Conquering The Cowboy. Kelli Ireland

which punch she’d throw first, but knowing wasn’t going to make it any less painful. So he decided to swing first. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you’re irritated.”

      Her flat stare was answer enough.

      “Care to elaborate?”

      She pulled her ponytail down, worked her hands through the loose curls and pulled the entire mass up in a sloppy topknot. “How long have you been running the ranch?”

      “Coming up on two years too soon.” Instinct shouted at him to proceed with caution. “Why?”

      “Did you give up climbing for this?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “I want to know what your priorities are. If you’re a rancher, you’re a rancher. That’s fine. But I didn’t hire a rancher to see me through my recertification. I hired you under the express belief you were a dedicated mountaineer.”

      Muscles along his jaw worked and knotted. “I’m perfectly capable of doing, and being, both.”

      “I disagree.” She crossed her arms and looked at some point well beyond him. “When was the last time you summited, Quinn? Eight months? Twelve? More?” She waved him off when he started to answer. “What you’ve been doing with yourself over the last several months may not matter so much to you, but it matters very much to me. I decided to hire you, signed the contract you required, paid your well-above-the-going-rate fee up front and then came to you, and I did it all based on your skills and qualifications as I understood them.”

      “And? I’m not tracking here, Taylor.” He leaned one hip against the rear door of her quad-cab pickup and mimicked her, crossing his arms over his chest. “If this is about the cabin rental, it’s not that big a deal. The arrangement caught me off guard, but it’ll be fine—easier, even, since I intended to have you come out here every day to train, anyway.”

      Her lips thinned. “This isn’t about the cabin.”

      “Then break it down for me. Why, exactly, can’t I ranch and climb? Is there some cosmic law that says a man is capable of one but never both?” he demanded, words razor sharp.

      “I’m sure you can do both and be good at both. But to be the best at something, you have to focus, dedicate yourself and give your complete time and attention to that one thing.”

      His chin rose slowly until narrowed green eyes met her hazel ones. Drawing a deep breath, then another, he worked to keep his tone level and his hands from shaking. “That may be the most screwed-up logic I’ve ever heard. It’s like saying a man can’t be a CEO and a father.”

      The corners of her eyes tightened and she looked away. “Yeah? Well you hit that nail square on the head,” she muttered, carrying on before he could question her. “For a man to be the best CEO, he has to dedicate himself wholly to that pursuit. He can’t shut it off when he gets home and give the same time and focus to being a father.” She met his gaze, then. “The demands of the CEO are always there, always hovering and commanding his attention, even as his kid does the same. Sure, he can give a percentage of his attention to one and the remaining percentage to the other, but he can’t give his full time and attention to both, and never at the same time. And just because he’s a father doesn’t mean he’s not a CEO and vice versa. So he’s forever divided and only half as good as he might have been if he’d dedicated himself wholly to only one pursuit.”

      “I disagree.” Anxiety, as unfamiliar as it was unwelcome, created distinctive half-moons of sweat under his arms. He instinctively picked up her suitcase when she reached for it and tried to check his panic. “I’ll carry this for you.”

      “No need. I’m not staying.”

      He froze. This wasn’t happening. Quinn needed this climb too bad for her to bail on him now. No, the climb wasn’t what he needed. It was the fee. If she walked, he’d have to refund at least half the money she’d paid him based on the contract she’d referenced—the contract he had drafted. That couldn’t happen, in large part because he’d spent two-thirds of it to settle the vet’s bill for vaccinating the weanlings. There was no money to return.

      “If you’ll move your foot, I’ll grab my gear and get out of your way.”

      He looked down, confused. “My foot.”

      “You’re standing on my duffel handle.”

      Something in him snapped, and he ground his boot—and the handle—into the dirt. “So that’s it. You track me down, hire me, show up and take one look around before deciding I’m not focused or dedicated or single-minded enough to be damn good at what I do.” He leaned into her space, closing the distance until they were nearly nose to nose. “Who the hell do you think you are, putting me through the front-end work of interviewing you, checking references and all that shit only to have you show up and immediately declare me ‘unfit’ just because you don’t like the backdrop I’m standing against? Is that your MO, Taylor, to pick and choose only what agrees with your definition of the world and deny everything, and everyone, else?” His eyes widened as hers narrowed. “Wow. Okay, fine. If you’re that willing to quit before your first day of ground work, it’s probably a good thing you’ve put on the brakes.” He stepped back and picked up her duffel, tossed it in the bed of her truck and started for the house.

      “I’m not quitting,” she called after him with open defiance. “And it’s my right to put on the brakes.”

      “Sure it is. It’s just...” He waved her off. “Never mind. Best of luck to you.”

      “Just what?” she demanded.

      “I’ve never once had someone with a quitter’s attitude complete my groundwork let alone make it up the mountain, and trust me, Taylor. This is a quitter’s attitude no matter how you dress it up.” Quinn didn’t slow or turn back when he delivered the kill shot. “You didn’t stand a chance of passing the re-cert. This saves us both the embarrassment—you from failing and me from failing you.”