She heard herself screech, felt the pressure of worn denim pulling at her. In a split second, the way a magician would whip a tablecloth out from under a fully set table, her favorite pants ripped away from her legs. She screeched again, Brady barked, and the hungry auger did as it was designed to do when hitting a rock, or apparently, pants; it shut off. Except now she found herself standing in her panties and boots in the middle of a field. And holy cow patties, was that the sound of a four-wheeler approaching? “Oh, crud.”
Clint eased the four-wheeler along the fence, keeping the throttle where cattle would listen instead of scatter. He let the machine hum low and steady, arcing wide to turn the stubborn beasts that had scattered far and wide onto Doc’s property. Finally, they were moving in the right direction, flowing back toward the gap like water trickling downhill.
Wind carried a sound that wasn’t cattle. Metal coughing, then dying. He lifted off the throttle and let the herd walk, eyes running the line ahead. A figure appeared to be huddled by the fence—Alice, it had to be—but something was off. Hunched over, her arms moved in sharp, jerking motions. A sense of urgency gripped him. He couldn’t explain why, but somehow he knew, something was very not right. Easing off the throttle, he let the cattle continue their plodding journey toward the fence opening, keeping his eyes on his boss and wishing cows moved more quickly.
As he drew closer he blinked, then blinked again. No longer crouched low to the ground, she now stood upright and if he wasn’t mistaken, had a fantastic pair of legs. What he couldn’tfathom is why the heck was she standing there with… he squinted, not shorts. What in the world? It wasn’t until he was nearly upon her that he understood what he was seeing. Alice Sweet, ranch owner and mother of six, stood clutching what appeared to be her pants around her waist as if it were a towel and she’d just stepped out of the shower.
Glaring at the ground like a woman scorned, she lifted her chin and leveled her gaze with his as if daring him to say a word.
He killed the engine immediately, and climbed off. Keeping his gaze firmly on her face—and only her face—he approached cautiously. Brady circled them both, clearly agitated. “What happened?”
She huffed, adjusting her grip on the tattered fabric. “The auger happened. Started up fine, but these old pants…” She gestured with one hand before quickly grabbing the fabric again when it started to slip. “Let’s just say the auger found them tastier than the dirt.”
He followed her glance to the machine. The bit sat in fresh dirt, a collar of earth thrown up around it, and a blue ribbon of vintage denim tied into the flights. The engine was quiet. Thank God for clutches and kill switches that still remembered their job. His mind ran too freely to what could have been—bone, tendon, anything caught where cloth had gone. “You hurt?”
“Only my pride.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Pro tip: wide-leg pants and augers are not on friendly terms.”
He wasn’t sure if he was more horrified at what could have gone wrong, or more amused at the ludicrous situation. Fighting the pull on his cheeks, he’d say amusement was winning out.
“I managed to get the pants unwound from the bit,” she continued. “This was the best I could do to avoid scaring the cows with my bare legs.”
Okay, so the woman’s sense of humor held strong in all sorts of situations, even when her pride and propriety were at stake.Now he really had to fight the urge to smile. Removing the windbreaker he wore, careful to not let his eyes drop for another look at shapely legs, he handed it to her. “This might work better if you tie it around your waist. It should cover you better than those pants. And you won’t have to hang on to it either.”
Her free hand reached for the jacket. “Thank you.”
Remembering his manners, he quickly spun on his heel, turning his back to her.
“Okay. Better. You can turn around now.”
He did as he was told, allowing himself a quick peek. He’d never seen her in anything but slacks or a long dress at the parties for the kids’ weddings. Neither had ever given him any hint that the woman had a great pair of gams.
“You’re sure you’re all right?” He kept his eyes on the tool.
“Bruised vanity. And chilly knees.”
There was that sense of humor again. He bit back a smile.
She tilted her head at the strip of cloth still tied around the lower flights. “Dumb thing started, danced, then decided to eat my wardrobe.”
He tried not to, he really did, but laughter bubbled over.
Alice rolled her eyes heavenward, which didn’t help him stop. He got it under control—almost—then lost it again when she deadpanned, “Put ‘wide-leg pants’ under the column labeled ‘ranch hazards’ on your next safety briefing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he managed, breath finally cooperating. He wiped a palm over his face and got serious where he needed to. “I’ll finish the holes. You sit in the truck, lock the doors, and pretend you’re supervising.”
“Pretend?” Only the smile flirting with the corners of her mouth belied her icy stare. Shaking her head, she turned on her heel and called over her shoulder, “You get started on the rest of the holes, I’ll get my cell in the truck and have someone bring me a new pair of pants, then we’ll both finish that fence.”
How awful was it that the only thing he could think of at the moment was that woman sure knew how to wear his jacket?
Chapter Seven
Thank heaven for whoever invented the freezer. Then God bless the King family for coming up with the King Ranch casserole. After Alice’s day today, the last thing she wanted to do was cook for a hungry brood. Heck, after the craziness of today, she wished she didn’t have to sit down and eat with her family and could just climb under the covers and hide from her embarrassing escapade.
A seasoned rancher making such a stupid mistake as letting her wide leg pant get caught in the auger. Preston had already teased the dickens out of her when he delivered a fresh pair of straight-legged jeans from the laundry room. As sure as she was that her name was Alice Sweet, she knew that the teasing at dinner tonight would be relentless. And, most likely, well deserved.
“Hi Mom.” Jillian came in the back door with her husband in tow and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then sniffed at the air. “Is that King Ranch casserole I smell?”
Alice nodded while ripping lettuce for a salad.
