“My gun isn’t loaded. You shoot, and I’ll get out the shovel to dig the hole to bury them.”

“It’s a deal,” she said. “I’m too tired to dig, but I think I can still shoot pretty straight. Man, who would have thought the day would be like this when it dawned?”

“Ain’t it the truth?” He nodded. “How long did you drive?”

“I left at four o’clock this morning from the southwest corner of Texas and drove until, what time is it?”

He took a phone from his shirt pocket and checked. “Four thirty. Be dark in an hour.”

She laid the shotgun on the hood of the truck and pulled gloves out of her pocket. “There’s a nip to the wind. Feels like snow.”

“Yep,” he said. He waited until the Brennans were halfway across the pasture with their herd before he gave the Gallaghers permission to start getting their cattle together.

“They don’t like taking orders,” she said.

“Maybe it will make them mad enough to leave me alone the rest of the time I’m here.”

“We’ve eaten our bullfrog,” she said.

“What’s that?” he asked.

She smiled. “It’s an old adage. Wake up every morning and eat a bullfrog first thing, and the rest of the day will go just fine.”

“Honey, I’m afraid we’ve just eaten his scrawny old toes.”

“Then I’m going to need a lot of help.”

“Me too, Jill Cleary. Me too,” he said.

Chapter 2

Jill carried her gun and her suitcase to the larger of the two bedrooms on the other side of the room. Dust flew when she dropped them on the bed, and she groaned when she flipped the light switch.

She might not be a neat freak, but nothing more was coming in from the truck until she’d done some massive cleaning. Rather than a broom, she might need a scoop shovel to clear out the layers and layers of dust.

“I’ll help you unload your stuff soon as you get things ready,” Sawyer said from the doorway. She glanced up, seeing him in a new light. She’d lived in bunkhouses before with lots of men around. His face would make a good study for artists, with all the acute angles from cheekbones to the cleft in his chin. He had skin the color of coffee with lots of pure cream in it and at first glance she’d thought it was the result of working outside in the sun. But it went deeper than that. There was a Latino in the woodpile somewhere in Sawyer’s background, in spite of an Irish surname.

“Thank you. Are all of your things unloaded?”

“No, ma’am. I’m not bringing out my stuff until things are cleaned up. No sense in dragging them through all this dust and having to move them around to clean. I was finishing up the living room when you arrived. The kitchen is fairly good, but I did see a few mouse tracks in the dust on the cabinet before I cleaned it.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. A mouse shot across the tip of her boots and started up the bedpost. Instinctively she slapped at it with the butt of the shotgun, and it fell onto the floor. She hated mice almost as bad as rattlesnakes, but she wasn’t afraid of them. Now spiders? That was a whole different story.

She picked up the dead mouse by the tail and carried it across the living room floor to the front door, where she pitched him out into the yard. “I’ll get a cat tomorrow.”

He raked his fingers through his jet-black hair and then down over a day’s worth of heavy black stubble. “I like cats, especially if they take care of mice and rats.”

“Good, maybe we’ll get a couple,” she said.

“That’s pretty bold of you, Jill Cleary.” His eyes sparkled when he teased. “We’ve only known each other a few hours, and you’re already talking about us getting pets together. A foot massage doesn’t mean that we are in a relationship.”

“Honey, we’ve been through more in those few hours than most folks go through in a month, and the cats are not going to be pets,” she said. “They’re going to be mousers. And believe me, I’m not ready for a relationship with anyone, so you don’t have to worry about that, and, yes, I will take a foot massage any time you want to give one.”

“Just so we’re clear,” he said. “Now, I’m going to clean my quarters. One more time before I get things all spick-and-span, do you want that side of the bunkhouse?”

She shook her head, red hair flying. “I do not. I can be very happy right here with my two rooms.”

Faded jeans hugged his muscular thighs and butt. His dark brown eyes were kind, mischievous, and full of excitement. Tiny little crow’s-feet at the sides of his eyes said that he wasn’t a teenager and that he had a sense of humor. His biceps stretched at the seams of the blue chambray work shirt. Two buttons were undone, showing a bed of soft black hair peeking out. She wished he’d left all the buttons undone and she could run her fingers across the hard muscles under the shirt.

Lord, she needed to get a grip! The last thing she really wanted was a relationship, and there was a very good possibility that Sawyer had a girlfriend, or maybe even a wife. Friendship would be easy and okay, but not a thing past that. She quickly glanced at his hands. No ring! At least she hadn’t been lusting after a married man.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I needed a job.”

“Ranchin’ jobs can be found anywhere in the state of Texas. Why did you come to Burnt Boot?”

“For a brand-new fresh start.”

But his eyes said more. Disappointment was written there. Someday, when they knew each other better, she intended to play poker with him. He was one of those open-book men who couldn’t hide anything. Whatever he felt was written plain and clear in those mesmerizing dark eyes, and there was a story in there. If they were playing for clothes instead of dollars, she could win everything from that shirt to his pretty belt buckle to his scuffed-up boots. Did he wear boxers or briefs? Hopefully, he went cowboy, which meant neither one, and she would have it all when he peeled those jeans down.

Crap! She really did need to get a hold on her thoughts. It had to be because she was so tired and he’d been so nice after she’d started things off like a first-rate bitch.

“Well, it looks like we’ve both got a job,” she said. “I haven’t been here since I was a little girl. Is that the other bathroom?” She pointed to one of two closed doors.

“No, that’s a tack room. That one”—his finger went to a door right beside what would be her office—“is yours. It’s got a tub. If you are nice, I’ll loan you my shower when you don’t have time to run a bath.”

“Thank you, and when you’d like to soak away the aches and pains, you are welcome to use my tub,” she said.

She grabbed a broom and headed back to her room, but she could feel his eyes on her, creating a faint flutter in her heart. Oh, yes, she definitely had to get control of herself!

It was late when things were clean enough that she could take a quick bath and fall into bed, but Aunt Gladys was a night owl and she would still be awake. If a person looked up “night owl” in the phone book, Gladys Cleary’s picture would be there. It would show an eighty-year-old woman with a strong chin and lots of jet-black hair with just a hint of gray in it. Jill propped two pillows against the iron headboard and reached for her phone. The old metal springs squeaked under the mattress every time she moved. She hit the speed-dial button and leaned back.

“You got them cows sorted out?” Gladys asked.

“And my bedroom and bathroom at least livable,” she said.

“And Sawyer, is he alive?”

“We buried the hatchet and made a treaty.”

“Well, hot damn! I knew you’d see that he is a good man. What’s the treaty say?”

“That we’ll have each other’s backs after Sunday,” Jill said.

“Sunday?”

Jill told Gladys about how both Brennans and Gallaghers had blindsided her and Sawyer and now they had to go to dinner and then supper with them. “But you can’t accuse me of taking sides,” she said.