He left his sport coat in the van, deciding a jacket wasn’t required at this particular event.Following Duane, he trudged through dust that coated his oxblood wing tips.
It sure didn’t smell like the city.But he sort of liked the combined odor of horse manure and animal sweat that hung over the area.
Duane paused next to the fence and found a foothold in the meshed branches.“Just climb up here.You can see, then.”
T.R.put his hands on the rough bark, wedged his wingtips in a notch in the branches and hoisted himself up next to Duane.Inside the small corral where the cowboys had gathered, a cinnamon-colored horse lay on the ground, his back leg stretched away from his body with a rope.
A blond woman crouched near the horse’s head, and a brunette was kneeling by his groin area.T.R.had a sudden uneasy suspicion.“Where’s Freddy?”he asked.
“Right there by the business end of the horse.The blonde is Leigh, her sister.She’s the head wrangler.”
“Oh.”He hated surprises.They threw him off his stride.
Duane looked at him.“Freddy’s the best boss I ever slung a rope for, mister.And a damned good vet.She took it in school, just so’s she could help out with animals around here.”
“I’m sure she’s very capable.”T.R.’s mind raced to assimilate this unexpected information.Freddy had her back to him, her snug-fitting jeans cupping a firm backside, her leather belt cinching in a small waist.Her rich brunette hair was caught with a silver-and-turquoise clip at her nape.
“Leigh calls herself a horse psychic,” Duane said.“Some folks laugh about it, but I’ve known people who could tell what horses are thinkin’.Seems like Leigh can.She’s gonna work on Red Devil’s self-esteem, I think is what she said.”
After that speech, T.R.realized that Duane wasn’t quiet at all.Probably, he just got that way in the unfriendly confines of the city.Out here on the ranch, conversation spewed from him like water from a broken fire hydrant.
But most of T.R.’s attention remained focused on Freddy.Her cooperation would be critical once the purchase went through, because he wanted to continue the guest ranch operation without sinking any more money into improvements.It would be a waste of resources, considering the ultimate fate of the property.
Freddy turned and asked for something and T.R.got a glimpse of her profile.Classic.So she had a face to match her figure, apparently.Now that he’d adjusted to the idea that the ranch foreman was a woman, he liked it.Women were just as good working companions as men.Who knew if Freddy might turn out to be more reasonable about his plans for the ranch than some macho guy protecting his turf.Sometimes women were better at the art of compromise.
“They’ve sedated him, but they ain’t done the cuttin’ yet,” Duane said, as if he felt obliged to provide color commentary on the event.“Ever seen anythin’ like this before?”
“No.”T.R.wondered if this was the way Elizabethans used to react to beheadings in the public square — too horrified to watch and too curious to look away.He winced as Freddy began the procedure and fought the urge to put his hands over his own crotch.
“That there’s the emasculator,” Duane explained, pointing to an instrument in Freddy’s hands.“Looks sorta like a nutcracker, don’t it?No pun intended.”
T.R.wanted to turn his back on the whole thing, but he figured this might be a test, and for some stupid reason, he didn’t want Duane to think less of him.
As the operation continued, Duane shifted his weight uneasily.So, he wasn’t as unperturbed about this as he let on.“Kinda gets you in the— well, you know,” the cowboy said.
“Yeah, I know,” T.R.said.He found it interesting that Duane seemed reluctant to mention body parts.He’d heard that cowboys had a chivalrous side and avoided many of the four-letter words tossed out so often by city dwellers.Some of T.R.’s Wall Street friends might laugh at the idea that a tobacco-spitting old cowpoke was a gentleman, but that’s exactly how T.R.would describe Duane.
At last, Freddy stood, signaling that the operation was over.T.R.realized his jaw hurt, and he relaxed his clenched teeth.
Duane climbed down.“That does it.Might as well take you over to meet the boss.Walk careful and don’t stir up no dust.We don’t want any on Red Devil’s...equipment.”
T.R.eased himself off the fence, wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks and started after Duane.As they approached, the blond sister named Leigh noticed them and spoke to Freddy.
The ranch foreman turned and stripped off her gloves.Striding toward them, she held out her hand to T.R.“Welcome to the True Love, Mr.McGuinnes.I’m Frederica Singleton.Please call me Freddy.”
T.R.looked into hazel eyes that assessed him with calm intelligence.Her grip was firm, although her skin was temptingly soft.He reminded himself these were the same hands that had just turned a stallion into a gelding.He’d be wise not to underestimate Freddy Singleton.
ChapterThree
He has New York written all over him, Freddy thought as she took in the pallor of his skin from being indoors too much, the sophisticated cut of his thick brown hair, the bold red-and-blue stripes of his power tie.But his blue-eyed gaze was direct, his smile friendly, even a little sexy.She almost regretted what she was about to do to him.Almost.
“I understand you want to inspect the ranch,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“The best way to see the True Love is from the back of a horse.Can you ride?”
“Yes.”
