“Miss Taylor?” She spun around at the sound of her name and found herself staring into a broad chest wearing a thick wool plaid shirt in blue and red.

“Yes?” Her eyes traveled upward until she found herself looking into a pair of eyes of a color she had seldom seen. They were almost emerald with gold flecks. The hair was black and the temples were touched with gray. The face was leathered, the features sharp, and he was taller than any other man on the ranch, including Bill King.

“I'm the assistant foreman here.” He offered only his title, no name. And there was something cold and forbidding in his voice as he said it. Had she met him in a dark alley, a chill would have rippled up her spine.

“How do you do?” She wasn't quite sure what to say to him, and he was looking down at her with a tight frown.

“Are you ready to come out to the barn?” She nodded in answer, awed by his commanding style, as well as his great height. She noticed, too, now that the others were watching, wondering what he was saying to her and obviously noticing that there was no trace of warmth in the way he spoke, no welcoming words, and no smile.

Actually she had wanted another cup of coffee but she wasn't about to tell him that as he led the way to the door. She grabbed her jacket off the peg where she had finally left it, struggled into it, pulled up the hood, and closed the door behind her, feeling somehow like a child who has done something wrong. The idea of Samantha riding with them clearly irked him as he walked rapidly into the barn. Samantha shook the rain off her hood as she slipped it off her hair and watched him; He picked up a clipboard with a list of men's names and those of horses, and then with a pensive frown he walked to a nearby stall. The name outside the stall was LADY, and for some reason she wasn't sure she could have explained she found herself instantly irritated by his choice. Just because she was a woman she had to ride Lady? She instinctively felt that she was going to be stuck with that horse during the entire duration of her stay and found herself fervently hoping that Lady would at least prove to be a decent mount.

“You ride fairly well?” Again she only nodded, afraid to toot her own horn, afraid to offend him, when the truth would have been that she probably rode better than most of the men on the ranch, but he would have to see that for himself, if he even bothered to look. Samantha watched him again as he went back to his list, and found herself watching the sweep of his neck as his dark hair brushed his collar. He was a powerful, sensuous-looking man, somewhere in his early forties. There was something almost frightening about him, something fierce and stubborn and determined. She could sense it without knowing him, and she felt almost a ripple of fear go through her as he turned to her again and shook his head. “No good. She might just be too much for you. I want you to ride Rusty. He's on the far side of the barn. Grab one of the free saddles in the tack room and mount up. We ride out in ten minutes.” And then with a look of annoyance, “Can you be ready by then?” What did he think, she wondered, that it took her two hours to saddle a horse?

Suddenly as she watched him her temper flared. “I can be ready in five. Or less.” He said nothing in answer and merely walked away, put the clipboard back on the wall from which he'd taken it, and strode quickly across the barn to the stalls, where he saddled his own horse and led it slowly outside. Within five minutes all the men had returned from breakfast and the barn was a madhouse of catcalls and laughter and noises mixed with the sounds of horses shifting their feet, greeting their habitual riders, and whinnying at each other as the men who rode them took them from their stalls, creating a veritable traffic jam at the entrance as the entire group emerged into the damp yard beyond and congregated happily in the light rain.

Most of the men had donned slickers over their jackets, and Josh had handed Sam one as she walked her horse slowly outside. He was a large unexciting-looking chestnut, with no particular verve and no spark to his step. Samantha already suspected that what she could anticipate was a horse that would want to stop by the stream, walk when he could, nibble at bushes, graze on whatever grass he could find, and beg to go home whenever Sam happened to turn even slightly in the direction of the barn. It promised to be a day filled with aggravation, and she found herself suddenly remorseful over her anger about Lady only moments before. But more than that, what she felt as she waited was that she wanted to prove to the assistant foreman that she was worthy of a much better mount. Like Black Beauty, she smiled to herself as she thought of Caroline's Thoroughbred stallion. She was looking forward to riding him, and wouldn't that just show this rigid chauvinist ranchman what kind of a rider she was. She wondered if Bill King had ever been like him, and had to admit to herself that he had probably been worse. Bill King had been, and was still, a tough foreman, and this one hadn't really done much to Sam except offer her a pretty tame horse, which, she had to admit in spite of herself, was a reasonable thing to do with an unknown rider out from a place like New York. How did he know she could ride, after all? And if Caroline hadn't tried to prejudice them in her favor, it was just as well.

The men sat on horseback in the rain in their slickers, chatting in little clusters, waiting for the assistant foreman to give them their instructions for the day. The twenty-eight ranch hands never rode together, but usually broke into four or five groups to perform whatever needed doing at various ends of the ranch. Every morning Bill King, or his assistant, moved among them, verbally giving out assignments, telling which men to work with which others and where. Now, as he did every morning when Bill King wasn't around, the tall, dark-haired assistant foreman quietly moved among them, giving them their assignments for the day. He assigned Josh four men to work the south end of the ranch, looking for strays and cattle in trouble. Two other groups went to check some fences he thought were down. Another foursome had two sick cows to bring in down by the river. And he and another four men and Samantha were checking the north boundaries for three cows he knew were loose and about to calve. Samantha followed the group quietly out of the main compound, riding sedately on Rusty and wishing that the rain would stop. It seemed forever before they got into a good canter, and she had had to remind herself again that in a Western saddle you didn't post to trot. It was odd to sit in the big comfortable saddle, she was far more accustomed to the smaller, flatter English saddles she had always used for jumping and competition in Madison Square Garden, but this was a whole other life.

Only once did she smile to herself and wonder what was happening that morning in her office. It was insane to think that only two days before she had been wearing a blue Dior suit and conducting a creative meeting with a new client, and now she was out looking for stray cows on a ranch. The very thought of it almost made her laugh aloud as they crested a small hill, and she had to concentrate to keep from openly smiling, the whole contrast of what she had done and what she was doing was so totally absurd. Several times she noticed the assistant foreman's eyes on her, as though checking to see if she could manage her mount. Once she almost said something unpleasant to him as he reminded her to rein in as he rode past her, while Rusty was desperately trying to nibble at some grass. For just a moment Samantha had let the animal have his way, hoping to pacify the dull-spirited beast before they moved on. The dark-haired tyrant seemed to think that Samantha couldn't control him, and the very thought of that almost made her scream. “I did it on purpose,” she wanted to shout after him, but he seemed totally uninterested in her doings as he moved on to talk quietly to two of his men. She noticed also that all of them seemed to regard him as something of an authority. The men had the same way of dealing with him as they did with Bill King, with quiet awe, curt respectful answers, and quick nods. No one questioned what he suggested, no one argued with what he said. There was very little humor exchanged between him and the others, and he smiled very rarely as the men talked or he talked to them. Somehow Sam found that he annoyed her. The very sureness with which he spoke was an open challenge to her.

“Enjoying your ride?” he asked her a little while later as he rode along beside her for a moment.

“Very much,” she said through clenched teeth as the pouring rain grew worse. “Lovely weather.” She smiled at him, but he didn't answer. He only nodded and moved on, and she mentally accused him of being a humorless pain in the ass. As the day wore on, her legs grew tired, her seat ached, the insides of her knees screamed from the no-longer-unfamiliar friction of saddle against jeans. Her feet were cold, her hands were stiff, and just as she wondered if it would ever end they broke for lunch. They stopped at a small cabin on the far reaches of Caroline's ranch, set aside for just such occasions. It boasted a table, some chairs, and the equipment they needed to assist them with making lunch: hot plates and running water. Sam discovered that the assistant foreman himself had brought the necessary provisions in his saddlebag, and everyone was handed a fat sandwich filled with turkey and ham, and two huge Thermoses were brought out and rapidly emptied. One had been filled with soup, the other with coffee, and it wasn't until she was cherishing the last of her coffee that he spoke to her again.

“Holding up all right, Miss Taylor?” There was the faintest trace of mockery in his voice, but this time there was a kinder light in his eyes.