LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Are you all right?” His hands shook her, clasping her firmly as if he would support her entire body by the hold he had taken on her upper arms.

      She blinked, roused from her soul-searching, and met his gaze with what she grimly hoped was a sensible smile of accord.

      “I’m fine, Mr. McPherson. Just fine.” Her spine held her erect as she stepped back from him, her flesh cooling as his hands slid to his sides.

      She was too tempting by far, this piece of womanhood he’d brought into his home. Cord’s mouth tightened as he considered his folly, not to mention his carelessness in shedding his shirt in her presence. And so his measuring glance was harsh, his words a warning.

      “They’re old scars, Rachel. Too old to worry about now, and none of your concern.”

      She lowered her lashes until she could no longer see his upper body, and she concentrated on his words, as if unwilling to meet his gaze any longer. “You’re right. I made a fuss over nothing. I’ll tend to my own business from now on.”

      She watched his hand clench into a fist, there at his side, and then his fingers flexed and he rested his palm flat against his thigh.

      “You’d better soak that shirt or the coffee will stain it,” he said, grumbling the order as he turned away.

      “Yes…” Her whisper followed him, as did her bewildered glance, looking up from the clean, wide boards of the kitchen floor as he allowed the screen door to slam behind himself.

      

      A clod of dirt received a swift kick, his hat was mercilessly swatted against his thigh, and words his mama had never taught him spewed forth from Cord’s mouth in a muttered litany. Each stride was a thudding release of the anger he directed at himself, jarring his teeth as he clenched his jaw.

      “Shamus!” The roar was almost enough to rattle the rafters in the big barn. From inside, a growling reply met Cord’s ears and he halted in the wide doorway.

      “You needn’t scare the bejabbers out of the mare, McPherson.” Bending over a hind hoof, Shamus Quinn spoke around the nails he held between his teeth. Beyond him, the mare turned to look at the noisy intruder, her placid manner belying the fright attributed to her by the man fitting her with the last of her new shoes.

      Cord cocked one hip, his fist resting against the angle, his abused hat tugged low over his forehead. “When are you gonna learn who’s boss here?” he snarled, his jaw jutting fiercely.

      Spitting the nails he held in his mouth into his palm, Shamus dropped them into the front pocket of the leather apron he wore. Lowering the mare’s foot to the earthen floor, he eased his back, stretching to one side, then the other.

      “Don’t know as I’ve got a problem with that, McPherson.” His sandy hair was a riot of curls atop his head, and one hand rubbed slowly over the thick mat as he eyed his employer. His bowlegged stance and sunleathered skin proclaimed him a horseman, but the ease with which he handled the mare added credence to that title.

      “Thought I told you to see to the new stud next.” Cord’s words were harsher than he’d intended, his ire easing as he watched the man who’d been his friend since childhood.

      Shamus nodded. “So you did.” Moving back to the mare’s side, he lifted her foot and rested it against his leg.

      “Hold still, girl,” Shamus murmured to the horse. “We’re about done with you.” With ease, he worked at the shoe, fitting it carefully, his pliers nipping at the exposed nails.

      “I’m wanting to ride him today.” Cord’s voice had resumed a normal volume and Shamus cast him a sidelong glance.

      “He’s ready for you. I took care of him first thing when I got up. Before breakfast in fact.” Easing the mare’s foot to the floor, Shamus stepped back. “You sure hirin’ that gal on was a good idea?”

      Cord’s eyes narrowed. “What does Rachel have to do with anything?”

      The other man shrugged. “Dunno.” He peered at Cord, a grin edging his mouth. “Seems like you been on edge ever since she got here yesterday. Havin’ a female around ain’t good for you. It makes you ornery. S’pose maybe you need a trip to town?”

      Cord’s glance was fierce, his demeanor defensive. “We needed a cook. Sam’s got his hands full with Jake.” He frowned, thinking of his brother. “I haven’t taken time to see him yet today. Right now I need to get the rest of the calves penned up for branding this afternoon.”

      He thought of the woman he’d left in the kitchen. To beat all, he’d snarled at her and stomped off in a fit of temper. He didn’t need a woman fussing over him, even though the thought of Rachel’s slim fingers brushing against the old, silvered scars he bore made him shiver involuntarily.

      Just as well he’d snapped at her. She was too good a cook to lose, and if he let his urges loose on her, she’d be hightailing it up the road, sure as the world.

      Shamus was on his way to the back of the barn with the mare, and Cord followed him. “Bring me my saddle from the tack room,” he called, halting before the big box stall enclosing his new stallion. The horse eyed him cautiously, then bobbed his head and approached, stretching out his neck and flaring his nostrils.

      Cord’s big hand snagged the leather halter and drew the animal closer. “Remember me, boy?” His voice was low, his movements easy. “We’re gonna get on just fine, you and me.”

      Easing open the door of the stall, he led the stud through the opening, snatching up a bridle from a hook on the outside of the enclosure.

      His hands were deft as he exchanged the halter for the bridle and bit, dropping the reins to the ground as he worked. From the rear of the barn, Shamus whistled tunelessly inside the tack room. And then the door closed behind him as he headed back up the broad aisle to where Cord waited.

      “Buck and Jamie been sortin’ out the last of the calves. I think that holdin’ pen’s about full already. They’ve been at it a while now, since right after breakfast.”

      “I’ll check it out,” Cord answered, swinging his saddle to rest on the broad back of the stud with a lithe movement.

      “Jake under the weather?” Shamus’s question was carefully casual. “He wasn’t around for supper last night and Sam didn’t mention him this morning.”

      “Just a bad spell,” Cord muttered. “He gets in a mood and won’t eat. Sam just has to let him get past it on his own.”

      “What does your new cook think about takin’ care of him?” Shamus asked guardedly.

      Cord lifted into the saddle. “She doesn’t know about him yet, and she won’t be doin’ the takin’ care of anyway. I’ll talk to her at dinnertime.”

      Shamus grunted his displeasure. “You better hope he doesn’t take to havin’ a tantrum in there.” His head nodded at the big house. “She’ll be skedaddlin’ to town faster than you can blink.”

      His chuckle was low and his eyes lit with humor. “Damn, that gal sure can bake up a good pan of biscuits, McPherson. You better hang on to her.”

      His stallion sidestepped in a skittish dance as Cord cleared the barn door and he held the reins firmly, his voice low as he spoke to the animal. Beside the corral fence, Rachel’s brothers watched, wide-eyed as the big horse vied for control with the man atop his back.

      “You boys lookin’ for a job to do?” Cord called out.

      Henry nodded. “Yessir, we can help out. Rachel said we were to pitch in.”

      “Go inside the barn and tell Shamus I sent you. He’ll put you to work gatherin’ the eggs and tendin’ to the chickens.”

      Henry’s smile lost its shine. “I thought maybe we could help with the horses, sir.”

      “Start

Скачать книгу