The Winter Soldier. Diana Palmer

an aging mercenary who was half-crippled and cynical….

      “Won’t you both come in for a cup of coffee?” she invited.

      “I will,” Cy told her. “Harley, go take a look around and see what needs doing. Then find Lisa’s part-time help and get them on it.”

      “My pleasure, Mr. Parks,” he said with a wicked grin and turned to follow the tersely given instructions.

      Lisa gave Cy a speaking look.

      “Go ahead,” he invited. “Tell me that chores are getting done by people other than you. Tell me that the south pasture is being hayed before the predicted rains day after tomorrow. Tell me,” he added mockingly, “that you’ve got your new calf crop vaccinated and tagged.”

      She got redder by the minute. She didn’t want to tell him that she couldn’t get the men to take her suggestions seriously. They were throwbacks to another age, most of them were twice her age, and the madder she got, the more indulgent they became. Once they threatened to quit, they had her over a barrel and she gave up. Hands were thin on the ground this time of year. She could barely afford to pay her employees as it was.

      “Harley will get them moving,” he told her.

      Her lips compressed and her eyes sparked. She looked outraged.

      “I know,” he said helpfully. “It’s a new age. Men and women are equals. You pay their wages and that means they need to do what you say.”

      She made a gesture of agreement, still without speaking.

      “But if you want people to obey, you have to speak in firm tones and tell them who’s the boss. And it helps,” he added darkly, “if you hire people who aren’t still living in the last ice age!”

      “They were all I could find to work part-time,” she muttered.

      “Did you go over to the labor office and see who was available?” he asked.

      The suggestion hadn’t occurred to her. Probably she’d have found young, able-bodied help there. She could have kicked herself for being so blind.

      “No,” she confessed.

      He smiled, and that wasn’t a superior smile, either. “You aren’t aggressive enough.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “If you’re going to hire that type of man, you have to have the whip hand. I’ll teach you.”

      “If that means I’ll end up being a local legend like you, I’m not sure I want to learn it,” she replied with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

      “Old lady Monroe,” he recited, chuckling, “carries a shotgun and emasculates men in the barn.”

      She flushed. “Stop that.”

      “Isn’t that a nicer image than sweet little Lisa who hasn’t got the heart to fire a man just because he lies in wait in her bed dead drunk and stinking?”

      “Cy!”

      He grinned as she curled one hand into a fist. “Much better,” he said. “Now hold that thought when you speak to your lazy hands next time. In fact, don’t smile at them ever again. Be decisive when you speak, and don’t ask, tell. You’ll get better results.”

      She had to admit, she wasn’t getting any results at all the way she was. On the other hand, she was still young, and feeling her way through leadership. She wasn’t really a drill sergeant type, she had to admit, and the ranch was suffering because of it.

      “I don’t suppose you’d like a ranch?” she asked whimsically, and was startled when he replied immediately that he would.

      “Oh.” She stared at him, poleaxed.

      “I’ll give you the going market price. We’ll get two appraisals and I’ll match the highest one. You can rent the house from me and I’ll manage the cattle. And the cowboys,” he added wryly.

      “It’s not in very good shape,” she said honestly, and pushed her glasses back up onto her nose.

      “It will be. If you’re willing, I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers tomorrow.”

      “I’m very willing. I’ll be happy to sign them. What about the appraisals?”

      “I’ll arrange for those. Nothing for you to worry about now.”

      “If only my father hadn’t been such a throwback,” she murmured, leading the way into the ramshackle house. “He thought a woman’s place was in the kitchen, period. I’d much rather be working in the garden or doctoring cattle than cooking stuff.”

      “Can you cook?”

      “Breads and meats and vegetables,” she said. “Not with genius, but it’s mostly edible.”

      She poured black coffee into a mug and handed it to him. When she sat down across the table from him, he noticed the dark, deep circles under her eyes.

      “You aren’t sleeping much, are you?” he asked.

      She shrugged. “I’m still halfway in shock, I guess. Married and widowed and pregnant, and all in less than two months. That would be enough to unsettle most women.”

      “I imagine so.” He sipped his coffee. She made the decaf strong and it tasted pretty good. He studied her narrowly. “You haven’t had any more problems at night, have you?”

      “None at all, thanks.” She smiled. “And thank you for having my car fixed. I guess if people are going to own old cars, they need to be rich or know a lot about mechanics.”

      “They do,” he agreed. “But I’ll keep your little tin can on the road.”

      “It’s not a tin can,” she said. “It’s a very nice little foreign car with an—” she searched for the right words “—eccentric personality.”

      “Runs when it feels like it,” he translated.

      She glared at him. “At least I don’t have to have a ladder to get into it.”

      He smiled. “Remind me to have a step put on just for you.”

      She didn’t reply, but that statement made her feel warm and safe. God knew why. She was certain he wasn’t really going to modify his vehicle just for her. She’d only been in it once.

      “Do you like opera?” he asked out of the blue.

      She blinked. “Well, yes…”

      “Turandot?”

      “I like anything Puccini composed. Why?”

      “It’s playing in Houston. I thought we might go.”

      She pinched her jean-clad leg under the table to see if she was dreaming. It felt like it, but the pain was real. She smiled stupidly. “I’d really like that.” Then her face fell. She moved restlessly and averted her eyes. “Better not, I guess.”

      “You don’t have to wear an evening gown to the opera these days,” he said, as if he’d actually read her mind. He smiled when her eyes came up abruptly to meet his. “I’ve seen students go in jeans. I imagine you have a Sunday dress somewhere.”