Raleigh And The Rancher (Wranglers & Lace #3) Read online

  Raleigh and the Rancher

  Laura Anthony

  To my father, Fred Blalock, for instilling in me a love of reading and a desire to write. And to my mother, Maxine Reid Blalock, for giving me the courage and determination to achieve my dream.

  Special thanks to Mike Rountree for telling me all about farriers.

  Wranglers & Lace

  Dear Reader,

  There’s something inherently romantic about cowboys. From their slow-talking drawl, to their strong, silent countenance, they exude a certain irresistible masculinity. And the modern cowboy is no less than his historical counterpart. They’re hardworking, dedicated and highly principled men.

  Growing up in West Texas, I was privy to many a tall tale about cowboys. I’d sit on the front porch listening to my daddy spin yarns of stalwart knights in buckskin who galloped on horseback across the prairie to salvage stray cattle, or who battled inclement weather, defeated dastardly villains and rescued lovely damsels. Daddy relayed exciting stories of untamed, independent men who blazed the early frontier, cared passionately for the land and left a legacy of honor that permeates Texas heritage to this day.

  Rasied on these stories, it was only natural that I turned to such fables for inspiration. I can only hope I’ve done justice to the legend.

  Laura Anthony

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Raleigh Travers needed a job—badly.

  And now that she finally had a chance at one she had to look as competent for the position as possible. She’d dressed carefully in faded jeans, a navy blue, ribbed tank top and scuffed cowboy boots. Her copper-colored hair hung down her back in a thick, single braid, and she’d tied a red bandanna around her head to keep perspiration from her eyes. She was hoping her attire would reflect the tough, rugged image she wanted to portray.

  Raleigh guided her battered brown pickup off the main highway and onto the graveled road. A chalky cloud of dust billowed beneath the worn tires as she goosed the reluctant vehicle up a steady incline.

  Wind rushed in through the open window, whipping escaping tendrils of hair into her face. Flipping down the visor, she retrieved a pair of aviator sunglasses and pushed them up on her nose.

  The sunglasses helped disguise her anxiety. She had to have this job! If she couldn’t come up with the rent money soon, she and Caleb would be out on the street.

  “Raleigh, you’re going to have to do some tall talkin’,” she said to her reflection in the rearview mirror.

  Pa’s pitiful insurance settlement was gone. During the previous six months she’d done her best to find work, but she’d been repeatedly turned down for countless jobs—jobs she was perfectly capable of performing. Even old friends and customers who knew she was a darn good farrier denied her a chance. They all said the same thing—she was too small, too young, too feminine to be doing a man’s job.

  Funny, no one had thought that way when she’d worked side by side with her father, shoeing horses from dawn until dusk, but then she’d just been Will Travers’s tomboy daughter. Now, while she struggled to get her own business started, the townsfolk refused to take her seriously.

  Over and over, she’d been advised to find work waiting tables or typing reports or watching children. Some even suggested she find a husband.

  She snorted indelicately at that thought. With a younger brother to support, marriage was the last thing on her mind. Besides, she couldn’t bear the pain of falling in love again. Immediately she thought of Jack and the awful events that had irrevocably altered her life. The familiar ache echoed inside her like lonely whispers in an empty dream.

  Raleigh tossed her head. No. She would not relive past sorrows. Her future held more pressing concerns than self-pity. Gritting her teeth, she grasped the steering wheel tighter and thought of her upcoming interview. West of town a new owner had started renovations on a ramshackle horse ranch. She hoped to find the present management more receptive to a female farrier than the hardheaded, shortsighted citizens of Clyde, Texas.

  Up ahead she could see the entrance to the ranch. Barbed wire gave way to white wooden corral fencing. Above the gateway hung a brand-new six-foot sign proclaiming McClintock Dude Ranch.

  Dude ranch? In Clyde? Raleigh grinned. She hoped the newcomer’s wallet matched his flair for farfetched fantasies. The cost of making this project work would not be cheap.

  Bumping over the cattle guard, Raleigh lumbered onto the barren landscape of sagebrush, cactus, bull nettles, scrub oaks and yucca growing in untamed profusion. Aiming her pickup down the narrow rutted road, she rattled and jolted across the arid pasture, then pulled to a stop in the middle of a wide circular driveway.

  The place was in the midst of recent reconstruction. Cement forms were tossed in haphazard heaps beside piles of mounded earth. Stacks of raw lumber decorated the rough terrain, and the smell of fresh paint lingered on the sultry breeze.

  A large, two-story farmhouse hulked straight ahead. A bright red barn graced the hill to the right of the house. Next to it sat two stables, a small log cabin, probably meant for the ranch hands, an exercise yard and three separate corrals. Opposite the house sprawled a dilapidated swimming pool, deserted tennis courts and a faded shuffleboard slab.

  A mix of Thoroughbreds and quarter horses grazed in the fields. Raleigh estimated their number at two dozen. Enough to net her over a thousand dollars.

  She opened the pickup door and swung to the ground, her bootheels sinking into the yielding sand. Tucking her fingertips into her back pockets, she scanned the area.

  Nobody in sight.

  Stalking across the exercise yard, her braid bouncing between her shoulder blades, she hoped to appear self-confident despite the nervous perspiration coating her palms.

  “Anybody home?” she called.

  No answer.

  Climbing over the corral, she stopped to scratch the nose of a friendly gelding Thoroughbred. “Hey, boy,” she cooed. The horse nuzzled her arm in greeting.

  “Where’s your owner?” she asked the affectionate animal. Out of curiosity, she stooped over, lifted the Thoroughbred’s right foreleg and examined his shoe. She clicked her tongue. The gelding drastically needed a new set.

  “Hey, you! You there! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Raleigh’s head snapped up.

  The horse nickered. Dropping the animal’s leg, she turned. Her sunglasses slipped down on her nose and she pushed them back up, squinting at the tall figure striding toward her.

  Bushy eyebrows formed a frowning V on his wide forehead. A stubble of heavy beard enhanced his angular jaw. He wore tight jeans and a blue chambray work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing hairy, muscular forearms. A black cowboy hat rode his head. He towered over her, obstructing her view of the sky. Broad of chest and thin of waist, he presented an appealing if somewhat threatening package.

  “You talking to me?” She pointed a hand at herself. An odd stab of excitement raced through her as they exchanged a searing glance.

  “I don’t see anyone else messing around with my horse, so I must be talking to you. Who are you?” he demanded.

  Not one to be intimidated, even by a man twice her size, Raleigh drew herself up to her full five feet and knotted her hands into fists. “I’m Raleigh Travers. Who are you?”

  The man took a determined
step toward her, but Raleigh stood her ground. He reached over and clamped a large paw on her shoulder.

  Incensed by his proprietary manner, Raleigh turned and drove her arm backward, jabbing her elbow straight into his lean, hard, abdominal muscles. The instant she let loose, it hit her—she’d just assaulted her potential boss!

  Daniel McClintock blinked twice and expelled his breath as he absorbed the unexpected punch. He stared at her freckled, pixie face in amazement. The tiny twister packed one hell of a wallop.

  “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  “Honey,” he drawled, “what do you think I’m made of? Marshmallows? Of course you didn’t hurt me.”

  “That’s good.” She whipped off her sunglasses and clutched them nervously. “I didn’t mean to elbow you like that. I just hate for people to grab me.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He fanned his fingers over his gut, surprised by the tingle he felt growing there.

  “Listen, can we start over?” She pocketed her sunglasses and extended a hand. “I’m Raleigh Travers.”

  “Daniel McClintock.” Dan touched her petite but work-roughed palm. The sudden pinching sensation, as if a screw had been tightened in his chest, startled him. He gulped.

  Trouble was written on her face for anyone to read—dark shadows circled her gray eyes and her lips were pressed tight with worry. She held her thin shoulders ironing-board stiff in a tough, defensive manner. What heavy burdens did she carry? Dan wondered.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she snapped.

  “Huh?”

  “Didn’t anybody ever teach you it’s not polite to stare?” She crossed her arms and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “Oh. Was I staring?” His fingers curled over hers and held them captive. She was a bristly little thing.

  “Yes.” She telegraphed him a steady glare until, embarrassed, he dropped her hand. The woman unnerved him, plain and simple. His gaze drifted over her delicate features. He admired her long, burnished copper braid, her peachy complexion, her strawberry red lips. Alarmed by the undeniable tug of attraction churning inside him, Dan tilted his head and angled her a sideways glance.

  “Well, then,” he said. “What can I do for you, Ms. Travers?”

  “I’m looking for a job.”

  “A job?” he repeated.

  “I heard talk in town that you might need a farrier.”

  “That’s true,” he conceded. “I do need to have my horses shod, but you’re not exactly what I had in mind.”

  “I’m strong. I may be small, but I’m wiry.”

  Wiry is right, Dan thought, and swallowed. He could attest to that. His gaze traveled to the hollow of her long, slender neck. The cotton material of her tank top stretched seductively across firm, high breasts. Faded jeans hugged her hips like a surgeon’s glove. Did she really expect him to believe she shod horses for a living?

  “I can do the work as well as any man,” she bragged.

  He needed an inexperienced farrier about as much as he needed three thumbs. Considering the pressing time constraints facing him, he had enough trouble keeping to his schedule without a testy woman underfoot.

  “Let me prove myself. Let me shoe that Thoroughbred.” She nodded at the gelding. “On the house. Give me a chance. What have you got to lose?”

  The look in her eyes challenged him. Intrigued by the woman and her unexpected lure, Dan nodded. “No harm in giving you a tryout, I suppose.”

  He wanted to see her in action. She had guts, no doubt about it. Waltzing in here asking for a job while at the same time dishing out a healthy dose of attitude. He suspected she’d developed her feisty demeanor as a defense mechanism. It couldn’t be easy, working as a female farrier.

  “Thank you,” she said simply.

  Her smile affected him like an arrow shot from a crossbow straight into the center of an oak tree. He could almost hear the vibrating thud.

  “So, let’s put you to work.”

  “I’ll go get my supplies,” she said, dusting her hands together.

  “Let me help,” he offered.

  “No, sir. I’m going to prove to you I can handle all aspects of this job and that includes hauling around my own equipment. I don’t want it being said Raleigh Travers can’t pull her own load.”

  Dan doubted if anyone could ever say such a thing about this fireball. He’d known her a mere five minutes and already formed the distinct impression she was one no-nonsense lady. Following her over to the aging truck, he watched her back pockets sway.

  Hold on, Dan, my man, now’s not the time to be falling in lust, he cautioned himself. As if there was a good time to get tangled up with women. More than once, a shapely behind had orchestrated his downfall.

  Hoisting a shoe box full of tools, a leather apron, a tripod and a wooden frame from the bed of her pickup, Raleigh strained to grip the supplies in both arms. Dan had to force himself not to help her. She was an independent cuss and he wasn’t about to offend her again. A single swift elbow to the gut was enough for one day.

  They walked to the corral, and Dan held the gate open for her. He breathed in the sweet, dry aroma of hay, horseflesh, West Texas sand and Raleigh Travers.

  “Here, fella.” She spoke softly to the gelding. The horse pricked up his ears at the sound of her voice, and whinnied in answer. “I’m going to give you a new pair of shoes.”

  Placing the shoe box, tripod and frame on the ground, she tied the leather apron around her waist and at the back of each knee. Opening a box of nails, she stuck a handful to the magnet sewed into the back corner of her apron.

  Pretty ingenious, Dan thought.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, hold the horse,” she directed.

  Horses weren’t the only animals she knew how to handle. Dan leapt to do her bidding, quickly grabbing the gelding’s bridle.

  “His name is Matt Dillon,” he told her.

  “Oh? You a ‘Gunsmoke’ fan?”

  “When I was a kid,” he admitted. “I always wanted a horse named Matt Dillon. See that stray pup over there?” He nodded in the direction of a rangy yellow dog lounging in the shadow of a hay baler.

  “Kinda sad-looking,” Raleigh said, eyeing the dog, who sat up and scratched at his long floppy ear.

  “That’s why I adopted him. His name’s Chester.”

  “He looks like a Chester,” she agreed. “So where’s Doc, Miss Kitty and Festus?”

  “Haven’t acquired them yet.”

  “How long you been living out here?” she asked, waving her hand to chase away a horsefly.

  “Little less than a month. Buying this ranch was a fulfillment of my childhood dream. I’ve always been enamored of cowboys and the West. One day I realized I’d already wasted too many years riding a desk in downtown Dallas. So I took my life’s savings and turned my dream into a reality.”

  “So, you’re renovating this place into a dude ranch in order to relive your childhood?”

  “Partly.”

  He wouldn’t tell her the real reason this venture had to work. Tightly gripping the supple leather of Matt Dillon’s bridle, Dan closed his eyes and envisioned the dream—a money-making dude ranch, catering to wealthy vacationers from the East. His place would be talked about from coast to coast, and written up in travel magazines. He’d prove to the old man that once and for all, Daniel J. McClintock could stand on his own two feet.

  For six years he’d labored at a job he’d hated, saving his money and preparing for the day he could break free from the stranglehold his domineering father kept on the entire family. His older brothers, Jamie and Mike, were firmly entrenched in the business. They would never escape. But he’d done it, and he was determined to succeed. He found the thought of returning home a failure and listening to his father’s “I told you so” intolerable.

  Opening his eyes, he returned his attention to his attractive visitor and away from the uncomfortable truth of his rapidly shrinking budget.

 
Matt Dillon offered no protest as Raleigh lifted his foreleg and rested it on her tripod. Bracing her back, she locked her knees around the animal’s hoof, then dug in her toolbox with one hand. She located her rasp and started removing the clenches from the old shoe.

  Dan watched Raleigh work. He was struck once more by her girl-next-door good looks. It didn’t fit. Her delicate feminine features and her tough, self-confident persona. A frank contrast he found unexpectedly sexy. The girl unsettled him, and he hated to be thrown off-balance.

  “Does this take you long?” he asked.

  “About forty-five minutes. Why? You giving me a speed test? If you knew anything about shoeing horses, you’d know that’s a darn good time. And just because I’m fast doesn’t mean I don’t do a good job.” Resentment skewered her features, and in that moment Dan knew that somewhere along the line men had made her doubt her own capabilities.

  “I was only making conversation. Stop getting your nose out of joint over nothing.” Dan held the bridle with one hand, using the other to push his cowboy hat back on his forehead.

  “I apologize,” she said contritely. “I get defensive about my work. Nobody believes I’m able. After you get ridiculed enough, you cop an attitude. Pa always warned me about my temper.”

  “You’ve got to admit you don’t live up to most people’s idea of a farrier. A blacksmith is suppose to be a big, burly fellow, not a pretty young girl.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “Trying to buck convention in this one-horse town is like spitting into a tornado. It gets you nothing but a wet face.”

  “You from Clyde?” he asked.

  “Born and raised. Sometimes it’s a real pain, you know? Everybody thinks they have a right to tell you how to run your business.”

  “I can see you love horses.”

  “They’re my greatest passion.”

  He heard pride reflected in her voice. Her easy self-assurance intoxicated him. She believed in herself with absolute certainty, even if nobody else did.

  She removed Matt Dillon’s old shoe and plunked it in the dirt. Rummaging in her box for a pair of nippers, she located the tool, then diligently groomed the gelding’s hoof, cutting away at the excess growth like a podiatrist trimming toenails. An odd odor of burning beans filled the air.