Page 4 of The Cowboy's Close Quarters Claim

While Gunner takes care of the horses, I carry my pack into the eight by ten-foot shack that's been constructed at one end of the area. There's no lock on the door and, once I'm sure the interior is free of snakes, opossums, and other unwelcome roommates, I drop my bag on the floor and get my bearings.

Not that there's much to the place.

It's a simple, wooden structure with unfinished walls that show off the two by four framing and the fact that there's not an ounce of insulation in them. A small, wood-burning stove sits in the corner beside the door and a simple window is cut into the back wall.

There's a loft overhead that would fit one person-- two if they were friendly-- but the loft is being used for storage, with several large bins shoved onto the platform.

That leaves the floor for me to call home for the next couple of nights, or however long it takes us to bring the Delta O cattle off the neighbor's land and get the fence between the ranches repaired.

Word is that the Flying R, the ranch that borders us to the south, is owned by a family with a dirty history in these parts.

Getting the fence repaired is a top priority. Apparently, no one wants to tangle with the Ralstons.

Gunner

Dammit.Why'd she have to go bring up her boobs?

It's hard enough to keep myself from leering at her like a hungry coyote. How's a man supposed to keep himself in check when she's gotta go bringing attention to those curves of hers.

That crack about preferring my brother's company to mine has me seeing red. It's like the mere thought of this feisty little filly aiming that sharp tongue at any man but me has me ready to haul her over my shoulder and carry her off somewhere I can keep her all to myself till she knows she's mine.

Just as well that we've been using the shelter for storage for the last few seasons; gives me a fine excuse to bed down out here under the stars by the fire.

Being cooped up in such close quarters with that woman for any length of time would likely be the death of me.

It doesn't take long for me to get my bags unpacked and my gear set up. The warm summer weather means I left the tent at home, so it's just a matter of laying out the simple bed roll near the fire ring with my spare clothes and other essentials in the bag next to my pillow.

Clem hasn't come back out of the shed by the time I'm done, so I don't bother calling on her to come out and join me while I hunt up some firewood and have a look at the fence repairs we'll be faced with first thing in the morning.

Heaven knows, I can use the time to myself. Give me a chance to put some space between me and that woman before I lose my damn mind and do something stupid.

Checking on the fence that separates our land from the Flying R, I find two entire sections down, but nothing so bad that it'll take more parts than we brought with us.

Our cattle, on the other hand, looks to be another matter.

Even with the late sunsets this time of year, it's too late in the afternoon to go after the ruddy brown spots dotting the low land where one of Slow River's many distributary forks winds out of the hills through the neighboring ranch.

I do my best to take a head count, not happy at all about seeing our cattle on Ralston land and even less happy about having to leave them there another night.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, I turn away from the busted fence and find a downed tree that looks good enough to give us a few fires.

By the time I get back to camp with an armful of firewood, Clem's already got a fire going. A stack of wood a few feet from the rock ring and a grill set across a couple of rocks that'll be just the right height from the coals for cooking as soon as the fire has a chance to burn down a bit.

"Wondered where you went," she grumbles at me when I drop my contribution to the fire wood on top of the neat stack she's made.

The falling wood makes a loud clatter, scattering the pile of logs as it lands.

"Thought I'd gather up some wood for the fire," I grumble back at her, not missing the smirk she's fighting to keep off that smart mouth of hers. "Thought you were takin' a nap or something in there."

Gesturing at the shack with a jerk of my thumb, I do my best not to give her the satisfaction of being able to read my face rightnow. The last thing I need is for this woman to know just how much she gets to me-- or how.

Truth is, I'm damn impressed with her so far-- and not just the way she has my mind all scrambled and my body reacting like a school boy.

So far, she's proven to be competent enough, from being ready early to getting the fire going-- and gathering up that wood, where ever she found it.

"Awww, what's wrong, O'Leary? Did I threaten your manhood by knowing how to start a fire?"

Keeping my back to her so she can't see the grin on my face, I crouch down and pull my dinner from my bag.

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