Mr. McPherson. My grandmother, Gus, would like me to find a wrangler who can help us around the Bar H ranch.” She gulped inwardly and looked up to meet his narrowing green gaze. He had such large, black pupils and it made him look incredibly handsome. His mouth…oh, sweet Lord, his mouth was sinfully shaped, the lips neither too thin nor too thick. The corners were curved slightly upward. She wondered if he had a good sense of humor.
“The Bar H? Isn’t that a two-hundred-acre spread south of Jackson Hole?”
“Yes, it is.” Val moved uneasily and barely tolerated his interested gaze. Why did McPherson have to be so blatantly masculine? “Gus broke her hip recently. She can’t do the work as she did before and we need help. Good help.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Griff sipped his coffee. He liked the way Val’s slightly curled red hair lay across her shoulders. She stood with her back straight, her chin at an angle. She was a proud woman. “I’ve heard of Gus. My brother, Slade, said there were several matriarchs in the valley. Iris Mason is one and I’ve met her. And he also mentioned Gus. I don’t suppose there would be another Gus?”
“No, just the one.” She liked his low, mellow voice. It was the kind of voice that could soothe a fractious horse. Or a nervous female like herself. “I had to come home to help her. And even I can’t do it all alone.”
He bit back his questions. Val was tense, her shoulders locked. Was he affecting her that way? Griff hoped not, because if it was him he could kiss this job goodbye. “I see. You don’t have any wranglers at the Bar H right now?”
“No.” Val grimaced. “My mother didn’t hire any good ones. They left the place a wreck, took her money and disappeared into the night.”
Ouch. Griff nodded and frowned. She was probably tense because she wanted to hire someone with better morals and values. He hoped Andy had spoken well of him because his dream job was to become a full-time wrangler on a ranch. Andy knew working here was temporary until some rancher could hire him. “Wranglers are the grist that make a ranch work.”
His modulated voice wafted through her like a feather gently settling upon her wildly beating heart. Val could tell Griff was sincere. “No question about that.” Val cleared her throat. “I need to know what your skills are, Mr. McPherson.”
“I’m a hard worker,” he said, opening his hand to show her the palm, “but I think my calluses will attest to that.” He smiled a little.
Val stared at his large, well-shaped hand. Indeed, there were thick calluses across his palm. What a beautiful hand. For a blinding instant, she wondered what it would be like to have those fingers graze her flesh. The thought was so startling, so out of the blue, that Val unexpectedly coughed. She stepped away from him, a hand pressed against her slender throat.
Griff allowed his hand to drop back to his side. Val Hunter looked absolutely confused. About him? Something was going on between them but he couldn’t ferret out exactly what it was. One thing Griff knew for sure: Val was very athletic. She wore a set of Levi’s that showed off her shapely hips and long, long legs. The pink blouse she wore had its long sleeves rolled up to her elbows, showing that she was ready to work. He liked the way the breeze played with some of the strands of her copper-colored hair. The freckles across her cheeks and nose seemed darker for a moment. She looked like a young teen, although Griff suspected she was probably in her late twenties.
“I can mend fence, fix trucks and other farm equipment, do any odd jobs you need done,” he said after she seemed to have regained her composure.
“Have you done any cattle breeding? Vaccinating? Do you know the signs of a cow in distress?”
“No,” he admitted slowly, “but I’m willing to learn if you’re willing to show me.” He wanted to lie and say he did, but Griff wouldn’t do that. He had the integrity of a Westerner in his blood. He knew from his old job that young men and women would lie all the time about their skills and experience just to get a job. He wasn’t going to lie to Val. Griff saw her brows dip over his admittance.
“Do you even ride a horse?” she demanded. Val saw his mouth curve faintly.
“Yes, ma’am, I do ride.”
Looking down, Val studied his long, muscular legs. “Most wranglers I’ve met have bowed legs, from all the riding they do. You don’t.”
“I only got here a few months ago.” Griff realized this interview wasn’t going well. “I worked at my brother’s ranch. I did a lot of riding, moving cattle, roping and branding there.” He gave her a slight grin and pointed to his legs. “I haven’t had enough saddle time to bow them properly—yet.”
“Do you have your own horse?”
“No, I don’t. I rent a room at the MacMurray house on the west side of town and there’s no room there to own a dog or cat, much less a horse.”
“Andy said you just came from back east?”
The question was hurled like a gauntlet at him. Griff didn’t lose his slight smile. “New York City. Yes, I’m a city slicker, Miss Val.” He saw surprise in her expression. A faint blush fanned across her cheeks and her freckles momentarily darkened.
“Andy said you were a good worker.” She ignored his humor.
He glanced at the barn over his shoulder and hooked his thumb in the same direction. “I work six a.m. to three p.m. daily. I haul hay, feed and other items to the trucks.”
“And what do you do when you get off work?” It was a personal question, but Val’s curiosity got the better of her.
“I take odd jobs with any rancher that needs a little extra muscle or a mechanic.”
Val knew it spoke of his work ethic and she nodded. “Gus wants a man who can do it all, Mr. McPherson. She’s paying ten dollars an hour and we put in twelve-hour days. Not eight. Although you’ll get paid for eight.” Val thought for sure the poor pay would make him refuse the potential job on the spot.
“My brother works from dawn to dark. I would expect the same on any ranch.”
“There’s a lot of cleanup to be done. The property has been let go for years. The barn needs a new roof. The shed not only needs a roof, but new siding, as well. I have four wooden corrals and they all need post replacement. I’ve got piles of manure that need to be shoveled into a truck and then taken to the dump. The place is in ruins.” Val drilled him with a hard look, thinking that for sure he wouldn’t want to do those jobs, which were expected of a wrangler. She was betting his Eastern upbringing would make him walk away.
“I’ve already worked at taking out posts, digging new post holes and putting in both wood and pipe fences.”
“Most of the work we need is not done on a horse,” Val warned. She just didn’t think he could do it all. Yet, he looked easygoing and completely confident as she handed him the duty list.
Shrugging, he said, “That’s what I found to be true, too. Getting to throw a leg over a horse is a real gift compared to the everyday work on the ground.”
Frowning, Val sipped her coffee. She took a step back, making sure she didn’t get too close to this cowboy. He didn’t seem to be aware of his effect on her. She’d expected with his deadly good looks, he’d be arrogant. Instead, McPherson was quiet, thoughtful and seemed to listen. Those were all qualities Val knew many men did not have. “Well, whoever we hire,” she muttered, “they’re going to be busting their butt day in and day out.”
“That’s fine,” Griff answered. “I’m looking for a long-haul kind of job.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
Hearing the disbelief in her voice, Griff wondered if Andy had told her about his past life and career. “Yes, ma’am, I am.” He looked around and added, “I was born in Wyoming and love it here. I like waking up in the morning and seeing a clear blue sky, smelling fresh air instead of gas