Nate looped his arms over the metal fence and propped a boot—the ones Whitney had admired—on a bottom rail. He didn’t know what had come over him in the barn to make such a lame comment.

“But her hair is pretty,” he muttered to the donkey snuffling his pant leg.

“Did you say something?”

He turned slowly, hiding his surprise that she’d followed. “Time to rotate pasture.”

A frown appeared between her eyebrows. “How do I do that?”

“You really are a city girl, aren’t you?”

“Born and raised.”

Just as he feared. He was attracted to another one. Was he crazy or what?

With a sigh, Nate explained a few things about the animals, about rotating pens. He was here. Sharing information wasn’t that big of a deal. She wasn’t asking him to fall in love with her.

“I’ll give you my cell number. You can call or text if you have a question.”

He couldn’t stop at her place every day. He was too busy. Well, not that busy, but she was too pretty and vulnerable. He was a sucker for vulnerable. Right now, he really wanted to touch that smooth, glossy red hair and tell her he’d take care of her animals…and her.

He needed to have his head examined.

“Can’t. I don’t have a phone.” Pretty white teeth gnawed at her bottom lip.

Nate frowned. “You need a phone out here. What if something happened? You have little babies.”

For some reason, his innocent remark got her back up. Her blue eyes got all shiny like clear glass.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think—?”

Her hands fisted at her sides. With a toss of that fascinating hair, she spun away and stomped back to the house.

Nate blew out a long, weary breath. He certainly had a way with women. Like always.

“A cell phone. Right. Idiot man. Do you think I’m completely stupid?”Probably. She sure didn’t know anything about ranching.

Two hours after the Triple C visitors left, Whitney stewed over Nate’s comment as she walked the nearest acreages counting fenced lots and animals. She carried a notebook and pen to make notes. Tomorrow she’d find the library, use the internet, and research…something.

With the twins down for their afternoon nap, she had time to start on a plan. The trouble was, she didn’t know exactly how to start, especially when she couldn’t stop thinking about Nate Caldwell.

His phone comment had been innocent. She’d overreacted, she supposed, out of embarrassment. He couldn’t know how tight her budget was or her fear that she’d run out of money before she ran out of year. A cell phone was important, but not as important as feeding the twins and Sally’s animals. Correction. Her animals. Her ranch.

She probably owed the man an apology.

In Oklahoma less than a week, and already she was making people dislike her.

With a sigh, she opened a gate and walked through the area counting goats. When she stopped to jot notes, the bearded billy tried to eat her shoelaces. She wrinkled her nose. “You need a bath.”

Six of the little creatures must be females and, from the looks of them, every one was pregnant, a new worry to add to her list. What did one do with goat babies? And what if the mama goat had trouble? Was there a vet in town? And wouldn’t vet care cost the moon?

As it was, two of the goats already showed signs of sickness. Mad cow disease maybe. Did goats get that? Costly or not, she’d have to locate a vet, another dent her budget, but the animals’ survival was key to her own.

She jotted a note to ask at Hammond’s Feed Store for a recommendation.

When she finished her rounds, after making sure all the animals had fresh water—even a complete novice knew animals required water—Whitney checked on the sleeping twins before heading to the barn and the feed bins. She wanted to stick notes on the various feeds so she wouldn’t forget the things Nate had told her.

A red pickup truck slowed on the road in front of the farm house, stirring dust, and then turned down the awful excuse for a driveway. Whitney shielded her eyes from the sun and waited as the vehicle bumped and rattled over the potholes. Her visitor wasn’t Nate, and she didn’t know another soul except Lawyer Leach, and he drove a shiny black Lincoln.

“Who could that be?” She waited, watching and alert.

A tall stranger in hat and boots—another cowboy—hopped out of the truck, grinning as he moved in her direction. His walk was cocky, self-assured, and she couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Nate’s walk was confident but not cocky. She liked to watch Nate walk.

“Are you Whitney?”

She took his measure, hesitant with a stranger. As Nate had reminded her, she was very alone out here. Without a phone. “Who’s asking?”

He laughed, a friendly enough sound, but something about him bothered her. Maybe because he wasn’t Nate.

“Call me L.T. I saw your ad at the Feed Store. Says you’re looking for a man.”

“Oh.” A bubble of excitement replaced her momentary hesitation. Like the inheritance, this cowboy was probably the answer to her prayers! “Would you like to apply for the job?”

“Maybe.” His grin never went away. “Why don’t you show me around a little? I’d like to know what I’m getting into first.”

“Of course.” Whitney motioned toward the barn. “Obviously you know what that is.”

“Uh-huh. You keep your feed and supplies in there?”

“Would you like to see where?”

“Sure.” He dipped his chin, indicating for her to go ahead of him.

As she led the way, she felt his eyes on her. A frisson of concern rattled her nerve endings, but she chastised herself for being jumpy. She was unaccustomed to living in the country. That was all. The man had a legitimate reason for being here—she had advertised, after all—and she needed his help. She should be celebrating, not suspicious.

But inside the dim barn, Whitney grew even more nervous as she showed him around. He was nothing but polite, but she couldn’t relax in his company. Not like she had with Nate.

She showed him the feed rooms and the smattering of equipment, none of which she understood in the least.

“I can’t pay much, and the work is only part time.” Whitney paused outside a stall that needed mucking. Maybe he’d turn her down. The thought cheered her but only until she came to her senses. She couldn’t make this ranch work by herself. She needed his help.

He leaned a shoulder on a tall support post and let his gaze settle on her. “We’ll work something out.”

The cowboy wasn’t bad looking. He was just…she was being ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with this guy except her wild imagination.

Whitney tamped down her nerves. “Do you have experience?”

He laughed softly. “Oh, yeah.”

The hair at the back of Whitney’s neck tingled.

Her eyes flashed to his. He was grinning again, watching her like a cat with a mouse. The overhead row of fluorescent lighting cast an eerie haze around him.

Maybe it wasn’t her imagination. Maybe she should head right on out of this barn.

Suddenly, she wanted a cell phone more than she wanted her next breath.

“A gorgeous thing like you, alone out in the sticks, you definitely need a man to keep an eye on things.” The grinning cowboy edged closer.

Whitney backed up and bumped into a stall door. The cowboy in front of her. Solid wood behind her. On her left, a wall. On her right, Clive in his stall, his shaggy head hanging… He’d be no help.

Her pulse picked up. She had to get out of here. The stench of L.T.’s cologne mixed with horse manure turned her stomach. So did L.T.

He scared her too.

Buying time to think, she pointed at the little horse.

“That’s Clive. He likes to run away. Maybe you can help with that. If I hire you.” Which I won’t. I don’t like you.

She was rattling, breathless, her nerves showing. Even if she was wrong, she wouldn’t hire this guy.“What I really need is someone to teach me about ranching. It’s a temporary job, part time for a few weeks, until I learn what I need to know. Really not much of a job at all. I don’t think you’ll want it.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” The cowboy stepped closer and lifted her hair from her shoulders. He rubbed it between his fingers. “I can teach you lots of things, pretty lady.”

Whitney’s pulse rattled like the tail of a diamondback. She understood his meaning all too clearly, and it didn’t have a thing to do with raising livestock.

She jerked her head to one side to pull her hair free. “I’m not interested in lots of things. Thanks for stopping by, but I don’t need your services. Please leave. Now.”

“Spunky. Chilly, too. Is that why you don’t have a man? No one can handle you?” He stepped closer still, close enough that she could smell his breath mint.

She ducked, thinking she might squeeze under his arm. He caught her in an iron grip, one muscled arm around her back as he jerked her forward. He grabbed her chin, forced it up. In the next instance, his mouth came down on hers, hot and insistent, as his hands groped, touching her.

She wouldn’t think about those hands. She could only think about escape.

Panic thundered in her chest.

She struggled, and the movement jiggled the stall door at her back. In a rush, it burst open, and she stumbled backwards, away from grabbing hands, away from his insistent mouth. She gasped a desperate breath and screamed. Dust motes and bits of straw swirled upward, and the scream ended in a cough.

L.T. laughed, but his eyes shot burning fury. “You put an ad out for a man, you should be ready for what you get. I don’t mind the rough stuff if that’s what you’re into.”

Frantically, Whitney searched the narrow stall for something, anything, to even the odds. There was nothing but straw and dirt.

He swaggered close again and shoved her against the back wall. She slapped him. He slapped her back.

This time there was no escape.

“Give these to Whitney when you pass by,” Connie said. “Tell her to plant them three times deeper than the bulb, and they will be beautiful next summer.”

Nate was about to head to the south pasture anyway, so he took the plastic sack of iris bulbs without argument. He’d stop by tonight, after work, and drop them off. That way, he’d be in a hurry, have to rush to make it in time for supper, and would have an excuse to leave quickly if Whitney was still angry. Hand her the bag and hustle away.

Truth was, he didn’t like that he’d upset his new neighbor. After his sister had reminded him that not everyone had money running out their ears the way he did, he recalled the state of Whitney’s old car and the look of desperation in her eyes the first day he’d met her, and realized maybe she couldn’t afford a phone.

When would he learn to keep his big opinionated mouth shut?

Dropping off the flower bulbs would be an apology of sorts, a peace offering.

As he passed her ranch, he noticed an unfamiliar pickup truck in Whitney’s driveway. She had company. He started on past, then took his foot from the gas pedal and slowed. Maybe he should get this delivery business over with while someone else was around. Safe territory. Most people were more civil when others were present.

Might as well face her now, or he’d fret about it all day.

Shoving the shifter into reverse, he backed into the driveway, over the potholes, and parked on the grass in front of the house.

After exiting the truck, he started toward the porch. A scream spun him around.

His eyes scanned the area. First the pens. Had she been kicked or bitten? A horse’s bite could destroy an arm.

Seeing no one, he aimed toward the barn, picking up speed as he drew closer and didn’t hear another sound.

The big wooden door wasn’t latched, so he shoved it open and stormed inside. She was in here somewhere. Maybe unconscious.

“Whitney! ”He charged through the barn, searching stalls. He caught the slight sound of movement near Clive’s stall. Fear gripped him. Had the hairy little monster injured her?

A stall door was open. Inside, Whitney struggled against a cowboy, one small hand pounding at the man while he grappled to control her.

In a red rage, Nate grabbed a handful of shirt and slung the cowboy against the cubicle wall. He drove a fist into the creep’s belly. The cowboy went down with a loud oomph, arms curled over his gut.

Nate was so angry, he wanted to kick the jerk in the face and stomp him into the hay. He stood over the other man, glaring, fists tight and ready, huffing like a freight train.

“Nate.” Whitney’s voice was so small and shaky, it ripped his heart out of his chest.

He swiveled toward her. Her face was red, her mouth bleeding. A dark bruise had begun to form on one cheek.

Fighting not to kill the person who’d done that to her, Nate sucked in a long, hay-scented breath and tried to calm down.“What’s going on in here? Who is this guy?”

“I don’t know. He-he…”

Nate grabbed the cowboy by the collar and yanked him to his feet. He glared at the other man’s face.

“L.T.?” Now he was confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Caldwell.” L.T. cradled his belly and groaned, but Nate wasn’t about to apologize. “This crazy broad. I answered her ad for a ranch hand, and she went nuts, threw herself on me.”

Coupled with what he’d witnessed, one glance at Whitney and Nate knew L.T. was lying through his teeth. Her arms were crossed across her chest as if she was holding herself together. Her lips trembled. Tears pooled in her eyes. She was fighting the tears, trying to be tough, and losing.

Nate wanted to hold her.

Instead he tightened his grip on L.T.’s collar. “The bruise on her face and that bloody lip say different.”

“So she likes it rough. What can I say?” The ingratiating creep had the audacity to grin. “Come on, Caldwell. You know the score.”

The score? The score! As if Whitney was nothing but a game?

The anger grew hotter until Nate thought the top of his head would blow.

“Never did like you much.” Teeth tight as his fists, he leaned into L.T.’s face. “You’re going to jail.” He slid a glance toward Whitney. “My cell’s in the truck, Whitney. Get it and call 9-1-1.”

The grin slid from the cowboy’s face. “Hey, now, I didn’t mean no harm. A little kiss or two is nothing to make a big scene over.”

Whitney’s fingers circled Nate’s arm. “No charges, Nate. I just want him gone.”

He could feel her shaking and got mad all over again. “Not a good plan. Call. The sheriff is a friend of mine.”

“No. Please.” A fat tear flooded one of Whitney’s blue eyes and tumbled overboard. Her voice dropped to a pleading whisper. “Please, Nate. No police.”

He relaxed his hold on L.T.’s shirt but kept him trapped against the wall.

“You positive?” He didn’t agree, but it was her call to make.

L.T. made a move as if to ease around him. Nate caught his shoulder and shoved him back against the wall. Boards rattled. The other cowboy was taller, but Nate had a few pounds on him. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

Jenkins’s face darkened, and his eyes shot pure venom, but he didn’t argue.

“I’m positive. This is humiliating enough, and I’m new in this town,” Whitney said. “I don’t want people to think I’m a troublemaker.”

“You heard the lady, Caldwell. She wants no trouble, and neither do I.” L.T. bent, grabbed his hat from the dirty floor, and shoved it on his head. Straw drizzled down onto his western shirt. He plowed a shoulder against Nate’s. “I’m out of here.”

Nate didn’t budge. Not yet. He wanted to make one thing very clear. “Make sure you don’t come back.”

There was a momentary stare down before Nate stepped aside and let the other cowboy walk away. When he heard the barn door slam, he turned to Whitney. “You okay?”

She ducked her head, wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes.”

He didn’t believe her. She was embarrassed, shaken, and that bruise grew darker every second. Carefully, gently, Nate touched her cheek. “Let’s get some ice on that.”

She nodded, face flaming red and hot against his fingers. She licked her bloody lip and murmured, “My girls are alone.”

His heart pinched. Her first thought had not been for herself, but for her babies. “Go.”

As she loped out of the barn, Nate followed as far as the driveway to be sure L.T. was long gone. He stood outside for a couple of minutes, listening until the engine noise faded into the cloudy afternoon.

L.T. Jenkins was a strutting rooster and a second-rate ranch hand, but Nate had never expected something like this. What if L.T. returned when Nate wasn’t here?

He dragged a hand down his face, contemplating the new problem dropped in his lap. What if he hadn’t stopped? What if he’d waited until after work to deliver the flower bulbs? He couldn’t think about what might have happened. What would certainly have happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did.

God had sent him in the nick of time. He glanced heavenward. Thank you.

Whitney was alone, and she’d placed that ridiculous notice at the feed store. He’d read it, but did it worry him at the time? Not one iota.

Nate huffed a frustrated sigh. Story of his life. Never see the problem until it was too late. But now that he did, he could fix it before every hairy-legged cowboy who knew one end of a cow from the other showed up to help the pretty single woman who didn’t know a thing about ranching.

With a groan, he understood what he had to do. The trouble was, he liked the idea too much. He liked her too much. When he’d seen L.T. pawing at her, he’d had thoughts no Christian man should have. Predatory thoughts. Caveman thoughts.

Dad and Connie had raised him to be a gentleman who treated women with respect and appreciation. He couldn’t abide less from another man. Anyone who drove up that road had better have good intentions, or they’d answer to him.

Because no matter how inconvenient it was, no matter how busy he might be, he wasn’t the kind of man who could walk away when someone needed him. He might fail—had plenty of times—but he’d fail trying.

He flexed his punching hand and stepped onto the porch. Whether he liked the idea or not, it was time to tell Whitney she had herself a ranch hand.