Long black lashes fringed eyes like perfect emeralds. Cheeks shimmered the color of the palest pink rose. Dark hair hung in two ponytails on either side of an oval face. The red-and-white gingham blouse tied below round breasts—with just a touch of cleavage showing—screamed country girl. The Daisy Dukes, long shapely legs, and fire-engine red toenails peeking out from strappy leather flip-flops screamed siren.

Tall, too. He loved tall women. At six-three, he liked his women to fit his frame.

His groin tightened. He’d never been immune to a pretty woman, and she was about as gorgeous as he’d seen—the perfect combination of innocence and heat, sparkle and sultry, virtue and corruption. How would those cherry lips feels against his own? Against…other places?

The two ponytails that would be ridiculous on most women worked on her. Dark curls tumbled over each shoulder. He imagined her sans blouse, sans hair ribbons, that silky hair cascading over peachy-pink shoulders, rosy-tipped breasts.

How it might feel between his fingers, brushing his chest…

Good lord, she is beautiful.

Then she spoke.

“Hand, I’m looking for Rafe Grayhawk.”

Hand? Not so beautiful inside. The derision in her tone was unmistakable. He fought the urge to ignore her. He was an employee here at McCray Landing. If this woman was looking for him, she probably had a reason.

“I’m Rafe Grayhawk.”

She whipped her hands to her round hips. “I hear you can teach me to ride.”

Huh? Who is this woman anyway? She vaguely resembled his boss’s wife, though Catie was more refreshing, less “nose-stuck-in-the-air.”

“I can teach anyone to ride, honey.” He eyed her up and down. “But not in that getup. Who are you, anyway?”

“Angelina Bay. Catie’s sister. And don’t call me honey.”

Rafe held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She didn’t return the gesture. He dropped his hand back to his side.

“I used to ride a little. I was rodeo queen quite a while ago. But I didn’t keep up with it. My daddy says if I’m going to own one of his ranches someday it’s high time I learned to ride decently. We don’t have any hands at our ranch who have the time or talent to teach me, in his opinion. Daddy wants the best. According to Chad McCray, you’re it.”

“Why not ask your sister? She’s as good a rider as anyone.”

“Clearly you haven’t heard the good news.” Angelina scuffed one sandaled foot in the dirt of the stall. “She’s expecting, and since she had a miscarriage the first time, she and Chad are being ridiculously overprotective this time.”

Didn’t sound unreasonable to Rafe. His mother had struggled with miscarriages and his father had been very protective, but Angelina’s voice registered indignation over her sister’s decision to put her pregnancy first.

Teach this piece of work to ride? Not in this lifetime.

He turned back to the horse he was currying. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. McCray expects all his hands to put in forty hours a week here.”

“I already okayed it through him. Didn’t I just say he said you’re the best to teach me? Sheesh.”

Eye roll. He wasn’t looking at her, but he knew her pupils were curving upward against her lids.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a sight to learn about askin’ for a favor.”

“I’m not asking for a favor, hand. You’ll be well paid.”

Hand again? Christ, I have a name. He turned and gazed into those eyes clear as the Mediterranean Sea. “Well paid, huh? Just how much constitutes ‘well paid’ to you?”

“Fifty dollars an hour.”

A fair price, for sure. Not worth it to put up with this prima donna, though.

“Make it a hundred.”

The porcelain hands dashed to her hips again.

“A hundred? Are you kidding me? Fifty is the going rate around here.”

“Then I’m sure you won’t have any problem finding someone else at that price. Nice meeting you.” He turned his back to her.

“But Chad says you’re the best.”

“The man speaks the truth.” Rafe smoothed the gelding’s dark mane.

“Seventy-five is as high as I’ll go.”

Rafe pursed his lips. Seventy-five dollars an hour would go a long way helping his father get out of that damned trailer park. For the last couple of years, Rafe and his brother, Tom, had been putting all their extra money towards a place in Arizona for Jack Grayhawk. Since the death of Rafe’s mother, his dad had been wasting away in that old dump. Though only fifty, he’d had to leave construction work after a debilitating injury to his hip. He could still get around, but work was out of the question. He drew a small disability pension, but it wasn’t enough. He also suffered from chronic asthma, and though Colorado weather wasn’t bad, the dryer Arizona weather and mild winters would be better. Yeah, this money would sure help. Rafe turned around and gazed at the slender woman. Spending time looking at Angelina Bay would be no hardship. Still, to put up with her attitude…

“The price is a hundred. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it.”

The beauty turned on her heels and marched toward the door of the barn.

Shit, I should have taken the seventy-five.

He could have made life easier for his dad. Jack could take Lilia, the Mexican woman who’d kept house for him for the last five years, with him. Since Finola Grayhawk had passed on three years ago, Lilia cooked and cleaned in exchange for room and board in Rafe and Tom’s old room. Lilia had reduced her hours as a receptionist to part time to help keep house for Jack. The two would have had a wonderful new life in Arizona.

Ah well, Rafe had no doubt saved himself a lifetime’s worth of headache. He put the currycomb down and grabbed the stiff bristle brush. This particular gelding, Adonis, loved the stiff bristle brush. Rafe started at the neck with short flicking motions. “That’s a good boy.”

A throat cleared behind him. He turned. Angelina.

“You still here? Thought you’d marched out in a huff.”

“A hundred it is then, hand.”

“There ain’t enough money in the world for me to put up with you calling me ‘hand.’”

“That’s what I call all the hands.”

“They have names, you know.”

“You expect me to remember all those names?”

“Why not? They remember yours, don’t they?”

“That’s different. I’m the boss’s daughter, and there’s only one of me.”

Thank God. If another Angelina existed, he’d lose all hope for the world. “You’re not the boss’s daughter here.”

“I’m the boss’s sister-in-law.”

“Whatever. You want my help? The price is a hundred an hour, and if you call me ‘hand’ one more time, all deals are off.”

“Fine. Rafe, then.”

“How about Mr. Grayhawk?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am, Miss Bay.” Let’s see how she handles this one.

“Of course you should call me Miss Bay. I’m the boss and you’re the help.”

Help? Seriously? Normally he’d think twice about getting into it with his boss’s sister-in-law, but Chad McCray respected him and his work, and this little snot brought out the worst in him. “I obviously have something you want. I won’t deal with disrespect from anyone, especially not a flouncy ranch girl.”

Hands to hips again. Did she have two indentations there? “Girl? I happen to be thirty-two years old.”

Thirty-two? He’d have guessed her younger than his own age of twenty-five. The years had been kind to Miss Bay. She had the skin and body of a nineteen-year-old. She was a beauty. On the outside, at least.

“Thirty-two years old and acting like a spoiled brat? Grow up, Angelina.”

“Miss Bay.”

“Angelina. And you’ll call me Rafe. I hate Mr. Grayhawk.”

She tapped her foot on the barn floor. “It was your idea.”

“I was trying to make a point. You were being disrespectful.”

“I’m not used to being respectful to hands.”

“Well, get used to it. We’re people, just like you, and disrespect hurts us, just like it hurts you.” Though he doubted she’d ever experienced disrespect.

Her eyes widened—just a little, but he’d made her think. For a second, anyway.

“All right…Rafe. When can we start?”

“You got a horse?”

“Yes. Just bought her. A beautiful black mare named Belle.”

“Have her brought over by seven tonight.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll see you tomorrow. Six a.m. sharp.”

This time when her hands flew to her hips her eyes turned to saucers. “Six a.m.? Sorry. I don’t do the crack of dawn.”

Rafe shook his head. “And you expect to own your father’s ranch someday? Do you have any idea what time he gets up? Chad and Catie are up before five every morning.”

“I’m not Catie.”

She was right about that. Did the two of them really come from the same gene pool? The physical evidence was there, but little else.

“Six a.m.,” he said, “and wear clothes suitable for riding.”

She stormed out, sulking.

Rafe chuckled. No way would she show up.