stretching against the black fabric of his shirt. The suggestion of male power was emphasized by the line of his back tapering down to lean hips, the muscular ease of his stance and the utter confidence of his posture as he stood motionless in black jeans and black boots that were polished by use.
My God, he's as tall and straight and hard as a stone cliff. No wonder he's confident. All he has to do is stand there and he dominates everything.
Reflexively Diana backed up but succeeded only in giving away her presence by bumping into a counter.
"Carla?" the man said, turning around slowly. His voice was deep, slightly rough, a ragged kind of velvet that was as dark as his clothes. His head was bent over something he was holding. His hair was intensely black, subtly curly, thick. "Can you give me a hand?"
Diana opened her mouth to say that she wasn't Carla but was so surprised by what she saw that no words came out.
A tiger-striped kitten lay cupped in the man's lean, callused hands. The contrast between the man's strength and the kitten's soft body was as shocking as the clarity of the man's ice-gray eyes looking at her. Abruptly she realized that she had seen him once before, under very different circumstances.
"Y-you're the ramrod," she said without thinking.
"Most people call me Ten. Short for Tennessee."
"You—Baker—the horse—"
Ten looked more closely at the woman who stood before him, her unease as badly concealed as the alluring curves of her body beneath her loose cotton sweater.
"Don't worry," Ten said. "He won't be back. Have you seen Carla?"
Diana shook her head, making light twist through her short, silky hair. Ten's nostrils flared slightly as he smelted the freshness of soap and sunshine and female skin.
"Think you could put Pounce down long enough to help me with Nosy?"
"Pounce?" Diana asked, wondering if she had lost her mind.
"That sly renegade who's grinning and purring in your arms.
"Oh...the cat." Diana looked down. "Pounce, huh?"
Ten made a sound of agreement that was suspiciously like a purr. "Best mouser on the Rocking M. Usually he's standoffish, but he can sense a particular kind of soft touch three miles away. From the smug look on his face, he was right about you."
The kitten stirred as though it wanted to be free. Long fingers closed gently, restraining the tiny animal without hurting or frightening it.
"Easy there, Nosy. That wound has to be cleaned up or you're going to be dead or three-legged, which amounts to the same thing out here. And that would be a shame. You're the best-looking kitten that ugly old mouser has sired."
Bemused by the picture man and kitten made, Diana opened her arms. Pounce took the hint, leaped gracefully to the floor and vanished into the house. Drawn against her will by the kitten's need, Diana bent over Ten's hands.
"What's wrong with it?" she asked.
"She was just living up to her name. Nosy. Either one of the chickens pecked her, or a hawk made a pass at her and she got free, or one of the bunkhouse dogs bit her, or..." Ten shrugged. "Lots of things can happen to a newly weaned kitten on a ranch."
"Poor little thing," Diana murmured, stroking the kitten with a fingertip, noticing for the first time that the fur on the animal's left haunch was rucked up over a knot of swollen flesh. "What do you want me to do?"
"Hold her while I clean her up. Normally her mother would take care of it, but she went hunting a week ago and didn't come back."
Diana looked up for an instant and received a vivid impression of diamond-clear eyes framed by thick black eyelashes that any woman would have envied. The eyelashes were the only suggestion of softness about Ten, but it reassured Diana in an odd way.
"Show me what to do."
The left corner of Ten's mouth tipped upward approvingly. "Hold your hands out. That's it. Now hold Nosy here, and here, so I can get to
My God, he's as tall and straight and hard as a stone cliff. No wonder he's confident. All he has to do is stand there and he dominates everything.
Reflexively Diana backed up but succeeded only in giving away her presence by bumping into a counter.
"Carla?" the man said, turning around slowly. His voice was deep, slightly rough, a ragged kind of velvet that was as dark as his clothes. His head was bent over something he was holding. His hair was intensely black, subtly curly, thick. "Can you give me a hand?"
Diana opened her mouth to say that she wasn't Carla but was so surprised by what she saw that no words came out.
A tiger-striped kitten lay cupped in the man's lean, callused hands. The contrast between the man's strength and the kitten's soft body was as shocking as the clarity of the man's ice-gray eyes looking at her. Abruptly she realized that she had seen him once before, under very different circumstances.
"Y-you're the ramrod," she said without thinking.
"Most people call me Ten. Short for Tennessee."
"You—Baker—the horse—"
Ten looked more closely at the woman who stood before him, her unease as badly concealed as the alluring curves of her body beneath her loose cotton sweater.
"Don't worry," Ten said. "He won't be back. Have you seen Carla?"
Diana shook her head, making light twist through her short, silky hair. Ten's nostrils flared slightly as he smelted the freshness of soap and sunshine and female skin.
"Think you could put Pounce down long enough to help me with Nosy?"
"Pounce?" Diana asked, wondering if she had lost her mind.
"That sly renegade who's grinning and purring in your arms.
"Oh...the cat." Diana looked down. "Pounce, huh?"
Ten made a sound of agreement that was suspiciously like a purr. "Best mouser on the Rocking M. Usually he's standoffish, but he can sense a particular kind of soft touch three miles away. From the smug look on his face, he was right about you."
The kitten stirred as though it wanted to be free. Long fingers closed gently, restraining the tiny animal without hurting or frightening it.
"Easy there, Nosy. That wound has to be cleaned up or you're going to be dead or three-legged, which amounts to the same thing out here. And that would be a shame. You're the best-looking kitten that ugly old mouser has sired."
Bemused by the picture man and kitten made, Diana opened her arms. Pounce took the hint, leaped gracefully to the floor and vanished into the house. Drawn against her will by the kitten's need, Diana bent over Ten's hands.
"What's wrong with it?" she asked.
"She was just living up to her name. Nosy. Either one of the chickens pecked her, or a hawk made a pass at her and she got free, or one of the bunkhouse dogs bit her, or..." Ten shrugged. "Lots of things can happen to a newly weaned kitten on a ranch."
"Poor little thing," Diana murmured, stroking the kitten with a fingertip, noticing for the first time that the fur on the animal's left haunch was rucked up over a knot of swollen flesh. "What do you want me to do?"
"Hold her while I clean her up. Normally her mother would take care of it, but she went hunting a week ago and didn't come back."
Diana looked up for an instant and received a vivid impression of diamond-clear eyes framed by thick black eyelashes that any woman would have envied. The eyelashes were the only suggestion of softness about Ten, but it reassured Diana in an odd way.
"Show me what to do."
The left corner of Ten's mouth tipped upward approvingly. "Hold your hands out. That's it. Now hold Nosy here, and here, so I can get to
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