cuts. That didn’t matter. If anything, she saw the stripes as badges of honor. Flushed with success, proud to contribute even in a small way, she knotted the second strip of rag next to her workmanship.
It waved in the wind like a flag of victory. Jess smiled at the sight before the sound of an approaching horse caught her attention. Someone was coming up fast. Jess had a fair idea who that someone was, but moved her hand to her holster just in case she was wrong.
She wasn’t. In no time at all, Tucker Carmichael pulled to a stop, glaring down at her from a massive black-spotted paint. The man didn’t even bother to dismount before he started in on her.
“Just what,” he gritted, “do you think you’re doing out here?”
Jess refused to let the irritable man ruin her good mood. For all she knew—and certainly from what she’d seen firsthand—the man was a perpetual grump. So she reached deep and dredged up a smile.
“Probably just what
you
think I’m doing. And I’m sure we can both take satisfaction in being proved right. So …”—she gestured toward her fine, fine workmanship and asked—“what do you think?”
Think?
Tucker blinked, caught off guard by her bright smile. It transformed her fine features, the laughing warmth making mere beauty something irresistible. That smile tugged at him, unraveling his iron control and filling his mind with unspeakable responses.
I don’t know how I ever mistook you for a man
. Sounded random.
I think if I undid your braid, those lush waves I saw last night would feel soft as corn silk
. If anything, even worse.
Tucker could feel time running out as she stared up at him, waiting for him to cobble together some sort of coherent answer. Her smile started to slip, and he fought a sudden need to bring it back. It struck him that he could do a better job of thinking straight if she stopped looking at him with those big, expectant brown eyes.
So he looked down, tracing the gesture she’d made toward the fence. But his gaze didn’t make it to the fence—he snagged on the sight of her hands. Red lines, some thin, some jagged and still bleeding, lashed around her wrists to creep across the backs of her hands. If he knew anything about barbed wire, her palms looked even worse.
Tucker stared until red spread across his vision.
She’s hurt
.
His own hands clenched into fists, fighting to keep from reaching out and grabbing her so he could see the worst of her injuries. Suddenly his thoughts narrowed to a single focus.
I promised her father I’d take care of her. I have to keep her safe, make her understand that she can’t put herself in dangerous situations
.
“I think you have a habit of doing things you have no business trying and showing up in places you know you don’t belong.”
“I belong here.” The spark in her eyes went cold. “I’ve
always
belonged here. Who do you think you are to say otherwise?”
“The foreman of the Bar None, same as I have been for half a decade.” Tucker found her far easier to handle when she went flinty. Smiles could addle a man’s thinking, but scowls kept him on track.
“Strange.” She wrinkled her nose as though rejecting something rancid. “I don’t remember ‘passing judgment on family members’ as part of the foreman’s responsibilities—or one of his privileges.”
“Good judgment is part of doing anything responsibly. I use mine just fine—you’re the one who’s ‘passing’ it by,” he shot back.
“You’re tangling my meaning, and you know it!” Her voice rose a notch. “It’s not your job to decide how or where I spend my time.”
No. It’s my job to keep you safe. Problem is, that means monitoring where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing for just about every minute until your brother gets back to take over
.
Tucker kept the thought to himself. It made no sense to stick a burr beneath the saddle of a bucking filly in need of breaking.
“I’m responsible for
It waved in the wind like a flag of victory. Jess smiled at the sight before the sound of an approaching horse caught her attention. Someone was coming up fast. Jess had a fair idea who that someone was, but moved her hand to her holster just in case she was wrong.
She wasn’t. In no time at all, Tucker Carmichael pulled to a stop, glaring down at her from a massive black-spotted paint. The man didn’t even bother to dismount before he started in on her.
“Just what,” he gritted, “do you think you’re doing out here?”
Jess refused to let the irritable man ruin her good mood. For all she knew—and certainly from what she’d seen firsthand—the man was a perpetual grump. So she reached deep and dredged up a smile.
“Probably just what
you
think I’m doing. And I’m sure we can both take satisfaction in being proved right. So …”—she gestured toward her fine, fine workmanship and asked—“what do you think?”
Think?
Tucker blinked, caught off guard by her bright smile. It transformed her fine features, the laughing warmth making mere beauty something irresistible. That smile tugged at him, unraveling his iron control and filling his mind with unspeakable responses.
I don’t know how I ever mistook you for a man
. Sounded random.
I think if I undid your braid, those lush waves I saw last night would feel soft as corn silk
. If anything, even worse.
Tucker could feel time running out as she stared up at him, waiting for him to cobble together some sort of coherent answer. Her smile started to slip, and he fought a sudden need to bring it back. It struck him that he could do a better job of thinking straight if she stopped looking at him with those big, expectant brown eyes.
So he looked down, tracing the gesture she’d made toward the fence. But his gaze didn’t make it to the fence—he snagged on the sight of her hands. Red lines, some thin, some jagged and still bleeding, lashed around her wrists to creep across the backs of her hands. If he knew anything about barbed wire, her palms looked even worse.
Tucker stared until red spread across his vision.
She’s hurt
.
His own hands clenched into fists, fighting to keep from reaching out and grabbing her so he could see the worst of her injuries. Suddenly his thoughts narrowed to a single focus.
I promised her father I’d take care of her. I have to keep her safe, make her understand that she can’t put herself in dangerous situations
.
“I think you have a habit of doing things you have no business trying and showing up in places you know you don’t belong.”
“I belong here.” The spark in her eyes went cold. “I’ve
always
belonged here. Who do you think you are to say otherwise?”
“The foreman of the Bar None, same as I have been for half a decade.” Tucker found her far easier to handle when she went flinty. Smiles could addle a man’s thinking, but scowls kept him on track.
“Strange.” She wrinkled her nose as though rejecting something rancid. “I don’t remember ‘passing judgment on family members’ as part of the foreman’s responsibilities—or one of his privileges.”
“Good judgment is part of doing anything responsibly. I use mine just fine—you’re the one who’s ‘passing’ it by,” he shot back.
“You’re tangling my meaning, and you know it!” Her voice rose a notch. “It’s not your job to decide how or where I spend my time.”
No. It’s my job to keep you safe. Problem is, that means monitoring where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing for just about every minute until your brother gets back to take over
.
Tucker kept the thought to himself. It made no sense to stick a burr beneath the saddle of a bucking filly in need of breaking.
“I’m responsible for
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