Your Ranch...Or Mine?. Kathie DeNosky
tightening gates, whether they needed it or not. Keeping busy helped him think. Unfortunately, he didn’t arrive at any conclusions other than that Taylor was just as stubborn about selling her share of the ranch as he was.
When he’d won half of the Lucky Ace last fall, he had fully intended to sell it back to Ben. But the old man had asked that Lane move in and oversee the day-to-day running of the ranch while he spent the winter with his family in California. Ben had told him they would talk again in the spring and Lane could let him know if he still wanted to sell the property back to him. It had seemed like a reasonable request and Lane had agreed. But the past six months had reminded him of his time at the Last Chance Ranch and he’d decided that he might have been a little too hasty about offering to sell his interest back to Cunningham.
Lane stared off into the distance. As it turned out, being sent to the Last Chance Ranch as a teen and placed in the care of his foster father, Hank Calvert, had been the best thing that had ever happened to Lane and he had nothing but fond memories of the time he’d spent there.
Hank had been the wisest man Lane had ever had the privilege to know. He’d not only taught the boys in his care to work through their anger and self-destructive behavior by using ranch chores and rodeo, he had taught them a code of conduct that they all adhered to even as adults. Lane and the men he still called his brothers had all become honest, productive members of society because of their time with Hank. Along the way, they had bonded into a family that remained as strong, if not stronger, than any traditional family tied together by blood.
He drew in a deep breath. Even though he had overcome his past, gained a family he loved and, with Hank’s help, managed to save enough money from his junior rodeo earnings to make restitution to the people he had conned or stolen from, Lane didn’t particularly like being reminded of his youthful problems.
Of course, he hadn’t had much of choice in what he’d done. But stealing was stealing and whether he’d had a good reason or not, being a con artist and a thief was still wrong.
That’s why he’d had such a strong reaction when Taylor accused him of swindling her grandfather. She had unwittingly reminded him of what he had been and what he might have continued to be if he hadn’t straightened up his act.
Riding into the ranch yard, he dismounted Blue and led the gelding into the barn. As he removed the horse’s saddle and began brushing the animal’s bluish-gray coat, Lane reviewed his options.
He supposed he could sell Taylor his half of the ranch, then look around for another property. But he rejected that idea immediately. Texas might be a huge state, but there weren’t that many ranches the size of the Lucky Ace up for sale. Nor were any of them located close enough that he would be able to see his brothers regularly or be there for them if they needed him. Besides, he had won his half of the ranch fair and square and no one was going to guilt him into selling it—not even a hot-as-hell redhead with the greenest eyes he’d ever seen and a figure that made him want to spend endless hours exploring it.
When his body stirred from just thinking about her, he stopped grooming the roan and cursed his neglected libido as he led the horse into its stall. That did it. When Lane started to find a woman who frustrated him to the brink of insanity attractive enough to incite a case of lust, it was time to do something about it. As soon as he took a quick shower and got ready, he was going to make a trip over to that little honky-tonk in Beaver Dam and see if he couldn’t find a warm, willing female to help him scratch this itch. Maybe then he would be able to forget how desirable Taylor Scott was and start thinking of her as he would think of any other business partner.
With a firm plan in place, he walked purposefully across the ranch yard and climbed the porch steps. “Taylor, I won’t be here for supper,” he said as he entered the kitchen. “I’m going over to—” He stopped short when she vigorously shook her head. “What’s wrong?” he asked, walking over to where she stood at the counter mixing something in a bowl.
She nodded toward the hall. “I can’t get rid of the cowboy you assigned to help me carry my things in from the car,” she whispered.
“I didn’t assign him to do anything,” Lane said, careful to keep his voice low. “When I mentioned you needed help, he volunteered.”
“Whatever. I can’t get him to leave,” she insisted. “We finished unloading the car over an hour ago, but he keeps coming up with excuses to stick around. I even gave up putting my clothes away because I wasn’t comfortable with him lurking in the doorway watching me.”
Standing so close to her, breathing in the light scent of her herbal shampoo and noticing the perfection of her coral lips, caused every nerve in Lane’s body to come to full alert. He took a step back, then another.
To distract himself from the temptation she posed, he asked, “Where’s he now and what is he doing?”
“He’s in the living room building a fire in the fireplace,” she answered.
“It’s May and the air conditioning is on. The last thing we need is to heat up the house with a fire,” Lane said, frowning. “Whose bright idea was that?”
“Mine.” She set the bowl aside and reached for some small white ceramic ramekins. “I had to think of something to keep him busy until you got back from wherever it was you went this morning.”
“I was out riding fence and repairing some of the windmills,” he answered defensively. He didn’t owe her an explanation of his whereabouts, so why did he feel compelled to give her one?
“It’s Sunday and after they tend to the livestock, even the hired men have the day off,” she said, her tone disapproving. “Couldn’t those chores have waited until tomorrow?”
It suddenly occurred to Lane that the impatience in Taylor’s voice stemmed from her uneasiness about being around the man in the other room, not because she was annoyed by his daylong absence from the house.
“I’ll get rid of him,” he said, turning toward the hall. When he walked into the living room he found Roy Lee Wilks kneeling beside the fireplace, failing miserably at building a fire in the stone firebox. “Don’t worry about the fire, Roy Lee. I don’t think we’ll be needing it. It’s well over eighty degrees outside.”
“Hey there, boss,” the young man said, sitting back on his heels. “I wondered why Ms. Scott wanted me to build a fire.” He removed his sweat-stained ball cap to run a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “I wasn’t having much luck at getting it started anyway.”
Lane checked his watch. “Marty should just about have supper ready over at the bunkhouse. It would probably be a good idea to get over there before Cletus eats his share and yours, too.”
Putting his cap back on, Roy Lee rose to his feet and nodded. “I’ll do that as soon as I check with Ms. Scott to see if she needs me to do anything else.”
Lane shook his head. “Thanks, but you’ve spent most of your day off helping her and I’m sure you’d like to rest up before you move that herd of heifers over to the north pasture tomorrow morning. If she wants something else done, I’ll take care of it.”
The man looked as though he might want to argue the point, but apparently he decided that crossing the boss might not be a wise choice. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning then,” he finally said, turning toward the hall.
Lane leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorway and waited for Roy Lee to bid Taylor a good evening and leave before he walked over to where she stood at the counter finishing the dessert she was working on. “Now that your problem is solved with Roy Lee, I’m going to take a shower and drive over to Beaver Dam for the evening.”
“You won’t be here for dinner?” she asked, looking disappointed. “I’m making prime rib, twice-baked potatoes with herbs and cheese, asparagus spears with hollandaise sauce and crème brûlée for dessert.”
She had apparently been too distracted by wanting to get rid of Roy Lee to have heard him tell her earlier that he was leaving for the evening. He shifted