Texas Heat. Debbi Rawlins

bounced for nearly a mile before a large white house and outbuildings came into view. Good thing. Her fanny had had enough, and that was saying something since she seemed to spend half her life in a Jeep lately.

      “I hope some of the hands are close by to help load the lumber.” Clint pulled the truck up to the front of the barn. “Kate was supposed to have called ahead.”

      “I don’t see anybody.”

      “The Reynoldses own this place, but times have been kind of tough for them lately,” he said grimly. “They lost a good deal of their herd to cattle rustlers last year and had to lay off half their men.”

      “Rustlers? You’re kidding.”

      “Wish I was.”

      “That sounds like something out of the old west.”

      “Darlin’, out here, it still is the old west at times.” He opened his door. “That’s why I told Joe that we’ve got to start looking at—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, and then slid out from behind the wheel.

      Dory scrambled out on her side. “What did you tell him?”

      “Doesn’t matter.”

      “Of course it matters.” At his annoyed expression, she shrugged a shoulder. “Look, I’m just curious. What was your idea?”

      The way he set his jaw told her it was time to leave the subject alone. He picked up his hat, pushed a hand through his hair in obvious frustration, and then reset the Stetson on his head. “I’m gonna go check if anyone’s in the barn.”

      She leaned a hip against the truck and watched him walk away, his strides long and purposeful. Was he in a hurry to get away from her probing questions? Or worried about getting the load of lumber back in time to start working on the game booths? Probably both, she thought, sighing.

      It wasn’t that she was being nosy. She didn’t have brothers or sisters, and although she understood sibling dynamics on a textbook level, she lacked the human experience. She did know that Kate adored both of her brothers, and that the older one had become more a father figure over the years. But Clint was older than Kate, about thirty was Dory’s guess, so he probably didn’t appreciate the perception of being kept under Joe’s thumb.

      Still, Joe obviously knew what he was doing to keep a ranch that large profitable. Dory wisely kept the observation to herself.

      She shaded her eyes and gazed around the Double R. The place was spread out with a barn, what looked like a bunkhouse, stables and a corral where three horses grazed. But, unlike the Manning’s ranch, there was no buzz of activity. Then again, she knew some of the goings-on had to do with the big July Fourth get-together.

      Clint emerged from the barn, solo, his expression grim, and she had a feeling they had a ton of work ahead of them. She didn’t mind. She just hoped he had a spare pair of gloves. Getting dirty was one thing, but getting pricked by splinters was something else.

      “The lumber is stacked behind the barn,” he said, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. “But we’re not gonna get much help loading. Part of their south fence came down last night in the wind and most of the men are rounding up strays.”

      “No problem. We should be able to handle it. But I’ll need some gloves.”

      He pulled open the driver’s door, eyeing her with amusement. “I deliver you back crippled and Kate will take a branding iron to me.”

      “Oh, please.” Dory tightened her ponytail, preparing for the work ahead. She might be useless in the kitchen, but out here…this was her world. “I bet I load as many boards as you do.”

      One side of his mouth hiked up. “Get in. We’ll drive around to the back.”

      She did as he asked, smug in the knowledge that she was going to surprise the heck out of him. She was in better shape than she looked. Often she’d hiked uphill for miles to get to a dig site, and then spent another two hours with shovel in hand. Loading lumber would be a vacation.

      “Check the glove box,” Clint said as he steered the truck around the barn. “There might be some in there. If not, I might have a pair in my toolbox in the back.”

      She opened the compartment, which was jammed with the truck manual, a package of beef jerky, binoculars, a couple of maps and a small box of condoms. Quickly she slammed the door and stared straight ahead as they rounded the barn.

      “Nothing, huh?” He pulled the truck to a stop. “If we don’t find a pair, you can use mine.”

      “A callus or two won’t kill me.” She jerked on the door handle, anxious to jump out, annoyed with herself for being so flustered. So what if he kept condoms in his glove box? Good to know he was responsible. Although it didn’t matter to her. Why should it?

      “Wait a minute,” he said, and slid an arm across the seat back behind her shoulders.

      Her chest tightened as he slowly turned his face toward hers, his warm moist breath brushing the side of her jaw. She blinked, frozen, not knowing what to do, before finally giving in and meeting his eyes. He flashed her a grin and then twisted around to look out the rear window as he backed the truck and trailer toward the pile of lumber.

      She let out a whoosh of air, and before he cut the engine, she jumped out of the truck, willing the heat that stung her cheeks to subside. Had she totally gone out of her mind? She seriously needed some rest. How could she actually have believed for a second that he’d been about to kiss her?

      “You okay?” He’d gotten out and come around the back of the trailer to stare at her, his green gaze warm with concern.

      “Fine.” She looked away and nodded toward the daunting stacks of lumber. “That’s it?”

      Clint chuckled. “That’s enough.” He lowered the truck’s tailgate, hopped up on the bed and went to a large metal toolbox anchored down behind the cab. After rooting around inside he produced a pair of tan leather gloves that he tossed to her.

      She tried them on. They were too big but better than nothing.

      He gathered the heavy-duty tie-down straps and bungee cords they’d brought and jumped off the bed. “I’m thinking I’ll load and you should get up there and make sure the boards stay stacked until we can strap them down.”

      Dory smiled wryly, knowing that he was trying to keep her task light. “How about we both load and then worry about securing them?”

      He studied her for a moment. “Hugh is the Reynoldses’ foreman. He’s the only one in the barn. If he sees you working, he’s gonna want to come out and help. The guy turned seventy last month and has a bad back.”

      “Then quit talking and let’s get this done before he sees me.” She adjusted her gloves and tried to pick up four boards at once, but quickly found that her limit was three.

      Clint mumbled something she couldn’t hear, and then more clearly said, “You stick to the trailer, and I’ll load the truck.”

      She didn’t argue. With the trailer being lower to the ground it was easier for her to stack the boards and she’d be better able to keep up with his pace. On the negative side, given the distance between them, the capacity to ogle him as he worked was far greater. Unfortunately, she found the temptation hard to ignore with the way the worn denim of his jeans molded his leans hips and appealing backside.

      Though after forty minutes working under the broiling afternoon sun, her thoughts pretty much narrowed to finishing the job. She was tired and thirsty and only sheer stubbornness drove her to keep picking up boards and swinging them onto the trailer. The steady rhythm she’d engaged was hypnotic, and when Clint called out for her to take a break, he startled her. She spun toward his voice, the movement dizzyingly fast, and she felt her body sway.

      “Hey, you okay?”

      “Yep, fine.” She grabbed the trailer railing for support.