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“I’ll keep you company.”
Her stomach dropped in dismay. Which was really silly as she was only bringing her husband lunch. Not plotting a way to get him naked and hard and in her mouth. “That’s not necessary.”
“He’s out a piece. Pretty little thing like you might get lost.”
She gritted her teeth. Pretty little thing, indeed. “I assure you Mr…?”
“Clint, ma’am.”
“Surely you have a last name?”
“Just Clint will do.”
“I assure you, Mr. Clint, that I know every inch of this ranch.”
Had she hired him? She looked at him closer. A lot of men came west to forget things. Going by a first name wasn’t uncommon, but still, she had to ask. “Are you running from the law, Mr. Clint?”
He spun his hat in the air. It seemed to take on a life of its own and flipped onto his head. While she stared in amazement, he said, “No, ma’am. Just don’t hold much with formality.”
Where had she heard that before? “Well, Mr. Clint, I really want to catch my husband before he heads for town. While I appreciate the offer of an escort, I don’t have time to wait for you to secure a mount.”
He emitted a short whistle between his teeth. Before her ears could recover from the blast, he was swinging lazily into the saddle of a beautifully proportioned palomino that appeared from one of the stalls. “No problem.”
She swung up onto her own mount, adjusting her skirts so they covered as much as possible. She eyed him as she adjusted the reins. “A true gentleman would have helped a lady onto her mount.”
He flashed her a slow, easy grin. “A true gentleman would have been eating your dust.”
Gads! Was she really so transparent that every man around could read her like a book? She touched her heels to Willoughby’s flank. As she passed the cowboy, he inclined his head respectfully.
“I gather you’ve been assigned to keep an eye on me?” she asked.
He didn’t bother to deny it. “Asa was worried you might need help around the place.”
How dumb did he think she was? “Seems to me Old Sam would be a better choice to help close to home rather than a capable man in his prime.”
His sleepy-eyed palomino pulled up along Willoughby. The horse, she decided, was a lot like his owner. While he seemed to be as lazy as all get out, he seemed to have no trouble keeping up.
“Asa sets a store by you, ma’am. He’s not one for taking chances.”
“So he’s assigned me a guard?” Willoughby’s snort was an eloquent summation of her disgust.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“How was it?”
“This might be something you’d be better off asking your husband.”
“It’s a long trip to the back range. I might as well spend it productively.”
“Somehow, I knew you were going to say that,” he answered as forlornly as if she’d assigned him a week of well digging.
He stared straight ahead, but while his lips didn’t move, his eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement. Elizabeth realized for the first time he was an attractive man. “So, how exactly was it?”
“It came to Asa’s attention that you’re not much of a homebody.”
“Excuse me?”
“Seems like you like to spend the afternoons gadding about.”
“I do not gad.”
“Well, Monday, you went up the mountain.”
“Asa wanted blackberry pie.”
“And I’d like to be the one to speak for the rest of the hands, ma’am, and thank you for the pie you sent down to the bunkhouse. It was a welcome addition to Old Sam’s idea of cooking.”
“You’re welcome.” That was the longest speech she’d heard the man make. She suspected it was along the lines of a distraction. “So how does my picking blackberries on the mountain constitute gadding about?”
It really was the most irritating term.
The way the crinkles left the corner of his eyes told her he’d caught onto her annoyance. “It just made the boss nervous, ma’am.”
Her gaze dropped to the rifle in its scabbard and the revolver riding on his hip. “So nervous he insists on an armed escort?”
He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. “You really might be more comfortable discussing this with your husband, ma’am.”
“I’m perfectly comfortable discussing it with you.”
“Tuesday, you went up to the Hennessy spread.”
“The Hennessy’s are people of modest means. Calling it a spread is a bit of a stretch.”
“I didn’t want to be impolite enough to call it a shack.”
“Why? I do.”
He shot her a glance. “I can see that.”
“If Jack Hennessy would lay off the bottle and attend to his family, his wife might just have a decent place to winter in.”
“You seem a bit emotional on the subject.”
“I dislike Mr. Hennessy intensely.”
“But you like Mrs. Hennessy?”
“Jenna Hennessy is a sweet woman. She deserves better than a honeymoon freezing to death in the mountains.” And she deserved better than to be knocked around daily by her husband.
