Rancher Under Fire

Mariah’s faced paled, and she glanced away. “No, you’re not wrong,” she said on a whisper. “This is so embarrassing. Go on and get it over with.” She grabbed the damp cloth and tossed it in his direction.

He snagged it in midair, cleaned her wound, then washed off the blood that had trailed down her slim leg. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, not really, but I imagine I’ll be sore tomorrow.”

Relief washed over him as he cleansed the wound with peroxide. He squeezed some triple antibiotic salve onto the inch-long gash then applied two wide bandages. No problem. Just like treating one of Hailey’s banged-up knees. Well, not exactly, but at least the woman didn’t cry or fuss about it hurting. Without thinking, Jackson reached behind Mariah’s leg and gave her calf a soft caress, just like he would Hailey’s. He wasn’t prepared for the electric arc that sprinted up his arm. He released her as if he’d been shocked and glanced up.

His eyes locked with her black gaze and held. Awareness sizzled between them.

“Daddy, I’m done helpin’ Deuce.” Hailey peered in the doorway. “Are you gonna go catch Sabrina? Can I go, too?”

Instantly his connection with the troublesome reporter severed. He shook his head, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Leaping off the bed, he accidentally looked in Mariah’s direction again.

She must have sensed whatever it was he had felt, because she wore a dazed expression, too—or maybe she’d gotten a glimpse of the bloody washrag. Jackson shrugged off the unwanted sensations. This wasn’t good.

Women were trouble, and he had enough trouble already—especially with all the strange goings-on lately. To make matters worse, Tim Denton couldn’t begin fixing the reporter’s car until the first of next week—and that was if the vehicle wasn’t totaled. He was stuck with the nosy reporter for at least the whole weekend since Westin, the nearest town to the ranch, didn’t have a motel—or a car rental agency.

“Oh, you hurt your leg?” Hailey crossed the room to the bed, and Jackson stepped back.

“It’s nothing. Just a little cut.” Mariah sat up and rolled down her pant leg then turned to sit on the side of the bed. “Your dad patched me up.”

“He’s good at fixin’ things. See, he put princess bandages on my hands.”

Hailey held up her palms as if they were trophies and flashed him a dimpled smile, sending a warm sensation, better than a cup of hot coffee on a chilly day, down his midsection.

“So, what about Sabrina?”

“I’ll catch her.” He stalked out, not bothering to look at the reporter again. He and his daughter were a team. They got along fine and didn’t need another female around to mess up things. He especially didn’t need a reporter around when problems were plaguing him. What if she got hurt? Or what if she told the world about what had been happening here?

He clenched his jaw. He needed to get her car fixed and get her on the road home.

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