Western Man Read Free

interest in the cookies or milk.
    Ridge wandered over to the kitchen counter where the cookies were cooling on the newspaper. “I’m going to be needing a couple of extra riders at Latigo the day after tomorrow. I stopped by to see if Scott might be able to shake free.”
    Latigo was the name of his ranch, which encompassed nearly a hundred square miles of Piceance Basin in western Colorado. The rough terrain of hill and gully was well suited for cattle ranching, and Latigo was one of the larger ones in the area.
    “I’m sure Scott can help out,” Sharon answered. Although her father and brother were ostensibly partners in their ranch, her brother often hired out for day work at neighboring ranches to lessen the drain on the ranch’s finances and permit them to put more of the profits back into the ranch.
    “Do you suppose I can persuade your mom to come along and cook for us—and maybe swing a rope now and then?” He arched her a querying look as he bit into a cookie.
    The corners of her mouth deepened with a faint smile. Her mother was widely respected and soughtafter as both a cook and a cowhand, although the approval of her skill on horseback was usually grudgingly given. Of course, her father gave full credit to his wife for working at his side and building their ranch from practically nothing to the modest holding it was today. Sharon admired her because even though her mother did a man’s work, she never stopped being a woman. She didn’t resort to cussing or rough talk to gain male acceptance as one of them. If anything, men respected her more for that.
    “You’ll have to ask Mom.” Sharon didn’t answer for her mother.
    “What I should do is arrange some sort of package deal for the whole Powell family?” A slow smile widened the line of his mouth.
    “That might be arranged.” She laughed briefly, pleased by the subtle recognition of her worth as a working rider. After she washed her hands in the sink, she walked to the table to begin spooning the rest of the cookie dough onto the sheet pan. It was easier to keep busy while Ridge was around. It kept her from focusing too much attention on him. “Do you want me to have Scott call you tonight?’
    “Yeah, why don’t you do that?” he agreed and came over to the table to watch her, a fistful of cookies in his hand. He stood idly for a minute, then pulled out a chair to sit down.
    When she carried the pan to the oven, she had to step over his long legs, his boots hooked one atop the other. Ridge always seemed so relaxed, and shealways felt so tense. Turning back to the table, she deliberately shifted her attention to the pouting Tony.
    “Drink your milk.” She pushed the glass closer to him so it was within his reach.
    “No. Don’t want it,” he refused sulkily. “It’s warm. I want another glass.”
    A fresh glass of cold milk from the refrigerator would probably have only one swallow taken from it, then be left to sit as this one had been. In Sharon’s opinion, that was a shameful waste.
    “You have to drink this milk before you can have any more,” she informed him.
    “No.” Tony slumped in the chair and peered up at her through tearful lashes.
    “Don’t be so mean,” Ridge eyed her with mock reproval. “I don’t blame the kid for not wanting warm milk. I don’t either.”
    With an adult supporting his demand, Tony reasserted it, banging his feet against the chair in a slight temper display. “I want milk.”
    “You’re a lot of help,” she muttered to Ridge. “I tell him no and you undermine what little authority I have.”
    There was an amused glint in his eyes at her flash of anger. “There is a simple solution to this that will satisfy both you and Tony,” Ridge insisted.
    “What’s that?” Sharon asked in skeptical challenge.
    “Ice.” After delivering his one-word answer, he rolled to his feet in a single motion and crossed to the refrigerator, removing a tray of ice cubes fromthe freezer compartment. “Tony