before the chute ended in the stanchion. A piece of corrugated metal had been nailed to a post for some reason. She jumped up onto the rail and pulled out her hammer, using the claw end to pry it off.
Wade leaned a few sheets of plywood against the chute. “Why are you worrying about that?”
“The sun is hitting it.” The last nail popped out. “The glare can scare the cattle when they come into the chute. You have to remember that they’re prey. Anything out of place frightens them.”
Lori showed him how to nail the plywood sheets along the sides of the chute, and he got to work. She listened to the rhythm of Wade pounding nails as she made her way to the wire. Climbing up the side of the chute, she pulled wire cutters out of her belt to remove the dangling ends. A simple fix for a potentially big problem. She wished all her difficulties could be solved with a quick snip of her wire cutters. One small cut and Wade and his ranch would disappear. But the thought made her sad—she didn’t want him to disappear again, which was why this was all way too complicated.
Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she went to help Wade, holding the boards steady while he nailed. It was the first time in years she’d been so close to him, their bodies almost touching. She could almost feel his muscles flexing under his flannel shirt as he drove the nails in. It wasn’t possible. They weren’t touching. But the strength of him seemed to emanate with a tangible force. Maybe this was why she’d never dated much. What guy had she ever met could match Wade in sheer masculinity?
She shifted position so she was still holding the board but standing as far away from him as she could. He must have noticed, because he glanced her way with a wry smile curling his full lower lip. “I won’t bite.”
Heat crept across her face. “I hope not,” she retorted. “But just in case, maybe I should work on the next board.” She turned away, grabbing a new piece of plywood and a handful of nails. It was better to work on her own section of the chute. Preferably one far away from Wade.
She positioned the wood and slammed the first nail in. She needed to be careful. Her heart had been trampled by this man, and here she was, ogling him the first moment they were alone together. She had to remember that all of the attraction she felt for him belonged to the stupid girl she’d been long ago. The woman she was now knew trouble when she saw it, and had the sense to keep her distance. Sure, she could notice he was good-looking. Who wouldn’t? But she had to remember that it was like noticing a pretty desert wildflower or a nice view. It was easy on the eyes, but had no other significance whatsoever.
* * *
HE’D FORGOTTEN HOW sassy she could be. He liked it. He’d never met anyone like Lori—who could dish out smart comments and run a ranch and refurbish a cattle chute in half an hour. She had sweat on her face and dirt streaked across one cheek, and she was still gorgeous. And there was something about her in that tool belt. The old, worn leather, slung low on her hips, emphasized her curves there, her tiny waist above and the faded, fitted jeans below. But he didn’t just admire how she looked. The sexiest part about Lori in a tool belt was the way she handled the tools with the confidence of someone who’d been using them all her life
He had to keep in mind that she was here because she was kind. The type of person who’d always try to help out a neighbor. And she was here because she needed the water in his well. Whatever he felt were just his feelings and had nothing to do with hers. It was a shame, but reality often was.
He walked over to where Lori was hammering in the last board. He held it steady for her, making sure to give her the space she obviously wanted.
“Ready to bring one through?” she asked, shoving the hammer back into her belt.
“Ready if you say we are.” No way was he even going to pretend he was in charge. She was here to work her magic, and his job was to stand back and learn from the master. And that was okay. He had a lot to learn.
It was ridiculously easy to get the cattle through now that the chute had solid sides. Lori showed him how to walk just outside a heifer’s flight zone, using small motions to guide her. Just enough to keep her moving, not enough to frighten her.
Once a heifer was in the chute, Lori demonstrated how to slide the needle below the skin to deliver the medication. She made it look easy. Her comfort with it, and her calm, clear explanations, soon had him relaxed enough to do it on his own.
The setting sun lit the paddock in a rosy glow, but they kept working. By the time they sent the last heifer back to the pasture and threw out piles of alfalfa in hopes of tempting their appetites, it was deep dusk. Wade walked Lori back to her truck. He didn’t want her to go. Ever since he’d left the army he’d sought solitude, but it was easy to be in her company. She was so confident, making all the ranch chores that were new to him seem commonplace. For the first time he felt like he might have a real chance to make Marker Ranch a success. With her help, at least he wouldn’t totally mess it up.
Plus, there was the total miracle that she was actually here with him. Beautiful, perfect Lori Allen. She was like a clear, crisp spring day. The kind you wanted to go on forever.
She’d always been that for him. An oasis where he could escape from his Dad’s anger and conniving, cowardly way of life. When they were young she’d been the only person, besides Nora, who’d seen the good in him. Nothing much, just small gestures when their paths crossed at school. He’d kept her as his oasis—or maybe his haven—when he’d been in Afghanistan. When he’d seen so much bad that it seemed there wasn’t anything good left in the world, he’d think of Lori. Remembering her smile, with her pink lips parting over teeth like pearls. Or the way she’d squared her shoulders and lifted her chin a little higher when something needed to be done. He’d picture her tenderness toward her little sister. Mostly he’d think about how she looked at him with dark blue eyes that seemed to hold a bit of the dusky mountain sky inside. And the way it had felt to spend a night in her arms.
Living with the prospect of death around every corner put things in perspective. In long nights lying in his bunk, or on the ground when he was out on a mission, he’d had time to think about what he wanted in life. And he’d narrowed it down to three things. His family’s ranch, time with his sister, Nora, and a chance to show Lori Allen the man he’d become. And for some reason, he was lucky enough that all three of those things might be coming true.
“Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?” The words were out before he’d realized he was going to say them.
“No.”
He shouldn’t be surprised. But her answer was so quick, so definite, that it stung. She didn’t even need a moment to consider.
“I mean, no thanks, Wade.” He could hear the apology and something else in her rushed tone. “Mandy’s cooking. I wouldn’t want to be rude and make another plan.”
“It’s no problem,” Wade assured her, glad the deepening night hid the flush he was sure was on his cheeks. He wished there was a way to take the question back, because now it hung there, making things awkward when they’d been so good just a moment ago. “Thanks again for your help tonight.”
“You’re welcome.” She shrugged. “Hey, I need that water.”
“Right.” He had to remember that this was a business arrangement for her. Not a friendship. That she didn’t see him the way he saw her. She’d never needed him for an oasis or a haven or anything.
“So is it okay to have Bill start working on the well?” she asked. “I’ll have his guys start laying the pipe down.”
“Sure.” Her eagerness to get started was one more reminder that her help today had been a simple trade.
She climbed lightly up into her pickup, and he closed the door behind her. The window was down. She leaned her forearm on the frame, gazing up at him. “Look, Wade. I’m glad things are a little better between us. I’m fine helping you out with your ranch, and I’m glad that we’re solving the water issue.”
She paused and he filled in the silence. “I’m glad,