he’d heard of a foreman’s position back near Crystal Creek, he lusted for it. He’d grown up looking jealously at the well-run ranches in Claro County. Two were so superior that they filled him with an almost aching covetousness.
J. T. McKinney’s Double C was the biggest and best, but Carolyn Trent’s was a close second.
It wasn’t just these places he looked upon with envy, but the people, as well. Hell, they were aristocracy. He burned to be one of them, so he typed a few more letters of praise for himself.
At the Circle T, he had found his place, and he intended to keep it. He was gentlemanly to Vernon Trent, courtly to Carolyn and unctuously polite to everyone more important than he was.
Now that Carolyn had left the ranch, he figured it the perfect time to call on Mickey. She was part of his plan.
Leon had been at the Circle T for four weeks now, and he saw that Carolyn was so fond of Mickey that she treated her like blood kin. Leon had quickly realized how to cement his relationship with the Trents permanently: he’d marry Mickey.
Then he’d practically be family. Carolyn was about to become a grandmother, with a brat to visit in far-off Colorado, and the Trents would travel more and more. Leon could see himself and Mickey running the place, running it smooth as silk, because Mickey was almost as capable as he was.
Hell, in a few years, the Trents could retire, and he’d reign over the whole shebang. It would be as if the Circle T belonged to him.
Now he knocked on the kitchen door. He used the back entrance out of deference to his position, but he didn’t aim to always do so. When Mickey opened the door, he was struck by another reason she interested him.
She was easy on the eyes.
Her skin was perfect, with a natural golden cast, her high cheekbones burnished with health. Her hair was sun-streaked brown, and her eyes were hazel and coolly mysterious.
She greeted him politely, as always. She wore blue jeans, a plain white shirt and a navy blue blazer. A yellow pencil was thrust neatly behind one ear. Everything about her said “strictly business.”
Except her hair. She wore it long, parted in the middle and tucked behind her ears. But it was thick and always seemed slightly tousled. It hinted that she had a secret: I’m not as prim as I act.
Leon believed that her prissiness hid a nature that was hot and wild. She had a good body, and in his imagination he did things to it. And he imagined her doing many, many things to his.
“Can I help you?” Mickey asked. “I’m afraid Carolyn’s gone.”
She had to look up at him, because she was only of medium height, and he was a tall man, almost six and a half feet. He enjoyed the sense of power his height gave him.
“Could I come in?” he asked. “It’s you I want to talk to.”
She looked startled, but stepped aside to let him enter. Cowboys usually kept their hats on inside, but Leon never did. He liked to emphasize that he was a better sort. “Thanks,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“I was taking a break from the household accounts. I haven’t got any coffee made, but I could offer you a glass of sweet tea.”
“Sounds mighty fine.” He watched as she moved briskly about, getting a glass, opening the fridge, pouring the tea—waiting on him.
She handed him the tea, but had poured none for herself. She gestured at the kitchen table. “Please have a seat.”
He sat, settling his hat on one wide thigh. She remained standing. She crossed her arms as he sipped the tea. “You wanted to talk?”
She was deliberately keeping distance between them. He’d noticed that about her. She acted as if men didn’t much interest her.
He’d asked some of the more talkative hands about her. They said if a guy put the move on her, she’d get standoffish and sometimes sharp-tongued. Well, she just hadn’t found the man who could give it to her the way she needed.
He reached into the pocket of his green western-cut shirt. He drew out a short length of glittering gold, a bracelet. “I found this. It’s the one you lost, isn’t it?”
For the first time, real emotion lit her face. The polite smile became dazzling. “Oh! I was afraid it was gone for good. Thank you.”
He held it toward her, dangling from his thick fingers. He made sure his hand brushed hers as she took the bracelet, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I saw you and Miz Trent looking for it down by Sabur’s stall,” Leon said. “She asked me to keep an eye out for it. I found it a few minutes ago.”
She radiated happiness. “Carolyn and Vern gave it to me for my birthday. I was sick when I lost it.”
She tried to fasten it in place, but had trouble doing so with only one hand. He stood and moved next to her. “Here. Let me.”
He took the bracelet and slid the clasp in place. This time she couldn’t help but be conscious of his big fingers against her bare wrist.
Her cheeks flushed. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“I know a way you could thank me. Go out with me. Get better acquainted. We work together. But we don’t see much of each other.” He said this with a smile he thought was charming and nonthreatening. He’d practiced it in the mirror until he thought he’d perfected it.
Yet she seemed disturbed by the suggestion. “That’s very kind of you—” she began.
He cut her off smoothly. “There’s a new Bavarian restaurant just opened over in Fredricksburg. I thought that maybe tomorrow night—”
She inched backward, her chin rising aloofly. “Sorry. Carolyn’s having company from out of town. I have to help out.”
He’d expected this refusal. So he gave her the same rehearsed smile. “Maybe some other time.”
“Maybe. Things are awfully busy lately.” She said it without enthusiasm, as if she meant to discourage him.
At that moment, Leon heard tires on the gravel drive. He stole a glance out the kitchen window. Damn. Vern Trent was home early. Leon should make an exit. But he had one more ploy.
“Jazmeen should be foaling in two weeks,” he said. Jazmeen was Carolyn’s Arabian mare, and she’d homebred her to her stallion, Sabur al Akmar.
“She’s not showing signs yet, but I’ve seen the charts when she’s due. You want to see the little critter when I got it cleaned up and on its feet?”
A look of pure pleasure brightened her face again. Mickey loved horses; he knew that. That’s when he’d first taken real note of her, when he’d seen her riding. A woman who rode the way she did had a lot of passion bottled up inside. “I’d love to,” she said.
“I’ll come get you,” he promised. “Then afterwards we’ll have a drink, celebrate.” He picked up his hat from the chair seat just as Vern came in the door.
Vern looked harried. “Oh, hello, Leon. Everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine, Mr. Trent. Found Miss Nightingale’s bracelet. Just dropped it off.”
Vern glanced at Mickey, who held up her wrist and smiled.
Leon said, “Got to get back to work. Need to take some cotton-seed cake out to that herd by the creek. Thanks for the tea, Miss Nightingale.”
He lifted the glass, finished the tea, then set it back on the table. “I’ll be seeing you. You know. About Jazmeen and all.” He tipped his hat toward both of them, then left.
He went out the back door, putting his hat back on, pulling the brim down hard. Well, he’d made his move, and his campaign was in gear. She really did play hard to get, this one. But she liked him, he