The Trouble with Texas Cowboys(2)

“I’m going to dinner with Betsy Gallagher,” he said.

“Oh, well then, you must give us equal time, darlin’.” She opened the screen door and stepped inside. Before he could take a single step back, her breasts were brushing against his chest. “You have to come to supper at the Brennan household. It’ll be more private anyway without the whole family there.” She picked up his hand and wrote a number in the palm. “This is my cell phone number. Call me at a quarter to six, and I’ll talk to you the whole way and give you instructions on how to get to River Bend. See you then.” She blew a kiss off the tips of her fingers and then touched his lips with her forefinger.

“Holy shit!” Jill said. “What’s going on?”

“News travels fast in a small town. They know you have arrived, and they’re going to swamp you with dates,” he said.

“But why?”

“Fiddle Creek, and you’re a damn fine-lookin’ woman.”

“But why you?”

“They just want to get rid of the threat. If one of those women can snag me, then that’s one cowboy out of their way,” he said.

“You sure about that?”

A heavy knock landed on the door.

“I bet you dollars to cow patties that’s a Gallagher wanting to take you to Sunday dinner,” he said.

She grimaced. “Maybe it’s for you.”

“If it is, tell the woman I’ve got the plague.”

* * *

Jill answered the door, and there stood a tall, dark cowboy with pretty brown eyes. Lord, please let this be a Bible seller who’s lost his way and is looking for directions, she prayed.

Her prayer fell on deaf ears.

“Miss Jill Cleary, I swear you have grown up to be a gorgeous woman. The last time I saw you, you were in pigtails. You won’t remember me, probably. I’m Tyrell Gallagher. I heard you’d made it to town and I wanted to ask you to Sunday dinner.” His Texas drawl was sexy as hell, and he was easy on the eyes.

“Thank you for coming by and for the invitation, but I’ve already got dinner plans for Sunday,” she said.

“Well, then, darlin’, you could invite me inside,” Tyrell said.

“It’s a mess in here.” She used Sawyer’s line and stepped out on the porch like he’d done.

He pinned her against the rough wood wall of the bunkhouse with a hand on either side of her. “I can’t change your mind about dinner?”

“Sorry, but the plans are made.” She felt like a caged cat and fought the urge to holler for Sawyer to come save her.

“Then supper? We have two meals at Wild Horse on Sunday. Supper is buffet instead of a sit-down dinner, but you can still meet the family,” he whispered close enough that she caught the faint scent of peppermint gum over the top of whiskey.

“Okay,” she said. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at six. What’s your favorite color of roses?”

“I don’t have a favorite,” she said.

He took a step back and grinned. “Then red it is. I’ll see you Sunday.”

She hurried into the house, and Sawyer was gone from the sofa. Surely he hadn’t slipped out the back door and left her alone. I take back everything I thought about him when I first got here, Lord. Please don’t let him be gone. I’m going to need a friend and lots of support, she prayed again.

She had a moment of panic until he came from the kitchen with two opened bottles of beer in his hands. He handed one to her and downed a third of the other one before he went back to the sofa and sat down on one end.

“I thought you’d left me to the wolves all by myself. It was a scary moment. I don’t even know you, Sawyer O’Donnell, but please promise you’ll stick around.”

“I gave Gladys my word I’d stay for a year,” he said.

She exhaled loudly. “We got off on the wrong foot. I’m tired and weary from driving and worried that I made the wrong decision in coming here, so I’m sorry for aiming my gun at you.”

“Same here. I’m not a bit sorry that I took this job, but I wish to hell Fiddle Creek wasn’t right in the middle of two feuding families,” he said.

“I’m going to supper at the Gallaghers’ ranch and dinner at the Brennans’. At least no one can say I’m choosing sides,” she said with a long sigh as she plopped down on the other end of the sofa and kicked off her boots. “I shouldn’t sit down, or I’ll never get up and get this cleaning done. My feet hurt. My head is aching, and damn, Sawyer, why did I just agree to do two things I don’t want to do?”

He picked up her feet and put them in his lap, massaging the soles through her socks. “I’m going to Wild Horse for dinner and River Bend for supper, but believe me, it’s not happening but this one time,” he said. “I’ll be ready for them next time around.”

She dramatically threw a hand over her eyes. “Next time? Shit! We’re going to have to outrun them again? That feels so good. Did you ever think of leaving ranchin’ and going into massage work?”

“No, ma’am. My heart is in ranchin’, but it makes a person plumb cranky to have achin’ feet.” He cocked his head to one side, drew his eyes down, and asked, “What is that noise?”

“Sounds like thunder. Maybe if it rains, they’ll all stay on their asses at home and leave us alone so we can get this place cleaned up before dark. Thanks for the foot rub. It really did help.”

He cocked his ear to one side. “It’s not thunder. That’s cattle and four-wheelers.”

She set her beer down and ran to the back door. Sure enough, there were four-wheelers out in the distance. She couldn’t make out who was driving them, but she distinctly counted six.

Sawyer went the other way—to the front door. “I see three four-wheelers out on the far side, going toward the store. What the hell are they doing on Fiddle Creek?”

That’s when they saw the cattle stampeding toward the bunkhouse. She jumped back and slammed the door shut. “Shit fire, Sawyer! What is going on?”

“It’s a full-out stampede, but when they reach the bunkhouse, it’ll break their momentum and slow ’em down. Gladys is going to have a hissy. I see River Bend brands all mixed up with ours, and I was right, there’s Wild Horse brands in there too. Both sides must’ve had the same idea.”

“To cut fences and create havoc?” she asked.

“That’s the general definition of a feud,” he answered.

Gladys, Quaid Brennan, and Tyrell Gallagher all arrived at the same time, braking so hard that gravel spewed all over the front of the bunkhouse.

“You son of a bitch.” Tyrell jumped out of his truck and bowed up to Quaid, who had barely gotten his boots on the ground. “Why did you cut our fence and cause this mess?”

Gladys stepped between them.

Jill grabbed her boots and headed outside, yelling at Sawyer the whole way. “Go help her. I swear, if one of them throws a punch and hits her, I’ll shoot him dead.”

Sawyer didn’t hesitate. He and Jill might have gotten off to a bad start, but she was right. If one of those fools hurt Gladys, she could shoot him, and Sawyer would carry the body down to the Red River and toss it into the water.

Sawyer joined Gladys. “Looks like you two need to use your energy to sort out your cattle rather than fightin’.”

“That’s right,” Gladys said. “I’m damn sure not sortin’ them out, but I will be doin’ a count tomorrow, and if a single one of Fiddle Creek cows is missin’, you’ll both answer to me. Now get busy roundin’ up your herds, and then get the hell off Fiddle Creek.”

“Don’t worry, Miz Gladys. I’m going out there to make sure that anything with our brand stays right here,” Sawyer said.

“And I’m going with him,” Jill said from the porch.

Gladys nodded. “And you had best fix your own fences too.”

Without a word to her or to each other, both cowboys headed toward their trucks. They had phones to their ears as they backed away from the bunkhouse.

“Welcome to Burnt Boot.” Gladys laughed. “I’m glad I hired y’all, because I’m going back to the store and leaving you to take care of it.”

“My truck or yours?” Jill asked.

“I’ll drive if you’ll bring that shotgun with you.”

“You got it. And, Sawyer, it’s beginning to look like we’d best stick together if we’re going to survive living here.”

He held out his hand. “Deal.”

She shook it and then went back inside to get her gun.

The truck engine was running when she got back. Sawyer put it in gear and drove toward the herd of cattle right smack in the middle of the Fiddle Creek pasture behind the bunkhouse.

“We need to be cleanin’, not settling feud wars,” she said.

“I know, but here we are. Speaking of cleanin’, I didn’t know that you were moving into the bunkhouse. Thought I had it all to myself, so I unloaded my things in the foreman’s bedroom. That comes with a private bathroom. I can move them to the other side if you want,” he said.

“I remember the bunkhouse very well, and there are two bedrooms on the other side. One will serve as my office. Let’s get a few things clear though, Sawyer. I don’t cook, but I will take my turn at cleaning.”