Give Me A Texan

Chapter 1

Spring 1889, Texas Panhandle

There were two kinds of loneliness in the world-one that taunted with each breath and one that sat quietly, jabbing holes in a body’s spirit. Amanda Lemmons knew a lot about both.

With a steely glint, she surveyed the rocky terrain of the Texas Panhandle. Leaning heavily on a staff, she trudged behind the sheep, her moccasins scraping earth that stretched endlessly toward the deepening pink and purple sunset.

Drawn by the scent of fresh meat, night predators threatened with the approaching darkness. She increased her pace and motioned to Fraser, her border collie, to push the flock.

Clumps of purple horsemint amid yellow buttercups dotted the landscape of the unused north pasture, becoming mere shadows in the twilight. One black silhouette caught her eye as she approached. Leaning, she picked up a worn, felt hat. No doubt the Stetson belonged to some high-struttin’, bowlegged cowboy who staked ownership in the world and everything in it. Didn’t take much guessing to know the saddle tramp worked on one of the cattle empires surrounding her fifty-acre strip of battleground.

“The fool must’ve let the wind carry his bonnet off. The hat’s on my land now, and he’ll get it back over my dead body.”

If the cattlemen wanted war, she’d certainly oblige.

Tucking the find under her arm, Amanda beamed with pride in the way her border collie firmly commanded the modest flock she’d inherited, encompassing the sheep in a sweeping arc before driving them forward. Fraser had been with her father, Argus Lemmons, since a pup, and was raised with sheep until the animal probably thought he could bleat with the best of them.

She sighed with relief when she climbed from an arroyo and caught sight of her adobe house and sandstone corral. A sudden gust of wind flapped a piece of paper on her door. Prickles rose on the back of her neck. Someone had come onto her property uninvited again. Her gaze narrowed to the calling card tacked to her door.

“Another damnable note!” Her sudden outburst perked Fraser’s ears, though his sharp eyes never left his wooly charges.

Amanda’s anger simmered to a low boil.

Mysterious letters, three so far, had suddenly appeared over the last week. Each one had spoken of the brightness of her smile, the pleasing curve of her lips, and other such drivel. None bore a clue to the Lothario’s identity.

She wouldn’t allow them to rattle her. Whatever the caller intended, she wouldn’t let it cloud twenty-eight years of judgment that kept her on firm ground thus far.

“Put the flock to bed, Fraser, and let’s rest our bones.”

The collie’s sharp yap seemed to agree as he herded the baahing chorus into the pen.

“Good boy.” Amanda quickly shut and fastened the gate, then bent to scratch his ears. The dog’s tongue lolled to the side, his tail whipping her leg. “You’re all a woman could wish for. You earned an extra treat tonight. The least I can do is feed you a meal fit for a king. Now, let’s find out if the trespassing varmint who left that on our door put his name to this declaration of love.”

In a way she hoped it was the cowboy looking for his hat. She’d take special delight in making sure he never found it.

A tack held the same brown paper used in any ordinary dry goods store. She ripped off the offending scrap, scanning the area again for the skulking culprit. But nothing moved except the swaying sea of wild rye and sagebrush.

“It’s a good thing the miserable wretch didn’t hang around to show his face. I’d make him rue the day he messed with me.”

The collie scooted past her into the house and poised beside a piece of broken powder keg bearing the faded words U.S. ARMY MUNITIONS. Her father had come across the makeshift dish that the regiments had tossed aside once they finished civilizing the Indians. One thing about Argus, he found a use for everything except a daughter. Sudden pain pricked her heart. Even in death he could still wound. A ragged breath squeezed from her mouth.

Fraser cocked his head to the side, whined, and lifted a paw.

“Beggar.” Amanda wagged her finger. “For shame.”

Dropping the note on the table, she smoothed the thick fur, accepting Fraser’s wet caresses. “One day I’ll get you a real bowl. You deserve much better. Rest while I whip up that feast I promised. Everything is safe for tonight.”

The latest missive received little more than a cursory glance. She scurried about the kitchen corner that consisted of a stove and a few half-empty crates that doubled as cabinets. She really should go to town to restock supplies.

The thought brought a tightening in her chest.

Amarillo didn’t exactly throw out the welcome mat for a mutton puncher. A smart woolie had to know how to keep to herself in a cattle town. Sometimes the lines blurred, making distance all but impossible.

“To keep our bellies fed I have to pretend to like the connivers and backstabbers. Pig’s foot!”

In no time, Amanda dished Fraser a good helping of roasted leg of lamb and carrots she’d fetched from the root cellar. To top off the fare, she added a thick slice of sourdough. The collie had his principles it seemed, promptly nosing the crusty bread to the side before attacking the meat with relish.

She laughed and measured herself a smaller portion on a tin plate while she tried not to jar the rickety table, praying the legs held together a bit longer until she could save up for something better. She’d shear the sheep soon. Folks paid top dollar for wool even though they despised the animal it came from. She intended to sell a few of the flock. Many of the ewes had birthed lambs, so her number had risen. But finding a buyer had become more difficult of late. The cattlemen had the market sewn up, leaving little room for anything else. Yet they kept harping how sheep destroyed the land, making it unfit for their precious bovine. No satisfying the puffed-up land grubbers.

Amanda blinked away tears. Damn them!

Hell would freeze over before she let them force her out. Of the overwhelming numbers of sheepherders once occupying the area, only three stood their ground. Seemed she’d always occupied a spot someone else wanted.

Sometimes in the mist of a gray dawn she dreamed a handsome prince would pluck her from the endless despair and add his strength to hers. And, if a girl dreamed, she might as well dream large. This man wouldn’t mind the bleating of sheep.

His kisses would bring light to a world that had been dark so long.

His arms would be strong enough to withstand the buffeting winds of the cattlemen’s greed.

And his wild spirit would equal her cussed mule-headedness.

Words on the note she’d casually flung to the table caught her interest. She held the paper to the glare of the lamp.

“My Dearest Amanda,” it began.

I yearn to see the beauty of your face, hear the tone of your voice, and inhale your fragrance that wafts in the wind like a million wildflowers in bloom. Please meet me in Amarillo by morning in the lobby of the hotel. Then, you shall know the love I speak. Look for the crescent birthmark on my right hand and the adoration in my eyes.

The flowing initials P.M. graced the bottom of the letter. P.M.? Who on earth? Longing rippled past life’s disappointments and sorrow. Amanda squelched rising excitement, trying to recall crossing paths with Mr. P.M.

Not that he could truly be a secret admirer, so she’d best remember that. The motive had to be some callous attempt to belittle her. She’d suffered the brunt of ridicule much of her life and knew that particular sting. She wouldn’t put stock in flowery words scribbled on a piece of paper.

The swain wouldn’t trick her. Her adversaries had a bag full of low, unscrupulous practices. She knew them all.

This, however, was a new tactic, and the ruse would prove far more damaging than the others should she buy the flattering prose.

Amanda didn’t. She wouldn’t entertain that for a second.

Her hand shook slightly when she held the note toward glowing embers in the stove. The paper caught easily and turned to ash in minutes. Like her life, it flaked into nothingness and fell amid the flames.

Fraser whined. His soulful, brown eyes said he knew her pain.

Jerking up the wayward Stetson that had come into her tender, loving care, she threw it down and stomped until the black felt flattened into a circle.

Now, should the cowboy come looking, she’d be oh-so-thrilled, in fact duty-bound, to return it.

“Here boy.” She grabbed a handful of oatmeal cookies she’d baked that morning and aimed for the middle of Fraser’s new feeding dish. “I didn’t forget that extra special treat.”

Quiet yearnings settled in the deepest corners of Amanda’s heart. Things she hadn’t revealed to a living soul. She swallowed hard. Years had passed since the abandonment, and yet the hurt haunted. If only she could take solace in the fact that each day took her further from the misery. Except it hadn’t. She was truly, utterly alone.

Amanda glared at the hat. Trust could make a woman do foolish things. She wouldn’t put any faith in a fiddle-faced cowboy with a vivid imagination and too much time on his hands.

Inhale her fragrance that wafts in the wind like a million wildflowers would he? She snorted.

“I trust you about as far as I can throw an iron jenny.”

Amanda absently twirled the spinning wheel that was tucked in a corner of the room while she plotted.

She’d get gussied up in the new apricot dress she’d sewn from last year’s finest wool…

Put a dab of rose water behind her ears…And paste on a smile that would melt a man’s hardest, most cruel intentions.

The louse wouldn’t expect a sheep rancher with brains.

Or a devious plan.

Yes, she’d go.

And she’d make the Lothario sorry he ever messed with her.

Absolutely, without a doubt, sorry.

Chapter 2

Cussing and yelling from across the Frying Pan Ranch’s compound might’ve broadened Payton McCord’s vocabulary, if he lived someplace more civilized than the rough Panhandle or pursued another line of work besides cowhand.

His Uncle Henry had spouted a lot of wisdom before he went on to the hereafter and, although a good portion of the interpreting changed with each telling, one parcel stood out: Spittin’ into the wind can leave you drying your face with a long-handled mop.

In hindsight, Payton should’ve heeded that particular warning before playing the latest practical joke on his best friend, Joe Long. Fact of the matter, Payton had forgotten he’d planted his damn feet in the downwind position, and now had to suffer the consequences. In the dying light of a spent day he could definitely feel the fine spray of blowback drenching his mustache.

Payton raised his head when sudden silence filled the brisk, spring air, deafening him. Strands of hemp dangled from the partially braided rope in his hand.

Maybe Joe’d patched things up with his wife, Lucinda.

That glimmer of hope died when abrupt banging and clanging replaced the brief moment of calm.

He swung toward the commotion and winced.

Pots, pans, and pottery flew from the doorway like missiles from a Gatling gun, followed by Joe’s hasty exit.

Hell and be damned, Lucinda Long had a temper!

A guilty conscience rolled a heaping boxcar of blame at Payton’s door. He shouldn’t have convinced that saloon trollop Joe would welcome her affections. In his defense, who would’ve predicted Lucinda would pass by the swinging doors and spy the tosspot perching on Joe’s lap with her skinny arms wrapped around his neck?

While Payton recounted the scene, a skillet grazed the ranch foreman’s head. Joe nursed his wound, limping toward him and safer territory inside the barn.

“Reckon Lucinda’s not in the forgiving mood.” Payton trained his gaze on the new rope. Blood made him a mite squeamish. Besides, he couldn’t bear the misery in Joe’s eyes.

“The woman’s fit to lasso a trapped cougar.”

“Give her a day or two. Maybe she’ll take you back.”

“Damn you, McCord! You’ve gone too far this time. Messing with a man’s marriage is serious grounds for an ass whooping.”

Payton planted a matchstick in the side of his mouth. “I never meant for Lucy to see that hussy. Our pranks have always been harmless fun. And I reckon the God-awful jokes you’ve pulled ever since I arrived three months ago conveniently slipped a cog in your memory. I recall those were none on the pleasant side.”

Replacing the Bull Durham in his pouch with cow dung still stung…

And filling his canteen with skunk oil? Luckily, the odor hit his nose before he tipped the container. He’d had to throw the damn thing away though. Those incidents straggled at the end of a list long as his arm. He finally raised his eyes to check for blood. None that he could see.

Joe gingerly rubbed the knot on his head. “Let’s call it quits. We’re even. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“Shake on it?”

A fraction of a second passed before Joe accepted Payton’s olive branch. The hesitation let it be known he might forgive but not forget. At last, Joe clasped Payton’s hand, a small assurance they were still friends despite everything.

“Talk to Lucinda. She might listen to you, Payton.”

“Sure. Might have to let her cool off first though.”

“I figure that’ll be sometime after next year’s thaw. I ain’t seen her this riled in all my born days.”

Just then a pair of men’s britches skimmed the air and landed on the whiplike, spiny branches of an ocotillo bush. Clusters of crimson flowers peeked from the crotch. Shirts and long johns soon littered the buttercups and black-eyed Susan landscape until the ground developed a case of measles.

Payton shifted the matchstick. “You might oughta go get your britches, Joe.”

“Tarnation! Rub salt in the wound why don’t you, you low-down marriage-wrecker. Add some vinegar while you’re at it.”

“That’s no way to speak to a friend.”

“You’d best talk to her soon if you want to remain one,” Joe growled.

“I admit I owe you that. I’ll do my best to fix the harm.” Payton straightened and lowered his hat. Then, he stalked to a pair of recently pitched white underdrawers smothering a patch of winecup and began waving them as he cautiously crossed the battlefield. “Lucy, now don’t you throw anything else.”

The termagant stepped out. A stiff breeze tossed the mass of flaming red curls hither and yon.

“Stay out of this, Payton. I have no quarrel with you.”

“That opinion may change once you hear me out. Let me come inside. I don’t think a body should air dirty laundry where God and everybody can hear.”

She clutched the door but moved aside. “You can talk until the saints go marching in and it won’t affect things one iota.”

Leaving the drawers on the stoop, he stepped across the threshold. “First of all, you know Joe and I have played pranks on each other from the moment we met?”

“I don’t see how that pertains.”

“Joe has no use for that saloon hussy. Won’t give any woman the time of day except you.” Payton ran a hand through his hair and met her wrath with frank honesty. “Truth is I created this predicament when I told the girl Joe’d welcome a little feminine persuasion not of the wifely kind. I didn’t stretch or bend the truth…I lied.”

“Kiss my foot! I could spit in your eye if you weren’t so blasted tall, Payton McCord.”

“Would it help knowing I didn’t think it’d come to this?”

A swift blow to his shoulder knocked him sideways. Damn, the little woman carried a punch! Lucy’s temper came in degrees of hot, boiling, and scorching. He’d earned the full measure though. Never let anyone say he didn’t take his medicine even if it did go down backward and lopsided. Or all over his face.

His belly twisted when he saw tears swimming in her eyes. Lucy truly loved Joe despite his faults.

Not that Payton particularly knew anything about love. Closest he might’ve gotten was the time he raced into a burning building to save Mavis Harper and found her half-clothed. The only fire had been the grease on the stove. He’d sure had hell peeling Mavis off him though.

Ever since she batted those eyes like a cow that’d eaten a bunch of locoweed, and he ran in the opposite direction.

Maybe that was love.

Maybe it should scare the stuffing right out of a man.

And maybe he had no business changing his ways now. A confirmed bachelor didn’t suddenly wish to wed any more than a cowpuncher developed a craving for dumb sheep. He was a single man, a cow man, and that was that.

Love and marriage…who needed that cluttering up things? Those notions were for young pups with stardust in their eyes and enough courage to wrestle a pack of mangy wolves.

Payton was too old for pretending he had what it took. An achy back and bum knee tended to remind him whenever he let his thoughts get too frisky.

In light of today’s events he could see the disaster a wife made of a man’s life. He should probably count his blessings. Though too often, when he rode the range with the cattle, he imagined being able to wrap his arms around a woman who belonged only to him and hold her until dawn’s faint light whispered “I do, I forever will” in his ear.

Those things weren’t for him. He’d accepted that.

Dear Uncle Henry swore the love of a good woman could cure a man of bachelorhood, sin, and sanctimony. Payton had no doubt he needed saving, but didn’t harbor any fervent desire for it.

“Come here, Lucy.” He folded his arms around the woman and let her blubber and sling snot on his clean shirt. “Joe worships the ground you walk on. Always has. Always will.”

“You’d defend him no matter what.”

“I know he has eyes for no other woman in the world.”

Lucinda dabbed at the tears. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Although he wasn’t privy to such things, he took her wobbly smile as a good sign.

“Do you think you can find it in your heart to take Joe back?” He handed her a handkerchief. He’d always heard a woman liked a man to pay attention to tears and snot.

“You always were the only one brave enough to call me Lucy.” She blew her nose. “Joe can come home…in time.”

Visions of the uncomfortable sort swept through Payton’s head. Each one brought to mind a swarm of angry bees after someone knocked down their hive and stole their honey.

“Exactly how does a man measure ‘in time’?”

“When he’s learned his lesson good and proper.”

Which meant what? Female riddles-who could understand them? He’d rather have things spoken straight out. That way a man knew where he stood. Looked as if Joe sat astraddle a fence and Payton couldn’t advise him where to light.

Nodding as though it made perfect sense, he backed out the screen door and returned to the barn in time to catch Joe scribbling on a piece of paper. His friend hurriedly pushed the writing tools under the britches he’d retrieved from the yard, his foot tapping out a rhythm on the dirt floor.

“Well? What did Lucinda say?”

“Hell if I know what a woman means.” Heavy silence followed after Payton relayed the message.

“Damn it!” Joe yelled at last. “No telling when her disposition will sweeten. I guess you did your best to make amends. You know, this forces me into your company. Can you try not to raise the roof with your snores?”

“You should talk. It’s me that has to put up with your sorry hide. What were you writing?” Payton glanced at the edge of the paper peeking from the worn, blue denim. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Joe trying to hide his handiwork. Maybe letters posed the best way back into Lucy’s good graces. And it stood to reason Joe would want to avoid the ribbing the ranch hands would give him.

“Me?” Joe tucked the pencil above his ear and grinned. “Nothing. Nope, wasn’t writing a goldarned thing.”

“Reckon I’ll get my gear ready for branding then.”

“I forgot to tell you…Mr. Sanborn wants you to meet James Wyness in Amarillo first thing tomorrow. Cattle Raisers Association business. He can’t go himself.”

Meeting with Wyness midweek seemed rather peculiar. Especially at the start of branding season.

Payton smelled something afoot, and it wasn’t manure either.

Chapter 3

Payton eased his sore bones onto a comfortable settee in the lobby of the recently completed Amarillo Hotel and stretched his long legs. His aching knee thanked him for taking off the weight.

All right, he was here. Where was James Wyness?

An ornate grandfather clock struck eight. He searched the room, hoping to spy the boss of the LX Ranch. No luck. Again, Payton wished Mr. Sanborn had elaborated on the all-fired urgency in getting to Amarillo by morning.

The door abruptly opened and he swung an anxious glance toward it.

A ragged breath filled his lungs. The slight beauty who strode through bore little resemblance to Wyness’s craggy features. High cheekbones sculptured her face into a rare work of art that belonged on some artist’s canvas.

Though he really couldn’t say she was the most beautiful woman in the world, given his limited knowledge of such things, she was easily the most memorable. The hotel guest could put any heifer in the pasture to shame in nothing flat. He inspected her through a narrowed gaze.

Despite her small build, the way she carried herself seemed to suggest legs clear up to Sunday.

And she had big…

He swallowed hard.

…eyes, he finished lamely. He dragged attention from the rounded curves. Yep, they were sure big.

Somewhere among the cobwebs in his brain he recalled that a gentleman shouldn’t notice a woman’s figure. Especially the top half-unless of course he already had before he could help himself.

A polite nod wouldn’t hurt though, which he managed weakly before she sat down and propped a valise at her feet.

She’d not only captured his attention, but every last man, woman, and child’s in the hotel. Whispers circled. Pointed stares flew her direction. Her presence appeared to engulf the lobby. He couldn’t say he blamed the onlookers. She was a rare sight for the newly platted town.

Payton snatched up the weekly edition of the Panhandle Herald and whipped it open. Maybe reading about cattle prices would get his mind off the traveler’s…embellishments.

The pretty lady must’ve arrived on the Fort Worth and Denver City Railway that had pulled into the station fifteen minutes ago. Perhaps she came in on one of the many excursion trains bringing prospective buyers for town lots. Beyond the hotel doors, Amarillo whirred with comings and goings. Way too noisy. One reason he stayed well removed unless necessary. Give him peace and quiet of the ranch any day. Except the Frying Pan had become littered with too many pots, pans, and prickles of late. Thinking of Lucy and Joe, he felt another rush of guilt.

Rosewater drifted around him in a lazy swirl.

Payton tried to ignore both the fragrance and the faint rustle of fabric, but his senses had stood up and taken too much notice. A hard blow couldn’t slap every nerve ending back down that had popped to the surface and saluted.

“I beg your pardon, sir.” The rich tones, wrapped in layers of female softness, slid over his skin like satin on silk.

So much for the expected bumper crop of odoriferous mushmelons. Payton lowered the newspaper and found himself face to face with the slight beauty who probably had to stuff rocks in her pockets to weigh a hundred pounds. She’d scooted beside him and was damn near in his lap.

“Yes?” He tried to sound unruffled, as if conversing with eye-boggling women was an every day occurrence.

“You’re reading the paper upside down.”

“Oh.” Beads of sweat dotted his brow as he hurriedly switched it around. “Anything else?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Well, much obliged.”

From under the edges of the morning news he fastened his gaze on the woman’s shoes…rather, moccasins…peeking from the hem of a dress the color of ripe peaches. How unusual. Payton couldn’t recall anyone quite so unorthodox. Or one with feminine enticement oozing from every nook and cranny.

He felt her lean closer and squirmed.

Her breath dallied on the newspaper like a gentle caress. A ragged gulp of air couldn’t save him. He knew if he lowered the shield again he’d fall into the bottomless depths of her sooty gaze. He’d wrestled many a steer and ridden ornery broncs without a speck of the panic he knew now.

“Excuse me,” mystery lady’s silken request further muddled his musing.

Payton reluctantly folded the paper. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Could I beg you for the time?”

“I believe it’s half-past eight. Meeting someone?”

“Perhaps.” She captured the tips of each gloved finger between pearly teeth and with painstaking deliberation drew off the soft kid before extending her hand. “I’m Amanda.”

“Pleasure’s mine. Payton McCord of the Frying Pan Ranch.”

Miss Amanda had a firm grip. No limp-wrist woman.

Yep, the pleasure was most definitely his. Heat rose from his midsection and spread in sultry, scorching waves.

A curtain of dark hair the shade of thick, warm molasses cascaded from a jeweled contraption fastened at the crown instead of worn in the God-awful stiff custom of the day. Amanda evidently thumbed her nose at convention both in her choice of footwear and appearance. He was a lucky man.

“Forgive me, Mr. McCord. I shouldn’t pry. But can you tell me if you wear leather gloves all the time?”

He sat up a little straighter. “What the…?”

“I see I’ve shocked you. Too much time alone I fear. I forget the niceties.”

A woman of her caliber shouldn’t ever be alone. What a waste of prime womanhood. Payton glanced again at the clock wondering if it had gotten stuck on half-past eight. “If I learned niceties they didn’t stick. And yes, gloves have become a permanent fixture. Helps in my line of work.”

“Which would be?”

“Cattle.”

“No surprise there,” she murmured so low he had trouble hearing. Or it could’ve been the swarm of angry bees in his head that searched for stolen honey.

Amanda withdrew a lacy kerchief from her handbag and dabbed at the slim column of her throat. Blood pounded in his ears as he followed the lazy, agonizing path to hidden soft skin lurking beyond the vee of her neckline. She toyed with the top button.

Payton wanted to look higher, somewhere in the vicinity of her forehead. Dammit, he tried. But there weren’t enough horses in the state of Texas to drag his attention anywhere else. Perspiration soaked through the underarms of his shirt. He prayed she’d not notice. Sweat probably offended a nice lady of her obvious breeding, the moccasins aside. She could’ve fallen on hard times and resorted to what she could get. He wouldn’t hold that against her. He’d like to hold himself against her though. The startling idea launched another wave of heat.

Crossing his legs, he nodded at her valise. “Traveling?”

“No.” Tendrils of Amanda’s hair curled about her ear with the shake of her head.

Then why in Sam hell did she carry a case?

“Traveling folks usually tote one of those.” He pointed to the worn leather bag.

“Oh, that.” Her quick laugh washed over him in thick, indolent pulses. “I thought this may require spending the night instead of riding back to my ranch. Depending.”

“On what? If you’re at liberty to say, that is.” Why had his throat gotten so dry all of a sudden?

“My plans depend on the person I’m meeting. If he shows up and things…Well, if things turn out. I’m sure you understand.”

Payton’s stomach twisted, resisting the fact that Amanda had a man friend and they might be doing…uh, never mind what they might be doing. The painful lump in his throat grew.

“No need to explain.”

Absolutely no need. She didn’t have to plow a whole dad-blamed field before he knew she was sowing something. He might be a bachelor but he had more than a little experience with the ladies. In fact, too much, or his mind wouldn’t linger on featherbeds and social calls. Amanda rested her hand on his arm, the touch plundering the remainder of his good sense.

“Are you waiting for someone, Mr. McCord?”

“James Wyness, head of the Cattle Raisers Association.”

“My goodness, your meeting must be awfully important.”

“I couldn’t say. I’m in the dark why the boss sent me.”

Amanda twisted the handkerchief around her finger. Feathery lashes lowered to hide her burnished mahogany gaze.

It surprised him that she’d be nervous. Must be her first time. A married woman cheating on her husband? No ring weighted her hand, but she could’ve discarded it. He hoped she at least knew this fellow she was fixin’ to let ruin her life. The bastard would make her a fallen woman.

The thought soured on his stomach.

Payton made a rule not to judge others but at the moment he could gladly whip the fellow up one street and down the other for taking advantage of such a genteel lady.

With angelic grace, she fingered a strand of warm molasses while treating him to a wide-eyed regard. Payton’s heart skittered sideways.

“Your ranch, ma’am…would it have a name?”

The smile that teased the corners of her lush lips wobbled. “It’s a small spread and I tend to keep to myself.”

“How many head you running?”

“More than enough to keep me busy.” Shadows lurked in the dusky gaze that swept the room’s occupants. “And yes, I’m the sole owner. I do the work of several.”

So the lady had no husband. Interesting.

Payton shifted. “Awful big burden for small shoulders.”

“Whatever doesn’t whip us into the ground makes us stronger, I’m told.”

Amanda touched the outside of each eye with the tip of the handkerchief, examining Payton. He had the right initials. But he couldn’t be the letter writer for the obvious reason that he’d come to meet the Scotsman, Wyness. Not her.

Flitteration!

Part of her wished he was. He had an honest firmness that made him shine above other men. Payton McCord would stand up when it came time to be counted. He would never fold or trifle with her. How she came to that conclusion she wasn’t sure, or why she took to a saddle-warmer of all things.

Well, she never wanted a perfect man. Just one that would hold her when she was cold, frightened, or empty, and ask for nothing except the sharing of a life in return. This one she could learn to accept if the price were right. With him the midnight hours would hold no loneliness or despair.

McCord had a rugged strength. Perhaps he would afford her respect few others had.

Eyes the color of freshly picked mint seemed to look at the world in shades of green-perhaps not minding that she raised sheep of all things. Sandy waves, streaked by the sun, brushed his jacket collar in rebellion. And the groomed mustache added flair to features that had probably seen good times and bad in equal measure and served to forge some strong steel.

From lowered lids she imagined the gentleness of the sensual mouth. The rapid thud of her pulse seemed loud as the ache expanded.

The mustache would tickle just a tiny bit.

But she wouldn’t mind. Not when he could banish the ills of the past. And she had little doubt that he could. This man held promise. She needed, desired, him to be real. Was that too much to ask?

Look for the crescent birthmark on my right hand.

Amanda shook herself and returned to the devious plan she’d hatched to turn the tables on the Lothario. She loathed plunging on but she must. She just prayed for an outcome that wouldn’t break her heart.

“Would you mind terribly removing your gloves?” She flashed a bright smile, confident in her feminine wiles. And so far, Payton McCord swallowed the entire lasso, knot and all. “I know it sounds ridiculous, and I don’t normally go around asking it of strangers, but I do have a reason.”

“Can’t imagine what or how it possibly pertains to me.”

His black scowl indicated the first sign of balking. This called for a lot more sneakiness. Perhaps she should throw in a bit of candor-to a point.

“You see, I have no way of recognizing the person I’m meeting other than by a certain mark.”

And the look of adoration in the swain’s eyes. But she didn’t add that. She’d already seen it swimming in the green stare. The intensity there made tingles tiptoe up her spine.

Payton scowled. “A mark. On his hand I take it?”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Amanda rose, gathering her valise and her pride. “My problems shouldn’t concern you.”

“No, please. It appears both Wyness and your…appointment…stood us up.” He untangled his legs and sprang to his feet. “Let’s hash this out over coffee? Or tea. I feel obliged to help a pretty damsel in distress.”

“Very kind. How can I refuse a…true gentleman?”

“You can’t.”

She handed him the valise and accepted his elbow. Heads turned when they entered the dining room and for once Amanda couldn’t tell if they stared at her, the mutton woman, or the devilishly handsome wrangler. He pulled out her chair and waited until she sat down before taking a seat.

Tiny details caught her notice-the quiver that rippled through muscles in his arm when she brushed it, the solid feel of his tall frame, and the genuine warmth enfolding her that chased away the ever-present chill in her veins for a moment.

Hmmmmm…Despite apprehension, she could do far worse than having refreshment with a cowboy. Not just any though. Payton seemed special.

Besides, should he turn out to be the author of the love letters, and if he had written them for the purpose of making her a bigger laughingstock, her plot would succeed. Everyone would see him keeping company with a lowly sheepherder. Nothing else would ruin a staunch cattleman’s reputation faster.

But if he had and the declaration of love was genuine?

Somehow her vision didn’t seem as clear now.

Strange that he hadn’t mentioned the love letters once or shown an inclination he knew her. She could’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion from the outset. Damaging someone like Payton seemed wrong, particularly if he penned the words from deep inside. It might do more than leave his reputation in shambles. Picking up pieces of a heart…that was something in which she was well versed. She steeled herself against the pain and clenched her jaw. Reality was a harsh taskmaster. Better she let the chips fall.

Payton McCord had to be the one. He was the best candidate out of the gathering in the lobby-four who entered with wives and two others who appeared on their last leg, slipping fast and probably with reservations for the undertaker.

Then there was the matter with the initials. Yes, McCord was Lothario all right. And she had to protect herself. Time to get at the truth.

With the valise at her feet and napkin in her lap, she met Payton’s reserved perusal and tilted forward. His gaze meandered to the rounded tops of her bosom where he lingered for a long second. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

She let her fingertips rest on his gloved hand. “Mr. McCord, thank you so much for taking pity on me.”

“Payton…I insist. I’m not one to stand on formality.” Lines around the corners of his mouth and an interesting cleft in his chin deepened with his grin.

No, he was more for trying to run her off her land and back to New Mexico more likely. Memories of Santa Fe, distasteful and hideous, lodged in the hole in her chest.

“In that case, Payton it is.”

“I believe you were going to explain some quandary you’re in with a fellow you don’t know. I get the impression you don’t truly wish to be here. So why do something you might regret, something that may bring you to rack and ruin?”

Ruination wouldn’t be hers if she could help it. Wait until he got a look at what she’d packed inside her valise.

The waiter arrived at that moment to take their order then retreated with a huff after they’d only wanted coffee.

“We’ll get to that.” She stared deep into his eyes, her fingertips massaging the back of his gloved hand. “First, let’s enjoy the moment and these beautiful surroundings.”

“I agree. The Amarillo Hotel is magnificent. My boss, Mr. Sanborn, sure has an eye for high living. He built one of the finest establishments north of Austin.” Payton released a sharp breath when Amanda removed her fingers to idly trace the swirls on the tablecloth.

Good. She’d lured him further onto the patch of quicksand.

Payton’s hand shook slightly as he raked back a thick lock of hair. She flashed the biggest smile in her arsenal.

“You know, I think you’re the first man I’ve seen who doesn’t wear a Stetson. Most everyone sports one of some sort. I have this old floppy straw hat I wear on the ranch.”

“Lost mine. The darn thing blew away in a wind storm and I never found it. Probably in Louisiana by now. Before I head back to the Frying Pan today I have to go by the mercantile.”

Blew away? Amanda lifted the water glass to hide the jolt.

If the hat she’d found belonged to Payton it no longer bore the shape of one. And Fraser seemed to like his new dish.

“Odd, isn’t it, how things do tend to disappear?” She clutched the napkin and drew it down the length of her throat in an excruciating crawl. The green gaze widened, following the sliding, downward waltz. “It’s rather warm in here.”

With abrupt impatience, Payton peeled off the gloves and wiped his palms on the tablecloth. “Indeed it is. Very hot.”

Suddenly Amanda’s stomach whirled.

A crescent birthmark marred the back of his right hand.

What had she done?

Chapter 4

Payton’s attention strayed from Amanda’s come-hither pose when Joe entered the dining room. Damn! The friend brought nearly every last hand of the Frying Pan with him.

Shenanigans of the rotten kind swirled. Payton shifted in the chair. Whatever they were up to reeked to high heaven.

Joe grabbed the empty seat at their table, making himself at home. Payton didn’t care much for his friend’s goofy grin or the way he stared at Amanda.

“Don’t you have anything better to do besides bother us, Joe? Cows to brand? Chickens to feed? A wife to cajole?”

“Boss gave us the day off. Thought we’d come watch.”

Twisting and turning in Payton’s gut made him dizzy. Watch what? He wasn’t some bug under a light. Romancing a charming, beautiful woman didn’t call for an audience. But, maybe that was it-they wanted to see in action someone who shied away from things of the heart. Lord knows he scoffed at it often enough. How in Sam hell did they know Amanda would be at the hotel though? He had some square pegs that wouldn’t fit in round holes. One of the mismatched pegs became crystal clear however. He smoothed his mustache, the cold knot in his belly tightening.

“Wyness wasn’t supposed to meet me, was he? You’re up to no good. What have you done now?”

“I swear to my time, Payton, you’re not a Pinkerton man at a train holdup. Relax.” Joe winked at Amanda. “Miss Amanda, I declare you’re prettier than a speckled pup. Always a treat.”

Employees of the ranch-Bert, Amos, and Felipe-watched from the next table, grinning like squirrels eating ripe acorns.

Payton didn’t enjoy the niggling suspicions. He turned his attention to the pretty lady who’d swept into his life. “You know each other? Don’t tell me this is the fellow you came to meet.” If so, he’d gladly whoop the tar out of Joe for free.

“Not hardly.” Amanda frowned. “Joe wouldn’t have any reason to write me letters.”

“Letters?” A sinking feeling made Payton weak.

“Notes someone keeps tacking to my door. The writer signed the last one with the initials P.M. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Payton McCord?”

He did a double take with the sudden switch. Where had the beguiling smile gone, the soft curve of her jaw? He could almost see a layer of frost form on her lashes. And why was she accusing him of things of which he had no knowledge?

“Don’t look at me.” He had a sick feeling.

Joe’s grin became more smug than goofy. “Miss Amanda, maybe you oughta fill Payton in on the nature of your ranch.”

The sooty brown of her gaze became pitch black. “Tell him yourself.” Her sudden shove freed a path from the table. She jumped to her feet. “It’s just as I suspected. You won’t make me the butt of your jokes.”

“Fair enough. But could I trouble you for the love letters Payton wrote? He’s my friend and I gotta protect him.”

“Love letters? I didn’t write any…” Payton’s voice trailed, remembering Joe and his secret doings. He felt the blood drain from his face. Amanda’s wounded gaze hurt worse than a gut full of buckshot.

“Don’t look so innocent, McCord. I can prove it.” She whipped out a crinkled paper from her handbag and pitched it at him. “This was the first. I burned the others.”

He read the script. The brightness of your smile puts the sun to shame. The pleasing curve of your fair lips makes my heart flutter. I will one day advance my cause and you will know I speak these words in good faith. Until that time I remain your humble servant.

What a bunch of hogwash. Then, the magnitude of Joe’s deceit began to sink in. Good God Almighty!

“This isn’t my handwriting. I promise.” But he could damn sure pitch a silver dollar on the one it belonged to. And what about poor Lucy? He ought to horsewhip Joe.

“No use denying true feelings, Payton. Loving someone ain’t nothing to be ashamed of,” Bert kidded with a wink.

Amos and Felipe’s snickering added to Payton’s misery.

“Yeah, unless she happens to raise sheep,” Joe tossed in.

“Sheep?” Payton’s heart lurched.

“Yes, sheep.” Her face, with its high, sculptured cheekbones tilted in defiance. “I own a sizeable flock of the wooly creatures as if you didn’t already know.” Amanda’s glare aimed a flurry of cartridges and the box too at the narrow space between his eyes.

“You’re that Amanda?”

How was he supposed to know what she looked like when he was fairly new to the area?

Tears sparkled in her gaze before glinty steel hardened them into bullets.

The hint of rosewater tickled his nose when she propped her hands on each side of him and leaned over, her feathery breath rumpling the hairs of his mustache. “Darling, I made sure everyone saw you in the company of a lowly sheepherder and obviously very delighted. You know how fast that shoots a respected cattleman’s reputation. I had nothing to lose because the good citizens of Amarillo already revile me. Gentlemen, you best remember that the next time you try to make a fool of me. And trespass on my property again, I’ll fill you so full of holes you’ll have to give up bathing to keep from drowning.”

A flash of her skirts left Payton reeling. His chair turned over when he stood. “Amanda, wait. I can explain.”

“Appears she’s not of a notion to listen,” Joe drawled.

Payton swung with fists clenched. “I oughta beat you like a rented mule. That was the meanest, low-down prank you’ve done. What happened to let bygones be bygones? We shook hands.”

“You should know better than trust a fellow you’ve wronged. My marriage was the best part of me.”

“Don’t think I’m going to forget this.”

“Expect not. But the shock on your face is something to tell around the campfire.” Joe’s chortle drew curious stares from nearby tables. “You were lovin’ right up to her when we came in. Had prunes in your voice and everything. Looked like you were damn near fixin’ to kiss her.”

“I was admiring her…eyes.”

Those full curves had pulled the fabric tight across her chest until he thought her embellishments might pop out accidentally. Imagining the weight of them in his hands didn’t take much effort. Fragrance that spoke of warm nights and full moons promised things he would sell his horse and saddle for.

His lungs swelled with a sudden rush of longing. Damn, Amanda was a bundle of gunpowder and satiny curves. But, she took him for nothing more than a desperate, lonely cowboy who had nothing better to do than write mushy words of love.

Truth to tell, she hit the nail on most of those heads except he wouldn’t depend on paper and pencil to do his talking if he had anything to say.

And then there was the matter of her sheep.

Not exactly a big thing in itself. Not if they were in the heart of Scotland. It was, however, an unforgivable sin when it happened in cow country on cow land. He couldn’t have anyone think for a minute he was a lamb-licker. They’d laugh him plumb out of Texas. In fact, they’d probably already started a petition to bar him from participating in any Cattlemen Association affairs. Amanda was right about the whole town seeing him in her company.

Spit fire!

Joe leaned back and hooked his fingers in the waist of his britches. “Yep, I could see you were certainly admiring that part of her anatomy. Someone oughta teach you to lie better.”

Payton slumped weakly into the chair. It wouldn’t do any good to tell him to lower his voice. The damage was done.

They’d fixed him good. He couldn’t live this down.

“Your lady is muy bonita,” Felipe said. “I think maybe she like you. And you have this look of love on your face.”

“Looks more like the dry wilts to me,” Bert said dryly.

They appeared as satisfied with themselves as pigs in clover.

“Keep your horseback opinions to yourself.” Payton wished he could turn back the clock. He would definitely undo the prank that started all this. Talk about rack and ruin.

“Learn to baaaaah before you go courting.” Amos picked up the valise Amanda had left behind in her hurry and fiddled with the catch.

“Give me that.” Payton jerked the case away before they opened it up in the hotel dining room. That’s all he needed. Lord only knew what would jump out. If she had come hoping to spend the night with the writer of the love letters, which technically meant him even though he hadn’t written ’em, the valise would hold yards of frothy lace and things of dreams. Things that would show every inch of her big…eyes. He flushed, glancing around the dining room.

But the latch had come loose and an assortment of ropes, handcuffs, and…leg irons? flew into the air. The devices came down amid a spilled cushion of lacy apparel fashioned of little more than illusion.

Hell and damnation!

Chapter 5

Amanda stomped up the street to Diggs Grocery and Hardware, mindful of the stir her presence in town created. However, judging by the far more than usual whispers and stares, the traveling gazette that carried a whole budget of local gossip from lip to lip must’ve already began circulating the sordid details of what had just taken place at the hotel. Her plan to ruin Payton McCord’s good name appeared to have met with resounding success. It should’ve pleased her.

Darn it, why didn’t it? No one ever claimed war was fair. In fact, it was dirty business. But at what price had winning come? She hadn’t expected this murky gloom. In a way it compared to having someone up and die on you.

Maybe they had. Maybe she had. Maybe a dream had.

Deep in thought, Amanda nearly plowed into Hank Harris, a mountain of a man, who stepped from the barber shop onto the wooden sidewalk. His size intimidated. Not that she was afraid of him. She simply felt like a sapling next to a mature oak.

“Ma’am.” Hank tipped the brim of his hat to her and kept walking before she could utter a word. She’d heard womenfolk made him ill at ease and it certainly appeared the case, which explained why he’d remained a steadfast bachelor so long.

His ranch wasn’t too far from hers, with a huge house as impressive as his height sitting smack in the middle. She guessed he built the enormous structure to keep from knocking himself silly when he stood upright. But, Hank had a good heart and was known for helping people in need. She just tried not to ever need. It was best that way.

Pushing through the mercantile door, she almost collided with Opal Duncan who cradled her newborn son as if he were a fragile egg. It didn’t take much to make someone grasp something with such fierce determination when they’d lost their farm and livelihood. Amanda saw her own weary confusion reflecting in the woman’s gray eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry. Are you all right, Mrs. Duncan?”

“You just startled me. You’re Amanda Lemmons, aren’t you?”

Prickles crawled up her back. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I just want to tell you to hang on to what’s yours. Don’t ever let anyone take it away. Fight.” Then she whispered, “Talk to my husband if you ever want to sell any of your sheep.” Tears swam in Opal’s gaze before the woman hurried out the door.

Amanda watched the proud carriage with sorrow. Offer to buy her mutton came unexpectedly. It took brave souls to cross the Association. And Milford Duncan was as strong as they came.

The clock inside the store chimed, reminding her to hurry. She jerked up a sack of sugar and gallon of vinegar and stacked them on a section of the counter. Payton would be making tracks to buy a new hat and she wished to avoid another run-in with the rugged cowboy. Especially one itching to get even. No doubt thick frost would now coat his deep, pleasing baritone.

But, he’d earned what he got for belittling her. In the end he was like all the others. How could she have thought P.M. would stand up when it came time to be counted? The moment came and went and he sat on his California Levi’s. There had been no defending her. No apology. No shame. He was nothing but a cow-lover who trifled with a lady’s feelings. He scoffed her and her sheep.

Her face burned with remembrance. She fretted in vain over damaging him with her plan. She prayed he never forgot how it felt to be an outcast.

“May I assist you, Miss Lemmons?” Jeb Diggs stood beside his wife, Mary Carol. Both wore shocked expressions that said she was awfully bold to help herself like she owned the store.

The sack of flour Amanda was about to sling onto her pile sank to the floor. She’d just committed another unspeakable sin-that of waiting on herself. Truth was she’d been in such a hurry she forgot the social rules and how they applied to her.

She apologized and told the couple her needs, adding a box of cartridges to her list for good measure. Never could have too many bullets, her father always said. He should know. He’d outlasted blue northerns, encroaching cattle barons, and a sour puss of a second wife who tried her best to kill him before she ran off with a snake charmer from a traveling sideshow.

Amanda blinked back sudden tears at the reminder of what it cost to survive and stared at the small mountain on the counter. She must’ve been out of everything.

Thank goodness she’d thought to leave the wagon in front of the mercantile when she arrived that morning. Wouldn’t have far to carry the supplies. Pray tell that a tad of the mutton smell would rub off or someone would see the Diggs’s aiding the enemy.

A fashionable, very pretty woman approached, clutching a pad and pencil of all things. “Miss Lemmons?”

The large feather protruding from the hat perching on the woman’s head indicated wealth, no sympathy for the naked bird she’d stolen the tail feathers from, or both. No one in the Panhandle wore such trappings so perhaps she came from far away and therefore wasn’t part of the mud-slinging. Still, the question made Amanda bristle.

“Who wants to know?”

“Oh dear, I’ve done it again.” The woman stretched out her gloved hand. “Kaira Renaulde from Boston. Well, actually I’m a new reporter for the Panhandle Herald. I only need a moment.”

“I’m sorry.” The striking newsmonger could peddle her papers elsewhere. “Maybe another time.”

Payton McCord should be opening the worn, leather bag Amanda deliberately left behind right about now. All hell would break loose when he discovered the contents.

“I promise to be brief. Please allow me to explain. Somehow, I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a pickle and promised my boss, the editor, I’d get an article for the paper.”

“I really can’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Kaira brushed aside Amanda’s brusque dismissal. Her hand poised to write. “Although I’m from back East I hear it’s quite unusual for a born and bred cowboy and a sheepherder to consort. But I must say it’s quite romantic. Is there any truth to the rumor Payton McCord of the Frying Pan Ranch met you this morning at the hotel, and that he’s written you love letters?”

The perfect opportunity to destroy what was left of Payton’s reputable name fell into Amanda’s lap. What better artillery than a newspaper to finish him off good and proper?

Except, she’d seen integrity in his gentle soul.

“I do apologize, Miss Renaulde. It’s a private matter that I have no wish to air either with you or the entire town. Perhaps you’d have better luck asking the gentleman.”

Without a doubt he could fill the woman’s column for her. But would he? The assortment she’d packed into the valise crossed her mind. Amanda swallowed a lump. Oh yes, he’d definitely want revenge.

“I understand.” The brash reporter broke into her train of thought. “But, in case you change your mind…I’ll be very discreet. I promise.”

“Like I said, it’s between me and McCord.”

Jeb Diggs spoke up. “That’ll be $4.75, Miss Lemmons.”

Amanda winced and counted out the change from what remained of last year’s wool profit. Money dwindled fast. She’d have to begin shearing tomorrow. To her amazement, the Diggs’s son toted the purchase to the wagon while she followed.

Kaira Renaulde of the Herald stood waiting outside. “If you ever want to talk about anything I’m available.”

“Now I know you’re new.” Amanda gave a short laugh. “Evidently you haven’t gotten the latest issue of the Amarillo Scuttlebutt.”

“A cardinal rule in reporting-I don’t listen to gossip. Remember what I said. Everyone needs somebody.”

Indeed they might, but they rarely got what they needed.

Sudden commotion erupted outside the hotel. It appeared some sort of noisy parade. Amanda gulped.

In the center of the maelstrom strode the tall, purposeful figure of Payton McCord. He stalked toward the mercantile, his face the color of ripe beets.

Oh Lord, he’d opened the valise.

“Excuse me, Miss Renaulde.” Amanda clambored onto the wagon seat. “I really mustn’t dawdle. Have a nice day.”

A fleeting glance over her shoulder reminded her of a story she once read about the folly of awakening a sleeping lion.

This lion didn’t have a bit of sleep in his eye.

Chapter 6

Blood thundered in Amanda’s ears as Amarillo faded like remnants of a dusty dream under the speeding wagon wheels. The sun bore a tad more heat than ordinary. But to be honest, she couldn’t lay the blame for moisture pooling between her breasts solely on the warm rays.

An unfamiliar feeling rippled, the intensity choking her.

Something indescribable had changed. Her life had taken a totally unexpected turn. Good, bad, or indifferent-it shook her to the core.

The cloudless sky appeared a vivid turquoise instead of simply blue. Crows flitted and dipped through the air in some sort of odd bird promenade. Perhaps they, too, sensed this odd awakening of sorts.

For once she’d bested the buffle-headed land-grubbers. McCord should understand she wouldn’t abide any cheap tricks.

Although he denied writing the love letters, and perhaps she could believe that without too great a stretch, he hadn’t stood up for her. He hadn’t stopped the ridicule. He hadn’t seen beneath the surface. Disgust for her chosen profession had colored his minty gaze a shadowed tint of purple nightshade.

The man could be dangerous in a way she’d never known.

Before she reached home, a sobering thought crossed her mind, one she didn’t particularly relish-McCord would insist on returning the valise. Putting the assortment of imprisoning devices in the case made certain of that.

She’d have to see him again.

Sudden recollection of the sinful curve of his mouth rocked confidence that she could handle the visit. A horde of locusts seemed to have made a nest in her stomach.

From the wagon bed, the gentle slosh of vinegar against the sides of the bottle added to the floundering in her brain.

At least she had all the ingredients for a vinegar pie. Didn’t hurt to have one ready to throw in McCord’s well-chiseled face. The concoction would serve the conniving jularker right.

She crested a rise and the adobe dwelling she called home came into view. Her breathing returned to normal. She was back on her land where she knew the workings of things, where she didn’t have to pretend, where she could be who she wanted without worry or fear of reprisal. Her dog and her flock provided all the security she needed even though it did get a bit dreary at times. Give her that any day to a piece of the world that saw and judged people unfairly.

The familiar sight also served to remind of her distaste for cattlemen. Something she needed to bear in mind next time she encountered the broad-shouldered Texan. She welcomed the pain if only because it drew horns on P.M.’s handsome head. And anyone else who chose the path to her door.

Movement in front of her home brought skitters of alarm until she saw long braids on the man who eased from the weather-beaten willow chair. Her old Navajo friend, John Two Shoes Running Deer, always seemed to know the precise time for shearing, although he had no use for printed calendars. He marked the days in his head and by the seasons, as his culture had taught for generations. She pulled the horses to a stop and set the brake.

“John, it’s wonderful to see you.”

“I’m here every spring.” He helped her down. “Or are you surprised I didn’t freeze over the winter?”

“Your skin is about as tough as alligator. I doubt you felt the cold. Besides, your hogan is probably warmer than the inside of Hades. I’m just glad for the company.”

Now let McCord come calling. She wasn’t alone.

“Only a fool would refuse the offer of a new wool shirt in exchange for shearing a few sheep.” John’s eyes twinkled. “Your handiwork is some of the finest. You spin and weave in the old customs. If I didn’t know of your heritage I’d believe you had Navajo blood.”

Amanda scowled. “With a Spanish mother and Scottish father, I’m afraid I’m a sorry mixture.”

The blend of nationalities was the kind that aroused prejudice and misgivings. The kind that destroyed chances of a normal life. It seemed men couldn’t look beyond the surface to see how she ached to fit in.

John peered into the bed of the wagon. “You’ve been to town. It explains the burrs under your serape.”

“Can’t hide much from an old war-hide like you.”

“People will continue to shun if you keep adopting the ways of the Indian. Your moccasins remind of your stubbornness.”

“Who said I want to be a horn-tossing hypocrite? My feet are happier in these moccasins than heavy boots.” Images of cold stares, the sneers of some of Amarillo’s finest, created a brittle hardness inside. “Those buffoons wouldn’t accept me no matter what I do.”

“Pain in your heart says this time was worse.”

She side-stepped the unpleasant subject, casting an eye to the sun’s overhead position. “We’re wasting time flapping our gums. If we hurry we can get a few sheep done before dark. I’ll fix a place for you to bed down until we finish the job.”

“I sleep outside under the stars.”

“As you wish.”

“It is.” John lifted the sack of flour, threw it over his shoulder, and carried it into the house while Amanda gave a sharp command for Fraser to round up the flock.

Sight of the collie marching the sheep toward the fold like fat, little soldiers banished raw feelings. She could count on the animal to do his job with skilled perfection. Unlike people. Bitterness rose. Years had flown and yet certain events ate at her sanity…

Argus Lemmons’s abandonment upon the heels of her mother’s death opened wounds that had scarred with age. Sure, he’d left Amanda in the care of an old aunt. But he did his daughter no favor, considering the woman forced her to stand on the street and pretend blindness so passersby would toss a few coins in her cup. Not that she got to keep any for herself. Dear Auntie made her strip and scrubbed her thoroughly for any hidden tokens.

“Worthless stray mutt,” Aunt Zelda would call Amanda, wrinkling up her nose. “Argus shoulda drowned you.”

Amanda turned fifteen before she got up enough courage to set out alone for Santa Fe to start a life that had to be better than lying, begging, and starvation.

Except new surroundings didn’t improve Amanda’s situation. A few years later, her fancy suitor left her at the altar after he made the less than thrilling discovery that she was heir to nothing but a scraggly flock of sheep. He abruptly moved Amanda from the assets to the liability column.

And fighting Argus’s second wife for a place in her father’s heart had most certainly shown the worst of humanity.

The hollow victory of survival spared Amanda peace in the dead of night. She was still that stray mutt looking for a home.

If the world had a dropping off point, she’d found it on this rocky piece of land in the Texas Panhandle. High winds, dry winters, and low rainfall didn’t represent being in high cotton, but this parcel of shortgrass prairie was hers and they’d have to kill her to get her off.

Today she’d almost forgotten the anguish that twisted like a knife before McCord up and heaped on a lot more. Then, she did the same as she’d always done. She ran.

Well, she wouldn’t run again. She squared her jaw. This was the last button remaining on Jacob’s coat!

Stashing the supplies, Amanda changed from her finery and hurried to help John. Together they penned the sheep and set up the foot-pump clippers.

Fraser watched over his charges with guarded vigilance. No ram, ewe, or lamb would dare shirk its duty in filling the bags with wool, not with the faithful collie on hand. Amanda rewarded him with a tasty morsel of cured bacon.

“Keep a sharp eye for trespassers, boy. P.M. will be coming.”

John’s dark stare narrowed. “You expect trouble.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Who is this P.M.?”

A man who’d given her hope, who walked with purpose, and who snatched away airy dreams with the lift of an arched brow.

“No one much.”

“And yet, you are sure he will come.”

Oh, yeah. The awakened lion would definitely ride her way.

“He’s just another two-bit cowboy who fills Amarillo’s establishments. Works for the Frying Pan. I turned the tables on him and he’s madder than a frog on a hot skillet at being bested by a woolie.”

“Whatever happened he earned. He comes, we scalp him.”

“Now John, no reason to get out the bows, arrows, and tomahawks. I can handle one measly nuisance. I am grateful to have your company for a few days though.”

“Hmph!”

The Navajo flipped a ewe onto her back and began peeling the thick wool from the belly and throat with the clippers before moving to the topside. Amanda stuffed the greasy fleece into a burlap bag to separate later. She’d keep a good portion and sell the rest. What she kept would get a thorough washing before she carded and spun the long fibers into yarn.

She was so busy planning she failed to hear approaching hoofbeats until a low growl rumbled in Fraser’s throat and the hair on his neck rose. She jerked around and her spit dried.

McCord sat astride a spotted appaloosa. Sparks in his gaze betrayed the easy slouch that might’ve suggested he’d stopped for a moment to discuss nothing more than the weather.

Steel strengthened Amanda’s spine. “Get off my land.”

“Not very hospitable. I recall you seemed pretty friendly when you were dragging a man’s life through the muck. What did you do with that woman? She was soft and…obliging.” A lazy smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“If you came out here to discuss my qualities or the lack thereof I’m afraid I have no time.”

With a quick motion, he untied the worn leather valise and held it out. “Thought you might need your equipment before nightfall. The assortment appears well broken in. Must get regular use I figure. Lord only knows why a handsome woman would have to depend on restraints to hold a man. Seems you’re awfully insecure of your abilities.”

Amanda gritted her teeth, becoming rigid at the suggestion she had to hogtie a man for his company. McCord bedeviled in a thousand impossible ways and every last one of them irritated beyond belief. Every fiber prodded for attack. So she blocked out the sight of his sandy, sun-streaked waves ruffled by the wind, and the mustache that drew attention to the firm shape of his mouth. Amanda met the dangerous glint in his eyes head on.

“Begs to ask why you pried into personal belongings.”

“It wasn’t by choice, believe me. The damn thing flew open and everyone in the hotel and hell’s half acre saw the contraptions. Made me a laughingstock. I hope you’re happy.”

“Not yet, but close.”

John Two Shoes Running Deer released the freshly naked ewe and stood to his full six feet. “Ahhhh, this must be P.M. Can we scalp him now?”

Chapter 7

Waning light bounced off the glistening coat of a border collie as it danced around Payton’s horse, Domino, threatening to tear the strapping animal limb from limb. Leave it to a woman who played with torture devices to keep a dog with the temper of a rabid coyote.

Had he heard or imagined the threat to scalp him?

Good God! He should’ve had better sense than ride out alone. He didn’t know who was crazier: Amanda, the Navajo, himself, or the dog.

The woman had seemed perfectly normal back at the hotel. He never would’ve mistaken her for a lunatic.

It must be the sheep. Those God-awful, smelly sheep.

They would make anyone lose their ever-loving minds. Payton scowled at the sneaky cotton-balls-with-eyes, shifting to the critter the Navajo had just stripped bare. One problem with the animals-besides the fact they weren’t cows-was they either looked like scrubby, puffy clouds or so spindly a gust of wind would blow them away. Cows looked the same day in and day out. They were hefty on their hooves and their bellering could lull a man right to sleep. He’d have to stick something in his ears and a clove of garlic under his nose if he had to put up with this damn baahing.

“I can’t relieve you of your loathsome burden right now.” Amanda raised palms that were greasy from handling the wool and pointed to the ground. “Drop it there and I’ll get it later.”

He stiffened in the saddle. “Since you’re up to your elbows in mutton, I’ll set the bag inside your door. Just call off your dog. I’d like to be gone before your friend gets out the scalping knife.”

Annoyance and open irritation pinched her kissable lips into a narrow line. He’d like to believe he saw the makings of a smile, but that appeared merely wishful thinking. Lush willingness he’d glimpsed in the hotel had given way to a tough-as-almighty-steel banshee.

“Fraser, enough!” The collie ceased yapping after Amanda’s stern order, but sat on his haunches and watched with distrust.

Payton adjusted the brim of his new hat that didn’t fit quite right yet, slid from Domino’s back, and ambled toward the adobe structure.

Three sets of eyes followed his every move.

A string of curses rolled around his brain but they remained unsaid in case the threat to lift his hair had been more than idle words. But damn, if he’d wanted to pillage and plunder he would’ve chosen some place more lucrative. This sheep farm didn’t have a blessed thing worth taking. Except maybe the lady who owned it. In spite of all, he found her a worthy opponent if not someone he could share a life with.

He pushed open the door and bent to set the worn piece of leather inside. Raising up, he spied a circle of black felt on the floor with a handful of boiled carrots smack in the center of it.

His gaze narrowed. It appeared a hat of some sort although it’d been flattened almost beyond recognition. Taking two steps forward, he determined it had indeed once been a noble Stetson.

Furthermore, a piece of rawhide stuck off to one side, the same kind that had served for a band on the hat he’d lost. He inched closer and gulped.

It was his hat.

Crumpled and smashed like a piece of trash.

His hat…used for a dog dish.

Hell and be damned!

Payton whirled as Amanda flew through the door with the dog at her side. “What in hell have you done to my damn hat?” he exploded.

The way her spine instantly tensed let him know he was in for a heck of a fight. A reasonable man might back off, but who said he was reasonable? Some things were sacred to even a rough-around-the-edges cowhand like him.

“What makes you think I’m to blame?” she huffed.

“It’s here isn’t it?” It was hard to keep his finger steady; it shook when he pointed to the dog dish. “That belongs to me. What the hell did you do? You’ve mutilated the hat until I barely recognized it as wearing apparel.”

Spite in her eyes told him the place he could go and he’d recognize it by the fire and brimstone.

“Why are you snooping in my house in the first place? You violated the privacy of my belongings and now dare come into my home, my place of refuge, to raise your voice, accusing me of all manner of things. You were merely to set the bag inside. I didn’t tell you to barge in and make yourself comfortable. I should’ve known better than trust a smooth-talking rawhider.”

“I’m a sight better than someone who stomps the guts out of something and treats it like a bad haircut.”

At least she had the grace to color. But nothing excused her. In his estimation she didn’t have a leg to stand on to explain the deliberate destruction of a piece of him. The treasured piece of felt was like family. No, it was better than family because it never nagged, gave reproach or grief. The Stetson had been with him through thick and thin, rain and shine, hay and grass.

“Maybe it used to be yours. Don’t think you’ll waltz in here and take it back. The hat’s mine now.”

“The hell you say.”

From the corner of Payton’s eye he saw Fraser mark a course for the mangled hat. The dog took a bite of carrots then looked up with a satisfied gleam as though gloating that he’d staked his claim and he’d not budge. Payton cringed at the rank dog-breath odorizing the felt circle. He took a step, intending to rectify the situation. But Fraser growled and bared his teeth, ending those grand ideas.

“If you wanted the bonnet so bad why didn’t you glue the darn thing to your head?”

Payton jammed his hands in his pockets and shifted his glare from the bandit dog to Amanda. “It figures you’d try to shift the blame. And don’t belittle my Stetson more than you have. It’s a hat, not a bonnet. The thing blew off while I had my hands full with a few thousand pounds of snortin’ cowhide. I’ve searched the Panhandle over for it.”

Anyone with half sense knew how blessed tiresome the wind on the Panhandle got. Old-timers claimed barbed wire was the only divider between this stretch of land and hell. He wasn’t about to apologize for something beyond his control.

Amanda shrugged her shoulders. “Guess not hard enough. I didn’t have any trouble finding it.”

Payton struggled with desire to strangle someone. “A dog dish? You thrashed me in town and made sure to finish the job out here.” His gaze narrowed dangerously toward Fraser, who responded with spiked bristles. “What did I ever do to you? As far as I know we’ve never met before today.”

“We haven’t.”

“Then would you care to enlighten me? I think you owe it.”

Her tongue took a slow turn around her lips. “For the record, I didn’t plan a personal attack.”

“Couldn’t prove it by me.”

“I meant to aim the hat, the shackles, and the name-smearing at the faceless author of some love letters. I was positive, whoever the anonymous man was, he intended to use the notes as some sort of vendetta. I finally got tired of the slurs, the laughter, and everyone trying to force me into leaving. So I decided to fight back.” Amanda caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I didn’t know you were an innocent bystander caught up in Joe Long’s prank.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

A wry grin tugged the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps.”

“What did you think I planned to do? If I had written the letters, of course.”

Amanda shrugged. “The usual. I thought you’d stand up in the middle of the hotel and chide me for believing anyone could love a mutton puncher. Then, the whole blamed town would have a huge laugh. They already shun me as it is. I wouldn’t have been able to trade there after that, to sell my wool or any excess sheep.”

He caught the slight tremble of her chin before she clenched her jaw. The woman carried deep hurt. Would she love as desperately as she fought to keep what was hers? He’d bet his life on it.

“I’ve never publicly ridiculed anyone.”

“Oh, but you did.” Her voice lowered barely louder than a whisper. “Sometimes silence speaks with a clear voice.”

Yep, he guessed it certainly did. He’d participated without being aware of it. To his credit, shock in the hotel kept words from forming, not disgust for who she was. The facts coming out the way they did spun his head like a top and it hadn’t stopped yet. Still, Amanda was right. He should’ve set Joe and the whole Frying Pan bunch straight.

“I don’t know a man who doesn’t have a passel of regrets. To clear the record, Joe didn’t mean the love letter joke for you. He wrote those to get back at me.” Payton told her about their jokes and Lucy and the saloon girl.

She folded her arms. “I don’t blame his wife. You both need strung up.”

Fire in Amanda’s gaze that had threatened to burn him to a crisp seemed to lose a bit of its spark, although he knew it still smoldered beneath the surface ready to leap into a bonfire at the least provocation. After all, his mama didn’t raise a fool. Heifers and steers were unpredictable. Each led you to believe one thing and did the opposite.

Look at how soft and seductive she’d been in town before she turned into Chief Sitting Bull on the warpath. A trick.

Not that she wasn’t appealing now. The plain russet dress she’d changed into had been patched so many times it bore similarity to a quilt. But, it added toughness to her. He admired a woman with grit and sass. Miss Amanda Lemmons had plenty of both and she earned it the hard way from the looks of things. Whatever had happened to form the granite layers must’ve destroyed her softer side. The desire to hold and protect her from ill swept past the ache in his bones.

Payton shifted his feet, lowering his gaze. “The sun’s winding down. Guess I’d best get back or Joe’ll send out a search party.”

“You’ve likely missed supper. I could offer you a spot at my table to help make up for what I did. Will you stay?”

The thought of sharing a meal with her made his blood rush. However maddening, she was the most desirable woman he’d ever met. He didn’t have far to go from that to thoughts of taming some of the wildness from her and kissing her until neither had breath or willfulness left.

But, she had said “could offer” as if it was something she felt obliged to do instead of coming from true sincerity.

He shook his head. “Appreciate it, but keeping company with you won’t do either of our reputations any good. We’re on opposite sides of the fence. It’s best if I don’t.”

Amanda bristled. “Then don’t let me keep you.”

He gave the new dog dish a long scowl before he turned, colliding with the solid weight of Navajo fury.

“Need help with this gringo, Amanda?”

“He’s just leaving, John.” The door probably would bear the imprint of her grasp. She didn’t seem to understand he’d turned down the supper invite to save her.

“Hmph! Scared of my knife, huh?”

Amanda followed Payton to his horse. “I admit you got the short end of a pitchfork today. And I apologize for the hat.”

Despite the words, the Mutton Madam’s somber expression wrapped in axle grease said she didn’t regret the shambles she’d left him in for a minute.

“You must really despise cattlemen.”

“Don’t know the half of it. Do you blame me?”

“Can’t say that I do. I’d likely feel the same if someone had it in for me.” He put a foot in the stirrup and threw his leg over the saddle. “You’re a strong woman, Amanda Lemmons.”

The dark-eyed shepherdess had a will of iron and the disposition of a riled bull that had his manly parts cut off.

Taking the long way back to the ranch seemed a good notion. He was in no hurry to take the derision he’d get. Besides, he had a bit of thinking to do that required peace and quiet. Amanda had wiggled under his skin and he didn’t think he’d ever be the same.

Under all the hardness he’d glimpsed a lady who had her heart stomped on too many times. Someone had done her wrong and made her fighting mad.

And that the cattlemen were up in arms over her sheep didn’t improve the situation. If he had anything to do with it, they wouldn’t succeed in forcing her out. Pitiful though the ranch looked, it belonged to her. And the adobe house didn’t have enough room inside to sling a cat, but it was hers.

A woman tended to arch her back when she was trying to hold on to every ounce of self-respect she had left. Payton knew a little about facing down a group of people who wanted to destroy him. Oh yeah, he definitely knew that feeling.

Tugging the brim of his hat low, he tried to forget the pain that thickened in his chest, trying to starve him of air. He hadn’t won, but maybe Amanda Lemmons would. He hoped so. She deserved a shot. He didn’t think he’d ever hear himself argue equal rights for sheepherders, but that’s what it boiled down to. Long as he didn’t have to see or listen to the dumpy critters, they could go on their merry way.

Yep, the wooly rascals had better stay on their own side of the fence if they wanted to get along with him.

Payton was a born and bred cowman and nobody, not even the sassy hat-mauler in sheep’s clothing, could change that.

Amanda watched until Payton McCord became a speck in the distance. She hadn’t meant to rub his nose in his misfortune with the hat. But, damn him, he shouldn’t have come borrowing trouble. It was best she told him right off how things were. Saved time.

“Nice man,” John said softly. “Nerves of steel. Wasn’t a bit afraid of my knife.”

“You old crow bait, you’ve forgotten any such skills. Been too many moons ago since you scalped anyone, if you ever did. You only said that to get his attention. And since when did you develop a liking for high-struttin’ cowboys?”

“I have nothing against anyone. Maybe you should try to understand ’em instead of running ’em off. You are a beautiful woman and way too young to be so soured on life.”

“I’m perfectly happy this way. I can live without the likes of McCord. I have my flock to occupy my time.”

“The bleating of sheep cannot compare to a human voice whispering in your ear. Or have you forgotten the warmth of a touch? You need companionship. The Great Father didn’t mean us to live life all alone. Surely you desire for someone to share your days. And nights.”

She thirsted and pined for such a man. If John’s Great Father meant for things to be different why had he given her an extra helping of solitude and despair and left off masculine, comforting arms to hold her?

“I’m not going to let myself get taken in by every two-bit hustler.”

“You do not trust this man?”

Truth be told, it was herself that Amanda didn’t dare trust. Payton McCord had awakened too many unbearable fancies she’d buried long ago in Santa Fe. The man tempted her to forget the pain of believing in people who let her down.

She would steel herself against temptation.

And she would put her faith in no one ever again.

Chapter 8

Early the following morning Payton threw a blanket over Domino, stealing a sideways glance at the lone figure standing in the barn door, staring moon-eyed toward the little cabin across the compound. Payton felt sorry for Joe despite being angry enough to cuss a blue streak over the stunt his friend pulled with the desirable Miss Lemmons.

“Ever think maybe you should pick Lucy some flowers, Joe?”

A heavy sigh filled the space.

“Reckon it couldn’t hurt none.”

Joe stalked toward yellow blooms that scattered down the fence row. Payton grimaced when the man yanked the stalks from the ground by the roots and marched toward his former home like General Grant bound for Richmond.

Lucinda evidently kept one eye trained on the window because she waited until her husband got within a few feet of the porch before letting the first boot fly. Joe skittered back out of range of her pitching arm.

“I picked you posies, sweetheart.” Dirt fell from the handful of plants he held out.

“Get your bony, flea-bitten rear end back across the yard. And take your weeds with you. I’ll tell you when you can call.”

“Dammit, Lucinda! I cain’t apologize if you won’t let me.”

Payton whistled a tune, focusing on cinching the wide band around Domino’s girth. His attempt to keep a straight face failed. Luckily, he wiped off the grin before his glum friend noticed. “That Lucy sure can sweet talk a fellow.”

Daggers in Joe’s eyes could’ve slain a den of man-eating bears. Payton ducked his head, grateful he had things to do that spared watching his best friend’s misery.

“Anymore bright ideas, McCord?”

“Nope.”

“Then I suggest you get busy with the branding. I see the boys have rounded up the herd and headed this way. They’ll have ’em in the corral before you can get a good fire built.”

Domino pranced as though anxious to get to friendlier ground. Payton was about to swing up when their boss’s wife, Ellen Sanborn, opened the door of the Frying Pan’s sprawling ranch house to shake a blanket. Ellen hummed a pretty hymn, so that must be a good sign Boss’s health had improved.

A solid thud behind him made Payton whirl. Joe had hauled off and kicked the tar out of a half-full rain barrel. Water sloshed up to the rim. Payton hoped Joe didn’t break a toe to add to his list of misfortunes. He wasn’t about to ask though.

“Any word on Mr. Sanborn’s bout with the grippe?”

Joe hobbled to the workbench in front of the barn. “Doc said if the missus can get enough of Golden’s Liquid Beef Tonic down Mr. Sanborn’s gullet he’ll be up and around soon. Now get out of here and quit being so nosy.”

This mess with Lucy sure had Joe in a dither.

Payton was suddenly overjoyed he only had a bunch of cows to worry with-anything that wasn’t connected to women or sheep.

He rubbed his bum knee and set off to meet the cloud of dust. His mind wasn’t on the task at hand, but on the bunkhouse that burst at the seams with the addition of Joe. A dozen men trying to keep out of each other’s hair had gotten harder. To make it worse, their foreman persisted in grinding his teeth and fiddling with every blooming thing even if it didn’t need fiddled with.

“Domino, I’m going to have to take matters in my own hands with Lucy if any of us are to get a minute’s peace.”

Besides, he had a more important reason now. The longer this thing dragged on, no telling what Joe would hatch up next. He didn’t need his life complicated further. He had enough to try to sort out as it stood.

For one thing, Amanda had already lumped him into the category of skunk oil salesmen and riffraff. And Lord only knew when he could repair the damage done in town. He could testify that he had grief by the dozens. Too bad he couldn’t crate it up like eggs and sell it. He’d be rolling in money.

A few hours later, Payton separated a calf from its mother. He swung the lariat, caught two hind legs, and tightened the rope around the horn. He leaped off Domino and, with a twist, flipped the protesting calf onto its right side near the branding fire. Bert and Amos rushed forward. One anchored the head, the other the feet.

Payton removed the rope and gave Felipe room to press the brand smoothly against the flank.

Scorched hide greeted Payton’s nostrils. Everything he ate for the next month would likely bear the taste. He took a swig from his canteen to whet his whistle and watched the bewildered baby shake his head and bellow for his mother. Mama Cow charged over, checking her calf from head to tail. Then, giving Payton a disagreeable eye, she nudged her offspring away from the rest of the herd. Seemed his popularity with females had spread.

Riding herd involved hard work, long hours, and short pay but Payton loved the freedom of the range.

A man had plenty of fresh air out on the panhandle. Endless prairie land rose up to kiss the sky like a jealous lover, creating a breathtaking landscape.

Life seemed pure here-unblemished, uncrowded, and unappreciated by some. City folks didn’t know what they missed. He poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the fire and joined the others who took a break.

“Hey, Payton, ever think about doing anything else?” Amos cut a plug of tobacco with his pocketknife and stuck the brown chaw in his mouth.

“Nope.” He came into this world a cowboy and that’s how he’d die.

Amos leaned back on his heels. “Sometimes I wonder what walking in a banker’s shoes would be like.”

Bert laughed. “Stiff and squeaky. Ever hear them walk?”

“Sí,” Felipe joined in. “I don’t want no banker’s shoes.”

“Me either.” Amos wiped his mouth. “Squeaky shoes are for stuffed shirts. The damn things would drive a man batty. Reminds me of the time-”

“Oh hush!” Bert tossed a handful of gravel. “Everything reminds you of some time or another.”

“Many days I wish for a pretty senorita though.”

Payton eyed the half-breed. “And what would you do with her, Felipe, my friend?”

“Love her.”

That word again-love. Among a batch of confirmed loners the declaration was like an elephant that everyone saw but pretended it trampled harmlessly an ocean away. Because to admit such existed meant they’d have to think about what their lives didn’t have in it. Like the rest, he didn’t cotton much to changing his ways.

“From what I’ve seen, loving a woman takes a heap of work and patience.” Payton took another swig of water and corked the canteen. The sinful curve of Amanda’s lush mouth crept into his thoughts. Upon the heels of the warm recollection, kissing and cuddling crossed his mind. Damn! She’d probably sic her dog on him if he tried. But, to have her in his arms might be worth getting chewed to bits by a mangy, sheep-smelling animal.

“Shoot, with my luck the woman would turn out like Lucinda and have a God-almighty pitching arm,” Amos replied. “No thanks, I’m satisfied with loving and leaving ’em. Saves on blood and bruises.”

“You couldn’t find one to have you anyway, you old coot.”

“Bert, I’m tempted to make you eat those words.”

“You and what army?”

Through the drone of their banter, Payton tried to quell panic that generally visited only after the sun went down and the day ended. He wasn’t getting any younger. His bones creaked and ached, compliments of breaking horses and wrestling mean steers. One day he’d wake up all alone with only the ornery longhorns for company. No one wanted a broken down has-been. In a couple of years he’d be forty. His time had passed.

“Hey, Payton, you never did say what happened when you toted the bag to Amanda Lemmons.” A twinkle lit Bert’s eyes.

Payton should’ve known he hadn’t heard the last of that. They’d given him hell last evening until he finally marched out to Wild Horse Lake and counted the bullfrogs until he ran out of numbers. When he’d gotten back they were all snoring pretty as you please, which suited him just fine.

Amos’s bushy beard twitched. “You don’t leak when you drink so I don’t reckon she shot you. A case of bad aim? Or did by some miracle a brave soul pour ice water on her to put out the flames before you got there?”

“Nothing happened. Not one thing.”

Other than he found his hat that had been smashed and filled with boiled carrots.

And he’d learned the value of a woman’s pain.

“I bet you boys anything she invited ol’ Payton in for tea and crumpets,” Bert said. “Or maybe she handcuffed and fed you mutton stew.”

A growl rumbled in Payton’s throat. “That’s enough.”

“You can tell. We won’t breathe a word,” Amos promised.

“No one here but the cows and they don’t gossip,” Bert teased.

They’d badger Payton to death until he told them something. He had to nip this thing in the bud before someone got hurt. He sighed, tossing out the grounds in the bottom of his cup.

“I returned her property. She thanked me and I left. Now let it drop. If I hear anyone say a word out of line about the woman you’ll answer to me. She has a right to her own business whatever that may be. You’ll respect her or you’ll wish you had.”

“I swear the man’s got it bad.”

“Amos, I warned you. Shut up before you’re sorry.”

Felipe slapped his thigh. “I think he like her. Maybe she kiss him.”

“For the last time, let it be.” Through a narrowed squint Payton noticed a rider kicking up a dust cloud. He made out Joe Long as he drew closer.

Damn, the friend still acted downright strange!

Reminded him of the time Joe stuffed some mutton under the cantle of his saddle. Took him a week to find the source of the stench and the damn thing still stank to high heaven on a warm day. Just like he’d done back then, Joe went around sniffing, wearing a quirky grin.

Payton had better get things squared away with Lucy and pretty pronto.

Chapter 9

Payton didn’t have long to wait for Joe’s next move. The sun squatted on the horizon by the time the hands called it a day and rode back to the ranch. They’d had a particularly hard day that left Payton’s butt dragging in the dirt. All he wanted was a hot meal and his bunk. He’d also have settled for a bath, but that wouldn’t happen until Saturday.

His spurs jangled as he stepped inside the bunkhouse. Thoughts of his material welfare froze in his brain. Someone had tied a ball of white fluff to the foot of his bed. When it saw him, the cotton ball opened its mouth and bleated.

“Who the hell put that blasted thing in here?” he thundered, looking around for the culprit. He’d wring Joe’s neck. But the foreman had vanished.

Bert laughed so hard he rolled on the floor. The black scowl Payton shot him could’ve singed the hide off a greased pig. The look certainly seemed to get the laughing hyena’s attention. Bert stood, covering his mouth to hide the grin. “Looks like you have a new bed partner, McCord.”

Felipe untied the creature and cradled it in his arms. “I like him. My father was a sheepherder many years ago.”

“Is this the start of your new herd…uh, I mean flock, Payton?” Amos roared until he had to sit down and catch his breath. Tears ran down the old man’s rough bristles. He didn’t pay the murderous glare Payton leveled on him a speck of notice.

“What you gonna do?” Felipe patted the soft head.

“Before or after I kill Joe? I’ll have to take the damn thing back I suppose. No, don’t look at me with those sad, brown eyes. We’re not keeping it. It doesn’t belong here. We’re respectable cowmen.”

The door opened and Joe stuck his head inside. “Aw, dad-burn it! I missed the fun. Was he surprised?”

With a growl, Payton lunged and tackled his friend before Joe could block the attack. “I oughta rub your nose in the smelly ball of yarn. Surprised? Yeah, I’m overjoyed.”

Joe grinned in the headlock. “I thought you would be.”

“Leave things alone or you’ll see what other surprises I have in store for you.”

In a heartbeat, Joe sobered. “You can’t make my life any more worthless. On her worst day, Lucinda is my one and only. Losing her took my reason for waking up in the mornings.”

The gray, forlorn misery crawled inside Payton. He released Joe and motioned him outside for more privacy. “You haven’t lost her. Don’t ever think that. Lucy hasn’t given up squatter’s rights on your house, which tells me she’s planning on staying.”

“You reading a crystal ball or tea leaves?”

“I know that when a person decides to end something for good they pack up and leave. So Lucy isn’t finished.”

“Never looked at it that way.”

“Give her a few more days and she’ll beg you to come back.”

Come daylight, after Payton got through, Joe would be out of the doghouse one way or another. He’d had it. Someone would listen to reason or else.

“Reckon I ain’t got nothing but time.”

“Then you can cart this lamb back where you got it.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “Can you be a good friend and do that? I don’t feel so hot.”

“Skin your own stinking skunks, don’t look at me.”

“Will you do it if I promise to lay off the foolishness?”

Payton wouldn’t fall for that trick. “No.”

“I can’t leave tonight. Mr. Sanborn wants to see me after supper. Probably wants a tally of the branding. After the business part is done he’ll want to play poker. You know how he gets being cooped up with womenfolk all day.”

“Get one of the others to cart the thing back then. It’s not my problem.”

“Are you forgetting how I saved your life when you first hired on? You owe me.”

Payton’s mind drifted back to winter and the blizzard that wiped out a third of the herd. He’d ridden with the men to try to get a bunch of cattle out of the icy creek bed down in a draw before they froze to death. Domino lost his footing on the ice and went down. The horse was all right, only scared. He got up and ran, leaving Payton buried in the snow with an injured leg. Payton thought for sure he’d freeze to death before someone found him. And he would have if not for Joe, who scoured the drifts looking for him.

Yeah, he owed a debt for sure. But enough to take a bullet?

“I shouldn’t, but seeing how down on your uppers you are with Lucinda and all I guess I could take pity this once. Need I ask where you got it?”

“Nope. Amanda Lemmons will be less than thrilled to see you. I sort of borrowed it.”

“Figured as much.” If the Navajo was still there, Payton might find himself losing his hair. He didn’t relish returning to the scene of the crime. Surely, the woman wouldn’t be too mad though since he’d be wagging the dumb lamb home.

Domino gave him a walleyed stare when Payton lifted the saddle and slung it again on the horse’s back. He draped the bellowing sheep across his lap and set out.

Twilight fell by the time he crossed onto Amanda’s ranch, and it got darker still before he saw the glow from the adobe’s windows. It seemed welcoming if a body didn’t know better. Unease twisted his gut. The pitch black was eerily still.

Payton figured on quietly putting the lamb into the fold with the rest of the scrubby clan and leaving with no one the wiser. Only the noisy ball of fluff had other ideas. The blessed animal evidently got a whiff of its mother because Payton never heard such a ruckus from a small mouth. Then the collie started barking as if the world had come to an end and he had to alert everyone. Payton let loose a string of cussing.

The hellacious racket outside the house aroused pinpricks in places Amanda didn’t know they could crawl-like her brain and her heart. Something or someone was out there. Her feet hit the floor. She grabbed the shotgun and burst out the door to see a spotted appaloosa standing near the pen. Atop the animal sat the silhouette of a man bold as could be. A lamb draped across the saddle bellowed its head off.

The dirty, rotten thief! And he had the audacity to linger even after she’d caught him.

Fury swept past reason. With a squeeze of the trigger, orange flame spat from the killing end and sent hot lead whistling past the interloper’s ear.

“Move and I’ll make you regret it, mister.”

The scoundrel’s hands lifted. “This isn’t how it looks.”

Amanda stepped closer. Recognizing the proud profile of the man who had seemed to have integrity riddled the strength she wrapped around her. Payton McCord had shown her quiet respect. He’d even done the unimaginable-made her question her hardened opinion of cowmen. And now he was taking her lifeblood. A firm clench of her jaw stilled its trembling.

Damn McCord! Why did he have to go and prove again how easily someone with an honest twinkle in his eye and sinful way with words could take her in?

“From where I stand I see a sheep-thiever. That lamb didn’t hop up there on your lap by itself.”

“Confound it, I’m returning the darn thing.” Danger rumbling in Payton’s throat said he wasn’t a man to cross, but she was too busy trying to salvage her pride to heed.

“A likely story.” He could’ve thought of a better lie. Disappointment and tears blurred the figure. Her palm tightened around the stock of the rifle.

“I’m not used to being falsely accused. Why would I want one miserable little piece of mutton? Ask yourself.”

“Retribution for the hat? Or a reason more ominous. You work for Henry Sanborn. He wants my land. Maybe he hired you to take the sheep one at a time? That way I wouldn’t miss them until too many had disappeared. I don’t care. I caught you red-handed.”

“Put down the damn rifle before it goes off again. I can explain.”

She waved the weapon toward the fold. “Leave the animal where you found it and get off my property.”

Payton slid to the ground with the lamb in his arms. Fraser nipped at his pant legs as he marched to the stone sheepfold and gently returned it to its mother.

“I’m sorry you think I’d harm you.” He swung into the saddle. “Good night, ma’am.”

Just like that? She was supposed to let him go free? He’d moseyed by and killed her dream with no thought of recompense. Amanda meant to exact something. Making sense of the turmoil would be nice. Short of that, she’d take snapping on the leg irons that her father had pilfered off a convict wagon and feeding him mutton until he puked. That’d even the score.

She raised the rifle barrels. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting the hell out of here.”

“You owe me that explanation and I will have it.”

“That’s great. Now you’re going to shoot me to keep me from leaving?” He didn’t appear afraid, resting an elbow on the saddle horn. “Make up your mind. You want me to stay or go? I can’t do both.”

Amanda’s knees sagged. Which order did she want him to obey when she didn’t know herself? She propped the Winchester against the side of the house. It didn’t make much difference. Nothing did. She still lost whether she trusted or not. How much could a body take? The futility of it all was too much.

“Do whatever suits you. Take the whole darn flock if you want. Be doing me a favor. I’m tired of trying to make something from nothing.”

She barely noticed that his boots made little noise when he climbed back down, or that he covered the space between them in a few long strides, until the deep timbre of his voice cut through the everlasting misery that wore like a second skin.

“You don’t mean that. Owning land has meaning. I don’t know why you chose this life, but you can’t quit swimming in the middle of the stream.” He touched her cheek with a calloused thumb, the warmth melting the edges of ice layering her heart.

“I’d prefer drowning over this slow, torturous death.”

“Nothing worthwhile comes easy. You have far too much courage to give up. I’ve never met anyone with more grit.”

With a shaky breath, she brushed a weary hand across her eyes. “You make it sound simple. Want to come inside? Looks like you can use some cider. I know I can.”

Payton shifted his weight. “This isn’t an ambush is it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I only shoot buzzards.” And thieves who plundered her good sense, she vowed silently. Amanda resisted the thought of the striking figure being in either category. McCord offered a ray of hope in her despair. He said he could explain. She wished to believe in miracles. At what cost would another mistake come? Still, she needed to think this cowboy had possibility. She liked the way he held the door for her, the light hand on the small of her back with his broad shoulders keeping the ghosts of the night at bay. She felt safe.

Fraser scooted between Payton and Amanda, racing to stand guard over the sorry piece of felt. The collie bared his teeth at Payton. Amanda gave the dog a pat and told him to shush.

“Don’t pay Fraser any mind. He gets cranky occasionally. We’re not used to visitors. Have a seat. I’ll get the cider.”

From the corner of her eye she watched Payton perch stiffly on the chair, gripping his new Stetson with both fists. He acted as though she’d rip the hat from him any minute and stomp it. How utterly ridiculous. She’d only mangled the other one because she assumed it came from the head of a cattle baron, not anyone she might fall in love with, which she hadn’t of course. Nothing wrong keeping company with a man who made her feel alive and protected.

Her supple leather moccasins scuffed softly against the planks as Amanda bustled to the small kitchen corner.

“I hope you don’t mind blackberry. John Running Deer has quite an affinity for apple and emptied the crock.”

“Whatever you have is fine. Don’t want to put you out.”

“It’s no trouble.” She plunked down two glasses and a jug.

“Where is your Navajo? Thought I missed someone.”

“He only comes to shear once a year. Usually he stays until we finish, but he got word his wife had taken very ill.”

“What will you do if he can’t return?”

“I’ll manage.” She bit her lip. “Always have.”

“Shearing a flock of sheep is too hard for one small woman, however wiry she is.”

“You think I can’t take care of my own affairs?” Anger returned in full force.

“Unload your slingshot. I’m saying I admire you.”

“Oh.” She sniffed.

Payton took a sip of blackberry cider. “Quit getting your back bowed. I’m not picking a fight.”

“Didn’t look that way skulking around in the dark.”

“So now we’re back to thievery.”

“What were you doing? You never gave that explanation.”

“I don’t want your damn sheep.” His dark glare would make an outlaw head for cover. “Joe pulled another prank on me. Had the lamb tied to my bunk when I got in off the range. You want to nail someone’s hide to the wall, go after him.”

“Must get God-awful wearisome using Joe as an excuse for everything.”

A tic developed in Payton’s jaw. “Damn, woman. Lord knows I have my faults, but I don’t lie. Or steal. Joe’s mad because Lucy still throws a hissy fit if he so much as glances at their cabin, and he blames me.”

“I guess I have no choice but grant the benefit of the doubt since I vowed not to step foot on the Frying Pan. If it’s true, Joe Long has both of us paying dearly.”

His face darkened. “Not for long. I intend to rectify the situation after daybreak.”

“Good luck. Women tend to carry grudges a long time.”

“Does that warning pertain to you, too?”

Amanda’s chin rose defiantly. “I don’t bother anyone and I expect others to mind their own business. If trouble comes I handle it, but I don’t go looking for it either.”

“What happened to fill your voice with barbed wire? Your fight with the cattlemen can’t be all. Someone dug a hole and tried to push you in.” A soft tone crept into Payton’s drawl. “Had to be someone you trusted to dry up every bit of softness.”

“I didn’t know it was so apparent.”

“Only to a man who’s been there before.”

Amanda measured the man next to her. The brush of his hand earlier against her cheek seemed to carry his brand as if to say he claimed her. His leather gloves were tucked under his belt. She vaguely remembered him taking them off right after he put the lamb into the fold. Did he think they smelled of mutton? Or simply to better curl his fist around the new hat? Not that she’d think of stomping it-unless he gave her provocation.

But she’d never do that to someone who loaned hope and buoyed her will to survive.

His hands fascinated her. They were calloused and strong enough to tame a wild stallion but gentle enough to wipe away tears. Such tender strength could hold a woman close and never let her go. She closed her eyes for a brief second and pretended that Payton would see more than what she truly was and be satisfied with it. She had captured his fancy in the hotel when he thought she was someone else. Could she again? Or would he find disappointment when he looked beneath the layers of resentment?

Rugged power radiated from Payton’s nearness, robbing the need for words. They could feel the other’s thoughts. In the silence she knew he’d suffered and lost something dear. A subtle shift in her chair moved her even closer. She could easily touch him-if she wanted.

What was his story? Life evidently hadn’t been kind.

“Amanda, if you’d rather not tell me I’ll understand.”

“What happened? Plenty of people dug that hole-my father, stepmother, aunt, and my beau. Take your pick. I mistakenly trusted them all.”

“I should’ve guessed a pretty woman would have beaus.”

“Just one. It was one too many. The rogue jilted me at the altar. I didn’t realize how much it hurt to be reviled by a man to whom I had given my heart.” Amanda raised her gaze and fell into minty green depths. She would accept no pity. “Isn’t that what you wanted to know? Go ahead and laugh.”

He took her cold hand between his warm ones. “Whatever you say stays here. I would never betray you. Besides, I have secrets I’ve not told anyone either.”

Tingles from his touch ran up her arm and thawed a little more of that ice encasing her heart.

“Doesn’t do any good to talk about things you can’t change. But I’m a good listener. Anytime you get ready to spill your secrets you know where I am.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Payton rose. “Appreciate the cider…and for not shooting me.”

“Well, there’s always a next time. I’ll work on improving my aim.”

Amanda regretted the granite wrapping her words. Sarcasm was a habit she couldn’t seem to break. It had been years since she even wanted to. Walking beside him to his horse, she was mindful how blessed tall he was next to her slight frame. She breathed the night air and wondered when she started to care so much about a saddle-weary cowboy.

Payton’s mustache twitched when he winked. “Keep that Winchester loaded. I’ll be back.”

Now what had he meant by that? Was it a threat or a promise? She squashed the rising heat before it became full blown. But not before hope rose that he’d soon find his way to her door again.

That human voice whispering in her ear had possibilities unless she mistook the wink as lint in his eye.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late for her.

But just as the thought came she saw herself on that street corner, pretending to be blind. Could she ever be anything more than a pretender?

A crop of tears blurred the impressive form atop the horse as he headed toward the Frying Pan.

No one in the state of Texas sat a horse quite like Payton McCord.

Chapter 10

The sun still slumbered when Payton rolled from his bunk and rustled up some coffee. He needed time to go over the case he intended to make to Lucy Long. But speak his mind he would. He had to find his balance again-the sooner the better.

Putting the pot on the fire to boil, his mind strayed to the events of last evening.

Moonlight had played across Amanda Lemmons’s sensitive features, revealing the glisten of moisture in her gaze, and in the midst he heard the shattering of her heart. As the sound punctured the silence, he knew something he never thought to witness-the piss-and-vinegar woman who grabbed life by the horns and hung on, stood mighty near to getting thrown.

That hadn’t set well. Holding on and riding like hell for as long as a body could stand took principles and grit. She had all that and more, and it seemed his duty to remind her. At least by the time he’d finished, the woman who mauled perfectly good hats had returned. Her sort of strength grew on a man.

Amanda made him think of all kinds of crazy things like marriage and trying to get back what he once considered forever lost or impossible.

Six years ago he had a parcel of prime land and a nice herd of longhorn-a near-to-perfect life.

Then, it all changed in the twinkling of an eye. The railroad company rooked him out of acreage that had been in their family for two generations. When he refused to sell, they had their shyster lawyer forge a bill of sale. A part of Payton died when the judge upheld it. They booted Payton off his land with nothing but Domino and the clothes on his back. He knew what it meant to lose a life, a hope, and the starch from his soul. He shriveled inside the day they stole his pride and left him nothing to live for.

Payton closed his eyes and recalled how Amanda’s skirts whispered around her ankles in a crazy sort of lullaby that could sing a man right to sleep. Somewhere between admiring the trim curves and wondering at the warm flesh that lay beneath, he’d had a thought. Amanda Lemmons was a downright prissy woman. A grin teased his mouth. He liked priss and fuss, especially when the lady didn’t have the business end of a Winchester pointed at him.

Maybe he wasn’t too old for some of that stardust he’d contemplated a few days back. And a devious man could always wrestle a pack of mangy wolves. The grin widened. Amanda called for lots energy. And patience. But he had more now than he ever did.

Yep, he’d see her again. He’d crawl through a hail of gunfire on his belly to do it.

Payton put the memories and hope in safekeeping and poured himself a cup of brew. He had a passel of planning to do.

The lid of the coffeepot banged loud enough to wake the dead. Amos raised his head and sniffed. “You’re up mighty early. Making plans for that mutton ranch of yours?”

“Go back to sleep, you old gopher.”

“After I smelled coffee? Nope. Besides, I’m raring to hear about your adventures with the sheep-grower. Gotta get up and see how bloody you are. Was she mad?”

“Yep.”

“Accuse you of thievery, did she?”

“Yep.”

“Can’t you spare a few details?”

“Nope.”

Payton had no desire to discuss the beautiful Miss Lemmons. She belonged to him. Not like cows or land, but like the sun, moon, and stars which guided a man on a journey. Amanda gave him a sense of direction that he hadn’t had in a long while.

He opened the bunkhouse door and stepped into the fresh air, leaving Amos’s grumbling behind him. He stared toward the Long’s cabin, surprised to see a light coming from the window.

“Might as well get this over with.”

With a firm grip on the coffee cup, he strode across the combat zone to the front door and rapped.

“Payton, how nice to see you,” Lucy greeted, wiping tears from swollen eyes. The woman evidently hadn’t seen a wink of sleep in a while, judging by the haggard look.

“Can I come in? We need to talk.”

An hour later he emerged much lighter. Lucy had confided the emptiness of her bed was too much to bear and she’d welcome Joe back home. Thank God things could return to normal.

He could’ve sworn Joe wore a smile the entire day, even after the branding commenced and the fire put out enough heat to stoke a freight train across the tops of the Rocky Mountains.

Payton’s thoughts kept turning to the proud shepherdess despite every effort to avoid the subject. He wondered how she’d manage to get all that sheep wool peeled off the critters without another pair of strong shoulders. She was too small to wrestle rams and ewes. The image of those soft hands cut up and bleeding made him wince. He threw the lasso and missed the steer he aimed for by a mile.

“What’s wrong with you, McCord? Sun get in your eyes?” Joe slapped a layer of grime from his hat before he jammed it back on his head.

Nothing in his eyes except a film of stardust, but Payton didn’t share that with the rest.

“Have a few things on my mind. Got distracted.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet we can guess who’s to blame. You’ve been keeping saloon hours the past few days,” Amos chimed in. “If I didn’t know better I think you’ve taken up baaahing lessons.”

Bert leaned against the corral post. “If it walks like mutton and talks like mutton, it’s mutton. Thought I recognized that peculiar sound this morning.”

“Glad I could give you boys something to chew on besides the coffee Felipe made.” Payton slid from the saddle. “Keep it up and you’ll be sorry.”

“Leave him alone. McCord saved my marriage,” Joe growled.

“Did the senorita kiss you for taking back the lamb?”

“Felipe, my friend, I’ll never tell. You boys keep on mining an empty gold shaft. Speculating is risky business. Never will strike pay dirt.” Payton turned to Joe. “Is it all right if I quit a little early? I have to be somewhere.”

“Will wonders ever cease? The man’s going courtin’.”

Payton shot Bert a warning glare. “I’m no porch-warmer. And I’m not saying another word.”

Of course, it’d be right rude to refuse an invite to sit on her porch-if one popped up. It might be sorta nice to sit and watch the sun fade, count the stars, and listen to the sound of her heart beating.

Amanda stared at a hefty ram and told him in no uncertain terms what she expected him to do. Then she grabbed a leg and the neck, gave a heave, and tried to flip him over with the quick motion John had. But she lacked the muscles to wrestle the five hundred some-odd pounds. The ram balked, digging in his heels and she ended up with her backside in the dirt with the animal giving her a lesson in the finer points of bleating. The ram took in a huge breath, expanding his stomach, and let out an ear-splitting baah that seemed to last forever.

She sat there a moment getting her second wind, fuming that she hadn’t had the good sense to keep going when she located her father after all those years. Argus Lemmons didn’t leave her anything but a bunch of empty dreams. She grabbed a handful of sand and threw it. The ram would’ve gotten the same treatment if the blessed animal didn’t weigh as much as a small horse.

Fraser cocked his head to one side and then the other-a pretty good indication he thought she’d gone off her rocker. Maybe she had. Suddenly the dog growled, his ears perking up.

Her breath caught when she spied the black and white horse in the distance.

McCord had returned like he said.

And here she sat on her rear in the middle of the corral. Amanda jumped up. Something wet stuck her skirt to the back of her legs. She needn’t imagine what it was. The evidence lay all around her. Tugging and brushing her clothes the best she could, she smoothed back her hair. She must look a mess. What she wouldn’t give for a second to run to the house and get presentable for callers.

How stupid that would be though. Most likely McCord came for a million other reasons and none of them pertained to wanting to ride her way on purpose. She put up her hand to block the sun. No sign of another lamb with him.

Remembrance of last evening made her groan. It hadn’t been her finest hour. She’d nearly killed the only person who made the pulse in her throat explode into a million stars.

The man rode straight to the corral and dismounted. Fraser didn’t even bark, which flabbergasted her given the fact he tried to eat up everyone who came on the property. The dumb traitor-dog was even licking McCord’s hand. Next Fraser would be climbing into the cowboy’s lap and trying to moo.

“Afternoon, Amanda.” For a brief moment the corners of Payton’s mouth lifted beneath the trimmed mustache before settling in a firm line. “Got that rifle loaded?”

“It stays that way. My cider draw you back?”

“Nope. Came to help if you’ll let me. I see you need extra hands.”

A jolt of surprise wound through her.

“John came by this morning to say his wife is bad sick and he won’t be able to finish the shearing.” She tried to block the pleasure that insisted on sneaking into her chest. It’d do to keep this strictly business. Saved on heartache. “Can’t pay much, but reckon I won’t turn down your offer.”

“Not looking for pay.”

“What is it you’re looking for, McCord?” Her breath went soft so that she barely knew her chest rose and fell. His minty gaze full of principles had that effect on a woman regardless of her intention to keep fancies in check.

“You know, I admire directness. Indeed I do. And you deserve an answer.” He pushed back his hat with a forefinger. “It’s simple. I need to know at the end of the day that something I did made a difference, maybe eased someone’s burden in a small way or helped a pretty lady forget about the people who betrayed her for a moment.”

“That’s a lot of need for one man.” A tremble went through Amanda. She inhaled the scent of worn leather and unmistakable desire. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“Yes, ma’am. But there’s more. I also hanker for the company of a handsome woman, I guess. One who has enough guts and spirit to fill the empty spaces of an old bachelor’s heart.”

“You think you might find that here I suppose? Could it be you suffer from delusion?”

“I’ve heard that a man who risks everything to stand up for something can never be wrong. The whole of a life is greater of the sum of its parts.”

“My heavens! You’re a philosopher in boots and denim.”

Payton grinned. “I’ve kept quite a few things secret.”

There was that word again. What secrets, pray tell?

Heat rose to Amanda’s face. Her cheeks must match the crimson of her dress. She wasn’t herself. Perhaps she had a fever and imagined McCord and his need.

A suitable reply fought for room in her mouth. “Thought you were skittish that being here will sully your name.”

“Concern was for you, not me, I reckon. A certain pretty hat-stomper shot my reputation all to hell.” The lopsided smile deepened the creases around his mouth and the cleft in his chin.

Amanda’s heart lurched. “And the sheep? You hate them.”

“A few things are worth abiding I’m told. Even rhubarb, which I share no fondness for, but that’s another story.”

Thoughts flew to the pie she’d baked that morning, wondering what he had against the delicacy. No need to worry about something he’d never know. He’d come to work, not eat.

“Indeed. We don’t have to love something to tolerate it.”

Payton’s hand grazed her cheek in a slow sweep that left warmth in his wake. He must’ve felt her turmoil. “You had a streak of dirt on your face. You’re far too comely to let a speck of anything mar the beauty. I hope you didn’t mind-”

“No, I’m indebted.”

Thank goodness he didn’t know the shambles he made inside. She could get used to a saddle-warmer if he promised to hold her close and banish ghosts of the past-and maybe assure her she wasn’t a worthless, stray mutt.

But love?

Who knew what that was? She doubted it existed.

He picked up the clippers where they’d fallen in the dirt, his smoldering gaze wrestling with hers. “Are we done getting things straight? If so, I suggest you let me get to work. Show me how to work these damn things.”

Chapter 11

Amanda welcomed the task of explaining equipment that must be as foreign to Payton as roping and bronc busting were to her. She dare not examine his presence too closely for fear of what she might discover…or have it vanish like a desert mirage that existed solely in her mind.

Had she gone stark raving mad from living so long with nothing but animals and the howling of wind for company?

McCord certainly looked real enough. And the shoulders that brushed hers felt like no figment of anyone’s imagination. She could never design a dream like this from mere yearnings.

But had he truly said he hankered for the company of a handsome woman?

“All right, I think I have the hang of these god-blessed contraptions.” Payton’s wry nod suggested an executioner at a hanging who gave the order to spring a trap door. “I’m ready to try ’em out. Send the first bag of wool this way.”

She opened the narrow chute and nudged a ewe inside, quickly fastening the gate behind before the animal could get other ideas. Then she hurried to help Payton subdue the scared creature he’d already flipped onto its back. Just as Amanda tightened her arms around the thick neck to keep it secure, the ewe flailed the air with powerful feet, jerking and twisting.

Losing her balance, Amanda stumbled against Payton, sending them both to the dirt. When she got her bearings, she found herself pinned beneath him, staring up into a pair of devilish green eyes.

“I…You’re on top me.” The hard chest pressed into her bosom, the virile scent of the man taunting her good sense made it difficult to form lucid thoughts.

“Do tell.”

The sinful curve of his lips began a slow descent, arousing tingles of longing from places long dead.

Perhaps she hadn’t moved too far from the little girl who begged in the streets those years ago. She still held a tin cup and took whatever she could get, however she could. Except she didn’t pretend to be blind. No, her vision was quite clear.

The faint whisper of his breath feathered tendrils of hair at her temple.

Amanda’s heart skipped. She had no inclination or will to stop this delicious fantasy. To feel his lips, taste the musky desire, was a power that nothing on this earth could stop.

Payton’s hand, calloused from years of hard work, trembled as he caressed her cheek. A feathery brush of her eyelids, then the curve of his mouth gently touched hers with the barest of pressure and she knew she’d surely die a happy woman. She wouldn’t ask for more than what she got. It was enough. It’d have to be. She’d learned the value of necessities and how to make do.

His mustache tickled her lip exactly as she’d suspected it would. Her mouth parted slightly and she savored the hunger that Payton had evidently denied himself for a long time.

The kiss that began with a mere brushing of lips grew into one of heated urgency. Amanda felt as though Payton had awakened her from a deep slumber and brought life seeping back into the crevices.

This was the first time she could recall feeling totally safe and protected…and loved. For a moment she didn’t have to fight anyone and that in itself was pretty amazing. She relaxed into his arms and rode the wave of warmth.

Just as she gave herself fully to the idea of blessed happiness, Payton pulled away and scrambled off her.

“I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Unshed tears formed, creating a lump in her throat. He hadn’t truly wanted to kiss her. It had been an accident. He’d only dropped a nickel in her cup because he felt sorry for a blind girl. “Please…don’t.”

“Damn, did I hurt you?”

Amanda bit her lip to stop the quivering. “I’m fine.”

Payton jerked off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and jammed it back on. “From the very first second you came through the door of the hotel I knew I wanted to kiss you. I just didn’t intend to do it today.” He gave her that lopsided grin that stole her breath. “I meant to let you gradually get used to the idea beforehand. I’ve never been…I’m used to wrestling longhorn, not females who require a gentle hand.”

Confusion muddled her brain. She thought he just confessed to kissing her on purpose.

Accepting his hand, she got to her feet. “Damn, McCord, I’m no piece of fragile china. I have no regrets.”

A rush of air left Payton’s mouth. “I’m glad. I sure thought I’d messed up. Thought you were going to hand me my hat and run me off. Or reach for your trusty rifle. You don’t have it hidden somewhere do you?”

She wouldn’t let him know how deeply he’d shaken her. It paid to be cautious in any case. Maybe it was a ruse, some new tactic. She’d not give anyone leverage to use against her if she could prevent it.

“Run you off before you shear my sheep? Are you serious?”

“And afterward?” Payton arched an eyebrow. “When you have little need of me you’ll tell me to climb on my horse and not look back?”

The gaze that saw things in shades of green twinkled, giving birth to a new set of problems-like how to keep the clusters of tingles from reaching her heart, because once they did they’d release the hope she’d imprisoned so long.

“Perhaps. I haven’t decided yet.”

“An unscrupulous man would drag this out.”

“What would an honest man do?”

“Work like hell and count his blessings.” The grin flashed, revealing even teeth.

Good heavens, he could sure charm a lady. How could she ever have thought him befuddled? Seemed outlandish now. The teasing, assured cowboy who stood braced to the wind had kissed her and acted like he enjoyed it. A flush rose. She turned away, casting a gaze to the far distance.

“Looks like Fraser rounded up the escapee.” She pointed toward a ravine. The dog was herding the ewe toward them. “Ready to have another go at this business?”

“A range rider never cries uncle. Always figure I have no choice but get back on the horse that threw me.”

Under Amanda’s tutelage, Payton learned the ins and outs of sheep shearing in record time. She watched the compassion he showed her animals. And when he took a break for a cool dipper of water, she caught him watching her.

Memory of the kiss created waves of heat that threatened to scorch her. She could spend the rest of her life wrapped in his arms with no stretch of the imagination.

Except, she didn’t dare allow herself to bank on a flash in the pan. Her cowboy was a tender of rawhide, not wool. He would help her now, but when it was over he’d be gone like a breeze full of lavender, leaving nothing behind but the scent of his passing.

As dusk approached she could see Payton’s weariness. Muscles that had been taut and firm in the beginning began to give out with the last ram they’d shear this day. He struggled to contain the weight and the shears at the same time.

Despite Amanda’s help, the ram gave them a tussle. She recognized the grinding sound coming from Payton’s mouth. That would be the gnashing of teeth. She’d heard that noise a lot through the day. That he did something he truly abhorred elevated his character to near sainthood.

“Hell and be damned, you ornery piece of stew meat! Be still or you’ll end up in a pot.”

Amanda smothered her laughter. A pleasant glow of happiness had spread through her and had been there since Payton accepted the supper invitation. She didn’t dare serve him mutton though. Or the rhubarb pie she’d baked that morning. Smoked ham she’d gotten from Jeb Diggs would do and a jar of apples from the root cellar. Get him in a good frame of mind and maybe he’d share those secrets he’d mentioned. She wished to know everything about the man who braved ridicule, reprisal, and rhubarb to come to her rescue.

Payton’s arms ached as he dropped the bucket into the water well on Amanda’s property and hauled it up so they could wash. The day had held a lot of surprises. He never imagined that he’d find contentment and belonging here. In fact, he’d have told anyone that he most definitely abhorred the little beasts. He was a cowman. Still was, but he was beginning to see where there might be room for both sheep and longhorn.

Maybe it had a lot to do with a beautiful brown-eyed woman whose pliable curves and winsome smile had spoken to his heart.

“Don’t hog all the water, McCord.” Amanda jostled him aside, trying to reach around him.

He held the bucket over his head, daring her to come closer. “That’s some way to treat a hard-working man who slaved over your ornery flock. Besides, I’m a guest, remember? Mind your manners and I’ll think about it.”

The light from Amanda’s eyes shone past his empty days and nights all the way to the center of promise. “You’re right. It’s fair I let you wash first.”

“A lady of reason always sees the error of her ways.” He lowered the bucket.

But Amanda was quick. She dipped in her hand before he knew what she was doing and flung water into his face. Payton blinked and set the bucket down, calmly wiping the droplets that dripped from his mustache. She watched him carefully with a hand covering her mouth; probably to hide laughter was his guess.

“I didn’t mean to do that. I truly didn’t.”

“This is war, lady.” Payton dumped the entire bucket over her head, leaving her sputtering and gasping. “Now we’re even.”

“That wasn’t nice.”

“I know, but it sure was fun.” He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much for a long while. It might’ve been the first time since he grew up and became a man. Lord, it felt good. He wished he could bottle it up for when life wasn’t being so kind.

Payton brushed Amanda’s hair from her eyes, hoping she wasn’t mad. But the mischievous twinkle hadn’t faded. She evidently yearned for a moment of carefree foolery, a time when the weight of the world didn’t weigh her down. He reached for the towel she’d brought from the house and gently dabbed the parts he dared, trying to ignore the swell of her breasts clearly outlined by the plastered dress.

Amanda’s breathing stilled as if she were waiting for something. “McCord, you’re a wicked man.”

“I know.”

She leaned to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Showing me how wrong I was and for making me feel like a woman again. I’d forgotten how it nice it feels.”

By the time he left that evening, his stomach was full to bursting and so was his heart. Though his muscles protested, he had a most satisfying day. Yes, indeed.

He’d learned a lot about Miss Amanda Lemmons, who put on a good show of pretending not to care when she really did. The glistening moisture in her eyes, slight quiver of her lip, and hope hidden behind the rough texture of her voice gave her away.

And he’d learned some things about himself.

Surprisingly, he discovered shearing sheep wasn’t much different from branding cattle. He hadn’t minded working with the scrubby cotton balls. They were sure heavier than they looked. And they didn’t stink as bad as he thought either. Maybe his feelings for Amanda must’ve perfumed the air.

The feel of her breasts cozying up to him when he’d landed on top of her was something he could take extra helpings of-as many as she wanted to heap on his plate.

Her soft lips that kissed like an angel didn’t raise any argument either.

Amanda Lemmons excelled in almost everything. Her cooking left a little to be desired, but if someone tended the sheep so she could devote more time to the art, she’d take to it like a duck to water. He’d bet anything on it. He saw her expertise with the spinning wheel and a few bags of wool. Cooking had to be a snap compared to the difficult chores she did regularly.

Yes, he could visualize spending the rest of his days with Amanda. She was everything a man would be proud to claim. Now to get her defenses lowered until he convinced her of the fact.

The breeze suddenly died and a whiff of his clothes reached his nose. There’d be hell to pay from Amos, Bert, Joe, and the boys. He’d never live it down. But that wasn’t the worst part. If Mr. Sanborn found out how a self-respecting cowman shucked the cattle for sheep, Payton could lose his job.

Where would he go then? He was tired of looking for a place to light. Longings for permanence rumbled in his chest-a home all his own where he could live out his days in peace.

Old memories of what had been ripped from him nagged.

He’d stop by the horse trough and dip himself to get off some of the stink before he bedded down in the bunkhouse. That’d keep a lid on his secret until he could figure how to sweet talk Amanda.

Chapter 12

Payton struggled to keep his thoughts on his job the next day. He saw Amanda’s face in the short prairie grass, in the lazy clouds that drifted overhead, and strangely in the patterns ingrained in the longhorns’ hides.

She totally absorbed him. He couldn’t remember what his life was like before she entered it.

No one had said a word about where he’d been yesterday, although the boys did give him some curious stares. They might suspect, but if so they put a lid on any speculating. That they were capable of keeping their mouths shut surprised Payton.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” Amanda had asked.

“Can’t promise when, but I’ll be here,” he’d replied. “Might be late afternoon. Can’t say.”

Rounding up strays with some of the other range riders far out toward the property line, Payton straightened in the saddle and cast a casual glance toward Amanda’s property as he’d done a million times since breakfast.

An uncomfortable jolt traveled the length of him.

A wisp of smoke rose from where her house stood. A brief play of light on some object? Had to be either that or some dirt had blown in his eyes. He blinked but it didn’t go away. In fact, the smoke grew thicker.

Maybe she decided to burn some brush. But with the wind gusting this way? Even standing directly over the flame, deliberately lighting dry tinder would be foolhardy.

On her worst day no one would call Amanda anything but careful and smart. Alarm skittered up his spine. Trouble brewed in the air. Thick, black trouble.

Fire…Amanda’s place was ablaze.

Payton spurred Domino and raced toward it, vaguely aware of the shouts behind him. He didn’t waste precious seconds to explain. The valiant, sensitive, captivating woman who clung to the small section of land by her fingernails stood to lose everything. Just like him.

The closer he got the angrier and grayer the sky became. He didn’t dare think of her lying still and lifeless.

Lord, give Domino more strength to run.

He rode from the ravine near the adobe structure and saw flames leaping from the bales of hay in the corral. A quick glance located Amanda in front of her home with legs firmly planted. Fraser poised beside her, prepared to battle to the last drop of blood for his mistress. Amanda pointed the rifle in her hands at a group of undesirables-Payton counted four. He slowed up and slid to the ground, yanking his Winchester from the scabbard.

They hadn’t seen him yet, which fit into his plan.

No one had better hurt his beautiful lady. Payton guaranteed that. He gritted his teeth and sneaked forward.

“You can’t shoot us all, Miss Lemmons. Besides, there’s more left to take up the fight than you can get rid of,” one man shouted. “And we have the Association to back us up. What do you have but a bunch of scraggly mutton, a worthless hound, and a shack? We oughta put you out of your misery. It’d be the humane thing to do.”

If they did it’d be the last thing they’d remember before he blew them off the face of the earth.

Answering the threat, Fraser lunged, aiming to take a chunk out of the attacker’s leg. The man kicked at the dog, missing.

Amanda squeezed off a shot, barely missing the assailant’s toes. “You hurt my dog and I’ll send you back to town dragging a bloody stump.”

They might not believe her capable, but Payton knew she delivered no idle threat. The scrappy woman was tough as rawhide.

“Your mangy sheep are ruining land meant for cattle,” yelled another varmint. “We aim to take it back.”

“You won’t take back a God-blessed thing,” Amanda answered with steel in her voice. “This rifle will make sure of that. Who gives you the right to trespass onto the property of a law-abiding citizen and give me orders? I want a name.”

Payton crept behind the foursome. If one sneezed it’d be too bad. He’d gladly bury them at Boot Hill.

“We have a long list of people who want you gone by whatever means. Maybe we’ll just hafta kill you,” the ringleader sneered.

“Kill her and get ready to kill me, too.” Payton pumped a cartridge into the rifle with an abrupt up and down motion. The men whirled and Payton recognized them as skunk bait from the Amarillo Belle saloon. “You’ll discover you have a big job in doing either.”

“McCord, you cross to her side now? Thought you stood with the cattlemen.” The man Payton knew as George Anders glared.

“The only sides here are right and wrong. I’m proud to say I’m on the right one at last.” He met Amanda’s brown, liquid gaze and winked. Relief and happiness shone back, though she had the situation under control. Except for the bales of hay that were too far gone to save. They didn’t pose a risk to the house, thank goodness.

The mob exchanged shiftless glances, revealing their change of heart before George started sniveling. “We was only having some fun. Didn’t mean to cause no harm.”

Amanda’s features remained stone cold. “Pitch your weapons to the ground. Now!”

“What’re you gonna do?” George whined, obeying.

She stalked to a satchel leaning against the stone corral and pulled out the leg irons, manacles, and handcuffs. Payton grinned at the fear on the trespassers’ faces. She’d finally found a use for the devices after all-and they weren’t going to keep the men bound to her, but to tote them to jail.

He helped shackle the scoundrels to the fence and left Fraser to stand guard. “Can I have a word with you, darlin’?”

Amanda wore a questioning scowl, but followed him into the small shed that housed the wagon. Once inside, he turned on his heels and captured her face between his palms. With tender passion, he drank his fill of the wild determination that was his to claim.

The arms that stole around his neck bore no hint of a woman who’d almost given up on life on one moonlit night. His lady had strength to fight for what she wanted. He only prayed she wanted an old, broken-down cowhand with two cents to his name.

They were meant for each other, her with a past riddled with disappointment and misery and him…Well, he figured she might just need someone around to remind her occasionally that life goes on no matter if a person gets busted and bruised all to hell. He was an authority on that subject.

“Marry me,” he whispered against her mouth when he caught his breath. “I want to spend my days and nights loving everything about you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I absolutely do. There are givers and takers, lovers and leavers.” Payton leaned back so he see clearly eyes the color of rich cocoa. Questions in her stare made it hard to form the words. “I have a heart bursting with love for you. I’m a giver and a lover. I want to give you so much love I don’t know where to start. And I damn sure will never leave. When I pledge something, it’s for good.”

“I’ve trusted before and lived to regret it.”

His thumb caressed the hollow in her cheek. “Darlin’, I wish I could take away every bit of hurt people have dealt you. I’d be lying if I said I could. I reckon we just have to live by faith, one day at a time, until each festering sore heals.”

“You have any other reasons to give up your freedom? Seems you’re pretty set in your ways to think of change.”

If he mentioned getting naked and exploring every curve, hill, and valley, would she cart him to jail along with the trespassers? Bold excitement filled him. He’d better save that for later.

“The next time someone comes gunning for you I want to be here. It’s the only way I can keep you safe-the only way I can sleep at night.”

“You think one man can even the odds?”

The wink was lazy and deliberate. “I know the secret handshake.”

“Awful sure of yourself.”

The smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes gave hope. Payton pushed back his hat with a forefinger. “I promise if I cause you pain I’ll load the gun and stand still so you can shoot me. Can you beat a deal like that?”

“It’s a fair offer.” Her chin raised. “But, I won’t be pressured. A decision this big deserves thought.”

“Just so you know…I’m not going away. I’ll badger you like a dog chasing a possum.”

“Damn, you’re romantic, McCord.”

Payton grinned. “I see you found that out.”

At that moment, something whined, brushing his leg. He glanced down. Fraser sat on his haunches, his tail wagging furiously. Amanda’s watchdog and faithful companion grinned with the old mangled Stetson in his mouth, obviously pleased with the token he offered.

“I swear, Fraser’s burying the hatchet? Even the rabid animal has a tender spot for me.”

That afternoon in Amarillo, Amanda strolled down the street, humming a tune and planning a wedding that she hadn’t committed to in anything but theory. It didn’t matter. She knew she would when the time was good and proper. She’d already given her noble cowboy the key to her heart and a map of how to get there.

Nearing the Amarillo Hotel, her steps slowed, recalling the day they met. It would always be a place of significance.

Her chest swelled with happiness and contentment. They had things still to iron out in this newly formed arrangement, but she harbored no doubt that they could solve any problems.

All of a sudden a lean, handsome figure with a certain swagger, wearing a brand new Stetson, exited the hotel in a hurry. She ducked into the shadow of a doorway. Not that Payton McCord stood any chance of seeing her with the voluptuous Mavis Harper plastered to him. No, he wasn’t paying anything any mind except the hussy in his arms and the lust in her gaze.

Shock and hopelessness knocked the wind from Amanda.

Tears swam in her eyes. Against better judgment she’d put aside each old fear and trusted someone again. How could Payton betray her this way and so publicly? It was evident he had no trace of the honor and integrity that he’d projected in his declaration of love a few hours ago. He took her for a fool. An utter, stupid, blind fool with a tin cup.

Well, she’d not cower in the shadows like some waif. She’d stand up and show the man for the conniver he was. Amanda took a deep breath and stepped into their path.

“You double-crossing, two-timing rat! I thought your word meant something.”

Payton hadn’t expected to get caught, judging by the bobble of his Adam’s apple as he tried to swallow and instead choked on his spit. Mavis Harper’s garish mouth formed a silent O.

“This isn’t what it looks like, darlin’,” Payton began.

Bitter disappointment scalded the back of her eyelids.

“Don’t darlin’ me.” Amanda hauled off and kicked his shinbone. “I’m only glad I found out how far you’d love and cherish, and with how many others, before the ceremony.”

Payton hopped around in a circle, holding his ankle.

“What ceremony? You wrote me a love letter,” Mavis insisted. “She’s right, you are a two-timing rat.” Delivering a kick to his other shin, Mavis flounced toward the Panhandle Herald office with revenge evidently in mind.

“Wait just a cotton pickin’ minute. This was all Joe’s doing. Mavis, I didn’t write anything. And Amanda, I promised if I caused you pain I’d load a gun and let you shoot me.” Payton jerked his Colt from the holster. “Before I hand this over, grant a dying man a last request.”

Even as anger coursed through her, she wondered what kind of man would barter with his own life.

One who had nothing to lose or one who had everything to gain? Her brain whirled. She couldn’t spill his blood no matter how furious he made her.

He’d spoken of love and kissed like the prince she dreamed would stand by her side and whose arms would be strong enough to withstand the buffeting winds of the cattlemen’s greed. She had to consider in all fairness that Payton gave more than he took.

Too bad she misjudged his honor.

“Make it quick with this request of yours. I have…I…Damn.” Tears clogged her throat. This was worse than standing at the altar alone in Santa Fe because she’d gone into it knowing another betrayal would strangle the very life from her. And this time it would be a permanent condition.

“Give me one kiss.”

“A kiss? One?” It came out squeaky and not at all the way she wanted.

“Yep. That’s it.”

Amanda didn’t dare agree. The rugged cowboy’s kisses were addictive. One kiss would simply fuel the fire for more. And if she gave in to that, he’d murmur those words of endearment against her lips and she’d be forever lost.

“Seems an odd thing to ask of a scorned woman.”

Heavy sorrow in Payton’s gaze reached inside her soul. “Have you ever loved someone so much it feels like you can’t breathe? And even if you knew the next gulp of air would bury you six feet under, you’d take it anyway if it meant being near them?”

Her voice came soft. “I have.”

“Without you I might as well be dead. Hell, I don’t want Mavis. You’re a million times the woman Mavis is. The woman thought I wrote those love letters. She threw herself on me like a crazed animal that had a gut full of locoweed.”

“You weren’t working all that hard to pry her loose.”

“That’s because you didn’t see the grip of steel she had on my rear end. I gave up trying to pull her off and focused on trying to outrun her before I found out if the rumor is true.” He traced the curve of Amanda’s jaw with a finger. The light touch caused an ache in her belly.

“What rumor?”

“The campfire tales of cowpokes who swear that a man can catch something from Mavis that 20 Mule Team Borax can’t scrub off.”

“That’s mean.”

“How much more of a reliable source do you need? I don’t make up this stuff.” The lopsided smile gave his lips a sinful curve and made her heart skitter.

Footsteps sounded on the plank sidewalk and a man politely cleared his throat. “McCord, I hear you’re quitting the Frying Pan, gave your notice. Is it true? I’d hate to lose a seasoned rawhider like you. It’ll take a while to find someone with your skills.”

McCord was quitting his job? Why?

Amanda tugged attention from the heat in Payton’s eyes. She recognized the interrupter as Henry Sanborn. Of all the cattle barons he gave her a pretty fair shake. That meant something. Payton straightened with respect.

“Yes, sir, it is true. I had a better offer.” His gaze met Amanda’s. “That is if it’s still on the table.”

“Anyone would need their head examined to let the best in the business get away.” Sanborn took a cigar from his pocket and lit it. “What are they paying you? I’ll match any figure.”

“I won’t be drawing pay and I don’t think you can offer what she is. I’m looking to branch out.” The smile that formed beneath his mustache made her stomach do somersaults. “Darlin’, I think I might have an answer we both can live with. That north pasture, the buffer zone between you and the ranchers, could be put to good use if you’ll let me.”

“What are you saying, Payton?” The north pasture was the no man’s land where Amanda had found Payton’s hat. He must’ve figured out she left that portion of her land unused to shield her from the cattle barons. If he had plans for it that would suit her fine as long as he stood by her side.

With his eyes fastened on her he turned. “Mr. Sanborn, I’d be willing to help out with the roundup once a year if you’ll let me take my pay in cattle.”

Sanborn scratched his head, grinning. “Reckon I can. I take it you’re throwing in your lot with Miss Lemmons. Smart lady. She can teach you a thing or two I’ve heard.”

“Already has, sir. Cattle aren’t everything. I’ve developed an interest in mutton of late.”

“I’m hope you know what you’re doing, McCord.”

“Yes, sir, I do most certainly know. The way I figure it, sheep aren’t anything more than fluffy cows, except maybe a little squattier. The Panhandle has room for both and I aim to prove it. Might want to pass along the word to members of the Cattle Raisers Association that the Mutton Madam has gotten reinforcements.”

Amanda watched Sanborn’s confident stride up Main Street. Men projected confidence in different ways she was learning. Sometimes that boldness sneaked inside quiet comments that a body could overlook unless they paid close attention.

Had Payton, a dyed-in-the-wool cowboy, spared no thought to what he’d just done? He’d quit a job that defined who he was. And for what? The line in the sand wouldn’t come cheap.

“Did you mean that stuff you said about sheep?”

“Always mean what I say and say what I mean. I love you. I intend to spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget it. My word is my bond.”

Joe Long and some of the crew from the Frying Pan rode into town and tied up in front of the hotel. Her stomach sank.

Payton stiffened, tightening his fist. “Hell and be damned! I don’t know what they have up their sleeve, but they’d better have their fighting clothes on because I’m not going to stand for any more damn meddling. Sam hell! That’s it.”

One thing for sure, her future husband knew when to cuss and when to draw lines no one dared cross. A bright man, Payton McCord.

She smothered a laugh and stood on tiptoe. “Quit wasting all that energy on them and kiss me.”