Free Plots and Pans by Kelly Eileen Hake Page A

tall for a woman. Also that he’d been right before—her skirts hung short.
    She didn’t move as he walked toward her, and Tucker found he appreciated her courage. As any cowboy would, he removed his hat before confronting a misbehaving lady. “ ‘J,’ I presume?”

     
    The knock on the door startled Jess to her feet. She reached for her holster before remembering she’d left it with the rest of her clothes. For years she’d kept it as close as possible—a reminder of who she was and that Papa wanted her to be safe even if he wasn’t close enough to do the protecting. Once she’d found her way back home, it didn’t seem as necessary anymore.
    Then, too, it somehow seemed wrong to strap her pistol over one of Mama’s fine dresses. Desta insisted she wear it since her traveling clothes could practically stand on their own and everything in her saddlebags got soaked by the rain. She hadn’t imagined that an irritated man would burst through the kitchen doors and cut her off from the washroom, where her pistol lay.
    Close enough for comfort, but not close enough to count
, Jess berated herself.
    Desta looked more amused than alarmed, and Jess took her cue from that. As her tension eased and the man drew closer, Jess identified him as the foreman from that afternoon. Almost immediately she confirmed her impression that he was irritated—the man practically simmered. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see some of the rainwater coating his clothing rise up in steam.
    But he leveled all that heated intensity on Jess as he stalked across the room. A lesser woman would’ve taken a step back or shifted so she didn’t meet his gaze. But Jess refused to step back and find herself penned against the table. On a visceral level, she recognized in this man the innate tendency to dominate. If she lowered her eyes, he’d see it as a sign of submission.
    Refusing to let an employee get the upper hand on her first night back, Jess wouldn’t even blink. He crossed the room in a matter of seconds, but the man made a powerful impression.
    Earlier that afternoon, even through the storm and while on horseback, he projected an air of authority, a sense of stubbornness, and gave an impression of physical height and strength. Up close and out of the rain, Jess saw that she wouldn’t be revising any of those opinions anytime soon.
    He stood a full head taller than she, which made him unusually tall. She saw eye to eye or close enough with most men, but Jess got the feeling she wouldn’t be seeing eye to eye with this one on any level. A square jaw, dusted with several days’ growth of whiskers, jutted toward her like a hound dog after a hare. Sweeping the hat from his head, he flung water across the kitchen floor.
    “ ‘J,’ I presume?” He bit off the words, making a mockery of his fine manners.
    Intelligent
. Jess added to his list of attributes.
And angry as all get-out that I fooled him
.
    “Tucker Carmichael, you stop frowning so fierce or I’m going to take offense.” Desta bustled up to provide a buffer. “No man should walk into a kitchen looking so put out.”
    Tucker
. Jess kept herself from gasping, but it took some effort. Suddenly she remembered standing on the porch, hearing Desta tell her to talk to Tucker. She’d had the same reaction then, but forgotten it in the revelations that followed. Now her surprise came rushing back.
    The memory unspooled of a rangy—even gangly—young greenhorn, taken on for the spring and eager to prove himself. The boy stood tall, waiting for manhood to fill out his shoulders and a few seasons at the Bar None to round out his skills. He evinced the wiry strength not uncommon in young cowhands, with a quick mind and an eye for horses. His way with animals convinced Papa to hire him in spite of his inexperience—and his inexperience made it easy for a twelve-year-old Jess, in desperation, to convince young Tucker Carmichael to saddle an unbroken bronco for her.
    Now, seven