Perfect Touch by Elizabeth Lowell Page A

here today to clean and cook meals for the week.”
    By the time they had gathered what they would need for the trail, the sun was just up, flooding over the mountains, making everything come alive. The green of the grassland was edged in gold, dew scattering the light. The hush was broken only by a horse snorting in the corral.
    â€œTimes like this, I feel like the richest, luckiest man alive,” Jay said. “A whole day of riding ahead and a beautiful ranch waiting for me.”
    â€œYou forgot your cowboy boots,” she said.
    He looked at the battered, comfortable lace-up boots he had worn through mountains half a world away. “These are just as good in the saddle and way more versatile on the ground. Sort of like your boots.”
    She smiled and stretched. “I love riding. The ranching . . .” She shrugged. “Not so much.”
    Despite her words, he enjoyed the sight of her stretching toward the dawn. She was wearing her own jeans and light hiking boots, one of his mother’s flannel shirts and a going-to-town Stetson, plus a jacket that had once belonged to a much-younger Jay. None of it fully concealed Sara’s female line. Watching her leaning against the top rail of the corral pleased him as much as the dawn.
    The more he was with her, the more he liked her. Wanted her.
    And knew it was a really bad idea.
    I went all over the world and discovered the ranch is my home. She went all over the world and discovered the city is hers. I should be old enough not to start something that will end badly.
    But I’ve never wanted anything like I want her.
    Absently he petted Skunk and Lightfoot, who were watching him intently, waiting for their first orders. The instant Henry had started saddling horses, the dogs had known they would be working today. Except to the dogs, work was the finest kind of play.
    Jay took the rifle he had brought from the gun safe in the house. He went to the big chestnut gelding called Amble and slid the rifle into its saddle sheath. Then he swung the saddlebags up onto the horse and tied them in place.
    â€œThe bay mare is Jezebel,” he said while he worked. “The strawberry roan gelding is Mooch.”
    â€œWhich one has the best cow sense?” Sara asked.
    â€œJezebel.”
    â€œWhat is Mooch’s claim to fame?”
    â€œHe’s as even-tempered as a rock.”
    Since Mooch was closer, she went to him. With calm, easy motions,she checked the gelding’s feet. His shoes were well worn but secure on his hooves. No stones were caught between steel and hoof. Next she adjusted the length of the stirrups, tightened the saddle cinch, made sure that the buckles on the bridle were secure, gathered the reins, and stepped into the stirrup.
    During the whole process, Mooch flicked one ear.
    Every motion Sara made told Jay that she was used to horses. He concentrated on checking the tack on his own ride. The cinch was a bit loose and one stirrup was too long.
    Henry’s hands must have been sore from pulling wire, Jay thought as he tightened the cinch and adjusted the stirrup. I should have insisted that he let me get the horses ready.
    But the foreman was a proud man. It was better if Jay checked everything than to point out that the foreman sometimes wasn’t quite getting the job done.
    Jay opened the saddle canteen. The water was fresh, as cold as the morning. A second big canteen held coffee hot and strong enough to float a horseshoe.
    Henry still makes the best coffee around, Jay thought. For that, I’ll tighten a cinch or two without complaining.
    Across the corral Sara kicked Mooch into a trot and tested his response to the reins. After a minute or two she brought him back and tied him next to Jezebel.
    Jay watched her change horses, repeat the inspection of animal and tack, mount with the grace of experience, and put Jezebel through her paces. Very quickly she came back to where he waited.
    â€œI’ll take Jezebel.