Rancher Under Fire

Jackson nodded, his heart still beating faster than normal at the close call.

Hailey skidded to a stop beside him. “Daddy, did the lady get hurt?”

He smiled at his daughter and brushed his hand across her head, and then Jackson studied the woman for a moment. At six foot two, he normally towered over most females, but this one appeared to be less than a half foot shorter than him. Her olive complexion and black eyes verified her Hispanic heritage. Wisps of dark brown hair curled around her oval face, giving her a softer appearance than Jackson expected from such a fireball.

“Look. I’m sorry. I really didn’t see your daughter—or the horse—until it ran in front of me. It’s just that...” She glanced toward the ranch’s entrance again then pursed her lips. “Never mind.”

The woman lifted a finger to her nose and a tiny sneeze squeaked past her pink lips.

Jackson blinked. He’d never heard such a feminine sound before.

“My, there’s a lot of dust out here.” She waved her hand in front of her face.

“Yeah.” Jackson straightened. “Especially when someone drives too fast and fishtails on the gravel.” Or when it didn’t rain for weeks, but he let that thought slide.

The woman hiked her chin; the fire in her eyes brightened. “Sorry if I was going too fast. You don’t exactly have a speed-limit sign posted. I’ve been driving up and down these country roads for hours, trying to find this place. Not to mention—” She jerked a tissue out of the pocket of her navy business suit and stuffed it under her pert nose just as another sneeze squeaked out.

“Why didn’t you stop and ask somebody? Everyone around these parts knows where Angelfire Ranch is.” Why did men always get blamed for not asking directions when women were just as bad?

Her chin lifted again. “I had a map. But obviously whoever faxed it to me didn’t know how to draw intelligent directions.” She ducked into her car, grabbed a piece of paper, then waved it in his face. “See?”

Jackson instantly recognized the map to his ranch printed on Angelfire letterhead. An ominous feeling, like overthrowing the final pass that would have won his team the play-off game, settled in his gut.

“Why don’t y’all quit fussin’?” Hailey held out her hand to the woman and smiled. “I’m Hailey Durant. This is my daddy. Did you know he was a famous football player?”

The woman blinked at him, and then the color left her cheeks, leaving it to resemble the milky coffee Hailey occasionally drank. “You’re J. D. Durant—ex–Texas Tornados quarterback?”

“Folks around here call me Jackson.” He gave Hailey a stern look. He should have scolded his daughter for her outspokenness, but his mind was too busy racing, trying to figure out what business this citified woman had with him. Today was Thursday, and nobody had an appointment scheduled to view his horses until the weekend. Besides, she didn’t exactly seem as though she was in the market to buy a horse.

“You sure don’t look much like your football pictures.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. Had the paparazzi tracked him down again? “People change after six years.” He pulled his hat lower on his forehead. His looks weren’t the only way he’d changed; his heart and lifestyle had both taken a one-eighty. “Just who are you, anyway?”

“Uh—” the woman licked her pink lips “—I’m Mariah Louisa Reyes.”

Mariah Reyes. The name didn’t ring any bells. Should he know her? A memory invaded his mind—of a phone call several weeks back. A memory of a reporter from the Dallas Observer visiting the ranch so he could write an article on Angelfire. Something Jackson had regretfully allowed his brother, Evan, to cajole him into.

“Are you the reporter?” Hailey asked. “Uncle Evan said you’d be coming.”

What was that reporter’s name? Rayburn—something. Raymond? Reyes? The uneasy feeling in Jackson’s belly swirled faster than an Oklahoma tornado.

No!

“Yes,” the woman said. “I work for the Dallas Observer. I’m supposed to stay here for a few days and observe how you gentle and train horses for rodeos for a story I’m writing.” She moved a step to the side, winced and met Jackson’s gaze, her black eyes shining like polished onyx. “People will be fascinated to learn how your life has changed since you quarterbacked the Tornados, Mr. Durant. The story will run in our Where Are They Now? series.”

“Oh, goodie,” Hailey squealed, bouncing up and down, clapping her hands together. “You’re gonna be in the paper, Daddy.”

Great. Where Are They Now? series? Caution crept up his spine. He’d worked hard to maintain his privacy the past years since moving to the ranch and didn’t want strangers knowing where he lived. Besides, that article didn’t sound like one that would promote the ranch—and that was his only reason for agreeing to it. Jackson cleared his throat. “You’re the same reporter who talked to my brother, Evan Durant, and made arrangements to come here?”

The woman nodded.

He yanked off his hat and smacked it against his leg. “But I thought you were a man.”

Ms. Reyes heaved a derisive snort. “Not hardly. Whatever gave you that idea?”

Where had he come up with it? Evidently he’d made a false assumption—or had his brother purposely led him in that direction, knowing he’d never allow a woman to stay at Angelfire? Evan was going to get a tongue-lashing. His brother knew he avoided women whenever possible, and he couldn’t believe that Evan would make arrangements for one to stay at the ranch. Jackson never would have agreed to an interview if he’d known he’d be stuck with this prissy female.

He’d left the football high life and all its painful memories behind when he inherited the ranch from his uncle. And he certainly didn’t want to spend even a few days in the company of a beautiful woman. The last time he did that, his life had turned upside down and inside out. He shut his eyes, refusing to think again of the woman he’d let into his life years earlier—the one who’d nearly destroyed him.

Curling the rim of his hat, he studied the dust on his boots. Dust this feisty female had stirred up. Somehow, Jackson had the feeling dirt wasn’t the only thing this lovely, outspoken reporter would stir up. He just hoped she didn’t dig up any dirt from his past. He preferred to keep that buried.

He smacked his hat against his leg again. His daughter had nearly gotten killed. His filly had galloped off, and his dog had come close to getting run over. Better to end this now before it got any more out of hand. Jackson slapped his hat onto his head and glared at the reporter. “Ma’am, you can just head back to Dallas and forget about that interview.”

TWO

Mariah couldn’t voice the words that came to her mind with a child present. She’d finally drawn her first travel assignment, only to end up in the middle of Who-Knows-Where, Oklahoma, chased by a crazy person in a truck, with her beloved Mustang wrapped around a tree. And now this.

She narrowed her eyes and glared at J. D. Durant. She wasn’t about to let this washed-up jock-turned-rancher chase her away or frustrate her any more than he already had. Moving slowly and testing each limb for pain, she ducked into the car. She pushed back the deflated air bag and sneezed again as the white powder danced in the air. Kneeling on the driver’s seat, she reached across to the passenger’s seat to grab her handbag. A sharp burning sensation exploded in her knee, sending pain throughout her leg. She sucked in a sharp gasp and backed out. As if sharing her hurt, the car door uttered an eerie, unnatural screech when she forced it shut.

Scowling at Jackson Durant, she limped to the rear of her car. With great effort, she willed the trembling in her hands to stop, pressed the button on the remote and popped open the trunk. At least the rear end of the car had avoided damage.

Hard footsteps marched toward her, sending her pulse racing. J.D. hovered beside her, breathing loudly. A flash of her father, doing the same right before he knocked her silly, sent a shiver scurrying along her spine.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His deep voice buzzed her ears like an angry hornet. Steeling herself, Mariah ignored Mr. Durant and grabbed her largest bag. Giving it a hard yank, she pulled it from the trunk then dropped it to the ground. She turned around and reached in for her tote bag.

Sunshine entered her peripheral vision for a moment as Mr. Durant bent and picked up her suitcase, then tossed it back into the trunk.

“I said there isn’t going to be an interview, so there’s no point in you staying.”

Mariah straightened and, for the first time, realized what an imposing figure Jackson Durant presented up close. His photos didn’t do him justice—or maybe the country life agreed with him. With that dusty cowboy hat on his head he had to be close to a foot taller than her. Eyes amazingly similar to the dark blue of the Texas Tornados’ football uniform blazed at her, daring her to argue. An angular jaw framed a handsome tanned face, and his pleasingly straight nose looked out of place on an athlete. Dark brows that matched thick hair the color of black coffee arched as she continued to study him.

Rattled for a nanosecond, she regrouped and returned his stare, leaning even closer. A victorious smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Just how do you propose I leave?”

His eyes flickered with confusion for a brief moment then opened wider as understanding dawned. A muscle quivered in his jaw. His lips tightened into a pale line, revealing a pair of intriguing dimples in his cheeks.

At least one good thing would come from her car being almost totaled—she just might stay at Angelfire Ranch long enough to get her story. It had been at least an hour’s drive since she’d passed a motel of any sort and much longer since seeing a decent one.

“I’m stranded,” she said, not even trying to keep victory from her voice.

“She’s right, Daddy.” The young girl sidled up to her father and took his hand. “Her car’s all smashed up, so she cain’t leave.”

“‘Can’t,’ not ‘cain’t.’” Jackson smiled down at his daughter, but his lips slipped in a frown again as his gaze returned to Mariah.

What would it feel like to be on the receiving end of his heart-stopping smile? She’d seen plenty of them in the old photos she’d studied while researching him. She shook her head. Collecting smiles from an ex-superstar wasn’t why she was here. She had a story to write.

He stared off in the distance, a muscle in his jaw twitching. His lips curled in resolve. “I’d offer to take you to town until your car’s repaired, but there isn’t a motel within sixty miles of here. I reckon you’ll have to stay here while we see about getting it fixed. But no story.” Arms crossed over his wide chest, he glared down at her, leaving no room for objection.

“Thanks for your...um...gracious offer.” Her sarcasm prompted another scowl from him. Why did she do that? Rub salt in a wound. Maybe because as a child, she’d never been able to fight back. Maybe because she’d never had luck with men, especially confident, wealthy ones. Business execs always wanted something in return for a night on the town—something she was unwilling to give. Sports jocks were even worse. Arrogant. Cocky. So full of themselves there wasn’t room for anyone else.

No, her track record with men wasn’t good. Just standing this close to one gave her the shakes. She reached for her suitcase at the same instant he did, and his calloused hand enveloped hers, sending unwanted fingers of fire blazing up her arm. Mariah yanked her hand away.

“I’ll get it,” he mumbled, obviously not happy about losing their argument or her being stuck at his ranch. He turned and strode toward the house.

“C’mon. I’ll show you where the spare room is,” J.D.’s daughter said, skipping up to her. The girl grabbed the small bag. Mariah pushed her purse and laptop bag up on her shoulder then closed the trunk. Hailey took her by the arm and pulled her toward the sprawling ranch house. “I hope you can stay a long time. We don’t ever have company stay overnight.”

Mariah peeked at the child beside her. Where her dad was dark and brooding, his daughter was friendly and outgoing. Her hair was a much lighter shade of brown than his, and her eyes reminded Mariah of chocolate kisses.

Hailey slowed, leaned closer and whispered, “Daddy sure was surprised you’re a woman. Uncle Evan must have forgot to tell him that.” She peeked up at her father, who stood at the door holding the suitcase, then beamed a dimpled grin much like his.

“He’s not the first to be shocked that I’m a female. The first was my father,” Mariah said.

Hailey giggled. Mariah sensed that given the chance, she and the young girl could become friends. “So, how old are you?”

“Six.”

“Six, huh?”

“Yep. I just had my birthday last week. Sometimes it’s the same day as Thanksgiving, but not this year. I’ll be seven next year.”

A wave of melancholy washed over Mariah. Had she ever looked forward to a birthday? When she was a child, birthdays had been virtually nonexistent. Oh, they came and went like any other day, but they weren’t celebrated, other than her mother slipping her a quarter, if she had one.

“Daddy says I can have my own horse when I’m older. He loves horses, but he loves football, too. Course, he don’t play football no more. Well, ’cept sometimes he plays with Lance and Justin.” Hailey skipped up the sidewalk that led to the cranberry-red front door of the gray brick ranch house.

Mariah filed the names Lance and Justin in a mental folder with plans to research them later, and then she studied the area. Though the house itself looked well kept, there was nothing special about the landscaping. In fact, the flower beds overflowed with dried grass and dead stalks. The only signs of life were a couple of dark green weeds and a few pitiful purple pansies that needed watering. The place sure could use a woman’s touch.

Mariah’s shoes scuffed against the sidewalk as she limped beside Hailey. Glancing down, she noticed a dark spot staining the knee of her new pantsuit, which was covered in white powder from the air bag. She quickly looked up before she got woozy. She must have banged her leg when she wrecked the car and was just now feeling the stinging sensation where the injury rubbed against her pants. She tried not to limp as she passed her reluctant host.

Hailey pulled open a screeching metal storm door, pushed against the main door and slipped inside. The screen slammed against Mariah’s arm as she stepped across the threshold. The door handle scraped against her elbow, forcing her into the doorjamb. She winced.

“Sorry ’bout that,” J.D. mumbled. He pulled back the door and held it while she walked in.

At least he had some manners.

Mariah looked around as her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the house. They passed through a small mudroom and into a spacious kitchen decorated in dark green and yellow with wallpaper covered in birdhouses and tiny flowers. Everything was neat and tidy, not at all what she expected of a single father’s home.

She followed Hailey, passing a more formal table and chairs in the dining room, which looked as if they were brand-new—a sign the family probably took their meals in the kitchen. Mariah peeked into the living area as they walked past the door, noting the Southwest theme with dark red, green and tan accents. Continuing down the hallway, they passed a closed door, and then Hailey walked into a bedroom with light blue walls.

“This is the guest bedroom. That’s my room. It’s painted lavender.” She pointed to a closed door across the hall with a big purple-and-yellow daisy on it. “Daddy’s is that way.” Waving her hand in the air, she motioned on down the long hall.

Mariah glanced at J.D. and noticed his ears reddening, probably from the mention of his bedroom. She bit back a smile that such a tiny thing would rattle the rugged man after the way he lit into her for endangering his daughter. Ignoring the jealous ache caused by the thought of a father actually protecting his child, she turned her attention to the cozy bedroom. Powder-blue curtains matched the blue floral quilt on the queen-size bed. Through another door was a small bathroom that would give her privacy. She would be comfortable, even if she wasn’t there for very long.

Her suitcase bounced as her host dropped it onto the bed. “I’ll call Denton’s shop in town and see if they can start repairing your car today.” He turned and stalked out of the room, obviously anxious to be rid of her as soon as possible.

“Deuce says Daddy’s kinda like a summer thunderstorm. He gets mad and blows up but calms down quickly.”

Wondering who Deuce was, Mariah smiled at the young girl’s analogy.

Hailey flopped onto the bed. “I’m glad you’re a woman even if Daddy isn’t happy. Sometimes Aunt Kelly comes out and takes care of me, but not as much as she used to when I was little. She lived here then. This was her room.”

The talkative child might be a wealth of information if Mariah could get to know her and could overcome her aversion to using the child to gain information on her father. She unzipped her suitcase, hoping for a longer stay than one night. “Where does your aunt Kelly live now?” She pulled out her black pantsuit, gave it a shake and hung it up in the empty closet.

“Oh, she lives in town. But she comes out here a lot.” Hailey stopped her bouncing and leaned forward, a mischievous smile brightening her face. “She’s sweet on Lance. At least she used to be.”

“And who’s Lance?”

“He owns the ranch next to us. He’s Daddy’s best friend.”

“Hai—ley!” Jackson’s bellow echoed down the hall. “Come and help Deuce put away the groceries.”

Mariah smiled, certain he must have finally realized he’d left his chatty daughter alone with her.

“Okay!” Hailey took one last bounce and hopped off the bed.

“Who’s Deuce?” Mariah asked as she hung a teal velour top on a hanger.

“Daddy’s old friend. He lives here—in the room off the kitchen.”

That was one room Mariah had obviously missed.

“He’s really old. Daddy says he looks like he needs to be ironed, ’cause he gots so many wrinkles.” Hailey giggled as she headed out the door. “Deuce is our cook.”

Mariah wondered how old Hailey’s version of “really old” was. The youth back at the Tank Up had called her “ma’am,” even though she was only twenty-four.

She contemplated the black truck that had chased her as she arranged her folded clothing and undergarments in the empty dresser. Had the attack been random? Or maybe one of the cowboys from the bar just wanting to scare a city girl? What else could it have been? Not a soul in the state of Oklahoma knew her. She blew out a tense breath and set her suitcase in the bottom of the closet, next to her white tennis shoes. She sat on the chair that matched the small desk and looked at her pants. At least she hadn’t torn her new business suit in the wreck, but she’d have to soak the pants in cold water to get the bloodstain out.

She rolled up her left pant leg, sucking in a deep breath as pain burned down her shin when she gently pulled the fabric away from an inch-long gash on her knee. A thin trail of blood ran halfway down her shin. Quickly, she shifted her gaze away.

Ignoring the nausea churning in her stomach, Mariah glanced around for a tissue. When she didn’t find one, she dared to look more closely at her leg. The sight of blood had always made her feel like vomiting, if not fainting. She grabbed hold of the desk, desperately hoping the room would stop swirling. This was not the way to impress J. D. Durant and change his mind about the interview.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

Mariah jumped at the closeness of J.D.’s masculine voice. No! Not now. Why did he have to appear just when she was at her weakest? She waved a dismissive hand in the air as she struggled to regain her composure.

Ignoring her, he disappeared into the bathroom and rummaged around for a minute, then returned with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, ointment and bandages, which he set on the desk beside her. He returned to the bathroom, ran the faucet for a moment and came back with a damp cloth.

When he knelt beside her, Mariah sucked in a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the task at hand. She reached for the aqua washcloth, but he pulled it away. “I can do it,” she whispered, still not sure her stomach wasn’t going to revolt and totally embarrass her.

He stoically ignored her again and gently cupped her calf, his warm touch sending odd tingles spiraling down her leg. She placed her hand on his shoulder, intending to push him away, but her gaze landed on the bloodstained cloth. Instantly she realized her mistake, but it was too late. Darkness swirled with light as she felt her body wilt.

* * *

Jackson dropped the wet washcloth and grabbed the reporter as she sagged toward him. Pushing to his feet, he lifted her in his arms and hugged her limp body against his chest. He couldn’t believe this was the same spitfire who’d argued with him outside only minutes ago.

He laid her on the bed then pulled off her shoes. Snatching the clean washcloth off the floor, Jackson folded it in a long line and laid the clean side across her head. Now what? He’d never had a female faint on him before.

Was she injured worse than he first thought? There was the cut on her knee, but maybe she’d also banged her head in the accident and now had a concussion. Guilt plagued him for being so hard on her earlier. He may be a Christian, but he sure hadn’t acted like one. He paced the room, trying to decide what he should do.

Why did women always cause him problems? This was the very reason he’d moved to the country, to get away from pesky, gawking fans and hovering women who wanted to be with him simply because he was a rich, famous athlete. He’d yielded to a woman’s charms once, but that was a long time ago, and it wouldn’t happen again.

“C’mon, Lord. Help me out here.”

He could handle wounded horses and cows, could face a line of three-hundred-pound tacklers all bent on sacking him, but give him a sick or crying woman, and he lost all sensibility.

Get a grip, Durant.

A soft moan erupted from behind him, and he spun around. Ms. Reyes’s arm rested across her forehead. He hurried to her side and eased onto the edge of the bed. “What can I do to help?”

She lifted the washcloth from her head, staring unseeing for a few moments. “Please...”

“What?” Jackson leaned forward, noticing her long, dark lashes.

“Please tell me I didn’t pass out.” She pressed her hand against her trim stomach.

“Wish I could, but—”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I? I’m so embarrassed.” A faint flush of scarlet darkened her olive skin, and then panic dashed across her pretty face as she scanned the room. “I didn’t upset Hailey, did I?”

She started to sit up, but he gently grasped her shoulders, pressing her back down. Her concern for his daughter warmed him. Maybe he’d been too harsh and misjudged her at first glance. “You need to rest for a bit while I doctor your leg. And no, Hailey wasn’t here when you passed out.”

“Thank goodness. I wouldn’t want to frighten her. She’s such a sweet little thing.”

“Yes, she is.” Jackson smiled. Hailey could talk the ears off a mynah bird, but she certainly was a sweetie pie—and tough. She hadn’t even fussed when Sabrina yanked her to the ground or when he’d doctored the rope burns on her hands a few minutes ago. He was proud of his daughter’s fortitude, unlike this city gal, who fainted at the sight of a little gash. A ranch was no place for someone like her.

The sooner he patched up her leg, the sooner he could get away from her. He refocused his attention on the woman’s injury and forced a politeness in his voice that he didn’t feel. “If you’re done with the washcloth, I’ll finish cleaning your leg with it, Ms. Reyes.”

Her cheeks darkened in a deep blush again. “Call me Mariah, and I can clean my own leg.”

Jackson couldn’t refrain from smirking. “I saw what happened when you merely looked at your bloody knee. How do you expect to stare at it long enough to doctor and bandage it? Am I wrong in guessing that you pass out at the sight of blood?”