Grant waved him back down. “I’m staying for dinner.”
“Smart thinkin’. That Marie, she can cook.” Rufus nodded sagely as he settled back on the bale. “Pot roast, I hear.”
“That is the rumor…”
The old cowboy took the cigarette from behind his ear, shook his head at it and stuck it back there without lighting it. “She’s doin’ just fine, in case you wanted to know.”
Grant knew exactly who she was. But for some reason he refused to examine too closely, he played it dumb. “Who? Marie?”
“No,” Rufus said with great patience. “Not Marie. I mean little Stephanie—who ain’t so little as she used to be, in case you didn’t notice.”
Grant ordered the image of her glorious bare backside to get the hell out of his mind and played it noncommittal with a deceptively easy shrug. “Yeah. Seems like only yesterday she was running around the yard in pigtails.”
“She’s a born rancher, that gal. Works hard. Loves every minute of it. And smart as a whip. You keep her on as top hand, I got a feeling she’ll shock us all and make this ranch a profitable operation.”
Clifton’s Pride turning a profit?
Now, that would be an accomplishment. Even John Clifton, who’d given it his all, hadn’t really managed to do that. Somehow, the Cliftons always got by. But a profit?
Not a chance. And for seven years after his dad’s tragic death, Grant had tried his damnedest to make a success of the place himself. Same old, same old. Somehow he stayed afloat. Barely. But that was the best he ever did.
It had been the same when Rufus took over. The ranch had yet to go under, but it was no moneymaker and Grant didn’t believe it ever would be.
He sent Rufus a narrow-eyed look and muttered darkly, “You weren’t thrilled in the least when I hired her on to take over for you. And now, all of a sudden, you’re her biggest booster?”
Rufus picked up his hat and hit it on his thigh. “It’s true. I had my doubts about her runnin’ things. But I’m a man who’s willing to give credit where credit is due. That girl has got gumption. She’s got stamina. She knows what she’s doin’. She also has ideas and they are good ones.”
“Damn, Rufus. You’re starting to scare me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so gung ho about anyone—or anything—in all the years you been working here.”
Rufus chortled and said something else.
But Grant didn’t hear a word of it. He just happened to glance toward the wide-open doors that led to the yard.
He saw Steph.
Steph. In clean Wranglers, fresh boots and a little red shirt that clung to those fine slender curves he’d only that very day realized she had. Her golden hair hung, dry now, sleek and shining as pure silk, to her shoulders.
And those slim hips of hers? They swayed easy.
She tempted him with every step and all she was doing was walking toward him.
Grant watched her coming, struck dumb all over again by how beautiful she was. His breath was all tangled up in his throat and his heart was doing something impossible inside his chest and all of a sudden his jeans were too damn tight.
Damn. He was making a total fool of himself.
All Rufus had to do was look down to see how sweet, innocent, smart-as-a-whip Stephanie affected the boss.
How in the hell, Grant wondered, could this be happening to him?
Chapter Two
Stephanie entered the barn, the bright sun outside lighting her gold hair from behind, creating a halo around her suddenly shadowed face. Grant, his senses spinning, somehow managed to get his boots under him and rise from the bale.
She came right for them. “Hey, you two. Mom said I’d find you out here.” She reached him, slid her warm, callused hand into his and flashed him a smile. “C’mon. Got some things I want to show you.”
Prickles of awareness seemed to shoot up his arm from the hand she was clutching. Her scent taunted him: shampoo, sunshine and sweetness. It took a serious effort of will not to yank her close and slam his mouth down on hers—with Rufus sitting right there, fingering that cigarette he hadn’t quite gotten around to lighting yet.
This is bad. This is…not like me, Grant reminded himself.
And it wasn’t. Not like him in the least.
Yeah. All right. He knew that in town, folks considered him something of a ladies’ man.
And he did like a pretty woman. What man didn’t? But he never obsessed over any of them, never got tongue-tied as a green kid in their presence.
Not until today, anyway.
Stephanie. Of all the women in the world…
By some minor miracle, he found his voice. “Show me what?”
“You’ll see.” She beamed up at him, those shining eyes green as a matched pair of four-leaf clovers. “Come on.” She tugged on his hand.
He let her pull him along, vaguely aware of a chuckle from Rufus behind them and the hissing snap as the cowboy struck a match.
Inside, she led him to the office, which was off the entry hall, not far from the front door. She tugged him over to the desk and pushed him down into the worn leather swivel chair that used to be his dad’s.
He sent her a wary glance. “What’s this about?”
“You’ll see.” She turned on the new computer she’d asked him to buy for her when she started in as top hand.
“What?” he demanded, his senses so full of her, he thought he’d explode.
“Don’t be so impatient. Give it a chance to boot up.” She leaned over his chair, her gaze on the computer screen, that fragrant hair swinging forward. He watched, transfixed, as she tucked that golden hank of loose hair back behind her ear. He stared at her profile and longed to reach up and run the back of his hand down the smooth golden skin of her throat, to get a fistful of that shining hair and bring it to his mouth so he could feel the silkiness against his lips. “There,” she announced. By then, she had her hand on the mouse. She started clicking. “Look at that.” She beamed with pride.
He tore his hungry gaze from her face and made himself look at the monitor. “Okay. A spreadsheet.”
She laughed. The musical sound seemed to shiver all through him. “Oh, come on. Who’s got the fancy business degree from UM? Not me, that’s for sure.” She pointed. “Look. That’s a lot of calves, wouldn’t you say? And look at the totals in the yearling column. They’re high. I think it’s going to be a fine year.”
He peered closer at the spreadsheet, frowning. She was right. The yearling count was pretty high. He muttered gruffly, “Not bad…”
“I’m working on making sure they’re all nice and fat come shipping day. And as far as the calves? I think the total is high there because of that new feed mixture I gave their mamas before calving time. Healthy cows make healthy calves.” She laughed again. “Well, duh.
As if you didn’t know. And you just watch. Next year, when those calves are ready for market, they’ll be weighing in at close to seven hundred pounds each—which is really what I’m leading up to here. Yeah, my new feed mixture is looking like a real success. But bottom line? Winter feeding is expensive. Not only because of all the hay we have to put up, but also in the labor-intensive work of caring for and feeding our pregnant cows in the winter months when the feed has got be brought