controlled that it had no tone at all. “He works for me part-time.”
“I told you not to hire him.”
The wrench clanged against the ring. She readjusted the jaws, took a better grip, and tightened the coupling with a vicious downward yank.
“Well, baby doll? Didn’t I tell you?”
“Do I tell you how to run your ranch?” she asked, shifting her grip for another yank.
“I’m a man.”
“The day you run your ranch using nothing but your gonads is the day I’ll listen to that argument,” she said coldly. “Until then, I’ll run my ranch like any normal person would—with my brain and my hands . ”
She yanked down again. The coupling was so tight that it all but sang with tension.
With practiced motions she loosened the wrench, removed it, and propped it against the generator. Time to prime the pump. She grabbed a bucket and went to the trough.
Turner watched her without moving or speaking.
He didn’t have to say a word. She could tell by the color of his face and the set of his jaw that he was furious. His blue eyes looked pale against his flushed cheeks.
“Fire Rio,” Turner snarled.
“No.”
Hope labored over the pump and generator. Finally she got the crank to turn hard and fast enough to start the balky engine. The pump sputtered, the hose shuddered, and water began sliding through canvas into the empty truck. The muted thunder of water filling the truck normally soothed her. Today she barely heard it for the angry roaring of blood in her own ears.
“You like using my water?” Turner asked.
The fear that leaped inside Hope didn’t show in her face. “Are you saying that if I don’t fire Rio, you’ll shut off the water?”
Turner hesitated. Put that bluntly, it didn’t sound reasonable or even particularly rational. As far as he was concerned, Hope’s struggle to keep the Valley of the Sun alive was irritating and laughable, but it had attracted more than a little admiration in the closed community of western cattle ranchers. When people found out that he had refused to give her water—water that he didn’t need—simply because she had hired a drifter to find a well, Turner would be the butt of hostile gossip and outright contempt among the other ranchers.
“No decent woman would be alone with Rio,” Turner said tightly.
“Why?” Hope tried not to show her temper. She failed. She was tired and furious, a combination that loosened her tongue. “Does Rio promise to marry a naive eighteen-year-old, invite her over for birthday champagne, and maul her until she’s bruised and screaming? Then does Rio shove a hundred-dollar bill into the girl’s blouse and tell her he’s engaged, but he’ll be around later to collect the rest of what’s owed him?”
“That’s got nothing to do with—”
“You asked,” she shot back, “and I’m telling you.” She faced him with hazel eyes that were harder and less feeling than glass. “After the mauling and insulting, does Rio’s father drive the girl home, lecturing her the whole way on how she can’t expect to marry above herself?”
Turner made a wide gesture with his right hand, sweeping aside her words. “Rio’s no goddamn good. He’s got women all over the West.”
“Are they complaining?”
Turner shrugged impatiently. “Who the hell cares?”
“If the women like it and Rio likes it,” Hope said neutrally, “what’s the problem?”
“They aren’t my women. You are.”
“No,” she said curtly. “I’m not.”
“Bullshit, baby doll. You’re mine. You want me. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“Well, we agree on one thing. Bullshit. ”
Turner’s flush deepened. “Listen, I’ve had enough of your holier-than-thou act. Your mother was a drunk, your father was a loser, and your sister was a slut with a reputation from here to Los Angeles. Hell, even your grandparents weren’t much more than dirt farmers.”
“Thank you,” she said sardonically. “Always nice to know your
“I told you not to hire him.”
The wrench clanged against the ring. She readjusted the jaws, took a better grip, and tightened the coupling with a vicious downward yank.
“Well, baby doll? Didn’t I tell you?”
“Do I tell you how to run your ranch?” she asked, shifting her grip for another yank.
“I’m a man.”
“The day you run your ranch using nothing but your gonads is the day I’ll listen to that argument,” she said coldly. “Until then, I’ll run my ranch like any normal person would—with my brain and my hands . ”
She yanked down again. The coupling was so tight that it all but sang with tension.
With practiced motions she loosened the wrench, removed it, and propped it against the generator. Time to prime the pump. She grabbed a bucket and went to the trough.
Turner watched her without moving or speaking.
He didn’t have to say a word. She could tell by the color of his face and the set of his jaw that he was furious. His blue eyes looked pale against his flushed cheeks.
“Fire Rio,” Turner snarled.
“No.”
Hope labored over the pump and generator. Finally she got the crank to turn hard and fast enough to start the balky engine. The pump sputtered, the hose shuddered, and water began sliding through canvas into the empty truck. The muted thunder of water filling the truck normally soothed her. Today she barely heard it for the angry roaring of blood in her own ears.
“You like using my water?” Turner asked.
The fear that leaped inside Hope didn’t show in her face. “Are you saying that if I don’t fire Rio, you’ll shut off the water?”
Turner hesitated. Put that bluntly, it didn’t sound reasonable or even particularly rational. As far as he was concerned, Hope’s struggle to keep the Valley of the Sun alive was irritating and laughable, but it had attracted more than a little admiration in the closed community of western cattle ranchers. When people found out that he had refused to give her water—water that he didn’t need—simply because she had hired a drifter to find a well, Turner would be the butt of hostile gossip and outright contempt among the other ranchers.
“No decent woman would be alone with Rio,” Turner said tightly.
“Why?” Hope tried not to show her temper. She failed. She was tired and furious, a combination that loosened her tongue. “Does Rio promise to marry a naive eighteen-year-old, invite her over for birthday champagne, and maul her until she’s bruised and screaming? Then does Rio shove a hundred-dollar bill into the girl’s blouse and tell her he’s engaged, but he’ll be around later to collect the rest of what’s owed him?”
“That’s got nothing to do with—”
“You asked,” she shot back, “and I’m telling you.” She faced him with hazel eyes that were harder and less feeling than glass. “After the mauling and insulting, does Rio’s father drive the girl home, lecturing her the whole way on how she can’t expect to marry above herself?”
Turner made a wide gesture with his right hand, sweeping aside her words. “Rio’s no goddamn good. He’s got women all over the West.”
“Are they complaining?”
Turner shrugged impatiently. “Who the hell cares?”
“If the women like it and Rio likes it,” Hope said neutrally, “what’s the problem?”
“They aren’t my women. You are.”
“No,” she said curtly. “I’m not.”
“Bullshit, baby doll. You’re mine. You want me. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“Well, we agree on one thing. Bullshit. ”
Turner’s flush deepened. “Listen, I’ve had enough of your holier-than-thou act. Your mother was a drunk, your father was a loser, and your sister was a slut with a reputation from here to Los Angeles. Hell, even your grandparents weren’t much more than dirt farmers.”
“Thank you,” she said sardonically. “Always nice to know your
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