Who was she kidding? He looked as though he could shoot it, skin it and eat it for supper. Raw!
At last, she reacted like a smart woman and took a step back. But that dismissive glance…it bothered her. Sheri had come a long way from being the once shy little girl who expected to be ignored, so this just didn’t sit well with her.
Oh yeah, baby. Danger or no danger, Sheri Marsh refused to be ignored by anybody, anywhere, anytime. She could excuse a guy for almost anything, even for falling in love with someone else, but she would not excuse a guy for ignoring her. Her hard-won “I’m here, I matter” personality demanded more.
“Hey, cowboy,” she snapped and glared at his back.
“I don’t know where you come from, but around here cowboys have manners. When someone speaks, an answer is generally appropriate.”
That got his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. She met his stare with her own. That’s right, locked her spine, threw her shoulders back and dared him to ignore her again.
“Pace Gentry,” he said without halting. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Okay, as if that made her feel any better. Sheri’s eyes narrowed to slits. The man hadn’t even broken step as he disappeared inside the shack. Of all the unmitigated gall. She felt like the lid of a pressure cooker barely hanging on as she waited for him to reappear.
In an instant he returned and strode back to his truck…swaggered was more like it. Passed her by without so much as a glance. It struck her then that this wasn’t any kind of cowboy she’d ever encountered. He was different in actions and in dress. It was subtle, but there were distinct differences.
Besides his collar-length hair, he had a strong jawline shadowed by a flat-rimmed, black Stetson devoid of the more traditional crease. Around his neck he wore a large checked bandanna tied loosely, as if he might pull it up at any moment to protect him from the trail dust of a hard cattle drive—
Or, with the dangerous glint in his eyes, maybe to rob a bank!
Then there were the spurs sticking out from beneath his chaps. They were more ornate than any Sheri had seen on the cowboys around Mule Hollow. These spurs were either for show or for intense business. From the look on his face, Sheri couldn’t envision anything about him being for show.
Nope, this man was all business, easily mistaken for a cowboy fresh off the trail a hundred years ago. Still, it was his intense gray eyes that told the story…this cowboy was one hundred percent authentic you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me cowboy.
Again, good sense mandated she turn around and get out of there immediately.
Yeah, right!
“Look, this is my friend’s property, and I’m just making sure they know you’re setting up camp out here.”
She felt a sense of achievement when he stopped mid-swagger to glare at her. Suddenly, it felt as though he’d just weighed and measured her, and she’d come up lacking.
“Like I said,” he drawled, his eyes cool. “Not that it’s any more your business now than two minutes ago, but Clint knows I’m here.”
The gravel in his drawl sent a shiver up Sheri’s spine that had nothing to do with fright. “Lacy would have told me if someone was moving onto the ranch around the bend from me.”
Hoisting a duffel bag to his shoulder he slammed the tailgate closed. His spurs sang a little ditty with every step he took away from her.
He’d dismissed her again!
“Hey, mister, the macho man thing’s not really working for me.”
He scowled down at her from the rickety porch. “Look, lady, I’m here to break horses. If you’ve got a problem with that, then take it up with Clint Matlock.”
Before she could react, he disappeared into the tiny cabin and closed the door. Slammed the door was more like it. In her face, practically.
“Of all the rude, unmannered—” She halted mid-rant. He was probably inside the cabin watching through the window. No doubt laughing at the sight she must make standing in the middle of his drive with her mouth hanging open, her fists clinched at her sides. If only she had a mirror; she was no doubt fire-engine red with indignation.
The worst part about the entire situation was he was right. Boy, did that ever just annoy the thunder out of her. Well, not exactly right, she consoled herself. Fact was Clint and Lacy were her friends and she’d just wanted to make certain no funny business was going on out here on their property.
But since this Neanderthal was actually here for a reason then she had no right to continue questioning him. Spinning on her running shoes she raked a hand through her ponytail then jogged back to the road and headed home.
She’d only just begun her run, but she suddenly wasn’t in the mood for jogging. Nope. She was in the mood to make a phone call and find out why Lacy hadn’t seen fit to let her know she was about to have a neighbor.
If neighbor was what you could call the fierce-looking man she’d just met.
Chapter Two
Pace Gentry placed a few more pieces of wood on the campfire and watched the embers flutter as he settled into his bedroll for the night. Clasping his hands over his chest he relaxed and gazed up at the canopy of stars glittering above him. He could have slept inside the cabin, but tonight he needed to be outdoors.
He needed the connection to what he’d left behind.
He needed to feel the breeze whispering across the pastures to the north of him, hear the lonesome song of the coyotes and the occasional bawling of the cattle that grazed in the dark pastures surrounding him.
The sounds that made him feel at home.
The sounds that made him think for a moment he was back in the Great Basin, lost in the high desert of the Idaho range. Alone, with nothing but himself, God, his herd…
And his horses.
He loved his horses. It was in his blood. Nothing would make him happier than to die an old man as his dad had, atop a good ride. His dad had lived and died on his terms. Like his father, Pace understood bronc breaking was a tough way to make a living. He’d chosen it anyway.
Lived and breathed it.
With his dad’s nomadic way of living, Pace hadn’t ever really known any other life, but it hadn’t mattered. Even if he’d turned out to be the worst cowboy around, he figured he’d have found a way to keep at it.
Pace watched a shooting star travel across the sky—something he’d have missed if he’d been inside. The howl of the coyote rippled into a full-blown serenade. Pace was forever grateful for the life he lived. Or had lived, he reminded himself, his gut shifting momentarily with doubt. He was on a new path. Like a surly bronc, for the first time in his life he felt the bit in his mouth and was fighting hard to get used to the feel of it.
If his earlier encounter was a measuring stick of how his transition was going to go…things weren’t looking so good. Pace was the first to admit that he had some rough edges. Animals he could deal with, but people—he had little patience with interfering people. Meeting his pushy neighbor had proven those edges hadn’t smoothed out on the long haul from Idaho to Texas.
He’d been his usual blunt self, a reaction he was going to be hard put to change.
Pulling his Stetson down over his eyes, he crossed his booted feet and settled in for the night. He figured the Lord had his work cut out for Him when it came to smoothing this rover’s edges. But then, God was God, and if He could create the universe Pace figured, He could whip an ornery two-bit buckaroo into shape, too.
Pace just had a streak of buck left in him, and like the mustangs he was about to tame, that natural wildness was an instinct strong