In Bed with the Wrangler by Barbara Dunlop Page A

that.”
    “He’s too busy…Hey! Did you wash the ears?”
    Royce and Amber glanced at each other in amusement.
    “Mac,” Royce tried.
    “What now?” MacQuestin grumbled.
    “You know anything about Sagittarius Eclipse?”
    There was a silence, during which their amusement turned to concern.
    “I paid ’em,” said McQuestin, obviously angry. “What else would a man do?”
    “What exactly did you pay them for?”
    McQuestin snorted. “You tell Benteen…” Then his voice turned to a growl. “Somebody should have shot the damn dog yesterday.”
    Maddy’s voice came back. “Can this wait, Royce? You’re really upsetting him.”
    “I’m sorry, Maddy. Of course it can wait. Keep me posted, okay?”
    “Will do.” McQuestin’s voice still ebbed and flowed in the background. “Better go.”
    Royce signed off.
    “Who’s Benteen?” asked Amber.
    Royce’s voice was thoughtful, and he placed the phoneback in his pocket. “My grandfather. He died earlier this year. You think you could dig a little deeper into this?”
    Amber nodded. Her curiosity was piqued. She’d like nothing better than to sleuth around Sagittarius Eclipse and figure out its relationship to the Ryder Ranch.

Seven
    “R oyce?”
    Royce’s body reacted to the sound of Amber’s voice. He hefted a hay bale onto the stack, positioning it correctly before acknowledging her presence.
    “Yeah?” He didn’t turn to look at her. It was easier for him to cope if only one of his senses was engaged with her at a time. He only hoped she’d keep her sweet scent on the far side of the barn.
    Her footsteps echoed. So much for that plan.
    “I didn’t find any more information,” she said. “I’m going to have to try again tomorrow.”
    He nodded, moving to the truckload of hay bales, keeping his gaze fixed on his objective.
    “It’s getting late,” she ventured, and there was a vulnerability in her voice that made his predicament even worse. Though he didn’t look at her now, an imageof her this afternoon, in that short denim skirt, a peach tank top, her blond hair cascading softly around her bare shoulders, was stuck deep in the base of his brain. It was going to take dynamite to blast it out.
    “I know.” He gave the short answer.
    “What are you doing?”
    He grabbed the next bale, binder twine pressing against the reinforced palms of his leather work gloves. “Moving hay bales.”
    He retraced his steps. Extreme physical work was his only hope of getting any sleep tonight. If he wasn’t dead-dog exhausted, he’d do nothing but lie awake and think about Amber sleeping across the hall.
    “Is it that important?” she pressed.
    “Horses have to eat.”
    “But do you—”
    “Is there something you need?” he asked brusquely.
    Her silence echoed between them, and he felt like a heel.
    “No,” she finally answered in a soft voice. “It’s just…”
    He didn’t prompt her, hoping she’d take the hint and leave. He’d never found himself so intensely attracted to a woman, and it was physically painful to fight it.
    “I’m surprised is all,” she continued.
    He mentally rolled his eyes. Couldn’t the woman take a hint? Did she like that she was making him crazy? Was she one of those teases that got her jollies out of tempting a man then turning up her prissy little nose at his advances?
    “When you said you had to babysit the ranch—”
    How the hell long was she going to keep this up?
    “—I thought you meant in a more managerial sense. I mean, can’t somebody else move the hay?”
    He turned to look at her then. Damn it, she was still wearing that sexy outfit. Only it was worse now, because the cool evening air had hardened her nipples, and they were highlighted against the soft cotton where she stood in the pool of overhead light.
    The air whooshed right out of his lungs, and he almost dropped the bale.
    “I’d rather do it myself,” he finally ground out.
    “I see.” She held his gaze. There was something soft