Cowgirl in High Heels. Jeannie Watt

paper Walt had given her, then back up at the old man. “My job is to collect information about how this ranch is run and organize it so that my aunt and uncle can see what present practices are in place and move forward. When the consultant arrives—”

      “What consultant?” Walt snapped, his eyebrows coming together fiercely. “I’ve heard nothing about a consultant.”

      Probably because you aren’t very good at communicating with your boss and are therefore skating on thin ice.

      “Later this summer a ranch consultant will be evaluating practices at the Rocky View. I’ll act as liaison between him and my aunt and uncle.”

      “Who is it?”

      “The consultant? I don’t know his name.” Although that was on her list of things to talk to Milo about once she’d settled in and could get hold of him.

      Walt shifted in his chair, his expression tight, threatened.

      “When’s he coming?”

      “Later this summer and, before he comes, I want to be well familiar with the ranch. To do that, I need some idea of the hierarchy,” she explained patiently. “How decisions are made. When they’re made and by whom.”

      Walt let out an exasperated breath. For a second she thought he wasn’t going to answer, then he said, “Ryan makes the decisions on the pastures and grazing. Francisco handles the maintenance and I handle the breeding program.”

      “That sounds like three separate entities rather than a team being managed by one person.”

      “Look, Miss...” He frowned as he fought to remember her name and then gave up. “This system works. Now, I’ll admit to hitting some hard times, but after Ryan came on...things changed and we’re making money again.”

      Some, according to Milo, but not a lot. “A business needs one manager,” Ellie persisted. “Not three people working independently.”

      “It has one. Me.”

      Ellie sighed. He wasn’t getting it and it looked, judging by the expression he wore, that he was thinking the exact same thought. They both jumped when a knock rattled the back door.

      “That’d be Francisco,” Walt muttered. “He has some business in town tonight and wanted to get this over with before he goes.”

      “Maybe we can talk some more later,” Ellie said as Walt got to his feet. Obviously in his mind the interview was over.

      “Yeah. I’ll just tell Francisco to come on in.” He was moving toward the door so fast that Ellie was surprised that she didn’t get the Doppler effect.

      Milo was correct—this guy needed work on his communication skills. And Ellie needed to keep an eye on him to see if his drinking was a problem.

      * * *

      “SHE’S BRINGING IN a ranch consultant,” Walt repeated as he paced along the cedar rail fence behind the bunkhouse. He stopped to glare at Ryan. “You know what happened to the Vineyard Ranch when they brought in George Monroe to consult. That asshole.”

      “Nothing saying it’s going to be George.” But Ryan had a bad feeling it was. The Bradworths and the Kenyons, who’d bought the Vineyard a few years ago, were friends. The Kenyons were probably the reason the Bradworths had bought the Rocky View.

      “It’s George,” Walt growled.

      Ryan coiled his rope. There’d be no focusing until Walt got a grip. After the snake scare with Ellison, he’d spent a couple hours on the mountain looking for the cows, then he had come back to work on the broken irrigation head gate. He’d hoped to be finished in time to rope some calves, but had gotten back too late, so he’d had to settle for roping the dummy. Until Walt had shown up, livid.

      Walt’s scowl intensified. “Aren’t you going to practice?”

      “I’m good,” Ryan said.

      “I’ve never known you to be good.”

      “Good enough, then.” Ryan rarely sloughed practice, but tonight he figured he needed to focus on Walt. Calm him down before he left tomorrow night. He had back-to-back rodeos three hundred miles apart, one of which had a rich purse he needed to win—a purse that his brother wouldn’t be fighting him for. It still felt so damned strange.

      “Having this woman around is very unsettling,” Walt grumbled, resuming his pacing. “These people know nothing.” He shot another fierce look at Ryan. “She told me she knows nothing. She’s ‘here to learn,’” he quipped, miming quotation marks.

      “I know you hoped this would be like the Bar R and the Trail Creek,” Ryan said, referring to two ranches that had sold to absentee owners solely interested in tax write-offs. “And it may still play out that way. Give it some time. Don’t piss these guys off.”

      “If George has his way, then none of us will be here to piss anyone off,” Walt muttered.

      “You don’t know that it’s George.”

      “You don’t know that it isn’t,” Walt growled.

      Ryan came to stand in front of the old man, waiting for him to glare up at him before he said, “I’m not telling you what to do or anything—” although he really was “—but while I’m gone, kind of steer clear of Ms. Hunter, at least until you cool off. No sense burning any bridges just because she might be bringing in George Monroe.”

      “Afraid I’ll muck things up for all of us?” Walt asked.

      “Totally.” The frustration of working with a person who knew nothing about ranching but was suddenly the boss was that there was a lot of explaining to do. Some people could take it, some couldn’t. Walt was in the latter camp. He wasn’t going to put up with micromanaging and questioning the wisdom of his decisions.

      Walt considered, then gave a soft snort. “Maybe lying low is the best thing to do.”

      “For now,” Ryan agreed, relieved. “No chance you want to come to the rodeo with me? Lonnie and Francisco could cover while we’re gone.”

      “I have a lot to do rebuilding the calving barn,” Walt said. “And hopefully I’ll be here next spring to use it.”

      “Which is why you’re going to lie low for now.”

      “Agreed,” the old man muttered. “I’ll be invisible. Or as invisible as I can be with power tools.”

      Walt got into his rig a few minutes later and took off for his house, or the Garcia’s, depending on whether he went there to eat or not. Sometimes Walt liked being social and playing Grandpa to the kids, and sometimes he just needed to be left alone. Ryan and Francisco and Jessie understood that. Ellison probably wouldn’t.

      Once Walt was gone, Ryan threw a few more practice loops before deciding to call it a night. He’d asked Lonnie to handle the irrigating tomorrow while he took one last stab at finding Walt’s missing cattle, and then it was simply a matter of showering and driving two hundred miles to the rodeo where he’d compete the following morning. It’d be a string of long days, but that was the way it was in the summers. Nothing he could do about it except deal with sleep deprivation.

      “Excuse me?” Ellison’s voice startled him. After Walt left for the day, Ryan was always alone.

      Not anymore.

      She stood at the corner of the bunkhouse wearing a long white shirt over slim dark jeans with those flimsy flat shoes, regarding him with those cool green eyes that he found more attractive than he wanted to admit. She started toward him when he didn’t answer immediately and as she got closer he could see that her hair wasn’t as perfect as usual. Instead it looked as if she’d been resting her head in her hands, loosening the strands around her face, giving her a softer look. “I was wondering if you were able to do anything about the snake?” she asked.

      “I,