Under His Protection

Chapter 2

Outraged, Elizabeth couldn’t believe his audacity. So she didn’t have the power to fire him, did she? Well, they’d see about that! He worked for the Wyatts—all four Wyatts—and if he had trouble accepting that, then she’d call Buck and he would make him understand who was in charge of the Broken Arrow for the next month. And if he still refused to accept who his bosses were, then Mr. Cassidy could find himself somewhere else to work. It was that simple.

But even as she considered going into the house to call Buck, she realized what she was doing and stiffened. No, she thought, irritated. She didn’t need Buck to back her up—this was her ranch, too, and she was in charge! If John didn’t like it, then too damn bad!

“Don’t push me, Mr. Cassidy.” she warned. “If you don’t realize that you’ll be the one who loses, then you’re not as smart as I think you are.”

For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her advice completely, but something in her tone must have told him she was serious. With a mocking curl of his mouth, he nodded his head slightly and lifted a finger to the brim of his black Stetson. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

He strode past her and headed for the barn. He didn’t once look back, and that was probably a good thing. Because she couldn’t take her eyes off his lean backside. The man had no right to look so good in a denim work shirt and worn jeans. Were his jeans as soft as they looked? His body as hard? With no trouble whatsoever, she could see him working in the sun, his shirt hung on a fence post, his sweat-damp muscles rippling as he worked—

Elizabeth Marie Wyatt! What has gotten into you?

Shocked by her own thoughts, she stiffened. What was she doing? She didn’t fantasize about men she didn’t know. Especially a man like John Cassidy. All right, so he was an incredibly handsome man in a hard, macho way. He was also far too sure of himself, not to mention opinionated and argumentative and an employee. Any woman who made the mistake of getting involved with him would find herself with her hands full.

She wasn’t that foolish, Elizabeth assured herself. She liked a man who was more sophisticated, less rugged, softer. She doubted John Cassidy had ever been soft a day in his life, including the day he was born.

Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about that rock-hard body of his. What would it feel like to be held against that body? To have him move over her, in her—

Suddenly realizing the turn her thoughts had made, she pulled herself up short, horrified. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t the type of woman who mooned over a man she didn’t know, let alone fantasized about having sex with him! Did John know? If he even suspected what was going on in her head, she’d be completely mortified.

This was all Spencer’s fault, she decided. She was still hurt, still reeling from his betrayal and obviously looking for a distraction. It wasn’t going to be John Cassidy!

Work, she thought desperately, turning to stride into the house. She needed to focus on what was really important—deciding what she was going to do with her future, where she was going to live, work. Nothing else mattered but that. Certainly not a man, not romance, not love.

Clinging to that thought, she stepped into Buck’s office and settled at the computer. Within minutes she was on the Internet, checking out Colorado towns and cities, searching for just the right location for an eclectic dress shop. And whenever she found her thoughts drifting to the ranch and the man she was sharing it with, she determinedly brought her attention back to the matter at hand.

The afternoon flew by, and without quite knowing how it happened, she heard the grandfather clock in the hall strike five. Pleased, she hurriedly printed out the info she’d spent the day collecting so that she could study it later, then headed for the kitchen. She hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, and she was starving.

The refrigerator was overflowing with the barbecue leftover from the reception, and she would have sworn the only thought in her head was eating. Then she heard John’s truck in the back drive. In the time it took to draw in a quick breath, she realized that she’d been listening for him all afternoon. Before she could stop herself, she stepped over to the window that sat above the kitchen’s deep, old-fashioned cast-iron sinks and looked out.

Although she didn’t move, didn’t wave, didn’t do anything to draw attention to herself as he pulled up next to the barn and parked, somehow he must have sensed he was being watched. He glanced toward the house suddenly, and in the gathering twilight, their eyes locked.

Time jarred to a sudden stop. How long they stood there, staring at each other across the homestead compound, she couldn’t have said. Then he nodded mockingly and strode over to the small cabin where he lived at the edge of the compound. It wasn’t until he disappeared inside that Elizabeth realized he’d stolen the air right out of her lungs.

How, she wondered shakily, was she supposed to ignore a man who could do that to her without coming anywhere near her?

That was a question that plagued her the rest of the evening. Regardless of how hard she tried to dismiss him from her thoughts, knowing that he was now just across the compound, within calling distance, changed everything. She decided to have just a salad for dinner and found herself wondering what he was having. Did he watch television in the evenings? Or work? When did he take a shower—

Frustrated and thoroughly disgusted with herself, she ate only half her salad, then spent the next two hours going over the info she’d collected on the Internet. When she finally went to bed at ten, she was exhausted. She still hadn’t adjusted to the time change and could hardly keep her eyes open.

Her night, however, was far from restful. She dreamed of Buck and Rainey and the love everyone at the wedding could feel…John and the challenge in his eyes when he told her she wasn’t his boss…a faceless enemy hiding in the shadows, waiting to reach out and grab her, hurt her—

Coming awake abruptly, her heart slamming against her ribs, she glanced at the clock on the night-stand and groaned in the darkness. Four o’clock. She had to turn her brain off! But when she punched her pillow into a more comfortable position and drifted back to sleep, the images that filled her dreams tugged her back to wakefulness again and again. By the time the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, she was exhausted. With a groan, she gave up and rolled out of bed.

Two hours later, after a shower and a pot of tea, her eyes were finally open. After all the research she’d done last night, she’d planned to check out locations for her shop, but she hesitated at the thought of driving. She could use the ranch pickup, but she hadn’t even tried driving in America yet, and today wasn’t a good day to start. She was tired and far from alert, and just the thought of getting behind the wheel and driving on the wrong side of the road set her heart pounding. She’d go another day, she assured herself. Today, she’d stick around the house and take it easy.

But doing nothing all day just wasn’t in her DNA. By ten o’clock in the morning, the silence of the house was closing in on her and she was going crazy. In desperation, she stepped outside and found herself wishing for the garden she had back home.

So plant one, a voice in her head retorted. There’s a perfect spot for a rose garden right outside the breakfast room. You can enjoy it every morning while you’re having breakfast.

Delighted with the idea, she inspected the area and decided that it would work nicely. She would ask John to clear away the grass, then drive her into town for the rosebushes she would need. With the right tools, she could plant them herself.

Pleased that she’d come up with a way to leave her mark on the ranch, she went looking for John and found him in the barn, cleaning out the hayloft. In the dusty, late-morning light, the man looked as if he belonged on a calendar. She took one look at him and wanted to touch.

Heat climbing into her cheeks, she felt at a distinct disadvantage as she frowned up at him. “Can you stop for a moment? I need to talk to you.”

Stepping over to the edge of the loft, he lifted a dark brow at her. “So talk.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you’re going to work here, Mr. Cassidy, I would appreciate some measure of respect.”

Not the least impressed with the threat, he only grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Anything you say, ma’am. Is there anything else, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she snapped, her blue eyes shooting daggers at him. “I need the small plot of land by the breakfast room cleared so I can plant a rose garden. Then you can drive me into town so I can buy the roses.”

“No problem. How does Friday morning sound?”

“Friday!”

“I’m busy,” he retorted. “I’ve got some time Friday morning.”

If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead right there on the spot. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. I’m not waiting until Friday. I want to get this done today.”

Even as the words were coming out of her mouth, she realized that she sounded like a spoiled brat. Mortified, she wanted to kick herself, but there was something about John, about the way he looked at her, challenged her, that rubbed her the wrong way. And he knew it. She could see the glint in his eye. He knew how to push her buttons with nothing more than a quirk of his brow, and he loved it!

Not the least impressed with the fact that she was pulling rank, he just looked at her. “Sorry, sweetheart, but if you want a rose garden put in today, then you’re doing it yourself. I’m not a gardener, I’m a foreman in charge of a one-man operation while your brother’s gone, and I’ve got work to do.”

“Yes, you do,” she retorted, cringing at her inability to shut her mouth. “You have some ground to clear for my garden.”

“Fat chance,” he replied, sobering. “And before you remind me that you’re my boss, let me tell you a thing or two, Miss High and Mighty. When you know something about ranching and what it takes to run a ranch, we’ll talk about whether you’re my boss or not. You don’t know how to ride a horse, rope, repair a fence. Hell, I bet you can’t even collect eggs from the chicken coop, let alone make homemade biscuits. If you’re going to be a woman rancher, you need to at least know how to feed your ranch hands.”

Indignant, she snapped, “I’ll have you know, I can make biscuits! And as for collecting eggs, any six-year-old can do that.”

“Really? Then why haven’t you? The chicken coop’s on the south side of the barn…or hadn’t you noticed?”

Not missing the challenging glint in his eyes, she should have told him to go kiss a duck, she didn’t have to prove herself to him. But she was afraid he would accuse her of being afraid, and he would have been right. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d been afraid of chickens and horses, and she didn’t even know why. She just knew she wanted no part of either.

Her pride, however, wouldn’t let her admit that. Chiding herself for being so easily manipulated, she turned on her heel and headed for the chicken coop. And with every step she took, the fear that was lodged deep in her throat grew thicker and thicker.

Behind her, she never saw John scramble down the hayloft ladder…or the grin of admiration that tugged at his mouth as he followed her. Two steps behind her, his gaze trained on her slim back, he had to admit that the lady had a way about her.

He’d never seen a woman less eager to deal with a chicken. The second she reached the door to the chicken coop, she stopped dead in her tracks. Fighting a grin, he said innocently, “Problem?”

“No!”

“Then let me get the door for you.”

He stepped around her and pulled open the small door to the chicken coop. Grinning, he motioned for her to precede him. “Ladies first.”

Another woman would have told him to go to hell. Instead she said, “Stuff it,” and stepped through the door.

That was as far as she got. Her gaze settled on the ten hens sitting on their nests, staring at her with wary eyes, and she couldn’t go any farther. John found himself sympathizing. The first time he’d had to gather eggs, he’d been more than a little terrified, himself. Of course, he’d hadn’t even been in school yet. Elizabeth was a long way from that.

“Don’t let them scare you,” he said quietly. “Give me your hand.”

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Do I look like a fool?”

“Far from it,” he chuckled. “Give me your hand, Elizabeth.” When she hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to let anything hurt you. C’mon, just give me your hand.”

Even as he said the words, he realized that she really had no reason to trust him. She barely knew him, and the fact that he was the Broken Arrow’s ranch foreman meant nothing. The last foreman not only blew up the ranch’s old Spanish mine, which had been lost for two hundred years before Buck and Rainey found it again, but he’d also tried to kill Rainey. John couldn’t blame Elizabeth for not trusting anyone in Colorado except her family. He’d have felt the same way if he’d been in her shoes.

“I’m just going to show you how to handle the chickens,” he said quietly. “We may butt heads, and I may tease the hell out of you, but I don’t get my kicks hurting women. So if that’s what you’re afraid of—”

“No!” she said too quickly, color stinging her cheeks. “I know that…. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Then give me your hand. If you’re going to be the boss…”

He had her there and they both knew it. She glared at him, and he just barely suppressed a smile when she stepped forward and slapped her hand into his. Then his fingers closed around hers.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t the heat that jumped from her hand to his. Frowning, he stared down at their joined hands. Why hadn’t he noticed how small and delicate her hands were? And her skin…could he ever in a million years have guessed how soft it was?

“I realize you’ve probably never held a woman’s hand before,” she said dryly, “but you can’t keep mine. I’m sort of attached to it.”

Suddenly jerked back to his surrounding, he glanced up abruptly and found her watching him with a wry glint in her blue eyes. Caught red-handed, he was shocked to feel himself blush. “I can see why you would be,” he quipped, releasing her. “It’s a nice hand. Soft. Not used to a lot of work.”

“There you go again,” she sighed. “Just when I thought I could like you—”

“I opened my mouth and ruined it,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’re about to toughen you up. First, we’ll start with the chickens and then move on to riding and roping and riding fence. So go ahead…get an egg.”

Elizabeth couldn’t believe he was serious. “And how would you suggest I do that?”

“By putting your hand under the hen,” he said patiently. “Just reach under her and grab an egg.”

He made it sound so simple. If she hadn’t dreaded the thought of acting like even more of a coward in front of him, she would have put her hand behind her back like a scared little girl. Instead she lifted her chin and stepped forward with the confidence of a woman who’d been collecting eggs all her life. The hen took one look at her and decided she meant business. She didn’t so much as ruffle a feather as Elizabeth stole an egg from her.

It wasn’t until she saw the egg in her hand that Elizabeth realized what she’d done. Shocked, she laughed, “Oh, my God! I did it!”

Delighted with herself, she was practically glowing, and John couldn’t take his eyes off her. He tried to convince himself that she was a snotty, snippy Englishwoman who was far too bossy for his taste, but he had to admit that she had guts. She clearly had a fear of chickens, but not only had she not admitted that, but she’d accepted his dare in spite of it. How could he dislike a woman like that? Especially when she was so damn beautiful? When she laughed, her whole face lit up. And he’d never been able to resist a woman who liked to laugh.

You’d better start resisting her, the voice of reason drawled in his head. She’s the boss’s sister. How do you think Buck would feel if he knew you had the hots for his sister?

He didn’t have an answer for that, didn’t even want to go there. He needed his job and he wasn’t risking it for Elizabeth Wyatt or any other woman. All he wanted to do was work and get on with his life. That wasn’t a hell of a lot to ask.

Then why, he wondered, did he have such a difficult time remembering the woman was off-limits? Okay, so she was beautiful. Her skin was like cream, and when she smiled, he felt the punch of it right in his gut. But he wasn’t looking for a woman, and even if he had been, she was the last woman on earth he would have chosen. Not only did she have the power to sign his paycheck, she also had no intention of living in Colorado, or the United States, for that matter. As soon as Buck returned from his honeymoon, she’d return to England. That’s where her life was…and, no doubt, the man she was currently involved with.

And there was a man, he thought grimly. There had to be—a woman with her looks and class didn’t go through life alone. Not unless the men in England were idiots, and he didn’t think that was the case.

So why are you standing here, staring at her like she just stepped out of some crazy fantasy? Get the hell out of here and get back to work!

Blinking as if he’d just stepped out of a fog, he took a quick step back. “That’s all there is to it,” he said coolly. “Grab one of the buckets by the door and just start collecting eggs.”

“Then what?”

“Take them to the house and rinse them off, then dry them and store them in the refrigerator. If you have any problems, I’ll be in the shop working on the tractor. I’ve got to start planting by the end of the week—”

“Planting? You farm?”

He nodded. “We plant alfalfa in the lower pastures below the tree line. And if I don’t get it in soon, the crop will come in late and we’ll be lucky if we cut the fields before the first snowfall. I’d better get back to the tractor. Call if you need help.”

He strode out with nothing more than a wave, leaving Elizabeth with the chickens. Given her druthers, she would have turned and followed John out, but she knew he was right. This was as much her ranch as it was her brother and sisters’ and she needed to know how every phase of the place operated. Her heart thumping, her jaw set at a determined angle, she approached the next chicken with a glint in her eye that warned her she was going to be Sunday dinner if she so much as squawked. She didn’t.

When she didn’t see John for the rest of the afternoon, Elizabeth told herself it was probably for the best. He was an employee, and he was the type of man who wouldn’t ever let her forget that. Not that she wanted to, she reminded herself grimly. Spencer’s betrayal was still fresh in her mind and heart and probably would be for a long time.

The quickest way to get over one man is to find another.

She winced at the old adage. No. No. No! She wasn’t going there, wasn’t even going to consider it. If she knew nothing else about John Cassidy, she knew he wasn’t the kind of man a woman walked away from easily. Buck and Rainey would be back from their honeymoon in a month, and she didn’t know where she would be after that. Colorado? London? Maybe even California or New York. It all depended on where she decided to open her shop. Wherever it was, she wasn’t leaving her heart behind.

The matter settled, she spent the rest of the day in Buck’s office, acquainting herself with what it took to run the business end of the ranch, and she didn’t once look out the window for John. She thought she heard the tractor several times, but she determinedly pulled her attention back to the ranch’s financial statements.

By the time she shut the computer down, it was going on nine in the evening. After sitting at a desk for so many hours, she was stiff and sore and in desperate need of a long soak in the tub. When she stepped into her bedroom to collect her nightgown and robe, however, the thought of a bath flew right out of her head when she spied the note lying on her pillow.

A frown etched her brow. What the dickens was John up to? It had to be from him, of course—they were the only two people on the ranch. But why would he leave a note on her pillow? Or, for that matter, come into her bedroom? If he had something to say to her, all he had to do was knock on the office door—she’d been working at Buck’s desk all day.

Her heart in her throat, she stepped over to the bed and without touching it, studied the single piece of paper that had been folded in half. On the outside, her name was sloppily written in a script she didn’t recognize. She hadn’t seen John’s handwriting, but she would have thought that his would be neater.

Don’t touch it, a voice in her head warned. Go find him and see if he wrote the note.

Hesitating, she considered that option, but what if it really was from him? Then she’d feel like an idiot. Making a snap decision, she picked up the piece of paper and pulled it open.

LEAVE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!

Her blood suddenly pounding in her ears, she dropped the note lightning quick. John was responsible for this, she told herself, and desperately tried to believe it. He had access to the house and motive—he didn’t like answering to her. He probably thought that if he could convince her to leave, Buck would come back early from his honeymoon and he wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore.

As far as theories went, Elizabeth knew it was half-baked. But she wouldn’t allow herself to consider anything else when she was completely alone in the house and so scared she could taste it. Picking up the note by the corner with fingers that were far from steady, she hurried downstairs and outside to John’s cabin.