stared at him, fascinated. Was it just for Becky's benefit—a little white lie—or was he telling the truth?
He caught her intent scrutiny and grinned, his pale eyes making a joke of it. She smiled back, but something inside her closed up like a flower in the darkness: she'd wanted it to be true.
“Down this way,” Gabe said suddenly, turning Becky's mare. “I've got something to show you.”
There was a little path down to the creek, and near it were several cows with calves.
“Baby cows!” Becky burst out. “Could I pet one?”
“Oh, Gabe, no, those are longhorn cows!” protested Maggie, who'd once been chased by a mad mama longhorn.
“These are old pets,” Gabe replied easily, dismounting. “They won't hurt her. Come on, baby.”
He reached up his arms. Becky hesitated, but in the end she let him swing her to the ground. And this time he made sure she didn't see him grimace.
“These are just a few weeks old,” he told her, keeping between the young girl and the old cows. “Go easy, now. You can win over most any creature if you're just slow and careful and talk soft. Ask your mama.”
Maggie blushed furiously as he glanced over his shoulder with a mischievous grin.
Mercifully, Becky didn't understand what he was saying. Her wide eyes were on the calves. She moved close to a young one and touched it between the eyes, where it was silky. It tried to nibble on her hand, and she jerked back with a delighted laugh.
“Oh, isn't she pretty?” Becky cooed, doing it again.
“He,” Gabe corrected. “That youngster is going to grow up to be a good young bull.”
“Not a steer?” Maggie asked.
“Not this one. See the conformation?” he asked, gesturing toward the smooth lines of the young animal. “He's already breaking weight-gain ratio records. I want to breed this one.”
“How do you keep up with so many cattle?” Becky asked unexpectedly.
“I have a big computer in my office,” he told her. “I have every cow and calf I own on it. Ranching is moving into the twentieth century, honey. We don't use tally books too much anymore.”
“What's a tally book?”
He explained it to her, about the old-time method of counting cattle, about the days when every ranch owner would send a rep to roundup to make sure none of his cattle were being appropriated.
“That's still done in these parts, too,” he added, leaning against a tree to smoke a cigarette while Becky stroked the calf. “We have quite a crowd here when we start branding and moving cattle, and at the end of it I throw a big barbecue for the neighbors. We help each other out, even on a ranch this size.”
“Do you really use those airplanes to round up cattle?” Maggie asked.
“Sure. The helicopter, too. It's a great time-saver when you're moving thousands of head.” His pale eyes moved slowly down Maggie's body, over the white knit short-sleeved sweater and the neat jeans that hugged her rounded hips and long, elegant legs.
“It's hard work, too,” she said, burning under his frank appraisal.
“Very hard.” He lifted the cigarette to his mouth, glancing at Becky, who was talking softly to the calf while its mother watched with indulgent interest. “I get ill-tempered this time of year.”
“I did notice,” Maggie began.
He turned, crushing out the cigarette as he started toward her. “Did you?”
She backed up. Surely he wouldn't…not with Becky watching!
He intimidated her back against a large oak tree and kept her there with just his presence. “What was that,” he asked politely, “about noticing I was ill-tempered?”
“You would have sent me packing, but for your mother,” she reminded him.
“Not really.” He smiled at her gently. “You started getting under my skin all over again, that first day. I might have let you get as far as packing, but I'd have found an excuse to keep you here.”
Her heart began to run wild. Becky wasn't even watching.
Gabe moved a little closer, leaning one arm,
He caught her intent scrutiny and grinned, his pale eyes making a joke of it. She smiled back, but something inside her closed up like a flower in the darkness: she'd wanted it to be true.
“Down this way,” Gabe said suddenly, turning Becky's mare. “I've got something to show you.”
There was a little path down to the creek, and near it were several cows with calves.
“Baby cows!” Becky burst out. “Could I pet one?”
“Oh, Gabe, no, those are longhorn cows!” protested Maggie, who'd once been chased by a mad mama longhorn.
“These are old pets,” Gabe replied easily, dismounting. “They won't hurt her. Come on, baby.”
He reached up his arms. Becky hesitated, but in the end she let him swing her to the ground. And this time he made sure she didn't see him grimace.
“These are just a few weeks old,” he told her, keeping between the young girl and the old cows. “Go easy, now. You can win over most any creature if you're just slow and careful and talk soft. Ask your mama.”
Maggie blushed furiously as he glanced over his shoulder with a mischievous grin.
Mercifully, Becky didn't understand what he was saying. Her wide eyes were on the calves. She moved close to a young one and touched it between the eyes, where it was silky. It tried to nibble on her hand, and she jerked back with a delighted laugh.
“Oh, isn't she pretty?” Becky cooed, doing it again.
“He,” Gabe corrected. “That youngster is going to grow up to be a good young bull.”
“Not a steer?” Maggie asked.
“Not this one. See the conformation?” he asked, gesturing toward the smooth lines of the young animal. “He's already breaking weight-gain ratio records. I want to breed this one.”
“How do you keep up with so many cattle?” Becky asked unexpectedly.
“I have a big computer in my office,” he told her. “I have every cow and calf I own on it. Ranching is moving into the twentieth century, honey. We don't use tally books too much anymore.”
“What's a tally book?”
He explained it to her, about the old-time method of counting cattle, about the days when every ranch owner would send a rep to roundup to make sure none of his cattle were being appropriated.
“That's still done in these parts, too,” he added, leaning against a tree to smoke a cigarette while Becky stroked the calf. “We have quite a crowd here when we start branding and moving cattle, and at the end of it I throw a big barbecue for the neighbors. We help each other out, even on a ranch this size.”
“Do you really use those airplanes to round up cattle?” Maggie asked.
“Sure. The helicopter, too. It's a great time-saver when you're moving thousands of head.” His pale eyes moved slowly down Maggie's body, over the white knit short-sleeved sweater and the neat jeans that hugged her rounded hips and long, elegant legs.
“It's hard work, too,” she said, burning under his frank appraisal.
“Very hard.” He lifted the cigarette to his mouth, glancing at Becky, who was talking softly to the calf while its mother watched with indulgent interest. “I get ill-tempered this time of year.”
“I did notice,” Maggie began.
He turned, crushing out the cigarette as he started toward her. “Did you?”
She backed up. Surely he wouldn't…not with Becky watching!
He intimidated her back against a large oak tree and kept her there with just his presence. “What was that,” he asked politely, “about noticing I was ill-tempered?”
“You would have sent me packing, but for your mother,” she reminded him.
“Not really.” He smiled at her gently. “You started getting under my skin all over again, that first day. I might have let you get as far as packing, but I'd have found an excuse to keep you here.”
Her heart began to run wild. Becky wasn't even watching.
Gabe moved a little closer, leaning one arm,
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