Ain't No Angel by Peggy L Henderson Page B

corner. Other than tack and saddles that were haphazardly piled around everywhere, the rest of the room was rather bare. This was most definitely a man’s domain. Simple and minimalistic, but it had so much potential with the right decorator. 
    Golden light shone in through a glass-paned window, which offered a breathtaking view of the corrals and barns. Laney headed toward the kitchen, which was no more than a large alcove and looked to have been added on to the house after it was built. How on earth was she going to figure out how to use that cast-iron cooking stove? Tentatively, she peered through the grate at the bottom where she assumed the fire would be lit. A wash table lined one wall, complete with a large-handled pump. The sink was nothing but a wooden basin that held a porcelain bowl. There was no drain. Shelves lined the wall, and held countless tin cans, and some plates and bowls. She tentatively opened the small cabinet to find pots and pans and more utensils.
    Laney blew out a long breath of air through her open mouth. She would learn how to cook on this stove, dammit. Maybe the guy who fixed meals at the bunkhouse would be willing to show her how. Her stomach growled loudly at the thought of food, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. After talking to Tyler at the corral yesterday, she’d rushed back to the house and into her room. She’d almost cried in front of him after hinting about her horrid past, and had to get away. If Tyler brought food, she couldn’t remember. He certainly hadn’t disturbed her. She’d fallen into a restless sleep until well into the night, and awoke from the loud noise those cowboys made outside.
    Her eyes fell to the square table in the center of the small space. A plate sat on the wooden surface, covered with a red and white-checkered cloth. A piece of paper lay next to the plate.
    Thought you might be hungry this morning
    The note was scrawled in pencil and looked to have been written in haste, but a warm feeling rushed through her. When had a guy ever been thoughtful enough to do something like this?
    Laney pulled the covering off the plate to reveal several biscuits along with something that vaguely resembled bacon and potatoes swimming in grease. Famished, she didn’t care what it was and dug in.  She ate nearly half the food, trying her best to fish out the chunks of potato from the oily ooze.
    A horse whinnied. It was time to head outside. Maybe she’d find Tyler in one of the barns. After a quick detour to the outhouse that sat a short distance behind the house, Laney made her way past the first corrals and headed toward one of several barns further down the lane. Horses grazed contently, their occasional snorts and the squeaking of the windmill blades the only sounds that disrupted the otherwise peaceful quiet. 
    When she reached the first barn, the rhythmic cadence of a cantering horse reached her ears. Curious, Laney moved around to the back of the barn. A large round pen came into view. A saddled, dark bay horse loped in a circle inside the perimeter of the pen. A man sat on the top rail of the fence, and another man stood in the center. Laney’s heart sped up unexpectedly. Tyler.
    Hesitantly, she moved closer. Tyler’s body pivoted, following the movement of the horse as it ran around him. He held a lasso in his hand, and whenever the horse slowed its pace, Tyler tossed the end of the rope at the horse’s hind legs to make it speed up again. Every now and then, he stepped forward and in front of the horse, holding his hand up, and the animal turned and changed direction. Tyler immediately waved his arm at the horse to canter off again.
    Laney watched, mesmerized. Tyler seemed to know a split second before the horse wanted to slow down or turn in the other direction, and with the way he stepped forward or turned, or moved his hands, communicated to the animal what he wanted it to do. Her feet carried her to the edge of the pen