the new contract and what she’d get, hopefully, from her yearling bull crop.

Maybe Bart knew of somebody local who’d be a good hire. She wanted somebody trustworthy.

It was a beautiful day, if cold. Mid-March, and her cows would be calving soon, to take advantage of the spring grass, which would hopefully come after the ankle-deep snow melted. The weather was getting warmer. She could see snow melting where the sun hit it, although it was still covering the ground in the shade. Snow in Wyoming was nothing unusual, even up until April or May. But it had been a rather warm winter, all the same.

She came to a gate that sat on the boundary between her land and Bart’s. She dismounted to open it, led Sand through and closed it back. People who left gates open were severely punished in ranch country. Straying cattle could get expensive, especially if they spilled out onto a highway and caused accidents.

She looked around for her cousin. He was supposed to be showing a visiting rancher around, hoping to sell some young bulls. She didn’t want to interrupt him, but it was late morning and he’d probably gotten through his business already. She was going to invite him for lunch. She’d made a tuna salad and put it in the fridge. She could offer him sandwiches and coffee.

Then she remembered his houseguest. Well, the awful man had gone home with the happy divorcée the night before. He might have stayed for lunch. Odd, how it stung to think of him with the glitzy woman. He was jaded and sarcastic and unpleasant, so why should she care if he slept around?

She turned Sand in the general direction of Bart’s house. On the way, she came across a lone calf, lying in the snow.

She climbed down and left Sand’s reins trailing while she went to check the little creature for injuries. There were wolves in the territory who sometimes preyed on lone calves. The result could be horrible, because sometimes the calves were left alive after such an attack.

As she bent down, she heard hooves hitting ground and other hooves, galloping. She ignored both as her practiced, gloved hands slid over the little creature, looking for injuries. It stirred and looked up at her just as a charging cow with horns was diverted by a man on horseback.

“Get the hell away from it!” he shouted.

Shocked at his tone and his skill with the cutting horse, she backed away, toward Sand. The calf got to its feet and ran, bleating, to the cow, obviously its mother. She gave the humans a huffy snort and trotted off, after a feint that the horseman parried neatly.

She was still getting her breath when the horseman abruptly dismounted and stalked toward her.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he raged, raising his voice angrily. “The cow was charging, you damned fool!”

She shivered and backed away from him, keeping her white face lowered. The man was Bart’s horrible houseguest, his cousin from Texas.

She backed even more. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she wasn’t seeing Cort Grier. She was seeing Henry, hearing Henry, waiting for his fist to connect with her, for the belt to come down. She was feeling the pain already, because shouting always brought back the horrible memories of her childhood, of the men her mother brought home...

Cort stopped short when he realized how frightened she was. He scowled. He’d never seen a woman react like that. He wondered who she was. With her head lowered to her chest, her arms crossed over her face, he hadn’t recognized her. Who was she and what was she doing on his cousin’s ranch?

“It’s all right,” he said, his voice dropping to a softness she’d never heard in it. He moved toward her slowly. “I’ve never hit a woman in my life,” he added gently.

She took a deep breath, then another. Her arms came down. She bit her lower lip, still nervous of him and unable to hide it.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him from under the brim of her hat, her face still pale, her big brown eyes wide with leftover fear.

He frowned as he suddenly recognized her. This was Bart’s friend, the woman from town who’d stomped on his foot, the woman dressed in a sale rack dress from the party last night. She was wearing boots and riding a horse, the beautiful palomino that was obviously hers.

“You’re Bart’s friend,” he said, not moving any closer. She still looked intimidated by him.

She nodded. She swallowed, hard. Her weakness showed, to her worst enemy. She was ashamed and embarrassed. She swallowed again.

He studied her quietly, his horse’s reins held lightly in one hand. “What were you doing here?” he asked belatedly.

She had to try twice to get her choked voice to work. “I saw the calf down,” she managed. “I was checking it for injuries. We have wolf packs around here. Sometimes they prey on our herds when they can’t find anything else to hunt.”

“The calf was separated from its mother because we were checking the herd and it scattered,” he explained.

She looked up at him, still pale but faintly defiant. “And now I know that, don’t I?” she asked.

He moved a step closer. She didn’t back away, but she looked nervous. She looked fragile, vulnerable, with her long, blond-streaked brown hair loose around her shoulders under the cowboy hat. It was a worn hat, like her stained, warped boots.

“You know about cattle,” he said after a minute.

She nodded. “I own the ranch next door,” she said. “I have purebred bulls, just like Bart does. We have production sales jointly. I was coming over to talk to him about it.”

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