Fit To Be Frisked: Fit To Be Frisked / Mr. Cool Under Fire

4

DRESSED IN BLUE JEANS, a T-shirt and her OCPD windbreaker jacket—a gift from her dad and brothers—Miranda reluctantly climbed from her car at seven o’clock sharp. She fully expected Vance to test her mettle, but she hadn’t expected to have his two cousins on hand to witness her inadequacy at handling ranch chores.

“Why are they here?” she asked as Vance approached, wearing leather chaps and a bulky denim jacket that emphasized his rugged good looks and muscular physique. She tried to ignore the tantalizing effect the man had on her—but it wasn’t easy.

“They’re here to ensure we don’t kill each other,” Vance replied as he appraised her choice of clothing. “No boots?”

“I don’t own cowboy boots. Tennis shoes will have to do.”

He grinned wickedly. “Well, good luck getting the fresh manure out of those treads.”

He started to take her arm to escort her downhill to the pipe-and-cable corral then obviously decided against making physical contact. He’d made it perfectly clear that he thought she was a jinx and the curse of his life. Well, those feelings were mutual. That day she met Vance would go down in the annals of history as the worst day in her personal and professional life.

“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Cousin Quint, formerly the ladies’ man of the family. He has a nearby ranch and he married Steph after Thanksgiving last year. She owns the Palace restaurant and the food’s terrific in case you haven’t tried it yet.”

“Steph, restaurant, Quint,” she repeated. “Copy that.”

Vance, she noted, almost smiled at her determination to remember names and familiarize herself with the citizens of Hoot’s Roost.

“You’ve already met Wade. He claimed to be a woman-hater until he met and married Laura last summer. She teaches math and computer science at the high school,” he informed her.

Miranda systematically filed the background information. “Got it.”

He halted her in front of his cousins. “Miranda Jackson, HRPD, this is Quint Ryder,” Vance introduced. “And I’m sure you remember Wade.”

Wade tipped his hat politely. “Nice to see you again, Officer Jackson.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Quint added, flashing her a smile.

She studied the three similarly dressed cowboy cousins who towered over six feet and made her five feet six inches seem small in comparison. Obviously well muscled physiques, striking good looks and devastating smiles ran in the Ryder family. “Please call me Miranda,” she insisted as she offered them a cordial smile.

“And this is Frank,” Vance said, gesturing to the blue heeler that was wagging his stub of a tail. “Wade’s cow dog is the only one around here who has the good manners to shake hands.”

On cue, Frank lifted a paw and waited for Miranda to hunker down for the formal introduction.

“Best cow dog this side of the Red River,” Wade boasted proudly. “Or at least he was until my wife tried to turn him into a house dog. Frank’s been suffering an identity crisis since Laura showed up to pamper him.”

Miranda noticed how the big cowboy’s voice softened when he mentioned his wife. Clearly the man was deeply in love. She couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be in love. She’d never been remotely close to experiencing those emotions.

Her gaze drifted to Quint. “What about your wife, the restaurateur? Steph, right? Married three months?”

Quint’s whiskey-colored eyes widened in surprise. “You know Steph?”

“Not yet, but Vance mentioned her fabulous restaurant so I’ll want to try it out.”

“Enough chitchat. We have cattle to separate and haul to Cousin Gage’s ranch.” Vance glanced down at Miranda. “You do ride, don’t you?”

Miranda shifted uneasily. “Um…no.”

Vance’s grin turned mischievous. “Perfect.”

“He means that you won’t have to unlearn any bad habits,” Quint put in as he sent Vance a surreptitious glance. “Isn’t that right, Cousin V?”

“Sure, what else?” Vance said with a nonchalant shrug.

When Vance ambled toward the string of horses tethered beside the gate Miranda glanced anxiously at Wade. “I’ve heard Vance is the practical joker of your family. He isn’t going to put me on the wildest bronc he’s got is he?”

“Probably not. Most of his jokes are playful and harmless,” Wade assured her. “Like the time he left red construction paper hearts on my pickup seat while Laura was working as my temp housekeeper. Then he disguised his voice and called to say I’d won a honeymoon vacation to the Bahamas, long before we’d even had our first date.”

“Or the time Vance stocked our honeymoon apartment with aphrodisiacs and left a bed as the only stick of furniture in the place,” Quint added wryly. “Then there were the Christmas lights he strung outside the apartment and glowing neon sign that read. Do Not Disturb.”

“In high school there were the usual pranks of adding extra gas to our tanks to make us think we were getting great mileage and nailing our shoes to the floor,” Wade recalled.

“Don’t forget that trick he pulled on the baseball coach with breath mints and water,” Quint reminded him. “The poor man’s mouth turned green while he was engaged in a heated dispute with the home-plate umpire.”

“And there was the time on the rodeo circuit when Vance—” Wade clamped his mouth shut when Vance flashed him a silencing frown. “I guess the joker doesn’t want you to hear the list of his offenses.”

Vance drew the paint pony to a halt in front of Miranda then glanced at his cousins. “Why don’t you round up the cattle in the west pasture while Randi and I bring in the herd from the south. We’ll take Frank with us.”

When Wade and Quint mounted up, Miranda noted the ease with which they settled in their saddles. She doubted she’d look as relaxed on a horse.

“Ready, Calamity Jane?” Vance asked, directing her attention to the stirrup. “Nothing to this. This horse is well trained to move cattle. All you have to do is stay aboard. Heaven forbid that you fall off and end up with a black eye, swollen jaw and knot on your noggin.”

“About that knot,” she said as she approached the pinto mare. “It was an accident.”

“Or an opportunity too good to pass up,” he said, and smirked.

Miranda wheeled on him. “Look, pal, I’m going to do my level best to handle everything you throw at me this week and try to get along with you. So can we please get past that night at the tavern and serve this sentence as amicably as possible?”

“Sure, just as soon as I get over that wisecrack about Peter Pan,” he said darkly. “I may be fun-loving, but I take proper care of my cattle, horses and ranch. Just because I try to inject enjoyment into my work doesn’t mean I shirk my duties and behave irresponsibly.”

“I can see that you don’t,” Miranda assured him. “You have a well-manicured place that’s indicative of pride, hard work and commitment.”

Her compliment took the defensiveness out of his stance and expression. He even smiled at her. Miranda wished he hadn’t because the woman in her responded instantaneously. Even with that black eye and discolored jaw she still found him absolutely irresistible.

Enough of those inappropriate thoughts, she chastised herself. She turned to stuff her foot in the stirrup. Her body went on red alert when Vance clamped his hands around her waist to steady her and guide her onto her perch.

When she glanced down he tipped back his head to stare at her with that endearing one-eyed squint. “Sorry, Officer, I wanted to make sure you got settled in the saddle without mishap.”

“Well, uh, thanks.” Miranda yanked her attention away from those full, sensuous lips and toyed with the reins. “How many gears does this mare have?”

“Just two.” He grinned wryly. “A plodding walk and a hell-for-leather gallop. Hold her to first gear and you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Miranda watched Vance mount up with grace and experienced ease. The man was definitely in his element. She, however, was not. He probably wanted to see her fail—big-time. Wanted to see her swallow her pride and nurse a few bruises after she cartwheeled off the pinto and bit dust. He’d probably laugh his head off when she went flying. Well, she’d stick to this saddle like glue, she vowed resolutely. She’d already made a fool of herself in his presence more times that she cared to remember. She was not going to do it today.

VANCE HAD TO ADMIT RANDI was a real trooper. Even when the cattle herd cut and ran and her pinto mare shot off to stop the stampede Randi held on tightly. Of course, her face turned baby-powder white and she clamped her teeth together in grim determination. But damn if he didn’t admire her for tackling the unfamiliar chores and attempting to do her very best.

Things progressed without mishap until the Black Angus bull abruptly turned tail and headed for the creek. The bull, it seemed, decided he wasn’t in favor of being confined to the corral. He thundered toward Randi and her mare who stood directly in his escape route.

“Oh, my God,” Randi squawked as the cantankerous bull charged toward her.

The pinto reared up when the bull sideswiped it. Vance’s heart missed several vital beats while he watched Randi somersault backward over the horse’s rump. He nudged his sorrel gelding and raced toward her. Damn it, if he killed the chief’s niece on the first day he’d be penitentiary bound.

Vance dismounted before his horse skidded to a stop and raced to Randi. She lay sprawled facedown in the grass, her breath coming in shallow hitches.

“You okay?”

“Don’t…know,” she wheezed. “Can’t breathe yet.”

Vance liked the way she didn’t go into instant panic mode after she got the wind knocked out of her. She just lay there, waiting to get her breath back.

He slid his arm around her shoulders, turned her over and eased her upright. “Put your head between your legs, cowgirl,” he murmured. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m lousy at this,” she choked out then did as he instructed. “Lousy cop, too.”

“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. That’s what I’m here for.”

She raised her head and managed a wobbly smile.

“I’ll probably make a lousy assistant cop while I’m riding with you. You’ll have your chance to poke fun.”

He hadn’t meant to brush his forefinger over her bloodless cheek or sink his hand into that mass of dark, silky hair that lay like a braided rope on her shoulder. It just sort of happened naturally. It felt good to touch her. Too good.

Vance jerked his hand away. Her deep green eyes locked on his and he swallowed hard when desire pelted him. He wanted to taste those cupid’s bow lips, but he denied himself. Knowing this bristly cop, who was out to prove herself to the world—and to the men in it—she’d probably take offense and he’d get his face slapped. As if he didn’t have enough bumps and bruises already.

“I’m okay now,” she squeaked, offering him an anemic imitation of a smile.

She didn’t look or sound very okay, but Vance hoisted her to her feet, nonetheless. When her legs folded up he hooked his arm around her waist to offer support. He had to admit that he admired the way she sucked it up and didn’t whimper and whine. He could easily visualize her taking those self-defense lessons at the academy. She’d give her all and she’d never let a man know she was hurting or let a hard fall slow her down. She’d likely swallow a howl of pain and get back on her feet—even if it about killed her.

“Why don’t you go up to the house and lie down for a few minutes,” he suggested. “No shame in that. I had my bell wrung plenty of times when I bucked off a rodeo bronc. Stuff happens, ya know, and sometimes you just need a breather.”

“No, I agreed to do this job and I’m going to do it.”

She inhaled a fortifying breath and Vance cursed himself soundly when his gaze helplessly dropped to her breasts. The woman could barely stand up and he itched to cop a feel of the lady cop. Man, he was such an insensitive jerk.

Scowling at himself, Vance helped her into the saddle. He glanced sideways to note that Frank had chased down the bull and nipped the big brute’s heels until he rejoined the herd.

When the cattle converged from both pastures, Vance motioned for Miranda to dismount. “The next order of business is to cut the weaning calves from the cows for transport to a distant pasture. Then we’ll make another cut of marketable calves from the combined herds, work them and haul them to the stockyards.”

“Marketable?” Miranda questioned. “What’s that mean?”

“We’ll package the seven-and eight-hundred-pound steers in groups to sell to feedlot buyers. Heifers, too, but they don’t command the same prices as feeder steers,” he explained as he strode over to the clunker truck to grab two leather whips. “My cousins and I will evaluate and sort out the calves, then pen up the newborns for branding and inoculations. Your job is to open and shut the pasture gate to filter out the cows.”

“And the bull?” she asked, casting the ton of beef on the hoof a wary glance.

“Nope, we’re taking him to service the cows at Cousin Q’s ranch. We rotate our bulls to protect against inbreeding.”

When Vance walked over to speak to his cousins Miranda heaved a pained sigh and rolled her strained shoulder. Of course, she hadn’t told Vance that she’d hurt herself. Pride wouldn’t allow that. She just gritted her teeth and toughed it out.

Positioning herself by the metal gate, Miranda watched, impressed, as the Ryder cousins directed calves into the loading chute for transport and cut out other calves for branding and injections. She was able to stand aside and watch the interaction between the Ryder cousins, noting the playful camaraderie they employed while working. Occasionally she caught the teasing comments Vance made that kept his cousins grinning, while they went about their tasks. She couldn’t help but wonder why Vance was unable to direct that playful attitude toward her.

Probably because he hated her and she’d criticized his easygoing manner one too many times.

Miranda jerked to attention when one of the cows trotted toward her. She managed to open and shut the pasture gate several times without incident. But to her dismay, she wasn’t agile enough to shut the gate before one of the small calves darted around a cow and shot through the opening like a cannonball.

Her gaze instantly flew to Vance who muttered and scowled. She fully expected him to chew her out royally. Instead he said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring back the calf.”

Miranda watched him hop the fence to gather a lariat from the clunker truck then bound onto his horse. Fascinated, she watched him gallop after the runaway calf—with the loop of the lariat circling his head. He roped the calf on the first attempt, stepped down to secure the small calf’s legs then draped the bawling animal over his saddle. When he returned, Miranda opened the gate to let him deposit the calf in the designated pen.

“Nice work, cowboy. Sorry about that. I won’t let it happen again. Now that I know how sneaky those little buggers can be, I’ll be ready and waiting.”

“Good, because time-consuming delays will make it hard for us to finish up before dark. I’m on patrol duty tonight, ya know,” he said with a teasing wink.

Miranda inwardly winced at the reminder. She decided, right there and then, that she wasn’t going to be the cause of another delay. She’d throw herself in front of an escaping calf before she’d interrupt this precisioned process again.

Ten minutes later she was forced to put up or shut up. Another calf zipped around a cow and scrambled toward the open gate. Miranda launched herself at the calf. The animal bawled its head off and kicked her in the thigh, but she brought it down and rammed her elbow in its wet nose. While the calf recovered from the stunned blow, Miranda surged to her feet to slam the gate shut.

Vance froze in disbelief, his goggle-eyed gaze fixed on the woman who’d just tackled a two-hundred-fifty-pound calf before it escaped and had to be chased down.

“Did I see what I thought I saw?” Quint chirped, incredulous.

“Think so.” Wade glanced at Vance. “Wha’d you do? Threaten to clean her plow if she let another calf get past her?”

“No,” Vance mumbled. “Jeez, I knew she was about half crazy, but I didn’t realize she was a daredevil, too.”

Quint chuckled as he turned his attention back to the task at hand. “Damn, those self-defense classes at the academy must be something else. Didn’t know some of the techniques used for steer-wrestling also applied to taking down escaping criminals.”

“She could’ve hurt herself—badly,” Vance muttered. “That was above and beyond the call of duty.”

Wade chuckled in amusement. “Nice to know how devoted she is to the job. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing how well I’m being protected by HRPD’s finest.”

Well, maybe his cousins were properly impressed, but Vance was just frustrated that Randi had risked injury to stop the calf from hightailing it north. She’d scared him. She’d triggered protective instincts he hadn’t realized he had—didn’t want to have—for her.

She was a pain in the patoot. The proverbial thorn in his paw. He didn’t want to admire, respect or worry about her. That signified that she meant something to him. She didn’t. They were polar opposites. Their approach to life was diametrically different. She took everything seriously. And to the extreme.

Damn, he’d almost stopped breathing when he’d seen Randi dive at that calf that outweighed her by at least a hundred and twenty pounds. He’d had a horrible vision of dragging her trampled body back to Tate and hearing himself say: Here you go, Chief. Sorry I got your niece killed in the corral because she was trying too hard to live up to my expectations.

An hour later, when the feeder calves had been loaded in trailers and the weaning calves were penned up, Vance breathed a tired sigh. He’d watched Randi throw herself in front of another oncoming calf and he had suffered another near coronary. At that point he’d called time out and given her quick instruction on where and how to use the whip so she didn’t have to tackle a runaway calf.

The woman might not know jack about ranching and farming, but she’d certainly taken very seriously the sentence Tate handed down to her. That get-thejob-done, do-or-die attitude of hers was admirable, but it was making him nervous. He didn’t want to consider how he’d react if he had to sit by and watch her handle some crazed criminal that was avoiding arrest. The thought gave him the heebie-jeebies.

Criminey. This was not going to work, just like he’d told Tate. After one morning with Randi, Vance was ready to call it quits and pay the fine. The woman was affecting him on too damn many levels and he was so aware of her that it was driving him nuts.

“What’s next, boss?” she asked as she walked toward him.

Vance noted the grimace that bracketed her mouth and the limp she was trying very hard not to favor. It upset him all over again. He wasn’t accustomed to being upset. He was the kind who shrugged, smiled and got on with life.

“You’re hurt,” he blurted out accusingly.

She forced a cheery smile. “I’m fine.”

“Are not, damn it,” he growled down at her.

Randi tipped her head back to study his black scowl then glanced at Wade and Quint. “I thought you said Vance was the happy-go-lucky joker of the family. Doesn’t look happy now.”

Vance’s arm shot toward his pickup. “Just load up, Calamity Jane,” he demanded.

She opened her mouth to protest his sharp tone, clamped her lips together then did as she was told.

“Sheesh, you’re in a mood,” Wade teased. “She’s really getting to you, isn’t she, hotshot?”

“She is not getting to me,” Vance denied huffily.

“Oh, gimme a break,” Quint said, and smirked. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her for the past two hours. She’s definitely getting to you.”

“I saw you grimace when she defended the pasture gate,” Wade put in gleefully. “You’re showing all the signs of a man with a woman on his mind.”

“Can you blame me?” Vance erupted uncharacteristically. Funny, this tormenting teasing between cousins had been more amusing when he was dishing it out rather than taking it. “The Robo Cop defied injury and death, right in my corral. I’ll be a basket case after riding patrol with her. No telling what brave deeds she plans to attempt in the name of truth, justice and the American way.”

“If you ask me, she’s trying to prove herself competent and worthy to you. Hmm, wonder why that’s so all-fired important to her?” Quint remarked.

“Good question,” Wade said, smiling wryly. “Could it be that you’re getting to her, too?”

“Are you two yahoos going to stand here harassing me or are you going to help?” Vance demanded crankily.

“Harassing is more fun,” Wade replied devilishly.

“I have to agree with Wade,” Quint seconded.

Swearing ripely, Vance shouldered past his cousins to climb into his truck. Dealing with this gutsy, fearless female was problem enough. Being hounded by his evil relatives was turning his stomach. Vance was beginning to wonder if he’d be able to get through the first day of his tortuous sentence without murdering one—or both—of his cousins. And don’t forget the very real possibility of getting Ms. Eager Beaver killed in a ranching accident, he mused uneasily.

EXHAUSTED, BRUISED AND unwillingly impressed by Vance’s commitment to his ranch, Miranda made use of his shower then changed into her uniform. There hadn’t been time to rush back to her apartment before she reported for patrol duty. There had been time at lunch, however, for her to make some hurried requests by phone. The secretive arrangements were her way of apologizing to Vance for the comedy of errors that had befallen him.

After contemplating the incidents of the past week Miranda decided the blame rested entirely on her shoulders. If she hadn’t taken her job—and herself—so seriously, hadn’t been so defensive about her physical attraction to Vance, they wouldn’t have ended up handcuffed together for seven long days and a considerable portion of the nights.

Fact was, Vance wasn’t what she’d expected. He was diligent, skilled and got on well with his family. He and his cousins combined forces to manage their ranches and help each other with various tasks. Part of the reason the Ryders could pull it off, she realized, was that Vance had a knack of neutralizing difficult situations with laughter and smiles. As much as Miranda loved her dad and brothers she wondered if they could work together with such ease.

Well, one day she’d have the chance to find out, she mused as she applied a thin coat of makeup. She was determined to fulfill her dream of joining her family at OCPD.

After a quick self-inspection in the bathroom mirror, Miranda veered into the hall. Earlier she’d taken time to admire Vance’s spacious home and countrified décor. Pictures of Vance and his cousins during their rodeo career hung on the walls of the paneled den. Trophies and silver belt buckles lined the shelves. She wondered if that scar she’d noticed on the underside of his chin was a battle scar from his wild rides on broncs while he traveled the suicide circuit.

Oh, yes, she’d been paying close attention while Wade and Quint filled her in on Vance’s past, during their short breaks. She’d discovered that the older generation of Ryder men had deeded their ranches over to their sons and headed south with their wives to a retirement village in Texas. They were living on the royalties of the oil wells that dotted these sprawling ranches.

She’d also learned that Vance had never wanted to do anything but excel on the rodeo circuit before he returned to run his ranch. According to Wade and Quint, ranching was in the Ryder blood. It wasn’t a job, they insisted, it was a way of life.