The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,14

its best advantage.

One of Rosa’s designs, Quin suspected. No telling how much Boston had paid Rosa to create garments that diverted male attention away from the fact that she was an annoying little hellion.

Despite the resentful thoughts chasing one another around Quin’s head, he watched her intently. She carried a stick as she wandered through the herd of Herefords, speaking softly to them. She tapped one and then another on the rump to single them out, then directed them into a separate pen. She seemed to be selecting heifers that carried the characteristics she wanted to breed into her next crop of calves. Quin was unwillingly impressed, though he’d cut out his tongue before he complimented the little vixen for her ability to spot quality beef on the hoof.

“These heifers will be penned up until my boxcar of shorthorn bulls and cows arrive next week,” she called over her shoulder. “These heifers are old enough to breed and they are familiar enough with the place to be released into a pasture with the incoming registered bulls.”

When she fastened the gate, she pivoted around—and halted abruptly. Quin’s narrowed gaze zeroed in on her, revealing none of the masculine appreciation that had bombarded him a few moments earlier. All the resentment that had spurred him during his ride hit him full force.

He watched her gaze dart to Rocky Rhodes—the six-foot, blond-haired, blue-eyed cowboy about Quin’s age—who stood at a distance. Quin focused his hard glare on his former foreman who suddenly became fascinated with the toes of his boots, just as Skeeter had earlier.

“Please see that all the Herefords have plenty of feed and water,” Boston requested as she passed around a dazzling smile to the crowd of cowboys.

Then she squared her shoulders and walked toward Quin. Her chin tilted and her deep green eyes drifted from the top of his hat to his chest and hips. He caught himself wondering if she found him the slightest bit attractive. Not that he cared what she thought of him, of course. He was just curious, was all.

“How nice to see you again,” she commented as she closed the gate.

“That’s what Butler said. I didn’t believe him, either.” Quin clutched her elbow and propelled her around to the back of the barn to ensure privacy. If he decided to strangle the smarmy little minx, he didn’t want her bewitched cowhands rushing to her rescue.

She jerked her arm from his grasp and stared him down. “The last man who tried to scuttle me off, in an attempt to seduce me into accepting his marriage proposal, received a kick in the crotch,” she informed him tartly.

“No need to fear for your virtue, only your life,” he growled as he rounded on her. “How dare you sneak over to my ranch while I was away to steal Rocky Rhodes!”

Her chin jutted out and he mentally kicked himself when his gaze dropped to the lush curve of her mouth. Anger and desire battled inside him and he hated that he found her so wildly attractive when he wanted to strangle her.

“I’m sure he’s delighted, considering the intimate perks you’re probably offering him and the other cowboys who work here.”

Her gaze narrowed to glittering green slits. “What is that supposed to imply, Cahill?”

He gestured toward her clothing. “I’m surprised your cowboys can concentrate on what you tell them when you wear garments that fit like a coat of paint.”

Her back went ramrod stiff, which drew his rapt attention to her out-thrust breasts. Quin’s gaze focused on the gap between the buttons of her blouse and the cleavage beneath—and hated himself for his fierce attraction to this firebrand.

“You expect me to trounce around in a cow pen in a cumbersome dress?” she hissed like a disturbed cat. “That’s impractical. Furthermore, I don’t need your approval. In fact, I couldn’t care less what you think of my wardrobe and of me!”

Quin loomed over her, pressing her against the barn wall, trying to intimidate her. He outweighed her by a hundred pounds and was at least ten inches taller. However, it didn’t seem to matter that he could crush her like a bug. She refused to cower, even when he snarled, bared his teeth and tried to frighten her into submission.

“You listen to me, hellcat. I want my foreman back and I don’t want you to set foot on my property to lure my men to your spread again.”

“Business is business, Cahill,” she sassed him. “I will hire whomever I want in