Hard-Headed Texan. Candace Camp

I mean…that is, if you have something to change into. I could loan you a shirt, of course, but…” His eyes fell to her slender legs, encased in denim. “Course you’re pretty tall. I reckon you could, you know, wear something of mine…if you wanted…you could roll them up—Oh, Lord, why don’t you just shoot me and shut me up before I make a complete fool of myself?”

      Antonia had to smile. “A shower would be very nice, thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sure the one here in the barn is perfectly fine. And I carry a change of clothes in the truck. Unfortunately for the state of my clothes, I often wind up looking like this.”

      They waited for the expulsion of the afterbirth, to make sure the mare was all right; then Antonia cut the umbilical cord, and they watched in fascination as the little foal staggered to its feet and wobbled to its mother and began to nurse. Antonia grinned, warmth flooding through her. No matter how many times she saw this sight, it never failed to fill her with happiness. She glanced over at Daniel Sutton and saw the same feeling reflected on his face.

      Afterward, he directed her to the shower down the central hallway. It was small and spartan, but it was clean, and the water was hot and plentiful, which was enough for Antonia. She had many times made do with much less. Once again clean and dressed in a faded T-shirt and an old pair of jeans, she pushed her feet back into her boots, brushed through her long hair and neatly rebraided it, then made her way to the side door of the farmhouse.

      She knocked on the door, then entered when a voice called to come in. Daniel Sutton stood at the kitchen counter in clean jeans and a fresh shirt, his hair slicked back wetly. He was pouring water into the coffeemaker, and he glanced over his shoulder at her as she came in.

      “Cup of coffee?” he asked.

      “That sounds nice,” Antonia replied, feeling a little shy. There was a certain intimacy to the scene—both of them obviously fresh from the shower and him making coffee—that was rather suggestive. She told herself that it was foolish to think that way, but she could not suppress the feeling.

      She sat down at the table and glanced around. It was a large, old-fashioned kitchen, but, like the rest of the place, neat and well-kept. She wondered if there was a Mrs. Sutton and was a little surprised to realize that she hoped there was not.

      “I was at another Sutton’s last week,” she said, deciding to probe a little. “Inoculating calves.”

      “That’d be my dad, Marshall. Just up the road.” He nodded in the direction of his father’s ranch. “This was a piece of land I bought from my grandmother.”

      “It’s nice. You run a good operation, I’d say.”

      “Thanks.” He had finished with the coffee and now stood facing her, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed in front of him.

      “Nice house, too. I like your kitchen.”

      “Thank you.” He glanced around, then shrugged. “James isn’t messy. We manage to keep it up okay. It helps not to cook a lot.”

      Antonia relaxed a little. That statement didn’t sound as if there was a woman living here. “James?”

      “My son. He’s a teenager, but he’s a good kid.”

      Antonia smiled. “You sound as if the two terms are contradictory.”

      He grinned. “Well…”

      “How old is James?” And where is his mother? She could think of no polite way to ask it.

      “Eighteen. This is his senior year. He’ll be graduating in a few weeks. Next thing you know, he’ll be in college.” He made a face. “Whew, makes me feel old, saying that.”

      “You must have married young.”

      “Straight out of high school. Our parents thought we were stupid, and, of course, we were.” He shrugged. “But I guess we all have to make our own mistakes. We split up before James was three.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Long time ago,” he replied briefly, his face shuttered.

      There was a long pause. Daniel looked down at the floor, then out the window. Finally he said, “Look. I’m sorry about earlier.”

      Antonia gazed at him questioningly.

      “You know, about wanting Doc Carmichael and all. I was wrong. You did a good job. I—I’m usually not, you know, all chauvinistic and thinking women can’t do things. I mean, I guess I am kinda old-fashioned in a lot of ways, but my sister’s put me straight any number of times. The thing was, I was worried about my mare.”

      “I know.” Antonia was sure that was true, and she was inclined to give him a second chance. But it didn’t seem that she ought to let him off the hook quite yet.

      “And I’m not used to women vets,” he went on. “I mean, well, actually, I never put much thought to the subject before. I just didn’t see how a woman could handle some of the things a horse doctor has to. It’s, well, you know, hard work.” He stopped, color rising in his cheeks. “Blast, that came out wrong, too. I meant, it takes a lot of physical strength and…”

      He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

      Antonia relented. “Yes. It does. And women don’t usually go into a large animal practice because of that. But I’ve found that horses and cattle are pretty much stronger than men, too. It’s all a matter of degree. You just have to compensate for it. I haven’t yet had to turn an animal away because I wasn’t strong enough.” She grinned. “I have to admit, it might be different if I weren’t six feet tall. Long arms make a difference.”

      He smiled. “I hope that means you accept my apology. I was wrong. And you did a great job. I hope you’ll work on my horses again.”

      “I’d be happy to.”

      After that, she couldn’t think of anything to say, and silence grew uncomfortably. Fortunately, the coffeemaker finished, and Daniel was able to turn his attention to pouring them cups of coffee. He set the cups down on the table and added a carton of milk from the refrigerator and a canister of sugar from the counter.

      “Sorry.” He cast a rueful eye on the sugar and milk. “I’m afraid we don’t have those things…”

      “Sugar and creamer?”

      “Right.” He quirked an eyebrow. “We’re kind of plain here. Bachelor household.”

      “That’s okay. I’m kind of plain myself.”

      “That’s hard to believe.”

      Antonia’s eyebrows sailed upward. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      He glanced up at her, looking uncomfortable. “Sorry. Have I put my foot in my mouth again? You can see I don’t get out much. I didn’t mean anything bad. It’s just that you look—I don’t know, not plain, anyway. You look sort of like Grace Kelly, like some guy in a tux ought to step out onto the veranda and take you back inside to the Harvest Ball.”

      Antonia chuckled. “Is that a compliment or a putdown?”

      “I meant it as a compliment. You’re beautiful,” he replied simply.

      Antonia felt herself blushing. “I…uh…”

      “Don’t worry. I’m not coming on to you. Just a statement of fact,” he said quickly, then sighed. “I’m making a real mess of it, aren’t I? James would despair of me if he were here. He thinks I’m the lamest when it comes to women, and he’s probably right.”

      “It’s okay,” Antonia said with a smile. “I don’t mind being told I’m beautiful. It’s a lot better than saying I look like a city girl or like I’ve never gotten my hands dirty in my life, which are also things people have told me.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I was cursed with a country club background. I can’t even tell people how wrong they are. I was, sorry to say,