The Cowboy's Christmas Bride. Patricia Johns

       Chapter Three

      Monday morning, the sun was just peeping over the horizon as Andy cinched the girth on his saddle tighter. Early rays of sunlight, pink as a grapefruit, flooded the fields, sparkling on the frost that clung to every blade of grass. Dawn made the ranch cozier somehow. It was the rose-splashed sky and the long, dusty shadows—a moment in time that hadn’t changed over the years. He could remember this exact moment of the day when he was a kid holding a bucket of chicken feed, staring at the sky.

      “Get ’er done, Andy,” his father would say on his way past, Chet in his wake. Get ’er done. Staring at the dawn wasn’t efficient use of his time, but it was something his mom could understand.

      “Just look at that sky...” She’d stare at the sky for long moments. Mom got it.

      The rooster let out a hoarse crow and Romeo stamped a hoof as Andy ran a hand down the horse’s dun flank. His team consisted of four regular ranch hands who rode along for cattle drives every year, and the two newbies—Harley Webb and Dakota Mason.

      Dakota was getting Barney ready to ride a few yards off. She slid a feedbag over his head and patted his neck affectionately. Andy found it ironic she’d chosen Chet’s horse, the beast that kept nipping at Andy every time he came close. He looked gentle as a lamb with Dakota, though.

      The sunrise made her milky skin flush pink in the growing light, her dark hair pulled into a ponytail, revealing the length of her neck. Her coat was brown leather, tough and formfitting, and he had to force himself to look away. Staring, no matter how flattering the light, was bad form for the boss.

      Andy’s last cattle drive had been when he was sixteen, and he was more than aware of his current limitations—namely, his lack of recent ranching experience and his mangled reputation in Hope. Drovers were a unique lot and gaining their respect wouldn’t be automatic, maybe not even possible given his current position. These were hard-riding men who were used to discomfort and had their own code, and leadership on a cattle drive would look a whole lot different than leadership in a boardroom.

      Harley seemed to be keeping to himself and a couple of the other drovers were talking by the fence. Dakota buckled shut a saddlebag and glanced in his direction, her hat pushed back from her face while she worked. She was pretty in a way he didn’t see very often. She wasn’t Cover Girl pretty. It was something deeper; the way she stared directly at a man and he could see both the softness and sharp intelligence behind those eyes, an alluring combination. He didn’t want a woman to look up to him, bat her eyes and laugh at his jokes. He wanted a woman to match him, and something told him that if she were properly invested, Dakota absolutely could.

      The sun rose steadily higher in the sky, the light turning from rosy to golden. Dakota’s fingers moved with the nimble deftness of experience. Her voice was low as she said something to the horse, her words lost in the few yards between them. Andy had meant to stay away, but he couldn’t hold himself back any longer.

      “You have enough food for the day?” Andy asked, heading in her direction. The cook would meet them at the first camp, but until they arrived they were responsible for carrying their own food. It was a question at least.

      “I’ve done this before.” She put a hand on her hip. “I’d check on the little guy, if I were you.”

      She nodded in Harley’s direction. He and Elliot, the most experienced ranch hand the Granger’s employed, were eyeing each other distrustfully from where they sat in their saddles. That didn’t look promising.

      “What’s up with them?” Andy asked, keeping his tone low enough for privacy.

      Dakota shrugged. “Don’t like each other by the looks of it.”

      He laughed softly. “Yeah, I picked up on that.”

      “You sure about that horse?” she asked, nodding in Romeo’s direction.

      “You don’t think I know what I’m doing, do you?” he asked. She wouldn’t be alone in the opinion—his dad and brother had thought the same.

      “I’m better at this than you are.”

      Her tone held challenge and she was probably right. He was no drover, he was a businessman, and while he was excellent at making a profit and driving up the value of shares, cattle and drovers weren’t part of his expertise. Not anymore, at least.

      “You may very well be,” he said, shooting her a grin. “But I’m a quick study.”

      He didn’t know why he felt the need to compete with her. It shouldn’t matter, but he didn’t want her to see him as weak or needing her help. This might be temporary, but he was still in charge until his brother got back. She’d offered to meet him halfway at civil, but he was aiming at a whole lot more than that. He wanted her respect, but that would have to be earned.

      “We’ll see.”

      Andy shot her a rueful grin and headed back to his horse. He put his boot in the stirrup and grabbed the horn, swinging himself up into his saddle. He looked around at the team he’d be riding with, and he could see that they were solid in experience, if not all entirely friendly. Harley’s New Testament was still tucked into the front pocket of his jacket and he chewed on the inside of his cheek. Behind him, Elliot Sturgeon stared hard at a point just left of Andy, his reins held in a loose grip. He was good at his job and could have led this cattle drive. He wasn’t Andy’s biggest fan, either, which made this prickly.

      “Okay,” Andy said, raising his voice over another hoarse crow from the rooster sitting on the fence rail next to the henhouse. “So I think we’re all pretty clear on our route. We’re heading due west for about a day and a half. We’ve got some newbies this time, so let’s not assume everyone knows everything—”

      “Like you...” a low, gravelly voice said, and Andy glanced in the direction the voice had originated, only to see three drovers eyeing him with the same bland expression. It wasn’t worth the confrontation right now, but he could see they didn’t respect him. That could turn ugly a couple hours past civilization. He needed to address this now and a couple of different ideas flitted through his head before he settled on the words.

      “I’ve never done this route, but I’m here because this is my family’s herd,” he said, keeping his voice even, and he let his gaze move over his team slowly. “You might like me and you might not. I might like you and I might not. Anyone who figures four days with me ain’t worth the money, drop out now and save me the aggravation. Anyone who makes trouble on this trip can expect a pink slip when we get back. No exceptions.”

      No one moved, and a horse snorted. The drovers looked down, except for Harley, who looked straight at Andy, nothing against him yet, apparently. Dakota’s gaze didn’t drop, either, but her expression hadn’t exactly softened. Romeo started to prance in place, and Andy tightened his hold on the reins.

      “Good. I take that to mean you’re all in. You’re here because Chet wanted you here or because I hired you. You’re all good at what you do, and we can make this a smooth ride. Let’s review the route.”

      They’d ride to the first camp at Loggerhead Creek, where the cooks would be waiting. The cooks this year were Andy’s uncle and aunt, and they’d drive a horse trailer over with two pack horses. The next morning Andy and the drovers would set out for the foothills where the cattle were grazing. They’d take the pack horses with them to carry the kit they needed for their next camp. They’d cross the Hell Bent River, which lived up to its name during spring runoff, and they’d round up the cattle and camp there for the second night. Then they’d drive them back. They’d stop once more at Loggerhead Creek, where they’d camp again, drop off