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The smugness in her voice made him smile. “No ma’am, I guess you can’t.”
Her pert lips puckered. “Last month, I found my best boar dead in his pen. Stabbed.”
His nerve endings pricked again. “Who stabbed it?”
“Don’t know, but I have my suspicions.”
Clint wanted to know more, but held his silence. The hog had stirred, was rolling its round body onto the four legs that didn’t look large enough to hold its weight, and Doreena Buckman had put a finger in front of her lips.
After sniffing the torn-up ground, as well as the air, the pig trotted off as if it knew exactly where it was going. Clint watched, wondering how far away the critter had to be before it would be safe to climb down, but also a touch disappointed their time in the tree was over.
“Well, Mr. Turnquist, thanks for the visit. It made the time go by faster.” Her shrill whistle had Clint tightening his hold on the tree branch.
When the black-and-white paint arrived at the tree, she lowered herself from the branch onto the horse’s back fluidly, as if she did it every day.
Clint looked at Runner. The horse tossed his head.
“Here, climb on.” She held her hand up.
His ears burned at having a woman help him off the branch, but after considering his options, Clint took her hand, and used her horse’s rump as a staircase to the ground.
“You need help catching your horse?” she asked.
I better not. Clint glared at Runner as he grabbed his hat. “No, but thanks.” He kicked at the dirt, uncovering his six-shooter.
“You looking for a job?”
A shiver had Clint pausing to look at her as he bent to pick up his gun.
Doreena felt the blush all the way to her toes. The tenderness in his blue eyes had her insides acting all silly. She stiffened her spine, drawing up a touch of confidence. “I could use some help catching the hog.”
His gaze went back to the gun as he cracked it open.
“I have three hired men,” she explained. “But two of them left this morning to drive a hundred head of hogs to the rail station in Lincoln, and Jeb’s too old to chase down a feral pig.”
He wiped the gun with his bandanna.
She took his silence as an answer. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I normally don’t blurt out my problems to complete strangers. It’s just been one of those days.” With a nod of her head, she kneed Scout. An odd bout of melancholy had her twisting around in the saddle. “Have a good life, Mr. Turnquist.”
He gave an offhanded nod, and she turned to follow the pig. Minutes later, the sound of hoofbeats following behind her made a smile tug at her lips and had her heart thudding in her chest. Why she’d asked for the man’s help was a confusing jumble in her mind, as was why she’d told him about the ranch. Clint Turnquist was a handsome man, with those kind blue eyes and sandy-shaded hair, but she’d never been fooled by a man’s looks. After all, who truly knew what the devil looked like?
The buckskin sidled up next to Scout. “We’ll help catch your pig.”
“I’m obliged,” she responded, hoping her tone disguised the excitement buzzing inside her. “Where’d you say you’re from?”
“I didn’t.”
And you aren’t going to, she reckoned. It didn’t matter, not out here. Drifters often roamed through her acreage on their way to parts unknown. Usually, she’d offer a meal before sending them on their way. Once in a while she’d offered one a chance to earn enough provisions to see him to his next stop. Her instincts were good, and she trusted them. Clint Turnquist was no different than a dozen others she’d encountered.
Liar, her mind refuted.
Doreena couldn’t protest, and that muddled her usual straightforward logic. The anticipation running in her veins at having this particular stranger’s company for a bit longer confused her.
“Over there,” he said, drawing her attention to a patch of bramble brush.
She slid her long riding crop out of its spot behind the saddle. “Just get him between the two of us, then we’ll drive him home.”
As a team, they rousted the hog out of the underbrush, and once it was trapped between the horses, she tapped the pig’s rump with the leather tip of the crop. The hog attempted to jut sideways, but seeing Clint’s horse, quickly changed its mind. “Herding pigs is easy when there are two of you,” she said, “but with just one, it’s like chasing a bumblebee.”
He cracked a slight grin, and the humor sparking in his eyes made her breath catch.
Doreena kept tapping the pig, making it maintain a trot between the horses. She caught Clint looking at her more than once, and the way he’d quickly pull his gaze away had her insides quivering. She remained quiet, pondering the man a bit deeper, while the ride home went by without another mishap.
