Luke's Cut. Sarah McCarty

      He didn’t have to sound so sure of it. She pretended there was a spot on her glove. With a little practice she was sure she could lie with the best of them. And darn it, there was a spot. With a sigh, she put her palm over it. And had no idea where to go from there. Silently, she willed him to ride on. Of course he didn’t. The man was perversely dedicated to annoying her. The seconds stretched uncomfortably on.

      Darn it again. He was still looking at her. She could feel it with that acute awareness that made her want to squirm. The squirming she resisted, but she couldn’t resist looking back, albeit out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting on Chico with that lazy confidence that only added to his appeal. Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes were a dark, smoldering blue. And yes, he was studying her with the intensity of a professor who’d just discovered a new bug and was about to stick a pin in it.

      And that perverse part of her, the part her mother hated and she usually managed to subdue, came to life, running amok, poking at things best left sleeping until every one of her senses perked up with delight at being noticed. Stupid senses. The one thing she did not need was to be attracted to a cowboy. Especially this cowboy, who didn’t approve of her horse, her equipment or her profession. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t even sure he approved of her. More than likely, he saw her as a pain-in-the-butt distraction from whatever goal he’d set for himself. Aggravating man. She rubbed at the spot with her thumb.

      “It’s rude to stare,” she blurted.

      “I wasn’t staring.”

      Did he think she was stupid? “Then what were you doing?”

      “Thinking.”

      “About what?” She knew better but it just popped out again. Darn that perverse side.

      “I’m thinking that horse of yours is not too far away from buzzard food.”

      “You leave Glory alone.” The threat would have sounded much more intimidating if she could lift her gaze from the traces. Clearing her throat, she tried again. She got her eyes as high as Glory’s ears, but at least her voice was steady, if a bit too soft. “Not everyone has to be beautiful to be worthy.”

      She’d been clinging to that belief her whole life. It had gotten her through the rejection and scorn of being a bastard and a misfit. She wasn’t about to abandon it now, out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but heat and annoyance to replace it.

      “Uh-huh. Well, I’m not too concerned about beautiful, but sound would be good.”

      “What makes you think Glory isn’t sound?”

      “Honey, I looked at his teeth at the first halt you called.”

      That halt seemed like a lifetime ago. She checked the watch pinned to the lapel of her sensible brown dress. It’d actually only been two hours.

      “So?”

      “That gelding is on his last legs.”

      As if he understood the disparagement, Glory’s head drooped. That was too much. Who did the man think he was?

      Turning, she glared at him, sexy smile and all. The big bully. “They’re darn good legs! No need to undermine them with your sarcasm.”

      She had the satisfaction of seeing him sit back in the saddle.

      “Undermine? How the he...heck could I undermine anything. It’s not like the horse can understand me.”

      “He most certainly can! He’s sensitive and has feelings, too, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

      As if to emphasize that, Glory tossed his head, his jangling harness punctuating the sentiment.

      “See?” she asked pointedly.

      Luke looked anything but convinced. “He’s not going to spook again, is he?”

      “Not if you don’t do something stupid and scare him.”

      “Given what happened earlier, it clearly doesn’t take much.”

      “Anybody would be scared with those puppies snapping at their heels.”

      “They ran by!”

      “They were rambunctious!”

      “They were puppies!”

      She sighed. “He’s not used to them.”

      “My point exactly. He’s not used to a lot of things.”

      “Mr. Caine said it was all right.”

      “Mr. Caine?”

      She had to admit, it did sound silly. But she couldn’t help it. Caine Allen was too imposing to use so informal an address even though he’d asked her repeatedly to call him by his first name. So she’d settled on adding a mister. It was a happy medium.

      “He’s an impressive man.”

      “And I’m not?”

      She didn’t have to look up to know his head was tilted in that arrogant gesture that doubted the veracity of the anticipated response. Tightening her grip on the reins, she shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

      “You don’t call me mister.”

      “You’re too aggravating to bother with a title.” The truth just popped out. Again. She bit back a groan. His laugh, when she was expecting anger, yanked her gaze to his. Immediately she knew confusion and, just as fast, pleasure. Confusion because she’d been expecting his anger and she knew how to deal with that, and pleasure, well, the pleasure stemmed from his smile, his lips a line of amused indulgence and intrigue. The effect went right through her like sweet, warm honey spreading over her senses, soothing the agitation even as it brought out a bit of fire.

      She wished she knew why he affected her so. He wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She’d met and photographed better-looking men. But there was something about Luke Bellen, something so elemental, something so overwhelmingly masculine, something so unique that just screamed “come hither” to everything female in her. But despite many thinking her fairly independent profession proclaimed her loose, she was still a virgin, and she intended to stay that way. And not just because of her mother’s dire warnings, but from her own observations. To her knowledge, rampant procreation just complicated a woman’s options. Not because a woman lost her reputation, but because of all the messy complicating factors, like feelings, entanglement and eventually babies. Pretty soon, a woman’s life was bound to revolve around someone else. Josie had been doing that since the day she was born—paying for her mother’s sin, her fiancé’s selfishness, society’s demands.

      As a child, she’d thought her cousins were blessed with good fortune, but as they’d matured, she’d watched their dreams, one by one, be pushed to the back burner. And then she’d watched the fire under the burner go out. As they’d married, they’d settled down in little homes in little towns in little places with little families and every one of their days consisted of little things. Josie wasn’t sure she wanted to live just for herself, but she was certain she didn’t want her cousins’ existence. She didn’t want that any more than she wanted Luke staring at her. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”

      “Nope.”

      “Why not?”

      “It appears that I’ve been assigned to you.”

      “Assigned by whom?”

      He nodded toward the wagon ahead.

      “Tia seems to think you need watching.”

      She was not a child. “Can’t Zach or one of the vaqueros do it?”

      “Tia seems to think you need watching by me.”

      “Why?”

      “Likely because no one else has the patience—”

      “Patience? You?”