He nodded. “I’ve got a résumé in my room. I’ll bring it to you when I get a chance.” He leaned forward and gave her his best charming grin, the one that he knew made the dimples dance in his whiskered cheeks. “Used to be all you needed to do for a ranching job was show up sober two days in a row. Nowadays everyone wants an official computer résumé.”
“As far as I’m concerned computers are the devil’s work,” Esmeralda exclaimed. “And it’s the same with cell phones and all the other electronic geegaws that suck the brains out of our youth.”
Rhett laughed and then looked at Caitlin, surprised to see that she had paled to the point that the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose appeared darker than they had moments before. “Are you okay?” he asked curiously.
“I’m fine.” She wrapped her fingers around her coffee mug, as if seeking the warmth. “You needed to discuss something specifically with me?”
It was obvious she wanted him to state his business and then get out of her kitchen. “I don’t know what your previous foreman did with his time, but it’s obvious he wasn’t paying attention to the health and welfare of your horses.”
Her lovely eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“The horses are too lean, and yesterday afternoon I found one down in a bramble patch on the west side of the property. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but she’d gotten tangled up in some old rusty barbed wire and she has a couple of festering wounds.”
Caitlin’s cheeks flared with color. “That good-for-nothing Garrett. I knew Dad should have fired him a long time ago. Where’s the mare now?”
“I managed to get her up and into the small corral, but I haven’t been able to tend to her wounds. She’s scared and so thin I’m afraid the stress might kill her.” A touch of anger lit up inside Rhett. Garrett Simms had obviously been a piss-poor foreman who hadn’t regularly checked on the welfare of the livestock.
“Why don’t I meet you at the stables in fifteen minutes,” Caitlin said. “We’ll ride the pasture and then I want to see that mare.” She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, her gaze going to the nearby window.
Rhett knew it was a dismissal and he got out of his chair and headed for the back door. “I’ll see you out there,” he said and then left the house.
As he walked back toward the small corral his thoughts raced with his impressions of Caitlin. Beautiful and sexy, there was no question about that, but she wasn’t some bubble-headed woman riding on her outer appearance. There had been a keen intelligence shining from her amazing eyes.
What had shocked him more than anything was the swift kick of lust that had momentarily flared inside him when he’d been near her.
She’d certainly seemed unaffected by his attempt to charm her with his smile. In fact, she’d appeared reluctant even to touch his hand for a quick shake.
Her presence here could either be a gift from fate or a complication. He’d been intent on charming Esmeralda to get the information he needed in case Caitlin didn’t show, but he knew the best way to find out about Mickey O’Donahue’s whereabouts was through his daughter.
He’d use whatever means necessary to achieve his goal. He could be an accomplished liar and a pleasing lover if his role called for it.
Despite the fact that he’d felt a kick of desire for her, he didn’t worry about getting his heart involved. He didn’t have a heart to worry about. It had been trampled years ago and had never recovered from the wounds.
As far as he was concerned this was just another job and Caitlin was simply a hot, sexy mark to be used to get what he needed.
Chapter 2
Caitlin wasn’t sure why she was reluctant to meet Randall outside. Although she was worried about the horses, the tall man with the shaggy blond hair and the five-o’clock shadow that darkened his firm jaw was too sexy, far too male for her comfort.
His brief laughter moments before had sounded nothing like the laughter of the men in the jungle, but for a moment sick memories had slammed into her and she’d felt an internal tremble.
She lingered over her coffee as Esme left the kitchen to attend to some household chores in another room. Caitlin felt fragile and weariness weighed heavily on her shoulders.
Terrible nightmares had plagued what little sleep she’d gotten and she’d awakened feeling no more rested than she’d felt before going to bed the night before.
Glancing at the clock on the stove, she reluctantly got to her feet and carried her cup to the dishwasher. There was a part of her that didn’t want to do anything but go back upstairs to her room and hide. Anxiety simmered inside her, threatening to explode into a full-blown panic attack.
She’d had enough psychology classes to recognize that what she was experiencing was normal for a woman who had been through what she’d endured. She suffered from more than a little bit of post-traumatic stress disorder. She understood the symptoms, but didn’t feel as if she were in control of any of them.
She’d also learned in the past two weeks that the easiest way to cope with the emotions that churned just beneath the surface was to completely ignore them. She’d rather be numb than feel anything because she was terrified of what she might feel if she allowed herself.
With another glance at the clock she drew in a deep, steadying breath. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She walked into the living room and to the ornate desk in the corner where a fat ceramic leprechaun smiled from his perch on the top. His stomach was hollow and stored paper clips, thumb tacks and the key to the gun cabinet.
She plucked out the key and moved to the large glass-enclosed cabinet and withdrew a revolver. After checking that it was loaded and the safety was on she tucked it into her jeans waistband and then returned the key to the leprechaun.
She knew how to handle a gun, was a good shot. Although her father often encouraged her to carry a gun when she was out riding the range because of wild critters like mountain lions and coyotes, Caitlin rarely did. She’d always figured any animals she might encounter would be more afraid of her than she was of them.
Today she wanted the weapon with her. She didn’t know what kind of critter Randall Kane might be and she was determined never to be vulnerable again.
She stepped out the back door and into the warm November sunshine. The air smelled of earth and grass and horse, a familiar scent that momentarily filled her with a sense of home, of safety. However, the sense of safety vanished as she saw Randall Kane near the stables with two saddled horses.
You can do this, a little voice whispered inside her head. A ride around the pasture to check out the livestock didn’t sound threatening in any way. Still, it would be the first time she’d been all alone with any man since the horrible event in the jungle.
As she approached him a lazy smile curved his lips and his hot, slightly scruffy handsomeness slammed into her chest with a force that surprised her.
She ignored the tightness in her chest and instead focused on the fact that one of the horses he’d saddled up was her favorite, Buttercup.
The horse greeted her with a soft whinny. “Hey, girl,” she said as she stepped closer and rubbed Buttercup’s nose.
“She looks happy to see you,” Randall said. “One of the other hands told me she’s the one you usually ride.”
“She’s definitely one of my favorites.” She mounted the horse in a fluid motion that came from years of practice and then looked at Randall expectantly. “Let’s ride.”
He mounted his horse, Samson, with equal ease. “Are you expecting trouble?” Those gorgeous green eyes of his gazed pointedly at the gun she’d shoved in her waistband.