Nothing Sweeter (Sweet on a Cowboy) (2 page)

2

M
ax leaned on the pitchfork and wiped sweat out of his eye with his sleeve. He pushed his straw Stetson back, looking at the mess in the barn breezeway. He’d flipped Wyatt over the day’s jobs, and Wyatt laughed when he chose the books, thinking Max had lost.

Shoveling shit is less depressing than wallowing in red ink all afternoon.

The past two hours he’d worked his way down the corridor, throwing soiled bedding from stalls into the aisle and laying new straw. Now he just had to bring the Bobcat around and push everything out the door. The ripe miasma of hot manure hung like a fog in the air. This job was
not
his career plan. He couldn’t wait to hire somebody to take over.

“Hello?”

When he looked up, the brightness of the barnyard almost blinded him, but there was no mistaking the sleek feminine line of those long legs.

“Can you tell me where I can find your manager?”

He had to give her credit. Though she avoided the
reeking mess in the aisle, she neither minced steps nor held her nose, glancing into each stall she passed.

Creamy skin and high cheekbones spoke of good bloodlines. Curly hair the color of a chestnut’s mane floated around her shoulders. Damn, red hair wasn’t a dominant gene. So why did it keep cropping up in his life?

Sweet Jesus
. He winced. When he realized he was staring at the angry scar on her graceful neck—and noticed that she noticed—he moved on to the fancy Saturday-night-go-to-town shirt. He propped the pitchfork against the stall door and wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans.

“You found the manager. Are you here about boarding your horse?”

“No, sorry.” She pulled a folded newspaper from her back pocket. “I read you were looking for a groom,” she said in a perky interview voice.

In that getup?
He gestured to the corridor. “As you can see, we need one.”

She put out a slim hand. “Aubrey Tanner.”

“Max Jameson.” Taking her hand, he let his eyes roam from the shiny new boots on up. “It’s not a job you’ll want.”
This is a waste of time, but I need a break.
The scent of fresh lemon drifted to him.
And she smells a damn sight better than manure
. Besides, he could use this as practice for that kinder-and-gentler thing. “Sorry. Strike that. Let’s go sit.” He turned and led the way to the doorway in the center of the building.

They had to cross the tack room to get to the office. Dusty saddles straddled sawhorses, and more lay sprawled on the dirty tile floor. A few bridles hung from pegs, but he didn’t even want to know what was in the pile in the corner, a snake’s nest of dirty leather.

The office wasn’t much better. He lifted a stack of battered
Western Horseman
magazines from the folding chair beside the WWII-era metal desk. He gestured for her to have a seat and then walked behind it.

“Our last groom ran out on us. Literally.” The torn leather chair let out an alarming squeal when he dropped his butt in it.

She perched at the edge of the metal chair. “I worked as a groom at an English riding stable on the outskirts of Phoenix for four years.”

“This is a working cattle ranch as well as a boarding barn. Our groom fills in as a cowhand during branding, castrating, and such. It’s not a job for a woman.”
Especially another good-looking redhead. The last one about did me in.

She leaned forward, her back fence-pole straight. “I can handle myself around animals, and I’m stronger than I look.”

His interest caught on the frayed-wire undertone of desperation in her voice. Why so twitchy and nervous for a job as a stable hand? While she recited her skills, he studied her. Those smooth hands weren’t kin to manual labor. Her delivery was straightforward, yet she was clearly hiding something. She dressed like a rich client, yet she wanted a groom’s position. The red hair reminded him of Jo, but nothing else did. A trickle of interest seeped into a tiny crack in his wall of chronic vexation.

She finished and sat looking at him, chin thrust forward.

“Okay.” He lifted himself from the rickety chair. “Let’s see what you can do.”

Her brows scrunched. “Okay.” She stretched the word like warm taffy.

Wyatt stepped from the back door of the house and took a deep breath. “Thank God that’s over.” Maybe Max had won the better chore after all. His wrestling match with the bottom line yielded worse results than Wyatt had feared. If something didn’t change soon, making the payroll would be a stretch by summer’s end.

He rolled his shoulders. A ride would serve two purposes. He could finish checking the herd and clear the smell of failure out of his sinuses.
If Max is napping instead of cleaning the stable, he’s vulture bait.

Walking to the barn, Wyatt noticed a mud-spattered red Jeep parked in the deserted dooryard. Monday afternoons were quiet. Most boarders worked days, and the crew had left before dawn to work fence. He stepped into the gloom of the barn and stood a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. His brother was nowhere in sight, but Max’s black-and-white paint stallion, Trouble, stood cross tied in the aisle.

He raised his voice. “Max, why didn’t you clean this mess before you got Trouble out?” He walked the aisle, watching where he put his feet. “Why
is
he out, anyway?”

A woman stepped from the tack room, a battered forward-seat saddle over her arm. She crossed to the stallion and tossed the saddle over its back.

Max barreled from a stall farther down the aisle. “What in holy hell!” Trouble sidestepped and reared, dumping the saddle in a pile of fresh droppings. Max ran up. Trouble danced, head thrown up, eyes rolling. Catching the horse’s halter, the woman rubbed his forelock, speaking in undertones until he calmed.

“What possessed you to put English tack on my horse,
woman?” Max said in the Donald Trump “you’re fired” voice that had scared off the last groom.

She flushed. “I don’t know how to tie the girth on a Western saddle. I worked at an English show barn and—”

“Wyatt, meet Aubrey Tanner. She’s applying as a stable hand.”

Wyatt hadn’t thought the woman could blush deeper, but Max’s tone did it.

He took pity. “Ms. Tanner, please excuse my brother. Our father passed away not long ago, and Max has been out of sorts. Would you mind giving us a moment? If you’ll just wait by the paddock, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Staring daggers at Max, she turned and stalked away.

She was barely out of earshot when Max started in. “Wyatt, this ranch needs new fences, repairs, more boarders. It makes no sense to hire some city cupcake who doesn’t know how to tack a horse. God, she looks like a Friday-night buckle bunny!”

“Listen, Max, you pigheaded idiot.” Wyatt held a finger inches from his older brother’s nose. “One. You’re the jerk who chased off the last stable hand.” Max tried to interrupt, but Wyatt was only getting started.

He put up a second finger. “Two. No one in town wants to work for you. That ad has run all week and we haven’t had one applicant. And after going over the numbers this afternoon, we don’t have any time to waste.”

“Hell, Wyatt—”

“Third. If you’d pull your head out of your behind, you’d see that this girl knows what she’s doing.” He gestured to the stallion. “Look at your horse.” Trouble’s coat gleamed, and even his hooves had a shiny coat of black polish. “I can’t believe you gave her a stallion to work on.
You know as well as I that your cowhands wouldn’t have succeeded in getting him in the crosstie, much less picking up his hooves. But she did. At least until you came out here bellowing.”

Max sputtered. “I—”

“Just shut up and think a minute. If we open as a guest ranch, you can’t see the advantage of having a female employee? Especially one who looks like that? She could do a commercial as the ‘girl next door.’ It won’t hurt to have a view of more than the mountains for the male guests, you know.”

Max glared. “I haven’t agreed to your hair-ball dude-ranch idea. Dad’s having a heart attack in heaven, and you damn well know it.”

“Hey, if you’ve got a better idea for putting this ranch in the black, throw it out, bro.” He stood tall, crossed his arms, and stared his brother down. “Okay, Max. If you don’t want her, you go tell her. You’re the one who interviewed her.”

Trouble put his nose on Max’s shoulder and blew a warm breath in his ear. “Don’t you start on me too. You’re a guy. Guys don’t get pedicures. You oughta be ashamed.” He walked the aisle, but hesitated in the shadow of the barn door.

The woman stood at the paddock gate, frowning out at the sage-covered plain he felt sure she didn’t see. Resting a manure-encrusted shiny new boot on the bottom rail, she afforded him a great view of a slim backside in the snug, store-creased jeans. That damned wavy auburn hair lifted in the breeze. Bad enough he had to accept Jo—
his
Jo—married and settled with Trey Colburn. Could he stand walking around corners every day, having that red hair give him a cattle prod shot below the gut?

Yet as much as he hated it, Wyatt might have a point. If they were forced to turn the place into a “yuppie ranch” to keep the land, a female employee would be an asset.

As she turned her face, the wind blew her hair back. He recognized the “I will” set to her jaw. Maybe she had the stubbornness to survive out here.

He snorted.
Yeah, right
. Everything about her screamed “city.” He expected she’d scoot at the first cold snap. This land didn’t suffer fools, in spite of his brother’s plans.

Well, there’s enough starch in those new clothes. Let’s see if there’s any in what’s inside ’em.

Aubrey crossed her arms, chest tight, anger hissing through her. Wyatt seemed nice, but his brother was a cowboy Cro-Magnon. Even his father’s death was no excuse for total lack of professionalism or the manners of a baboon. She’d give Wyatt the courtesy of a goodbye, but then she was in the wind. Jackson Hole came next on her list, and she’d always wanted to see Wyoming.

“You have a résumé?”

At the sound of the gruff voice, she turned to face the jerk, happy to vent some belated comebacks. “To clean stalls? You’ve got to be joking. I don’t need your job, Dude.” She scanned the dilapidated buildings. “Besides, anyone can see this place is running like a well-oiled machine.”

He grinned and tucked his hands in his back pockets. “Well. There’s a little roar in the mouse after all.”

The abrupt mood shift caught Aubrey flat-footed, as did the transformation the smile made to his stony features. Animal attraction hit her like a slap. She took a step back, snapped her mouth closed, and narrowed her eyes. With that lanky build and rugged good looks, he probably
charmed the hell out of country girls. She continued the stare down, which was more like a stare up, as he was at least six inches taller.

“Look, I’m sorry. Wyatt has a point. Maybe my father’s death affected me more than I realized.”

She wasn’t buying his line or the ingratiating look. He had no way of knowing that she’d learned about manipulation at the feet of the master, her scum-sucking former boss, Vic. More than once she’d seen him charm a ticked-off customer into apologizing for being rude. She ignored the stab of regret for her lost career and focused on the current irritant. “You used to sell used cars, didn’t you?”

Wyatt walked up, relaxed and smiling. “Believe it or not, he’s sincere. I’ve known him all his life. Trust me on this.”

She glanced between the two men. It was hard to believe they were related. Wyatt was tall and fine boned, with blond hair, fair skin, and features blurred by softness in his cheeks and mouth. Max was the darkness to his light, with sable hair, brown eyes, and cheekbones as strong as the mountains that rimmed the horizon.

His gaze settled on her face, his intent focus warming it like the heat from the sun. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover her body’s involuntary reaction. The guy fairly exuded testosterone—heady stuff to a girl who’d been locked up with women for a year. “Apology accepted. But be advised, my horseshit detector is set to high.”

“Fair enough. I’ll stop shoveling it.” With a last lingering look and a potent smile, Max turned and sauntered into the barn.

Aubrey glanced to Wyatt, unsure of her footing again. The guy didn’t even say goodbye.

“He’s crude, but he does have some well-hidden charm.” Wyatt gave her a salesman-on-commission smile. “Want a cup of coffee? I’d like to talk to you about our plans. That is, if Max hasn’t scared you off.”

“He hasn’t,” she said with a quick glance to the barn.

Wyatt led the way toward a long, weathered building. Aubrey followed him across the dirt yard. No longer preoccupied with the stress of the interview, she studied her surroundings. High Heather Ranch was settled on the plain ten miles from town. She’d seen only one other ranch on the way out. Something seemed wrong until she recognized the silence. No traffic rumbled on a two-lane blacktop. All she heard was the soughing of wind and the cry of a hawk riding thermals overhead. The smell of sweet grass came on the wind, the scent of wildness and high, empty places. It whispered past her ear.
A place to heal
.

She glanced past the imposing fieldstone and timber main house to a knoll behind it, where two white grave markers explained the small wrought-iron enclosure. The mounded brown scar in the emerald carpet declared the family’s recent loss.

Wyatt’s long stride had left her behind, and she trotted to catch up.

3

W
yatt gestured for the “groom” to sit at one of the tables, then crossed the scuffed tile floor to an industrial coffeemaker on the counter.
Max is right about one thing. This woman fits in here about as much as I do.
He glanced to the hideous scar that the scarf at her neck didn’t quite hide. “We have ten hands at present. There used to be more.” He reached for the plain white stoneware mugs on the shelf. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, thanks.”

He carried the steaming cups to the long table and sat on the picnic-style bench across from her. “So, why did you leave your last job?”

Her mouth twisted as if she’d smelled something nasty. Her eyes flicked around the room. “Bad breakup. I needed a change.”

He started to ask another question, but she broke in.

“I worked at English riding stable in Arizona for four years. I can give you the phone number of the owner for a reference if you’d like.” She set down her mug with a
clunk
. “I can get a horse show ready in two and a half hours, including braiding mane and tail. A Western stable can’t be that much different. I can learn what I need to know in no time.”

“You don’t want to tell me about yourself?”

Her shoulders flinched before she straightened. “Sure. I’m a hard worker, and I’ll give you an honest day’s work for your wage.” She lifted the mug again and took a sip. “How did the ranch get a pretty name like High Heather?”

He’d allow the subject change. For now. “My great-grandfather, Jock Jameson, was a prizefighter. Family legend has it that he left Boston one night after making a bundle throwing a fight. In any case, he had the cash to buy land when he arrived.” He took a sip of coffee and licked his lips. “He said the blooming sage reminded him of Scotland, so he named it High Heather. It seems he had a bit of a soft spot, in spite of his violent career.” He straightened and looked her in the eye. “Before I waste your time, you need to know that this job pays minimum wage. Room and board is included. You get one full day off a week, or two afternoons, if you’d rather.”

“That’s fine.”

He waited, but that was all she had to say on the subject. “All right, then. Before you make up your mind, let me take you on a tour of the place.” He stood. “It’ll be easier to show you than to explain.” She stood, and at her nod he led the way to the dooryard.
Hiring her would solve the groom problem.
He wished he could rub out the small kernel of homesickness in his chest.
And the quicker I get this place settled, the quicker I can get home to Boston.
The kernel opened to a pit of loneliness.
And to Juan.

“We hope to open as a guest ranch.” He gestured to the
cluster of buildings that made up the ranch headquarters: the rambling fieldstone and timber main house, barns, corrals, and several buildings adjacent to the dining hall. “You can see there is a lot of work to be done.”

She scanned the yard. “If you don’t mind my saying so, your brother doesn’t seem as enthusiastic as you are about the project.”

He snorted. “Max is not a fan of change. He expected to live his life as a cattleman, as our father did.” He looked past the buildings at the scrub-filled grassland that stretched for miles. “But the demographics of the area have changed. The ski slopes brought wealthy tourists, who bought vacation homes. They’ve driven up the price of land, which jacked up the property taxes. Add to that the falling price of beef. Many ranchers are selling out, making more land open for development. It’s a vicious circle.” He turned to face her. “If you want the job, it’s yours.”

“But your brother—”

“Is an idiot and he’s short a groom. Don’t let him scare you off.”

Aubrey smiled and extended her hand. “I’ll take a chance on you, if you’ll do the same.”

Max needs someone to shake him out of his cave. I know him—he wouldn’t have reacted so rudely if this woman hadn’t threatened to get under his skin. This could be interesting.
They shook on it. “You’re certainly not going to fit in at the bunkhouse. We’ll put you up in a bedroom at the main house. Follow me.” He started off.

“I don’t think so.” Her voice was quiet and slow, but hard as frozen concrete.

He stopped and turned. “Pardon?”

When her face flamed, the ugly scar stood out in bold
relief. Her hands dove in her pockets, and she stuck out her chin. “I’ll just bunk in the barn.”

He frowned at her, head cocked. “Where? In a sleeping bag in the hayloft?”

“If you used to have a bigger crew, you’ve got to have an extra cot around here somewhere.”

Her panicked demeanor reminded him of a cornered animal.

“I can sleep in the office. I’ll clean it up, and with a stout lock, I’ll be fine.”

Her pleading look twisted Wyatt’s gut. She wasn’t going to budge. “All right, if that’s what you want.” He stood a moment, thinking. “There’s a restroom in the dining hall, but you’ll have to use the house to shower. Tia Nita is almost always there. She’s our cook, housekeeper, and the boss most of the time. I’ll take you up to the house later and introduce you.”

“Sounds like a plan. Is it okay if I go unpack now?”

Wyatt nodded and watched her walk to the Jeep. He had more questions than answers, but at least he and Max wouldn’t have to flip for
that
job anymore.

Her nose tickled. Aubrey grabbed a rag from her back pocket to cover an explosive sneeze. The past two hours spent cleaning had paid off. The office was now dust, cobweb, and vermin-free. She looked down. The same couldn’t be said for her. Good thing she’d changed the fancy interview outfit for a T-shirt and worn jeans.

Sun streamed through the now-sparkling window set high in the wall, lighting a snowstorm of dust motes on its way across the floor to hit her favorite watercolor on the opposite wall. Under the window sat a narrow iron-framed
cot that had been delivered by two shy, brown-skinned cowboys. She’d made it up with a Navajo blanket she’d found in a corner. The men had also carted off an ancient footlocker, trash, and other flotsam of her afternoon’s labor.

At the head of the bed, an ancient gooseneck lamp and her laptop were all that remained on the battered desk. She’d almost left the computer in her mother’s garage, but at the last minute gave in to the siren call of her old life.

Aubrey fisted her hands in the small of her back and groaned.
This room must have been a dump for every marginally useful piece of junk from the last twenty years.
Kneeling, she gathered a change of clothes from the suitcase she’d stowed under the cot. She had to find a bathroom—
soon.

Trotting to the main house, she ignored the men who dismounted shaggy cow ponies outside the corral. When no one answered her knock, she cupped her hand around her eyes, and putting her nose against the screen, she peered into the shadowed kitchen. Manners might dictate she wait, but her bladder commanded otherwise, so she opened the door and rushed in.

“Hello?” Her voice echoed back. Thinking it would be less rude to wander in without invitation than to pee on the floor, she barreled through the door to the entrance hall.

“Ooof.” Head turned, glancing through doorways, she collided with a solid chest. Bouncing off, she smacked into a hall table, dislodging a china pitcher. Max grabbed her upper arm to steady her, then caught the vase with his other hand.

He dropped her arm and replaced the pitcher, glaring at her all the while. “Who let you in?”

She rubbed her stinging hip as she clutched her change of clothes to her chest.

“I’ll explain everything. But first, for the love of God, where is the bathroom?”

He stepped aside and pointed to a door down the hall. She ran, hearing what might have been a muffled chuckle as she closed the door.

An hour later, Max knocked on the doorframe of what she already thought of as her room.

“Dinner is ready in fifteen min—wow.” He looked around the room, his glance stopping at the cot. “Who’s going to sleep here?”

Aubrey finished capturing her damp hair in a ponytail, adjusted the bandana at her neck, and turned from the tiny mirror she’d hung next to the door. “I am.”

The lines of his face morphed into the familiar stony mask. “We’ll see about that.” As his chest expanded, his gaze combed the room. “It smells like a damn beauty parlor in here.”

“Glade PlugIns.” She flounced by him. “The staple of any woman’s emergency kit.”

Outside, the sun hunkered at the horizon, washing the yard in soft gold. Several cow ponies stood drowsing in the corral. Aubrey walked a few steps ahead of Max, hoping to avoid an argument over her sleeping arrangements.

Laughter drifted from the open door of the dining hall, but everyone froze as they stepped inside. Her pulse sped up. Silence fell, and she paused, not sure what to say or do.

Before she could bolt, Max stepped alongside her. “Men, this is Bree, our new groom.”

“My name isn’t…” She’d always insisted people use
her given name. It was hard enough to be taken seriously as a businesswoman when you looked as wholesome as Sally Field. A flash of pain speared her gut. That world was gone. She’d dusted off her birth certificate to borrow her absent father’s surname, so why not a nickname? “Never mind.”

Max introduced her to each cowboy as they lounged, waiting to be called to dinner. Luis, Armando, Manny, Pedro. She worried about matching faces with names. All were tanned and tough-looking, wearing ranch uniforms of worn jeans, boots, and cotton shirts. They appeared of Latino or Indian descent and avoided her eye. She spotted Wyatt waving from across the room. Odd, but next to the real thing, Wyatt seemed a pale, city version of a cowboy. With his refined good looks and blond hair, he shone like gold among quartz.

She trailed Max to the kitchen, where a doughy Hispanic woman worked at a feverish pace, cutting tomatoes, flipping tortillas in a pan, and shredding cheese almost simultaneously.

Max came up from behind to lift the stout woman off her feet, hugging her tightly. Aubrey stood stunned. It was as if a roaring grizzly had suddenly turned playful. “And this is Juanita Peña, the real boss around here.”

“Maxie! You put me down.” He kissed her ear before complying. She swatted his arm with a wooden spoon.

He turned to Aubrey, playfulness gone so fast she felt delusional. “Tia Nita, this is Bree. She’ll be working for us.”

The round woman stared up in surprise. “Good to meet you, Miss Bree.
Mi hijo
, you take her to sit down. Dinner is ready in a few minutes.”

“Let me help you.” Aubrey reached for the cheese grater, but Max grabbed her forearm, tugging her away.

“She won’t let anyone help.” He led her from the kitchen to a table where Wyatt sat drinking iced tea.

Wyatt patted the bench next to him, inviting her to sit. “We’ve all tried to make Tia slow down, but she’s more stubborn than Max, if that’s possible.”

Max scowled. “You just think that because I don’t agree with you. If I’m stubborn, what does that make you, I wonder?” He rounded the end of the table to lower himself to the bench opposite them.

“It makes me correct.”

Max ignored his brother’s smug smile, put his elbows on the table and leaned in. “Wyatt, you should see the barn office. You won’t recognize it.” He arched a dark brow at Aubrey.

“That reminds me.” Wyatt dug in the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a key, which he handed to Aubrey. “Not that you’d have any problems, but I’m sure you’ll sleep better knowing you’re locked in.”

A rush of freedom blew through her like a strong breeze. Her fingers closed around the key. Not long ago, that scrap of metal represented power. Power she did not possess.

“She is
not
bunking in the stable.” Max’s face darkened. “It’s not safe. Or appropriate.” He glanced around the room. “She’s a beautiful woman, and town’s a long way off.”

Ignoring heat that was probably a blush, Aubrey snatched the gingham napkin beside her plate and shook it open with an irritated snap. “I happen to be present and am capable of answering for myself. I hardly think my
staying in the house with two single men would be seen as appropriate either.”

Max sputtered, “Tia Nita is nearby. You’d be safe.”

She glanced at the tawny skin at the top of his chest, exposed by his denim shirt. Lust filled her bloodstream and carried over to her nerve endings.
Maybe, but I’m not sure you would be.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine in the barn.” Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears, but no one was going to dictate where she slept. Ever again.

“Three mules in one harness. It will not be boring here, I think.” Tia Nita stood at the table’s edge, her arms laden with steaming plates. The two men jumped up to take them from her.

“
Venido!
Or I’ll throw it to the chickens!” she called to the cowboys, then shuffled back to the kitchen. The men bolted to the tables, elbowing one another for a seat. They hurried to pass bowls and dig in to heaping plates.

Max passed a plate of enchiladas to Aubrey. The corner of his mouth kicked up when her stomach growled.
First I almost wet my pants in front of him, and now…
She took a healthy portion. Others passed her plates of refried beans and Spanish rice.

At her first bite of enchilada, she closed her eyes to savor the rich, tangy flavor. Spices, pork, and smoky cheese blended into a flavor all its own. She made a contented sound deep in her throat and opened her eyes to Max’s frown. His gaze lingered on her lips.

Compared to where she’d been the last eight months, this guy was as scary as a kid dressed up for Halloween. She smiled at him. “That is heaven.”

“Tia Nita is the best cook in the county,” Wyatt said,
scooping food onto his plate. “Wait till you taste her pie. It’s better than sex.”

Max let out a derisive snort and forked a third of an enchilada into his mouth.

The diners seemed relaxed with each other, and as the brothers discussed ranch business, Aubrey listened. She learned the reason she hadn’t seen many cattle. The largest herd summered on the slopes of the mountains, to be brought closer in the fall, near the hay they’d need to survive the brutal Colorado winter storms.