Page 2 of The Cowboy's Close Quarters Claim

"Your herdsman. Name's Clementine." I don't bother reaching to shake the boss's hand, and he doesn't reach for mine.

"Better get moving." I set my jaw to match the irritation I see in his. "We're off to a late enough start already."

With a quick tug on the reins in my hand, I turn my horse and head up the hill trail without waiting on him.

This is his land, I'm sure he knows where we're headed without me having to wait on him any longer than I already have.

Gunner

From the south gate,I can see another rider waiting on me up at the trailhead aways off yet.

Makes me feel like a straggler, whatwith getting a late start with the sun already rising over the mountains. But Archer didn't bother calling me till I'd already gotten busy with something else this morning, so I had to throw my gear together last minute.

Seeing as how my younger brothers have their hands busy with the late calves and the usual shit that needs done around the ranch, that leaves me to head up to the high camp to round up the strays that have already wandered over the border of the land. Someone has to get up there and bring 'em back before they end up wearing the Ralston brand when we're not looking.

Making my way through the shallow beds of the lower branches of the river delta that crisscross our land, I start to make out the details of my companion.

Instead of finding Josh or Ronny, or any of the other hands I know to be reliable and competent from sharing seasons of working in the elements together, a woman sits in the saddle atop a solid-looking Appaloosa, watching me with a stern eye as I draw up close to her.

Two thick braids hang over her shoulders in a warm, honey color with the paint-brush tips brushing the peaks of a set of heavy breasts constrained under a thick, long sleeve, thermal with a puffy, down vest hiding most of their glory.

The oatmeal-colored, waffle fabric is tucked into the waist band of a pair of heavy, cotton-duck cargo pants in a practical olive green and the boots sitting in the stirrups look like they've been broken-in well.

Eyes I can't make out the color of take me in from under the brim of her hat as I draw up to her, and from the creases I can see at the corners, I'd say she's sizing me up same as I am her.

The woman eyeing me doesn't smile when I lift the crown of my hat in greeting. If anything, the firm set of her jaw hardens and the squint of her eyes narrows.

Not exactly the reaction I'm used to getting from the ladies. Not around town, and not on my own ranch.

"You Gunner?"

Her voice is throaty; sultry, with a hint of a rasp to it that has my adolescent fantasies of Jessica Rabbit boiling up to the surface in the worst of ways.

"Yes ma'am," I confirm. "Afraid you have me at a disadvantage, here. Who might you be?"

"Your herdsman." She deadpans without a hint of a smile on a pair of lips that definitely deserves one; the sleepy, satisfied kind that comes from being properly taken care of by a man who knows what he's doing.

"Name's Clementine."

Well, oh my darling.

That's all she says before she picks the reins up and pulls them gently to one side, urging the horse into a turn and picking up speed with a gentle touch of her heels to its flanks.

She leaves me frozen in my own saddle for a moment, watching her curvy ass bouncing gently as she starts the climb up the worn trail that winds into the hills, with the dogs following alongside her.

Ranger said he'd hired someone new, but it hadn't occurred to me that me that "Clem" would turn out to be a gorgeous blonde with thick curves and an attitude that would have my dick perking up like a dog at dinner time.

I don't like it. I don't like it at all. It's damned inconvenient riding with a hard-on and it's a piss-poor idea to be camped in the hills with an employee you're attracted to.

Cursing my oldest brother, I tap my heels and head on up after her.

Dad died during calving season-- the ornery SOB. Things are hectic enough around here this time of year, Dad's passing has thrown us all into overdrive-- even though we knew it was coming. It's not like I can begrudge the man; he fought the cancer for a good five years before it finally got him. These last months were hard on all of us-- watching someone as tough asDad waste away before your eyes was hard to watch. By the time we said our final goodbyes, I think we were all relieved to see his suffering end.

Now I've got my asshole big brother micro-managing operations from somewhere out in Houston. That fucker turned his back on the ranch, the family, and Slow River altogether when he left town ten years ago.

I understand that our father wanted us boys to work this land together after he was gone, and I know he made Ranger promise to be involved again but we don't need him back here.

I sure as hell don't need him hiring staff without running it by me first. He needs to get it out of his head that he's going to take over the job I've been doing for the last decade without him just because he's the oldest of us boys-- or because he promised Dad that he'd get his ass back on the ranch.

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