Temporarily Texan. Victoria Chancellor

were familiar and reassuring, and for a moment she almost forgot she was on a cattle ranch.

      “How about you?” Crawford asked, stopping at the barn. It was as if he’d suddenly remembered to be conversational. “Do you have a big family?”

      “No,” Raven said slowly. She didn’t like to recall her childhood and there wasn’t anything about her single mother that Raven cared to share with strangers. “I’m an only child. My mother lives in Manchester, New Hampshire, while I have a small farm in the country.”

      He opened the door and motioned for her to go inside. “Watch your step.”

      “Thanks,” she said as her eyes adjusted to the low light inside.

      “There are some horses here that Cal and the ranch hands use to work the cattle.”

      “Oh. I heard that some ranchers use all-terrain vehicles, or even airplanes, to handle—or perhaps I should say harass—their herds. I can’t say I agree with those methods. Horses are much more ecofriendly.”

      He frowned and narrowed his eyes but didn’t respond to her gibe. “The Rocking C isn’t big enough for a plane, and as for ATVs, well, Cal is a real traditionalist.”

      There was a note of disapproval in Troy’s voice when he spoke of his brother’s ranching methods.

      “I’ll get those calves fed.”

      “Oh! Poor babies.” Sad, orphaned little calves. They had no mother, and although they didn’t know it, they didn’t have any future, either. She had an urge to comfort them. She always felt more grounded when she was with animals, especially the ones who needed her. The ones starved of affection.

      He gave her a look that told her he wasn’t as sympathetic to the calves’ plight. “Remember, they’re beef on the hoof. When they’re old enough, they’ll join the herd. I’ll see to them.”

      “You don’t think I should care about your precious ‘beef on the hoof,’ as you so charmingly classify them, do you? Even if they are just babies.”

      “They’re calves, not babies, and the answer is no.”

      “I’m only trying to be helpful.”

      “These are my brother’s animals and my responsibility. You’re only here until we get this mix-up straightened out, remember? You don’t need to get attached.”

      “A little kindness can’t hurt them.”

      No, but it could hurt you, Troy thought as he saw the yearning in Raven’s expressive face. Did the woman not know how to hide her emotions? She was too softhearted by a mile, and despite her occasional scathing remarks about cattle ranching, apparently hadn’t learned to put up barriers to keep from getting hurt by life’s realities.

      Out here, deadlines and budgets and physical limits didn’t allow him or his ranch hands the kind gestures and gentle sentiments Raven liked to indulge. The bank loan had to be repaid from the sale of the cattle, and you sure as hell couldn’t think about the cattle’s feelings when you were out to get a good price per pound on the hoof. And what if the drought didn’t break or a tornado hit the buildings or a hailstorm smashed through the ranch? The cattle could become infested with insects or disease might wipe out a herd. Too many bad things could happen in a heartbeat to speed the end of the Crawford family ranch that Cal spent his life trying to preserve.

      Or maybe Raven lived in some sort of fairy-tale land in New Hampshire. Maybe she’d never faced the real world. Growing up on a cattle ranch had toughened him up fast, especially after his mother had left the intolerable dynamics of the Crawford family—not to mention the harsh realities of ranch life—for greener pastures.

      “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I’m going to feed the calves. If you really want to help, you can give each of the five horses half a scoop of sweet feed and a scoop of oats.”

      “You keep them in the barn all the time?”

      “No, they’re in the stalls today so the ranching expert could see them.” He shook his head. “Normally, if they aren’t working, they’d be in the pasture.”

      “I’ll be glad to feed them,” she said. “Where do you keep their grain?”

      He pointed out the tack room, the feed room and the tiny bedroom that at one time had been occupied by a wrangler. Now, its single bed, nightstand and straight-back chair was even more dusty and dingy than the furniture in the house, and all the workers lived elsewhere. Even the bunkhouse, which at one time housed a half-dozen cowboys, was falling in on itself.

      Much like the economic structure of this ranch…

      Raven went off to see to the horses. Within fifteen minutes Troy had the calves fed, although the ungrateful beasts had managed to get milk and slobber all over his clean shirt and jeans. He closed their stall door and found Raven looking him over, a slight smile on her face.

      “Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asked. He seemed a little worse for wear. Maybe the calves knew he wasn’t all that sympathetic to their plight and had made him pay. Or maybe she was projecting a little.

      “Not in those clothes,” he said, eyeing her up and down, making her very self-conscious.

      “They’re comfortable,” Raven said in defense of her chosen style. Full skirts, sweaters or tunics and sandals were so pleasant to wear, even if she did look as out of place as…well, a New Hampshire Yankee in the heart of cattle country.

      “Did you bring something more practical for Texas?”

      “Of course. But these are some of my favorite things. Most of the clothes I’m wearing were made by friends or myself. I knit and weave, but someone I know crocheted this scarf. Another sews vintage fabrics into new garments and crafted my skirt.”

      “Nice hobbies, I suppose, if you have the time.”

      She suddenly felt she needed to defend more than her clothing choices. His flippant words denigrated a whole group of people who believed in creating something beautiful and functional from natural fibers, not manufactured in cookie-cutter style from synthetic materials. But it wouldn’t do any good to start a philosophical argument here in the barn, so she explained through clenched teeth, “It’s not a hobby for most of us, it’s a livelihood.”

      “So you’re part of an artsy-craftsy bunch back in New Hampshire? I thought you lived on a farm.”

      “I run a working farm, where we use what we produce. You’re making it sound as if we’re frivolous.”

      “No, I’m not,” he said with a smile.

      “Yes, you are, and I don’t appreciate your constant condemnation of my lifestyle.”

      He shook his head. “Lady, I don’t know enough about your lifestyle to condemn it, even if that was my intention, which it’s not. So don’t get on your high horse about my attitude. It seems to me that you’re just a little too defensive.”

      “Oh, so now my food, clothing and opinions are wrong!”

      “I didn’t say they were wrong. They’re just not…normal for Texas.”

      “The entire world does not revolve around Texas!”

      “I know that, but lots of folks down here don’t feel that way, so you might want to rein in your Yankee sentiments and eccentricities.”

      “I am true to myself, Mr. Crawford, and that’s not something that I can change.”

      “Well, good for you. I hope you aren’t planning on a long stay or forming a lot of close relationships with Texans.”

      “I came here to do a job, not to make lots of friends.” She paused, then lifted her chin. “Although, I must admit, I’m very good at making new friends. I have them all over.”

      He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Ever been to Texas