Montana Blue. Genell Dellin

“and there’s no seventh-generation Campbell to carry it on.”

      He grunted and took another drag on the cigarette.

      “Ironic, isn’t it?”

      She nodded.

      “The bloodline is everything,” he said. “Besides, a woman could never manage this ranch in a million years of trying.”

      Anger flashed through her amazement to flare in her voice.

      “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want anything from you,” she said. “I wish I’d never asked you to help us this time, but here we are.”

      “That’s why I’m helping you now,” he said. “You put yourself through college and took care of a baby and graduated veterinary school and wouldn’t take money when your mother offered it. I respect that kind of guts.”

      “Then respect my need to see Shane in the morning.”

      “No. A week with nobody fawning over him will work wonders.”

      “A week! You said overnight! I never thought you’d leave him so long! That’s way too long…”

      “It’ll help make a man out of him. Every boy needs a time as a kid when he’s scared shitless and has nobody to depend on but himself.”

      “You justify everything you do,” she snapped. “You could justify torture or rustling or murder for your own purposes. You’ve always done that!”

      He shrugged and deliberately crossed one leg over his knee to put out his cigarette on the sole of his boot.

      He had said a week when they first got back. When he’d told her to forget Shane for a week and find something to make her smile. She just hadn’t really heard it then.

      “So. You can’t resist being the great dictator. I ought to leave here.”

      “I thought we settled that, Andie.”

      “I never said so. You always assume that when you make a decree everybody else agrees.”

      “Because I’m always right,” he said. “Now calm down and go on up to bed. Get some sleep. The week’ll be gone before you know it.”

      She wanted nothing more than to leave him, but she sat stubbornly in her place and pushed the swing into motion with her toe.