His eyes broadened in mock surprise.
Realizing she’d just insulted him, she began to ramble, “Sorry, not a jerk. Well actually, I hate to break it to you, but you’re sort of rude. Half the time. Your vibrations are all over the place. You’re nice one minute and—” she hesitated, searching for the right description. “—cold the next.”
He bit back a smug grin, casting his gaze out over the crowd, seeming to ponder their previous interaction. He didn’t deny it, and she wondered why. Turning back, his eyes brimmed with humor and acknowledgment.
Ember’s eyes bore into his. “Maybe you’re bad news too.”
It was a lie. Though she sensed a wild roughness hidden beneath his fine exterior, he emanated strength and dependability.
“Honey, I’m not bad news,” he assured. Nash shifted to look down at her. His blue eyes flashed with uncivilized suggestion, warning, “I’m a whole different kind of trouble for you.”
She forced a swallow down her dry throat.
“Travis—he’s got dirty hands—the kind that ain’t made for shakin’. He probably wants to get you drunk so he can take you home. The fact that you’re Walker’s daughter would only be an added bonus.”
Ember considered explaining it wasn’t the first time a man bought her a drink in hopes of taking her home. It’s the precise reason she opted never to let men buy her drinks. However, Mr. Montgomery held him in high regard, and she suspected there was more to Travis White than a pair of chaps and a layer of Texas dirt.
Glancing at their connected hands, her thumb turned a lazy circle over his palm. “And what kind of hands do you have?”
The bold question slipped out without reserve. His eyes narrowed, and though his feet glided forward on the dance floor, he took a giant emotional step back, his expression now unreadable.
The song ended and he released her from his hold, the warmth disappearing from her flesh and his eyes as fast as it had arrived. The man had the personality of a pendulum, his mood drastically swinging from side to side. Her heart spurred into a ramshackle pace, not wanting him to let go, yet needing to retreat as quick as possible.
“Thanks for the dance,” she said, before he had the opportunity to rattle off a feigned excuse. Looking up, her eyes burned into his. “Seems like your injury is flaring up. You should probably get some ice on that knee.”
Turning away, she forced herself not to rush as she made her way back to the bar. Nash followed right behind.
With the mere ease of raising a finger, he called over the bartender. Nash slid Ember’s half-empty glass forward and tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. “She’ll need a fresh drink.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Harris.”
Ember held her tongue casually watching the exchange. It became obvious that the Harris brothers had clout, but there was something more. Respect.
Nash passed out a round of well-mannered goodbyes to the rest of the group, quick cheek kisses for the ladies and firm handshakes for the men. Ember kept her view forward, expecting him to pass her by. Much to her surprise, he rested a hand on her shoulder and brushed a quick, meaningless kiss to the edge of her cheek.
The warmth of his breath drew goosebumps to her flesh.
Ember strove to keep a calm, subtle tone. “Thanks for the drink.”
“Make sure you have someone walk you out when you leave,” he advised. Nash tipped his head signaling for a response.
Sorting through her small crossover purse, she retrieved a pink container of pepper spray hanging from a lanyard next to her keys. “I’ll be fine.”
He clasped her upper arm capturing her attention, unraveling her composure even further. “I’m not foolin’. Make sure Sam or Reed see you to your car.”
“Oh, okay,” she stammered, eyes blinking. Part of her felt as if he was treating her like a damn child and the other swooned over his concern. Her emotions zipped up and down like a yo-yo.
Now who’s the fucking pendulum?
By some miracle, Reed overheard his warning. “We’ll make sure she gets home safe.”
Nash’s expression cleared, smoothing the worry from his creased forehead. He leaned in closer. “I’ll try not to be such a jerk the next time.”
“Looking forward to it.”
He walked away, leaving her with a fleeting glance of his fine ass.
Chapter 7
Ember
If your boots have never seen anything but country music than you’re probably from the city.
Over the next couple weeks, days bled together like the colors of the setting sun. Ember had never been so exhausted in her life. After being a yoga instructor for years, she considered herself to be in great shape, but the difference between working out and hard work was like comparing a babbling brook to a rushing river.
“Depending on the season and drought conditions, we typically have about five thousand nursing cows,” Mr. Montgomery informed as they rode along the pristine river frontage. “Black and Black Baldies make up the majority of our cow population.”
“Why do you stick with that particular breed?” she asked with interest, riding alongside Mr. Montgomery’s buckskin horse.
“They’re a moderately framed cow with good maternal and carcass characteristics. After wintering on wheat, they reach an average weight of eight hundred and fifty pounds by the time they’re sold. They’re a top-quality beef.”
Ember grimaced, pressing her boots deeper into the stirrups, adjusting her sore bottom in the saddle. Looking out, she watched the cattle cross a broad, shallow section of river, stating, “My God, there’s got to be an easier way. This is awful. My butt is never gonna survive. I realize I’ve no idea what I’m talking about, but why not use a truck or at least an ATV?”
“We do everything old school. No feed yard or sperm bank or that cloning malarkey, we prefer to keep to tradition.”
“I don’t know why, but I’m surprised you still use horses.”
“You’re not too far off. Cattle ranching is an industry in transition. The future looks very different from our past. Cowboys on horseback are a fading era. The art of roping is being replaced by shoots and hydraulic cages. Hell, our youth is spending more time in the seat of a truck than a saddle.”
“That’s’ just a given in life, isn’t it? Evolution.”
“I reckon. A lot of ranchers have switched to a more modern set up of helicopters and ATVs.”
“Other than tradition, is there another reason why Walker Ranch isn’t moving into the twenty-first century?”
“Mr. Walker preferred to use the same methods as his forbearers used over one hundred years ago. We’ve made changes when necessary but have never forgotten traditions and ethics that have allowed this place to survive while many others have failed.”
Sensing some hesitancy, Ember questioned, “But what do you prefer?”
“I prefer to do what I’m told.”
“I take it that means you disagree?” she questioned. He didn’t resist, so she continued. “Look, Mr. Walker isn’t here and I’m clueless. I need to know your ideas and thoughts as well as his. If there are changes that need to be made, don’t you think it would be fair to me that I be informed of all my options?”