Cowboy Sanctuary. Elle James
barked out a cross between a snort and laughter. The movement jostled his body and a moan escaped his lips. He winced and shifted on the pillow. “A Morgan playing bodyguard to a Ward? No way. Especially not to my Jennie. That’s kinda like the fox guarding the henhouse, if you ask me. I won’t have you breakin’ her heart all over again.”
Heat burned a path up Jennie’s neck to fill her cheeks. “Dad, that was a long time ago. It’s not as if he’ll break anybody’s heart. There’s nothing between the two of us anymore.” She could feel the warmth of Cameron’s gaze on her, but she hesitated to face him.
After a deep breath, she turned toward the first man she’d ever loved and leveled a stare at him, telling herself she believed what she’d said—there was nothing left between them. He’d left ten years ago. She’d married after he left and the rest was history.
Relationships hurt, sometimes physically, and she wanted no part of that. She wasn’t interested in starting something with Cameron Morgan at all. Not one bit. A little voice in the back of her consciousness whispered, “Liar.” Squelching that voice, she said, “There’s nothing between us, isn’t that right?”
Cameron caught her gaze and held it for a long moment before he answered. “That’s right.”
Despite her conviction, the ache in her belly left her empty. She knew better than anyone relationships didn’t always work out. She and Cameron never really had a chance, not with the way their families felt about each other and the way Cameron felt about staying on the ranch. The circumstances hadn’t changed. The Morgans still hated the Wards and the feeling was mutual on her father’s part.
“I don’t care whether or not there’s anything goin’ on between you two,” Hank said. “Strike that. Yes I do care, but that’s beside the point. We can take care of our own.”
“Bull.” Jennie propped her hands on her hips. “You won’t be getting around for at least two weeks on that ankle. We only have three men to work the ranch. If we pull them to baby-sit you and me, who will take care of the livestock?”
Her father opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and then crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want a Morgan on my property.”
Jennie crossed her own arms over her chest like her father and leveled a fierce look at him. “Tough. How do you explain that snake in the feed bin last week?”
“Hungry snake?” Hank countered.
Jennie rolled her eyes. “You know as well as everyone else, those lids are always on tight to keep the mice out.”
“Someone probably forgot to put it back.” Hank’s voice was more belligerent than convincing.
“Do you ever leave the lid off the feed bins Stan, Rudy, Doug?” She glanced at each man one at a time. Each shook his head and mumbled, “No, ma’am.” Doug fidgeted with the straw cowboy hat he held between his large calloused hands, his gaze darting toward the door every few minutes.
Perhaps having the hands in on the discussion wasn’t the right way to handle the problem. They liked their solitude, especially Doug, the loner.
“You should have seen Miss Jennie when she saw that snake.” Rudy grinned at Cameron. “Hit it with her first shot—using a pistol, no less.”
Refusing to be sidetracked, Jennie brought up the issue she’d discovered that morning. “What about the razor blade in my saddle?”
Cameron’s eyes widened. “Razor blade?”
Jennie nodded.
Her father didn’t have an answer for that one. His face set in a stubborn scowl. “I won’t have a Morgan on my property.”
“Seems like you’re in no condition to disagree.” Jennie leaned close to her father, her face in an equally stubborn scowl. “If I say he stays, he stays.”
Hank’s cheeks burned red beneath the tanned, leatherlike skin. “This is my ranch, girl. I make the decisions.”
“Oh quit your bellyaching, Hank, and take these painkillers.” Rachel Blainey was back in the room, handing Hank two tablets and a tall glass of lemonade. “Jennie’s right. You need help, whether you like it or not. Cameron’s offering at no cost. You’d be a fool to refuse.”
“What’s with the women in this house? Isn’t a man’s home supposed to be his castle?” Hank tossed the pills to the back of his throat and swallowed a gulp of lemonade. “I will not be overruled by a couple of women. I’m the boss and I can fire you if I want.” His bluster faded a bit when Rachel winced.
The older woman stood firm. “You have that right, but you’d be an even bigger fool to do it. Who would cook the meals?”
He nodded toward Jennie.
She shook her head and smiled. “You want to live to be eighty, don’t you?”
“Then Rudy can learn to cook.”
Rudy backed away, his hands held up. “Oh no, not me. I wouldn’t know a pan from a skillet. Besides, who would take care of the animals?”
Hank turned a hopeful look on Stan Keller, his foreman and longtime friend.
Stan shook his head. “All I can cook is canned beans and weenies. Care to eat that three times a day, seven days a week? I like Ms. Rachel’s cookin’. I like it enough I’d consider quittin’if she was to up and leave.”
Hank’s brows rose high on his forehead. “You won’t leave me. You’re practically family.”
“So’s Ms. Rachel,” Stan replied.
Hank snorted and stared around at the set faces. “Overruled on my on property. I don’t like it.” He pounded the arm of the recliner with his palm. “Morgans don’t belong on the Flying W.”
“Says who?” Jennie asked. “Whatever’s stuck in your craw better just get unstuck. He’s staying.”
WITH ONE HURDLE CROSSED, Cameron headed to the small town of Dry Wash to inform the sheriff of the attempts on the Wards’ lives. After the sheriff promised to make a trek out to the Flying W for further information, Cameron left for the Bar M Ranch to warn his family of the trouble headed their way. Frankly, he didn’t expect any warmer welcome from some of his relatives than he’d got from Hank Ward.
When he pulled into the yard and parked, a young woman with auburn hair and bright green eyes flew off the porch and attacked him before he could shut his truck door. “Whoa, wait a minute there, Molly.”
“Cameron!” She hugged him around the middle so hard he could barely breathe. “I can’t believe it’s you. Let me look at you.” She leaned back, her arms still around his waist, tears shimmering in her eyes. “You’re back and you look great.”
“Hey, carrot.” He ruffled his sister’s hair and set her away. “Let me get a look at you. What’s it been—two years?”
“Make that three.” Molly tossed her bright auburn hair, her green eyes flashing.
Cameron marveled at how much she looked like their mother. Happy and sweet—the spitting image of Emma Morgan.
“Last time I saw you was at my high school graduation.” Her gaze was accusing, tempered by her ready smile.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at college?”
“I finished my last exam two days ago. I couldn’t wait to come home, I’ve been so homesick.”
Cameron knew that feeling. “Denver’s not that far, knucklehead.” He rubbed the top of her head as he’d done when she was no taller then his belt buckle. Now, she stood up to his chin at five feet ten. No longer a gangly teen, she’d filled out in all the right places. “Hey, when did you grow up?”
She punched