Rode Hard, Put Up Wet: Cowboy Romance (Rebels & Outlaws 2)

Whether it was the obvious assumption that she couldn't do the work, and she did, or it was just his general lack of regard for people in her profession, she couldn't say. But she could say one thing for sure, and that was that he was practically eating out of the palm of her hand.

Now she just had to help out a little while longer, they'd sit down, and she'd start talking. By the time he was done, with the rapport she'd earned for herself, she'd be able to walk off with a deal signed. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But soon. Very soon indeed.

She wipes the sweat from her forehead, lifts the rail up and slots it into the post. On the other side, Callahan seats the next post in the holes. Morgan can almost see, a ways down, the boys digging the holes.

It's hard to be sure, but for all that they're far away, and for all that they're not being supervised, they're working hard enough. If Morgan had a hundred of them, then she'd have the factories built in no time.

But she doesn't. She has an insubordinate cuss who can't be bothered to inspect the grounds.

"You need a break?" Callahan's not breathing as hard as she is, but he's not breathing easy, either.

"Not unless you need one," she says. She just ignores the burning in her chest. She's worked harder than this before. Working the factory floor was faster. You barely even had time to take a breath.

He looks at her a long minute; Morgan thinks that he's trying to decide how she's feeling. He shouldn't be worrying about her, though. She's going to be fine. She's worked every job at Lowe Industrial, and half of her time was day labor. She's done this before. Worse than this.

"Take five," he says. Growls, more like. "You want a cup of water?"

"If you're offering, sure." She tries to make it sound like she hasn't thought of it, like she's completely nonchalant about it. Just the word water cools her throat. She can hardly imagine how the stuff will taste. Like manna from Heaven.

Callahan gestures with his head for her to follow and heads for the truck. He pulls her seat forward and out of the back, like a miracle, comes a big orange jug. He pours a paper cup full of cool, clear water and hands it over to her.

She pulls the gloves off to take the cup from him, and for a moment their skin touches. It's unpleasantly electric and for a moment she feels a shiver run through her. She wouldn't mind doing it again.

Instead, she swallows down the water in two big mouthfuls, each better-tasting than she'd thought it was possible for water to taste.

She leans against the truck.

"Why are you hear, Mrs. Lowe?"

"Miss," she says. She shows him her finger. It's bare. It's been bare since the engagement party where she'd found out that her taste in men wasn't very good, and ever since she'd found out that men weren't very reliable.

You tend to find these things out when your fiancé gets caught with a woman's thighs wrapped around him. At your engagement party. By your father.

Callahan looks at the hand and looks at her, and doesn't seem to know how to respond. "You didn't answer my question."

"You know why I'm here. I'm here to talk to you about what it would take to buy your land."

"I already told you—"

"You're not selling. I know. You told me. Is it a matter of price? You can buy more land. Hell, we own a little plot north of here. Nothing we can do with it. Zoned agricultural, and in spite of our best efforts, that's not changing. We could sell it to you for a real sweetheart deal, plus a little extra for your troubles."

He takes a breath and looks at her. It's troubling, the way he looks at her, because it's the way that Evan used to look at her, once. That, mixed in with the expression of a man who isn't going to sell you his property.

"It's not the price. I'm sure you could afford what the land's worth."

"The horses, then? They need a place to stay. That's absolutely true. They need a place, and you need a place to keep them."

"That's absolutely true. It's not the horses."

"What is it, then?"

His eyes shift for a moment. Away from Morgan, over to the horizon. Only for a moment, as if some movement's caught his eye.

"I ought to get back to work."

Morgan slips the gloves back on, turning to look back. There's nothing moving on the horizon. Just a little hill, off in the distance. There's a little tree there, maybe only five feet tall. A little thing. But there's nothing to see there.

Then she takes a breath. It's time to get back to work, he says. Well, he's right. It's time to get back to work, and if he's working, then she's working, because he hasn't said yes, yet. And he hasn't told her to leave.