Give Me A Texan

Stashing the supplies, Amanda changed from her finery and hurried to help John. Together they penned the sheep and set up the foot-pump clippers.

Fraser watched over his charges with guarded vigilance. No ram, ewe, or lamb would dare shirk its duty in filling the bags with wool, not with the faithful collie on hand. Amanda rewarded him with a tasty morsel of cured bacon.

“Keep a sharp eye for trespassers, boy. P.M. will be coming.”

John’s dark stare narrowed. “You expect trouble.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Who is this P.M.?”

A man who’d given her hope, who walked with purpose, and who snatched away airy dreams with the lift of an arched brow.

“No one much.”

“And yet, you are sure he will come.”

Oh, yeah. The awakened lion would definitely ride her way.

“He’s just another two-bit cowboy who fills Amarillo’s establishments. Works for the Frying Pan. I turned the tables on him and he’s madder than a frog on a hot skillet at being bested by a woolie.”

“Whatever happened he earned. He comes, we scalp him.”

“Now John, no reason to get out the bows, arrows, and tomahawks. I can handle one measly nuisance. I am grateful to have your company for a few days though.”

“Hmph!”

The Navajo flipped a ewe onto her back and began peeling the thick wool from the belly and throat with the clippers before moving to the topside. Amanda stuffed the greasy fleece into a burlap bag to separate later. She’d keep a good portion and sell the rest. What she kept would get a thorough washing before she carded and spun the long fibers into yarn.

She was so busy planning she failed to hear approaching hoofbeats until a low growl rumbled in Fraser’s throat and the hair on his neck rose. She jerked around and her spit dried.

McCord sat astride a spotted appaloosa. Sparks in his gaze betrayed the easy slouch that might’ve suggested he’d stopped for a moment to discuss nothing more than the weather.

Steel strengthened Amanda’s spine. “Get off my land.”

“Not very hospitable. I recall you seemed pretty friendly when you were dragging a man’s life through the muck. What did you do with that woman? She was soft and…obliging.” A lazy smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“If you came out here to discuss my qualities or the lack thereof I’m afraid I have no time.”

With a quick motion, he untied the worn leather valise and held it out. “Thought you might need your equipment before nightfall. The assortment appears well broken in. Must get regular use I figure. Lord only knows why a handsome woman would have to depend on restraints to hold a man. Seems you’re awfully insecure of your abilities.”

Amanda gritted her teeth, becoming rigid at the suggestion she had to hogtie a man for his company. McCord bedeviled in a thousand impossible ways and every last one of them irritated beyond belief. Every fiber prodded for attack. So she blocked out the sight of his sandy, sun-streaked waves ruffled by the wind, and the mustache that drew attention to the firm shape of his mouth. Amanda met the dangerous glint in his eyes head on.

“Begs to ask why you pried into personal belongings.”

“It wasn’t by choice, believe me. The damn thing flew open and everyone in the hotel and hell’s half acre saw the contraptions. Made me a laughingstock. I hope you’re happy.”

“Not yet, but close.”

John Two Shoes Running Deer released the freshly naked ewe and stood to his full six feet. “Ahhhh, this must be P.M. Can we scalp him now?”

Chapter 7

Waning light bounced off the glistening coat of a border collie as it danced around Payton’s horse, Domino, threatening to tear the strapping animal limb from limb. Leave it to a woman who played with torture devices to keep a dog with the temper of a rabid coyote.

Had he heard or imagined the threat to scalp him?

Good God! He should’ve had better sense than ride out alone. He didn’t know who was crazier: Amanda, the Navajo, himself, or the dog.

The woman had seemed perfectly normal back at the hotel. He never would’ve mistaken her for a lunatic.

It must be the sheep. Those God-awful, smelly sheep.

They would make anyone lose their ever-loving minds. Payton scowled at the sneaky cotton-balls-with-eyes, shifting to the critter the Navajo had just stripped bare. One problem with the animals-besides the fact they weren’t cows-was they either looked like scrubby, puffy clouds or so spindly a gust of wind would blow them away. Cows looked the same day in and day out. They were hefty on their hooves and their bellering could lull a man right to sleep. He’d have to stick something in his ears and a clove of garlic under his nose if he had to put up with this damn baahing.

“I can’t relieve you of your loathsome burden right now.” Amanda raised palms that were greasy from handling the wool and pointed to the ground. “Drop it there and I’ll get it later.”

He stiffened in the saddle. “Since you’re up to your elbows in mutton, I’ll set the bag inside your door. Just call off your dog. I’d like to be gone before your friend gets out the scalping knife.”

Annoyance and open irritation pinched her kissable lips into a narrow line. He’d like to believe he saw the makings of a smile, but that appeared merely wishful thinking. Lush willingness he’d glimpsed in the hotel had given way to a tough-as-almighty-steel banshee.

“Fraser, enough!” The collie ceased yapping after Amanda’s stern order, but sat on his haunches and watched with distrust.

Payton adjusted the brim of his new hat that didn’t fit quite right yet, slid from Domino’s back, and ambled toward the adobe structure.

Three sets of eyes followed his every move.

A string of curses rolled around his brain but they remained unsaid in case the threat to lift his hair had been more than idle words. But damn, if he’d wanted to pillage and plunder he would’ve chosen some place more lucrative. This sheep farm didn’t have a blessed thing worth taking. Except maybe the lady who owned it. In spite of all, he found her a worthy opponent if not someone he could share a life with.

He pushed open the door and bent to set the worn piece of leather inside. Raising up, he spied a circle of black felt on the floor with a handful of boiled carrots smack in the center of it.

His gaze narrowed. It appeared a hat of some sort although it’d been flattened almost beyond recognition. Taking two steps forward, he determined it had indeed once been a noble Stetson.

Furthermore, a piece of rawhide stuck off to one side, the same kind that had served for a band on the hat he’d lost. He inched closer and gulped.

It was his hat.

Crumpled and smashed like a piece of trash.

His hat…used for a dog dish.

Hell and be damned!

Payton whirled as Amanda flew through the door with the dog at her side. “What in hell have you done to my damn hat?” he exploded.

The way her spine instantly tensed let him know he was in for a heck of a fight. A reasonable man might back off, but who said he was reasonable? Some things were sacred to even a rough-around-the-edges cowhand like him.

“What makes you think I’m to blame?” she huffed.

“It’s here isn’t it?” It was hard to keep his finger steady; it shook when he pointed to the dog dish. “That