Holidays on the Ranch (Burnt Boot, Texas #1)(30)

“I hired on to do whatever you needed,” she said.

“Whatever?” He wiggled his eyebrows. Even that silly gesture put her mind into the gutter. Need and want were two different things for both of them, and she still wasn’t over being angry at having her morning ruined or by him stopping at one red-hot, scorching kiss either.

“Needed, not wanted. Wash your hands and let’s eat dinner.”

***

Feeding cows, driving a truck, and cutting loose hay bales all came back to Callie like riding a bicycle, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. The wind got harsher as the day went on, and the skies got darker. If she was going to stay on the ranch, she’d have to buy a warmer coat next time they got into a bigger place than Burnt Boot because her jacket didn’t do much to keep the warmth in or the cold out. Running in the snow in nothing more than a sweatshirt was one thing; working in it was quite another.

She had located a fairly new pair of broken-in work gloves in the console of the old truck, and they fit just fine so her fingers didn’t go numb as she helped Finn toss hay out to the cattle. She’d worked on ranches from the time she was old enough to stick her hand under a hen’s feathers and get the eggs until she signed on the dotted line and became the property of the U.S. Army for six years. She had dreamed every night of getting away from the smell of cow manure back then, and now here she was right back in the middle of it.

“Let me help with that,” Finn yelled over the noise of bawling cows, wind, and the engine of the truck. He pulled a pair of clippers from his back pocket, snapped the wire loose, and kicked the hay bale away from the rusted tailgate.

A bit of a red flannel shirt peeked out from the mustard-colored work coat. Under that shirt was a broad chest of tight muscles, probably covered with a crop of soft chest hair. She fought back the desire to reach up under there and warm her cold hands.

“What are you thinking about? You look like you’re in another world.” He started around the truck with her right behind him.

“I guess I was.” She got into the pickup quickly so that all the warm air wouldn’t escape.

“One where there’s no cows or hay to deal with?”

“I didn’t like ranchin’ when I was a kid, and my opinions about cows and hay haven’t changed since I left it,” she said.

“You go there to that other world very often?” he asked as Shotgun jumped into the truck from the driver’s side and settled between them.

She wasn’t about to confess that the world she’d been visiting had to do with chest hair and not with sand and broiling-hot sun or even cows and hay.

“More than I should,” she answered honestly.

“At least Christmas on a ranch is a lot different than Afghanistan at Christmas, isn’t it?”

“Here, it’s really Christmas. Over there, it was like we were playacting, but we did have a pretty tree,” she said.

He reached around Shotgun and squeezed her knee. Denim and leather gloves separated skin from skin, or she was sure it would have left a red hand print on her leg. “That, honey, was the ugliest damn thing ever put up and called a Christmas tree. But I still smile every Christmas when I think about it.”

“Yellow light,” she said softly.

“Don’t start that shit on me now, Callie.”

“So you remember?”

“Of course, I remember. We all had to take those damn classes on sexual harassment. Red light meant back off six feet. Yellow light meant don’t come any closer, and green light meant lock the door because we’re about to start shucking out of our clothes.”

“I don’t think that’s the way the instructor really explained it,” she told him.

“It’s the way I heard it. So why did you say yellow light right then?”

She gathered her thoughts as she looked straight ahead, knowing if she looked at his jawline, his lips, or even that damn black hat, she wouldn’t be able to explain. “You know about my sister and the way she went from one boyfriend to another, each one not worth a damn. I’m afraid I’ll turn out to be like her.”

“Callie, you can kick that shit out of your head. You aren’t anything like that. You are raisin’ Martin, and you’re a damn good mother to that kid.”

“Maybe I just cover it up real good,” she said.

“Bullshit. Whatever you think is written all over your face. You couldn’t cover up anything,” he said.

She damn sure had him buffaloed, but she wasn’t going to ’fess up about the blistering-hot thoughts she’d had all afternoon.

***

Finn liked everything that had happened in his world since Callie showed up. He liked the way they worked together, her damn fine cooking, and the comfortable feeling between them. It had always been like that, from the first day they were sent out on a mission together. He’d about gone AWOL when they told him he’d be working with a female spotter, but she’d shown him that first time that she was solid as a rock.

A month ago, when he had driven through the cattle guard out by the road and through the arch onto Salt Draw Ranch, he knew that his soul had come home to roost. And now that Callie was there, he was more at peace than he’d been in two years, and he’d do anything to keep her around.

They finished up the chores and had just settled into the sofa with a cup of piping-hot coffee when Martin burst through the front door. Shotgun raised his head, jumped to his feet, and put his paws on Martin’s chest. Pistol opened his big, bulging brown eyes and ambled over to Martin. Angel darted from under the sofa and sniffed the backpack on the floor as if a strange critter had come to threaten her position.