works for me.”
Tiffany blushed. Was he actually flirting with her? That would be more than just the charming nature she’d guessed at, that would be highly inappropriate, particularly since he’d just been told she had a fiancé and she knew he did, too. Her . Was Hunter Callahan the Western equivalent of a ladies’ man? She didn’t like the thought and pushed it aside and focused on her mission.
“You heard what I require, Mr. Callahan?”
He continued along the path but took her arm gently to make sure she kept up with him this time. “Sure did. And call me Hunter.”
“You may call me Miss Fleming— not Red.”
He actually laughed before he asked, “What goes with Fleming?”
“Jennifer, but—”
“Jenny might do,” he allowed with a grin. “And keep in mind, this ain’t the city. We’re a lot less formal out here, but you’ll get used to it.”
Less formal was an understatement. But she had to admit he had a point. She wasn’t just pretending to be a different person, she was assuming a role, that of an employee. She had to adjust to the Callahans, do things their way, not the other way around. At least, when they insisted, as Hunter seemed to be doing with the annoying nicknames he kept giving her.
When they reached the back of the house, she saw the ranch spread out before her—stables, corrals and holding pens, the bunkhouse where they were heading, the vegetable garden that Old Ed had apparently planted and fenced in before he left. There were other outbuildings, storage sheds, even a washhousefor laundry and lines spread with bedding and male apparel. She wondered if her father’s ranch looked like this, almost a self-sufficient community.
“How many cowboys are available?” she asked, hoping for the small army she was going to need.
“There’s seven hands who just rode in with me from the range. Three other men stay out with the herd at night.”
She was expecting a much larger number. “That’s enough men for a herd as large as Cole said you have?”
“More’n enough when my brothers and I work, too.”
“Does their day usually end this early?”
“It ain’t early, but we do start early. Now are you ready to be disappointed?” Hunter asked with a grin.
Tiffany grit her teeth. His humor, in this case, was annoying. “You said this will be amusing?” she remarked as he reached for the door to the bunkhouse. “That implies you don’t think it’s possible?”
“Sure don’t.”
“You like living in a pigsty?”
“Stop exaggerating. We work outdoors. Can’t help tracking a little mud in the house after a rainy day.”
Yet one word from him would correct the matter before the sun set. He was the owner’s oldest son, after all. The cowboys might complain, but they’d do as he ordered. It was actually Hunter she needed to convince. . . .
“It’s far more than—”
She didn’t get a chance to clarify her point. The moment Hunter opened the door, he pulled her inside and said to the room at large, “Listen up. The lady here has something to say to you.”
He might as well have added, “Don’t laugh too hard.” Thecurve of his lips said it clearly. But the cowboys weren’t laughing yet. Some were lying on their cots, some were playing cards in the back of the long building, and some were filling plates from a cauldron hung in the fireplace. There was a cook on the premises? But suddenly all of the cowboys were simply staring at Tiffany. She just needed to be concise—and maybe smile.
She started with the smile. “This may seem like an odd request to you, but I need some volunteers to work briefly at the big house. If everyone pitches in, we could be finished in a few hours.”
“What sort o’ work?” someone asked.
Encouraged, she said, “A lot. The furniture will need to be taken outside, scrubbed with soap and water, and the cushions aired out. The chimney is going to have to be cleaned and then the resulting soot removed from the room.
Tiffany blushed. Was he actually flirting with her? That would be more than just the charming nature she’d guessed at, that would be highly inappropriate, particularly since he’d just been told she had a fiancé and she knew he did, too. Her . Was Hunter Callahan the Western equivalent of a ladies’ man? She didn’t like the thought and pushed it aside and focused on her mission.
“You heard what I require, Mr. Callahan?”
He continued along the path but took her arm gently to make sure she kept up with him this time. “Sure did. And call me Hunter.”
“You may call me Miss Fleming— not Red.”
He actually laughed before he asked, “What goes with Fleming?”
“Jennifer, but—”
“Jenny might do,” he allowed with a grin. “And keep in mind, this ain’t the city. We’re a lot less formal out here, but you’ll get used to it.”
Less formal was an understatement. But she had to admit he had a point. She wasn’t just pretending to be a different person, she was assuming a role, that of an employee. She had to adjust to the Callahans, do things their way, not the other way around. At least, when they insisted, as Hunter seemed to be doing with the annoying nicknames he kept giving her.
When they reached the back of the house, she saw the ranch spread out before her—stables, corrals and holding pens, the bunkhouse where they were heading, the vegetable garden that Old Ed had apparently planted and fenced in before he left. There were other outbuildings, storage sheds, even a washhousefor laundry and lines spread with bedding and male apparel. She wondered if her father’s ranch looked like this, almost a self-sufficient community.
“How many cowboys are available?” she asked, hoping for the small army she was going to need.
“There’s seven hands who just rode in with me from the range. Three other men stay out with the herd at night.”
She was expecting a much larger number. “That’s enough men for a herd as large as Cole said you have?”
“More’n enough when my brothers and I work, too.”
“Does their day usually end this early?”
“It ain’t early, but we do start early. Now are you ready to be disappointed?” Hunter asked with a grin.
Tiffany grit her teeth. His humor, in this case, was annoying. “You said this will be amusing?” she remarked as he reached for the door to the bunkhouse. “That implies you don’t think it’s possible?”
“Sure don’t.”
“You like living in a pigsty?”
“Stop exaggerating. We work outdoors. Can’t help tracking a little mud in the house after a rainy day.”
Yet one word from him would correct the matter before the sun set. He was the owner’s oldest son, after all. The cowboys might complain, but they’d do as he ordered. It was actually Hunter she needed to convince. . . .
“It’s far more than—”
She didn’t get a chance to clarify her point. The moment Hunter opened the door, he pulled her inside and said to the room at large, “Listen up. The lady here has something to say to you.”
He might as well have added, “Don’t laugh too hard.” Thecurve of his lips said it clearly. But the cowboys weren’t laughing yet. Some were lying on their cots, some were playing cards in the back of the long building, and some were filling plates from a cauldron hung in the fireplace. There was a cook on the premises? But suddenly all of the cowboys were simply staring at Tiffany. She just needed to be concise—and maybe smile.
She started with the smile. “This may seem like an odd request to you, but I need some volunteers to work briefly at the big house. If everyone pitches in, we could be finished in a few hours.”
“What sort o’ work?” someone asked.
Encouraged, she said, “A lot. The furniture will need to be taken outside, scrubbed with soap and water, and the cushions aired out. The chimney is going to have to be cleaned and then the resulting soot removed from the room.
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