horse’s impressions proved easy to track, even if the same couldn’t be said for her mistress’s thoughts.
What weighs so heavy on her mind that she can’t sleep through the night?
Truly, no one had any business getting up so early unless they were working a roundup or on a cattle drive. For the life of him, Tucker couldn’t imagine why a member of the weaker gender—particularly one who’d endured a grueling journey through a downpour and should’ve been downright exhausted—would leave a soft, warm bed. The only thing he knew was that Jessalyn Culpepper was proving him right on one of the rare occasions he’d much rather be proven wrong.
Whether the woman intended to be a pain in the backside or not didn’t make much difference. Either way, this morning she continued what she’d begun when she stepped foot on the ranch—
causing me trouble when I’ve already got more than enough to take care of
.
As he reached the pasture, he pushed past surprise that he couldn’t see her yet. This particular area followed a curve in the typically straight landscape, dipping down to a river marking the far boundary. They’d gone through a fairly dry winter, so the low water level would make a bigger difference in the terrain than usual. If she’d made it that far, Tucker hadn’t missed her by a matter of mere minutes—she’d beat him by the better part of an hour.
A sudden movement caught his peripheral vision, making him turn. For a moment he saw only what he expected to see—a long line of fence picking its way through morning shadows across lush grass. Then the breeze shifted, and he spotted what caught his eye before—a thin strip of rag fluttered from the fence. Tucker pulled up short, eyes narrowed as he recalled a snippet of last night’s conversation.
“If you didn’t look like a cowboy, I never would have offered you a place in the bunkhouse or a job to finish,”
he’d chastised.
“Work I’ll need to reassign tomorrow.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
The promise Tucker so easily dismissed the night before came back with vindictive clarity, and he groaned.
She wouldn’t
. He tried to reassure himself, but the damaged fence lay before him, temporarily patched and flagged for fixing. The evidence waved in the wind, forcing him to reconsider.
Would she?
I did it!
Jess slid the fencing pliers back into their canvas bag, enjoying the soft clink as they rubbed against a few stray staples. In all fairness, there hadn’t been a surfeit of neglected stretches along the fence line. She’d discovered just two broken lines in need of attention and made only temporary repairs before marking them.
It would take at least two men the better part of two days to address the problem. They’d need to pull the posts clean out of the ground and stretch new lengths of wire high and tight between them. To Jess’s mind, there wasn’t really any such thing as “fixing” a barbed-wire fence. Once patched, it would have to be replaced.
As things stood, it took her longer than it should have to tend those two patches. Well, longer than it would’ve taken any of the ranch hands. But considering she hadn’t so much as glimpsed a length of barbed wire in seven years, and only helped her father a handful of times before that, Jess decided to give herself credit.
I remembered
. She pulled off the heavy leather gloves she’d snagged from the stables. The things were so large, she didn’t actually need to pull—they slid right off when she straightened her fingers. Jess crammed them into her saddlebag along with the fencing kit. Then she walked back and squatted down to inspect her handiwork. It hadn’t been easy, but after struggling to figure out how to handle the first one, she’d managed this one much quicker.
I’ll manage even better once I get gloves that fit
. Trying to grasp barbed wire proved tricky under the best of circumstances, so Jess hadn’t expected to walk away without a fair number of
What weighs so heavy on her mind that she can’t sleep through the night?
Truly, no one had any business getting up so early unless they were working a roundup or on a cattle drive. For the life of him, Tucker couldn’t imagine why a member of the weaker gender—particularly one who’d endured a grueling journey through a downpour and should’ve been downright exhausted—would leave a soft, warm bed. The only thing he knew was that Jessalyn Culpepper was proving him right on one of the rare occasions he’d much rather be proven wrong.
Whether the woman intended to be a pain in the backside or not didn’t make much difference. Either way, this morning she continued what she’d begun when she stepped foot on the ranch—
causing me trouble when I’ve already got more than enough to take care of
.
As he reached the pasture, he pushed past surprise that he couldn’t see her yet. This particular area followed a curve in the typically straight landscape, dipping down to a river marking the far boundary. They’d gone through a fairly dry winter, so the low water level would make a bigger difference in the terrain than usual. If she’d made it that far, Tucker hadn’t missed her by a matter of mere minutes—she’d beat him by the better part of an hour.
A sudden movement caught his peripheral vision, making him turn. For a moment he saw only what he expected to see—a long line of fence picking its way through morning shadows across lush grass. Then the breeze shifted, and he spotted what caught his eye before—a thin strip of rag fluttered from the fence. Tucker pulled up short, eyes narrowed as he recalled a snippet of last night’s conversation.
“If you didn’t look like a cowboy, I never would have offered you a place in the bunkhouse or a job to finish,”
he’d chastised.
“Work I’ll need to reassign tomorrow.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
The promise Tucker so easily dismissed the night before came back with vindictive clarity, and he groaned.
She wouldn’t
. He tried to reassure himself, but the damaged fence lay before him, temporarily patched and flagged for fixing. The evidence waved in the wind, forcing him to reconsider.
Would she?
I did it!
Jess slid the fencing pliers back into their canvas bag, enjoying the soft clink as they rubbed against a few stray staples. In all fairness, there hadn’t been a surfeit of neglected stretches along the fence line. She’d discovered just two broken lines in need of attention and made only temporary repairs before marking them.
It would take at least two men the better part of two days to address the problem. They’d need to pull the posts clean out of the ground and stretch new lengths of wire high and tight between them. To Jess’s mind, there wasn’t really any such thing as “fixing” a barbed-wire fence. Once patched, it would have to be replaced.
As things stood, it took her longer than it should have to tend those two patches. Well, longer than it would’ve taken any of the ranch hands. But considering she hadn’t so much as glimpsed a length of barbed wire in seven years, and only helped her father a handful of times before that, Jess decided to give herself credit.
I remembered
. She pulled off the heavy leather gloves she’d snagged from the stables. The things were so large, she didn’t actually need to pull—they slid right off when she straightened her fingers. Jess crammed them into her saddlebag along with the fencing kit. Then she walked back and squatted down to inspect her handiwork. It hadn’t been easy, but after struggling to figure out how to handle the first one, she’d managed this one much quicker.
I’ll manage even better once I get gloves that fit
. Trying to grasp barbed wire proved tricky under the best of circumstances, so Jess hadn’t expected to walk away without a fair number of
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