Rough Rider (Hot Cowboy Nights, #2)(55)

“Don’t what?” she asked.

“Don’t be late,” he replied tersely.

“I won’t be. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

Dirk waited for the click that ended the call. He’d told himself he was just helping her out. He really did need a hand, but who was he really kidding? He couldn’t wait to see her again—no matter the terms.

*

With a nine-year-old son, Janice was accustomed to staying up late and getting up early, but it had been years since she’d set her alarm for four a.m. It was a hellish hour. She dragged herself out of bed with a groan, showered, dressed, and braided her hair. She was glad she’d splurged on the automatic coffeepot. She poured a cup in a tall travel mug before heading out the door in her jeans and boots, grabbing her old hat and the sherpa-lined Carhartt jacket that always hung on a hook by the back door.

It was almost October and the morning air was brisk enough to make her breath visible as she walked out to her truck. She looked out at the surrounding mountains and inhaled deeply, feeling lighthearted for the first time in forever. Until this moment, she’d felt like she was just going through the motions, trapped in someone else’s skin, but the prospect of going back to cattle work felt like a real homecoming to her.

Ranch work was what she knew. It was what she’d been born into. It was damned hard. It was downright dirty, but it was what she loved. And it was the life she’d always wanted for her son. Grady had never shared that dream. Sure he’d wanted to raise bulls, but it was all for show, to be the star of the rodeo, not for the lifestyle. Real ranch work bored him. Dirk, on the other hand, was deeply committed to making things work at the Flying K.

He’d surprised her with the job offer, but she reminded herself that’s all it was—a job. She refused to let her anxiety ruin everything. This was a business arrangement. There would be no personal involvement. He’d already made his feelings perfectly clear about that. He was simply her new boss.

So why had she agreed to meet him for breakfast? Why had he even asked her? Why was her pulse accelerating and her palms sweating on the steering wheel as she turned into the drive and through the gate of the Flying K? When he’d walked into the bar yesterday he’d been so different from how he was just last week. She remembered his teasing parting remark that had sounded so much like he used to be.

“C’mon, Janice,” she groaned. “Pull yourself together. All you gotta do is go to work, collect your paycheck…and guard your stupid heart.”

*

Janice paused outside the door to the old bunkhouse, the knot in her stomach tightening at the memory of how badly the last time had gone. She shook those thoughts off, inhaled a deep breath, and raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before she made contact. Finding herself facing a solid wall of hard male, Janice took a step backward. Her gaze tracked upward into a pair of ice-blue eyes.

“G’morning,” Dirk said. “Didn’t mean to startle you, but I heard the truck. Diesels aren’t exactly stealth vehicles.”

“No, they aren’t.” She gave a nervous laugh. “And mine’s in sore need of a new muffler. It’s one of many things I’ve had to put off due to lack of cash, which is also why I’m here.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have second thoughts.”

“No, but I don’t have much choice. I really do need the money. Then again, the day hasn’t begun yet. Maybe I’ll hightail it outta here once I’ve had a good dose of manure and bawling cattle.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” He laughed. “But I suspect this kinda thing runs in your blood.”

Her mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “Yeah. Sadly, it does.”

“C’mon, breakfast is ready.” He stepped back and beckoned her inside. “Hope you’re good and hungry.”

Janice scraped her boots on the mat and followed him to the kitchenette. She sniffed the bacon-scented air and her stomach gave an embarrassing growl. “Smells wonderful. I can’t recall the last time I ate anything in the morning besides Cap’n Crunch or Lucky Charms.”

“Not exactly the breakfast of champions,” Dirk remarked dryly.

He indicated a chair at the scarred oak table set for two. In the middle sat a plate of bacon and a large platter of blueberry pancakes. Janice sat down while Dirk piled a stack of four pancakes and as many strips of bacon onto both of their plates.

“Cody never touched anything that wasn’t sugarcoated until Wheaties put Grady on the box,” she said. “Then for the longest time he wouldn’t eat anything else—breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I finally had to stop buying it. I feel a little guilty about that, but I was feeding an unhealthy obsession,” she chattered on nervously.

Dirk seemed to fill the tiny kitchenette with his overpowering male presence.

“Coffee?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, please.”

He filled her cup before sitting down with his own. “How old is Cody now?”

“He’ll be ten in March.”

“Is he really?”

“Yeah. I can’t believe how fast he’s growing up.”

“How’s he dealt with his father’s death?”

Janice stared into her coffee mug. Recalling the look of stark incomprehension on her six-year-old’s face when she’d tried to explain that his father would never be coming home again.