"Then he exaggerates." He hung the canteen on his saddle horn.

She worried her lower lip between her teeth. He remembered how soft her mouth had felt against his own. "What are you going to do now, without a foreman?"

"I'll find someone else. I have the roundup to finish first."

She looked down; he could no longer see her face and try to guess from her expression what she was thinking. "Tuff wasn't always a nice person, but he was a good cowboy. Some people will think you're making a mistake, getting rid of him."

"What do you think?" He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

She raised her head and looked him in the eye with an almost masculine directness he'd admired from the first. "I think you're not the kind of man who acts without a reason. I wish you trusted me enough to tell me what that reason was."

He curled his hands into fists at his sides, when what he really wanted was to pull her to him. She'd watched him nearly beat a man to death, yet she could still give him this vote of confidence. He spoke past the tightness in his chest, bound by emotions he couldn't even name. "Maybe I'd had enough of his insolence. Maybe I believed he couldn't be trusted. A man like that isn't a help to me."

She nodded and took the last step toward him, closing the gap between them. Before he could speak, she put her hand up and touched the corner of his lip. "You're bleeding," she whispered.

The contact breached his thin veneer of control. He turned his head, capturing the tips of her fingers in his mouth.

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted to emit a shallow gasp. He ran his tongue across her fingertips, tasting his own blood from the cut she'd touched, and the saltiness of her skin.

She did not resist, but instead leaned toward him. He smelled the lavender that permeated her clothes, overlaid with the lingering scent of the cook fires. Her eyes remained locked to his, dark with a desire that answered his own longing.

Yet even as he filled his senses with the smell, feel and taste of her, he knew he indulged in a dangerous game. Abbie was too naive to see the danger; it was up to him to put an end to it. Gently, he reached up and took hold of her arm and pushed her away from him. "We'd better go. There's work to do."

Confusion flickered across her face, then she pulled in a deep breath and nodded. "I. . . I'll see you later, then."

He didn't answer, but swung up into the saddle. She tipped her head back to look up at him and he stared at the graceful column of her neck rising up out of her rough cowboy clothes. She was a woman full of contradictions, not the least of which was why she should kindle these feelings in him. She wanted and deserved a husband and children and a house with roses growing by the door. Reg had none of those things to offer her. In another few months he'd be returning to England; his dreams were not Abbie's dreams.

All afternoon, Abbie could feel her fingers tingling where Reg had swept his tongue across them. Her whole body had trembled at the contact, like a lightning-struck tree; now only the humming in the nerves of her fingers remained.

She borrowed a saddle and selected a horse from her string and rode hard all afternoon, determined to put the incident aside. She and Reg had both been overwrought, their nerves still raw in the aftermath of his fight with Tuff.

She still could hardly believe what she'd seen with her own eyes. She'd heard shouting and had run around the corner of the wagon. By the time she'd elbowed her way through the gathered cowboys, Reg was straddling Tuff, pounding him with his fists. His face was set in an expression of rage, a hardness she'd sensed in him but never seen. Then she'd realized he was naked except for a pair of close-fitting woolen drawers. The muscular lines of his body gleamed with a thin film of sweat. Even battered and bruised, he was strong and powerful enough to take her breath away. This was the untamed man she'd glimpsed at the branding fire, the side of Reg usually hidden by his polished manners and tailored suits.

She stripped off her gloves and stared at the fingers he'd kissed. If she wasn't careful, she'd make a fool of herself over Reg. She'd destroy her chance for happiness with Alan for a man who couldn't possibly care for a cowgirl like her.

Reg belonged to another world a world of Lords and Ladies and drawing room teas. She had no interest in that kind of life.

Men! She was growing heartily sick of all of them. Thank G.o.d for Maura. At least Abbie could talk to her without feeling all muddled inside.

She found the maid peeling a small mountain of potatoes. Maura had combed her hair forward to cover most of the line of st.i.tching, though the ends of silk thread were visible in a couple of places. "How are you feeling?" Abbie asked, taking a seat on a crate nearby.

"Better. Me head is hurting some, but that may be more from the whiskey than the sewing." She cut a neat curl of peeling from a potato. "It seems while I rested me eyes I've been missing all the excitement."

Before Abbie could answer, Alan came around from behind the wagon, carrying a kettle of water. "Where do you want this?" he asked.

"Here beside me, I think." Maura smiled and indicated a spot at her feet. "It was right kind of you to fetch it fer me, Mr. Mitch.e.l.l."

"Call me Alan." He grinned and set the kettle beside her. "Evenin' Abbie." He nodded toward her, then hunkered down between the two women. "I was just telling Maura about the dance we're hosting to celebrate the end of round-up," he said. "You'll both come, won't you?"

Abbie smiled. Could it be Alan actually looked forward to seeing her at the dance? "I'll look forward to it," she said.

Alan turned to Maura. "Promise me you'll dance at least one dance with me."

She blushed. "I don't know as how it'd be proper fer me to attend your party "

"Oh, Maura, of course you'll come," Abbie said. "I insist."

Maura smiled. "Well, then, I'd be honored to dance with you. . . Alan." She raised her foot and daintily pointed her toe. "I've always fancied meself as quick on me feet. It's been a good long while since I've had the chance to take a turn on a dance floor with a handsome gent."

Alan grinned at her, unanswering, then he apparently remembered his manners and turned to Abbie. "I'd ask you to dance, too, but I know you don't generally indulge. Though Reg did persuade you out on the floor at our last barbecue, didn't he?"

Abbie flushed. As long as she lived, she'd never forget the sound of the crowd's laughter as she stumbled over Reg's feet. She'd never forget how graceful Alan had looked, twirling around the floor with Hattie Simms.

"How is Reg doing?" Alan's question broke through the unpleasant memories.

She shifted on her seat. Why did Alan a.s.sume she'd know all about Reg? "I haven't seen him all afternoon."

"Mr. Mitch.e.l.l " Maura nodded at him and her smile brightened. "I mean Alan, was telling me about the fearful bust-up Mr. Worthington had with Mr. Jackson."

"Any idea what that was about?" Alan asked Abbie.

"What makes you think I'd know?" She scowled at him.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Seems like Reg is friendlier with you than he is anybody else around here."

"Reg is as much your friend as he is mine," Abbie said. "If you want to know anything, why don't you ask him?"

"Maybe I'll do that." He rose to stand over them. "Good evening, ladies."

Abbie watched him walk away, her frustration growing. "I didn't mean to run him off," she said.

Maura began cubing the potato in her hand and tossing it into the kettle of water. "Beggin' pardon, Miss, but you mustn't be cross with Alan. No doubt he was only meaning to flatter you, saying Mister Worthington was partial to your company." She winked. "I was thinking he might even be a little sweet on you."

"That's ridiculous. Reg is one of the most arrogant, pompous, stubborn "

"He's also kind, handsome, and a right fine gentleman," Maura interrupted.

"I'm not interested in any gentleman," Abbie countered.

"Then who would you be interested in, Miss? Beggin' pardon, but most of these cowboys don't seem suitable for a young lady like yourself."

Abbie sighed. "I'm not a young 'lady', Maura."

"Still, you're a woman of property. You can't mean to tell me you'd settle for one of these cowboys, without two pennies to rub together and the manners of a pig in the sty." Maura looked indignant.

Abbie smiled at the maid's outrage on her behalf. "No, you're right. Most of these cowboys wouldn't be good husbands for any woman. I imagine that suits them fine."

"Then tell me, Miss. What sort of man have you set your cap for?"

Abbie flushed. "I . . . I don't know," she stammered. "Another rancher, I suppose. A man who knows the land and cattle and can understand why I love it." She paused. "But someone who won't want me to give up my independence. A man who'll let me share the responsibilities of a ranch with him."

"Sure and a man like that will be hard to come by," Maura said. "For giving up your independence is exactly what you'll be doing once you put a ring on your finger. 'Tis a man's nature to be the boss of things."

"I want to be my husband's partner, not his servant," Abbie said.

"Aye, well there be ways of servin' without bein' a man's slave." Maura cut the last of the potatoes into the pot and flashed Abbie a grin. "The trick, me granny used to say, is to make a man think he is in charge. But a wise woman always rules her own home, and her own heart." She stood and picked up the kettle. "Now if you'll be excusing me, Miss, I'd better be putting these on to boil before Cooky comes crying for me head on a platter."

Abbie left Maura to her cooking and wandered over to where a group of cowboys had gathered to wait for dinner. Even from a distance, she could tell they were discussing Reg's fight with Tuff. Donnie Best stood in the middle of the group, punching at the air, his face twisted in a mock scowl. "I tell you, if we hadn't pulled him off, he woulda killed Tuff for sure," Donnie said.

"That proves how crazy these Limeys are. Why attack a man for no good reason?" Fred Lazlo said.

"Who says Worthington didn't have a reason?" Tim O'Rourke countered. "Tuff's been ridin' him hard all week. Maybe he finally got a belly full."

"I still say he's a fool to fire a top hand like Jackson," Moses Wilson said. "It'd be different if he knew his hind end from his head when it comes to ranchin' but he don't."

Donnie looked up and caught sight of Abbie on the edge of the group. He elbowed Moses hard in the side and nodded to her. "Afternoon, Miss Abbie," he said, tugging on the brim of his hat.

Abbie flushed. Since when did the men address her as 'Miss Abbie'? For as long as she could remember, she'd been 'Abbie' plain and simple. Just another waddie who worked alongside them. She looked down at her gathered riding skirts. She'd never tried to dress any differently from them before, never tried to act like a lady and not a cowboy.

"Sure was nice to see that storm pa.s.s over, wasn't it ma'am?" Tim O'Rourke said.

She winced, suddenly uncomfortable around men she'd known for years some of them all her life. "Yes, uh, I'm glad it pa.s.sed over." She turned to Fred Lazlo. "I don't think we lost many calves during the stampede, do you?"

"Uh, no ma'am." He scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. "Not too many."

She struggled to think of something to fill the long silence that followed. She'd never had any trouble talking with these men before. "It's a good thing Maura wasn't standing any closer to the tree than she was," she said at last. "But she's feeling much better now."

"That's good," Fred mumbled.

"Miss Maura sure is a sweet little thing, and pretty too." Donnie Best grinned. "It was right nice of you to bring her with you, Miss Abbie."

If he called her 'Miss' one more time she thought she'd scream. Instead, she pasted a smile on her face and nodded. "Well, I'd better be going," she said. "Goodbye."

They mumbled their own farewells and she moved out of their circle. She could almost hear their sighs of relief at her departure.

Reg was the only man she could have a decent conversation with lately. She fought the urge to seek him out. What had Maura said that she thought Reg was 'sweet on' her? She didn't intend to do anything to encourage that kind of thinking.

After all, Alan was the man she wanted. He was the man she'd described to Maura, the rancher who would respect her independence and allow her to be a partner in their marriage. She smiled. If the other men were beginning to see her as a woman, then Alan must have noticed the changes in her as well. Why, he'd even mentioned wanting to dance with her hadn't he? Well almost.

If she knew how to dance, Alan would probably dance with her. He'd hold her in his arms and they'd whirl around the dance floor. He'd look deep into her eyes and see all the love she had for him, and he'd forget about anyone else.

She had to learn to dance, that was all there was to it.

She'd ask Maura to teach her. The maid had already said she was 'light on her feet.' They could practice in Abbie's kitchen and no one would be the wiser.

She hurried to where Maura was stirring a pot of beans, and made her request.

"Teach you to dance, Miss?" The maid frowned. "I don't rightly see as how I could be doing that."

"Why not? You said you were a good dancer."

"Aye. But when a lady dances, she follows the lead of the gentleman."

"What does that have to do with your teaching me to dance?"

Maura raised her eyebrows. "Beggin' pardon, Miss, but I'll not be knowing how to lead." She smiled. "The young ladies at me last situation had a dancing master come in to teach them, a handsome young man."

"I don't think we have any dancing masters in Fairweather, Texas," Abbie said. "And we don't have time to hire one. The dance is next week."

"I'm sure Mister Worthington knows how to dance, Miss. Why don't you be asking him?" She hefted the kettle and moved toward the serving line of hungry cowboys.

Abbie stared after her. Ask Reg to teach her to dance? She'd already proven to him what a poor pupil she was, that day at Alan's barbecue. Hadn't she vowed to put some distance between herself and Reg?

The men began to move into line to eat. Reg took his place, among them, but not of them. His ramrod straight posture, his regal bearing, even the cut of his clothes set him apart from the other men. He understood what it was like to be different, to not belong.

He was the only one who knew of her secret love for Alan. Reg had promised to help her, to teach her. Surely that help included dancing lessons.

She'd consider it part of the bargain they'd made. Strictly a business agreement. Nothing more.

After she filled her plate, she sought him out. He sat alone, back against his saddle. Bruises from the stampede and from his fight with Tuff made dark patches on his face. She wondered if he was in much pain, and fought the urge to ask.

He glanced at her when she lowered herself to the ground beside him. "I'm not in the mood for conversation at the moment."

"I came to talk business," she said.

"Mine or yours?"

"Ours."

He raised one eyebrow in question. "Yes?"

She stabbed at the meat on her plate, avoiding his penetrating gaze. This close to him, her fingers had begun to tingle again. "I want you to teach me to dance."

"As I recall, I already attempted that."

"That was different. There were other people around, watching us."

He set his plate aside. "Why are you so interested in learning to dance now?"

"The Mitch.e.l.ls are hosting a dance next week, to celebrate the end of round-up." She flushed. "Alan said he'd dance with me, if I only knew how."

She looked up and was surprised to see Reg scowling at her. "He said that, did he?"

"Well, in so many words." She leaned toward him. "You promised to teach me to be a lady. A lady should know how to dance, shouldn't she?"

"What would you teach me in return?"