Melissa ordered herself not to panic. There was no reason to assume Jared knew she was an undercover journalist. But even as she mentally reassured herself, the roots of her hair prickled in dread.
His pace was brisk, his large hand still wrapped around her upper arm. It felt strong and uncompromising as steel. She wondered if he intended to march her all the way to his property line.
"First the chauffeur," Jared's angry voice cut through the night air. "Then Anthony." He sucked in a tight breath. "And I can guess what went on with the damn horse."
The last took Melissa by surprise.
The horse? Why would she interview his horse?
"Ride it yourself?" Jared taunted.
Melissa struggled to make sense out of the accusation. She hadn't ridden the horse herself, but how could that possibly be relevant?
"Or did you get a little help?" he finished on a meaningful lilt.
He obviously already knew she had. There was no point in lying about that. "I got one of the cowboys to help me. Rich or Rand or Rafe... something..."
"I'll just bet you did." The contempt in Jared's voice was crystal clear.
"So what?" Her confusion was starting to turn to annoyance. Rafe had, in fact, offered to help her. The whole operation hadn't taken more than fifteen minutes of his time.
"So what?" Jared jerked her to a stop and rounded on her, glaring from beneath his battered, tan Stetson.
Melissa caught her breath while she searched his hard expression in the shadowed light. Why was the horse such a salient detail? Shouldn't he be more upset at the way she'd pumped Anthony for information?
Unless...
It suddenly hit her that she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. She wasn't caught. Jared didn't know she was a journalist. He was angry about something else.
"Is there a company ban on cowboys helping stable hands?" she asked.
"No, but I'm thinking about banning fraternization."
His obvious euphemism was more than a little offensive. "You think I had time to fraternize Rafe before dinner?"
Something flicked in his eyes. It might have been regret. "I think flirting is your only life-skill."
"It's not." For starters, she had a university degree. She owned real estate. And she had a good job, soon to be a great job if she could pull off this interview.
"Do tell," he challenged.
"I'm intelligent, articulate and organized."
"You couldn't even organize a bus ticket to Seattle."
"Buying the bus ticket ahead of time wasn't the point."
"What was the point?"
"I'm experiencing America."
"With a wink of your eye and sway of your hips?"
She held up her blistered palms. "By shoveling your stable for eight hours."
He reached for her wrist, moving her hands under the beam of a yard light, and his expression tightened. "You put something on this?"
"Work gloves." And she wished she'd thought to do it sooner.
"I'm serious."
She pulled her hand from his grasp. "I'm fine."
He took in her body from head to toe. "I don't think you're cut out for manual labor."
She subconsciously shifted her injured hands behind her back. "I told you I was fine."
"You know how operate a computer? Type? File?"
Oh, no. She wasn't giving up her ranch job. "I've never worked in an office," she lied. "Besides, I only need bus fare. I'll be out of your hair in a week." At least that part was true.
"You might not last a week."
"I lasted a day."
"Maybe." He paused. "But you know those guys you're flirting with are going to eventually expect you to put out."
"No, they won't." She wasn't flirting anywhere near that seriously.
Jared grunted his disbelief.
The man was an alarmist.
But instead of arguing with him, she sidled forward, tucking her hair behind her ears, and lowering her voice to a sultry level. "So, how far do you think I'll have to go?"
He brows quirked up. "You're flirting with me?"
She leaned in. "Is it working?"
He shifted, letting his crooked hip and cocked head transmit his indolence. "All depends on what you're after."
What she wanted was the story of his life. And she was definitely prepared to bat her eyelashes a little to get it. "An exemption from riding your horse," she said instead. "He's scary. Where's you get him?"
"He's a direct descendent of Renegade."
Melissa tilted her head and widened her eyes, letting the silence go on for a moment.
"My great-great-grandfather's stallion," said Jared. "The pair of them settled this valley back in 1883."
"I thought your grandparents built the original house." She'd seen the impressive structure when she first arrived this morning.
"The house, yes." He nodded downriver. "The original cabin's been abandoned for decades."
"So, you're the fifth Ryder generation to live here?" Her magazine article wasn't going to focus on the family history, but Melissa found herself fascinated by the thought of such deep roots.
"I'm the fifth," said Jared. "Tango's somewhere in the twenties."
"You kept records?"
"Of course we kept records." His tone told her she should have known that.
To cover the blunder, she turned and started walking down the rutted driveway, continuing her way toward the Windy River and the little white cottage she'd been assigned this morning. "How many horses do you have now?"
Jared fell into step beside her. "Several hundred. Several thousand head of cattle."
"Is it still profitable?"
He hesitated for a moment, and she could feel him looking down at her. "Why do you ask?"
She kept her focus on the quarter moon riding above the silhouetted mountain range across the river. "You went into construction."
"How did you know that?"
"I heard people talk. Around the ranch."
"Gossip?"
"No," she quickly denied. "Just chit chat. You're here. You're usually in Chicago. People commented on it over lunch." Truth was, Melissa had carefully orchestrated the conversation that had revealed that information and more, but there was no need to mention that little fact to Jared.
"You seem to know a lot about me."
She dared to look up at him. "You're the boss. People naturally care about what you do."
"They shouldn't."
She couldn't help but smile at that. "Maybe not. But that's not the way life works."
"It's gossip," he stated. "Plain and simple."
"It's curiosity," she corrected. "And it's interest. And respect."
He scoffed out an inarticulate sound.
"You can't make millions of dollars and hope to stay under the radar," she told him.
"How do you know I make millions of dollars."
"How many acres you got here?"
"Five-thousand."
"I rest my case."
"Most cattle ranches lose money these days."
"Most construction companies make money these days."
Jared didn't answer. They came up on the short bridge over the froth of a narrow spot in the river. A dirt driveway jutted off to the south, winding through a grass and wildflower carpet, amongst dotted aspen and oak trees, in front of the staff cabins. It looked exactly like the picture on the ranch web site. This morning, it had taken Melissa's breath away.
"Which is yours?" Jared asked, nodded to the neat row of white cottages.
"Number six."
"I'll walk you down." He turned on the driveway, and Melissa was struck by how easily he fit into the surroundings. He had a smooth, rolling, loose-limbed stride, and his booted feet never faltered on the uneven ground. A few lights burned behind curtained windows.
"Very gentlemanly of you." She hoped to keep him talking just as long as possible.
"Wouldn't want you to run into a cougar." He seemed to be teasing, but it was hard to tell.
She decided to assume the ranch staff weren't in mortal danger this close to the buildings. "I'm more afraid of rouge cattle," she returned.
"The range bulls are up in the hills right now."
"Good to know. So, how long are you in Montana?"
"About as long as you."
"Something you have to get back to?" She tripped on a tree root, and he quickly grasped her arm to steady her.
"Why do you ask?"
"Just making conversation. You seem to like it here."
He gazed around. The Windy River roared its way past, while an owl hooted in a faraway tree. A pair of truck lights flashed in the distance beyond the barns, while several horses whinnied to each other on the night air.
Melissa surreptitiously slowed her steps, not wanting to arrived at her cottage while Jared was still willing to talk.
"I've always liked it here." But his jaw was tight and his voice seemed strained.
Melissa sensed an undercurrent. "Why did you leave?" she dared.
"To make money," was the quick response.
"Cowboys need millions?"
"A spread this size needs millions. The past few decades have been hard on Montana ranchers. It'll change in the future. It has to. But, for now..."
Her footsteps slowed to a stop. There was no help for it, they'd arrived at her front porch. She turned to face him, scrambling for ways to prolong the inevitable. She wasn't likely to get another chance like this for the rest of the week.
"So, for now, you're building office towers to keep your cattle ranch and horse jumping operation in the black."
"How did you know I was building office towers?" The man was entirely too observant for her comfort level.
"Somebody mentioned it at lunch today," she bluffed.
Jared stared into her eyes for a long, slow moment. Then his index finger went to her chin, and he tipped her face to the starlight. "There's something about you, Melissa."
"I'm a decent flirt?" Better to feed into his misconception than to let him start thinking about other possibilities.
He gazed at her a moment longer. "That must be it." He paused again, his expression going unexpectedly intimate. "So, you going to put out now?"
His voice was smooth, his dark eyes sensual, and his lips full and soft. Melissa let herself envision delivering with a kiss. Would it be soft and sweet? Strong and sure? Sensual? Sexy? Or downright erotic?
"You really are frightening good at this." His gruff voice interrupted her fantasy.
She blinked. "Huh?"
His jaw tightened, and he took a step back. "I can see why you've got so many men at your beck and call."
She shook her head. "I don't--"
"Be careful, Melissa," he warned. "Not all of them will walk away."
And with that, he turned on his heel.
She thought about calling out to protest. Her flirtation was normally light and inconsequential. She'd never let herself get carried away. This was the first time she'd ever even considered taking the next step.
And she wouldn't have actually kissed him.
The was far too much at stake. All she wanted was some information on his business, his life, his background.
And she had some.
Melissa couldn't help but smile.
Jared might think she was shameless for the moment. But at least he didn't know she was a journalist, and she'd obtained some more material for her article.
Ignoring the anger in his stride, and the stiff set of his shoulders as he made his way back down the dirt driveway, she skipped up the stairs to her cottage. She needed to get her notes down right away.
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