didn’t sit well with her. Especially when she had no idea who the man was.
She scrambled in the mud to get her feet beneath her and stood. Then she stooped to snatch her hat off the ground, slapping it against her thigh. She’d have to let the mud dry before she could brush it off. Just what she needed, to be slammed into the mud by a big man with broad shoulders and ruggedly attractive features.
Her attacker rolled to his side and pushed to his feet, with a little help holding on to the wooden fence to pull himself upright.
When he straightened, Reggie’s heart skipped a couple beats. The man towered over her. At five foot three with her boots on, that wasn’t too darned hard. But it put her at a distinct disadvantage if the man decided to attack her again.
Knowing the best defense was a good offense, she crossed her arms, her boots planted wide, and glared up at the intruder. “Well? Are you going to explain yourself?”
His lips twitched and he bent to scoop his hat off the ground. “Next time I’ll leave you to be trampled.”
“I was doing fine on my own, thank you very much. Until you decided I needed a mud bath.”
“Sorry, ma’am. A little mud can be washed off. A dent in the head won’t wash out in a bath.” He held out his hand. “Angus Ketchum, the new ranch hand.”
Ignoring his hand, she kept her arms crossed. “We didn’t hire a ranch hand.”
“CW, the foreman, did. He said you needed a hand.” Still holding his hand out for her to shake, he waited for her response.
She stared at him for a moment, refusing his outstretched hand. With the sun sinking quickly behind the mountains, the air chilled. The mud soaking her clothing cooled against her skin and she shivered. “I need to have a talk with CW. Don’t start unpacking your bags yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded toward the cattle. “Want me to get the herd into this pasture?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You ever worked cattle?”
“Most of my life.”
“Then yes. Have at it.” She stood back and waved a hand at the cattle now strung out, some heading back the way they’d come.
“First, let me get you out of harm’s way.” He grabbed her around the waist and she squealed, grabbing his shoulders as he lifted her to sit on the top rail of the fence.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she commanded, strangely breathless at the way his big hands had splayed around her middle and lifted her so effortlessly.
“I won’t unless...you want me to.” He winked, snagged her horse’s reins, soothing him with murmured words of assurance. He ran his fingers over his neck and down to his hooves, checking them one at a time. “Can’t see any injuries that would have caused him to rear like that.” He glanced up. “I’ll take him into the barn and give him a good going-over.”
Reggie nodded, entranced by the quiet confidence and soothing manner the man displayed with the animal.
The cowboy led the gelding through the gate Reggie had been aiming for earlier and through the back door of the barn.
Reggie sat on the rail, letting her heartbeat return to normal.
A few moments later her cowboy reappeared with a bale of hay, carrying it to the far side of the pen.
The man walked with a strange gait, limping slightly, more pronounced with the heavy bale in his grip.
As soon as the cattle spotted him and the hay bale, they raced through the gate, every last one of them, including Reggie’s horse.
So, he knew what motivated cows. Anyone with half a brain would have figured it out. It still didn’t give him the right to tackle her into the mud.
“They could use about five more of those, while you’re at it,” she called out. If he was applying for a position as ranch hand, he might as well feed the cows and save her the trouble. She still had her horse to curry, feed and stable, not to mention stalls to muck.
CW worked hard, but he was getting older and slower. After he’d thrown out his back last year, Reggie hadn’t wanted him doing too much. By having him drive to town to pick up Tad from school, it made him slow down enough he wasn’t killing himself with ranch work.
He’d been asking for a ranch hand for a while now. Reggie had finally agreed, unsure of where she’d come up with the money to pay one. But if she wanted to keep the ranch viable for her son to inherit one day, she had to have help.
The man reentered the barn and came out carrying a bale in either hand, the limp much more pronounced, his jaw tight with the strain.
Show-off.
Not one to sit around while others worked, Reggie climbed down from the fence and almost stepped on a large dark creature. Her first instinct was wolf! She screamed and scrambled away. Her feet hit a patch of mud, slid right out from under her and she landed hard on her butt.
The animal stepped closer, its nose within biting distance of her face.
Reggie froze and then a long pink tongue stretched out and licked her chin, the dog whining its concern.
The ranch hand loped over to the fence and peered over the top to where she once again lay sprawled in the mud. “Are you all right?”
He started to climb over the fence, but she raised a hand. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting to be attacked.”
The man’s face split into a grin, his teeth shining white in the gloom. “Ranger is a highly trained purebred German shepherd and perhaps the most decorated dog in the US Army. He retired from active duty six months ago.”
“Well, hooray for Ranger. Can you call him off me?”
“Ranger, sit.” The man spoke softly and the dog responded immediately, squatting on his haunches.
Now that she knew it wasn’t a wolf, Reggie felt stupid. For the second time that day she picked herself up and tried to dust the mud from her jeans. Ah, who was she kidding? They’d have to be hosed down before going into the washer.
Feeling bad for her nonchalance about Ranger’s service, she reached out and scratched the dog behind his ears. In response, Ranger leaned against her leg and looked up at her with grateful eyes.
“Really tough, aren’t you?” she muttered, a sucker for soulful eyes and fur. She slipped through the fence. “That hay’s not getting itself out to the cows.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And stop calling me ‘ma’am’. I’m not that old.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes. “What did you say your name was, cowboy?”
“Angus Ketchum.” He held out his hand. “And you are?”
“Reggie Davis. The owner of the Last Chance Ranch.”
In the darkness, she didn’t miss his eyes flaring. When she took his hand, an immediate spark rippled up her arm and down her body. She had to look up at him to see his face, now shadowed in the dusk.
“You’re the boss?” he asked.
“Yes. Me.” She frowned and let go of his hand. “What? You don’t think a woman can run a ranch on her own?”
“No, ma’am. I just thought the owner would be a man.”
“Well, he was. A very good man, but he died last year. Now I run the ranch until my son is old enough to handle it himself. Do you have a problem taking orders from a woman?”
“No, ma’am.” Angus held up his hand. “You’re the boss.”
“Damn right, I am.” She slipped between the rails of the fence and strode across