Fit To Be Frisked: Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire. Carol Finch

      “Sure, what else?” Vance said with a nonchalant shrug.

      When Vance ambled toward the string of horses tethered beside the gate Miranda glanced anxiously at Wade. “I’ve heard Vance is the practical joker of your family. He isn’t going to put me on the wildest bronc he’s got is he?”

      “Probably not. Most of his jokes are playful and harmless,” Wade assured her. “Like the time he left red construction paper hearts on my pickup seat while Laura was working as my temp housekeeper. Then he disguised his voice and called to say I’d won a honeymoon vacation to the Bahamas, long before we’d even had our first date.”

      “Or the time Vance stocked our honeymoon apartment with aphrodisiacs and left a bed as the only stick of furniture in the place,” Quint added wryly. “Then there were the Christmas lights he strung outside the apartment and glowing neon sign that read. Do Not Disturb.”

      “In high school there were the usual pranks of adding extra gas to our tanks to make us think we were getting great mileage and nailing our shoes to the floor,” Wade recalled.

      “Don’t forget that trick he pulled on the baseball coach with breath mints and water,” Quint reminded him. “The poor man’s mouth turned green while he was engaged in a heated dispute with the home-plate umpire.”

      “And there was the time on the rodeo circuit when Vance—” Wade clamped his mouth shut when Vance flashed him a silencing frown. “I guess the joker doesn’t want you to hear the list of his offenses.”

      Vance drew the paint pony to a halt in front of Miranda then glanced at his cousins. “Why don’t you round up the cattle in the west pasture while Randi and I bring in the herd from the south. We’ll take Frank with us.”

      When Wade and Quint mounted up, Miranda noted the ease with which they settled in their saddles. She doubted she’d look as relaxed on a horse.

      “Ready, Calamity Jane?” Vance asked, directing her attention to the stirrup. “Nothing to this. This horse is well trained to move cattle. All you have to do is stay aboard. Heaven forbid that you fall off and end up with a black eye, swollen jaw and knot on your noggin.”

      “About that knot,” she said as she approached the pinto mare. “It was an accident.”

      “Or an opportunity too good to pass up,” he said, and smirked.

      Miranda wheeled on him. “Look, pal, I’m going to do my level best to handle everything you throw at me this week and try to get along with you. So can we please get past that night at the tavern and serve this sentence as amicably as possible?”

      “Sure, just as soon as I get over that wisecrack about Peter Pan,” he said darkly. “I may be fun-loving, but I take proper care of my cattle, horses and ranch. Just because I try to inject enjoyment into my work doesn’t mean I shirk my duties and behave irresponsibly.”

      “I can see that you don’t,” Miranda assured him. “You have a well-manicured place that’s indicative of pride, hard work and commitment.”

      Her compliment took the defensiveness out of his stance and expression. He even smiled at her. Miranda wished he hadn’t because the woman in her responded instantaneously. Even with that black eye and discolored jaw she still found him absolutely irresistible.

      Enough of those inappropriate thoughts, she chastised herself. She turned to stuff her foot in the stirrup. Her body went on red alert when Vance clamped his hands around her waist to steady her and guide her onto her perch.

      When she glanced down he tipped back his head to stare at her with that endearing one-eyed squint. “Sorry, Officer, I wanted to make sure you got settled in the saddle without mishap.”

      “Well, uh, thanks.” Miranda yanked her attention away from those full, sensuous lips and toyed with the reins. “How many gears does this mare have?”

      “Just two.” He grinned wryly. “A plodding walk and a hell-for-leather gallop. Hold her to first gear and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

      Miranda watched Vance mount up with grace and experienced ease. The man was definitely in his element. She, however, was not. He probably wanted to see her fail—big-time. Wanted to see her swallow her pride and nurse a few bruises after she cartwheeled off the pinto and bit dust. He’d probably laugh his head off when she went flying. Well, she’d stick to this saddle like glue, she vowed resolutely. She’d already made a fool of herself in his presence more times that she cared to remember. She was not going to do it today.

      VANCE HAD TO ADMIT RANDI was a real trooper. Even when the cattle herd cut and ran and her pinto mare shot off to stop the stampede Randi held on tightly. Of course, her face turned baby-powder white and she clamped her teeth together in grim determination. But damn if he didn’t admire her for tackling the unfamiliar chores and attempting to do her very best.

      Things progressed without mishap until the Black Angus bull abruptly turned tail and headed for the creek. The bull, it seemed, decided he wasn’t in favor of being confined to the corral. He thundered toward Randi and her mare who stood directly in his escape route.

      “Oh, my God,” Randi squawked as the cantankerous bull charged toward her.

      The pinto reared up when the bull sideswiped it. Vance’s heart missed several vital beats while he watched Randi somersault backward over the horse’s rump. He nudged his sorrel gelding and raced toward her. Damn it, if he killed the chief’s niece on the first day he’d be penitentiary bound.

      Vance dismounted before his horse skidded to a stop and raced to Randi. She lay sprawled facedown in the grass, her breath coming in shallow hitches.

      “You okay?”

      “Don’t…know,” she wheezed. “Can’t breathe yet.”

      Vance liked the way she didn’t go into instant panic mode after she got the wind knocked out of her. She just lay there, waiting to get her breath back.

      He slid his arm around her shoulders, turned her over and eased her upright. “Put your head between your legs, cowgirl,” he murmured. “You’ll be fine.”

      “I’m lousy at this,” she choked out then did as he instructed. “Lousy cop, too.”

      “Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. That’s what I’m here for.”

      She raised her head and managed a wobbly smile.

      “I’ll probably make a lousy assistant cop while I’m riding with you. You’ll have your chance to poke fun.”

      He hadn’t meant to brush his forefinger over her bloodless cheek or sink his hand into that mass of dark, silky hair that lay like a braided rope on her shoulder. It just sort of happened naturally. It felt good to touch her. Too good.

      Vance jerked his hand away. Her deep green eyes locked on his and he swallowed hard when desire pelted him. He wanted to taste those cupid’s bow lips, but he denied himself. Knowing this bristly cop, who was out to prove herself to the world—and to the men in it—she’d probably take offense and he’d get his face slapped. As if he didn’t have enough bumps and bruises already.

      “I’m okay now,” she squeaked, offering him an anemic imitation of a smile.

      She didn’t look or sound very okay, but Vance hoisted her to her feet, nonetheless. When her legs folded up he hooked his arm around her waist to offer support. He had to admit that he admired the way she sucked it up and didn’t whimper and whine. He could easily visualize her taking those self-defense lessons at the academy. She’d give her all and she’d never let a man know she was hurting or let a hard fall slow her down. She’d likely swallow a howl of pain and get back on her feet—even if it about killed her.

      “Why don’t you go up to the house and lie down for a few minutes,” he suggested. “No shame in that. I had my bell wrung plenty of times when I bucked off a rodeo bronc. Stuff happens, ya know, and sometimes