Free Heartbreaker by Linda Howard Page A

could she be content as a useless ornament. “I know I can’t do those things by myself, but I can help.”
    â€œI’ll think about it,” he answered noncommittally, but he knew there was no way in hell he’d let her. What could she do? It was hard, dirty, smelly, bloody work. The only thing she was physically strong enough to do was brand calves, and he didn’t think she could stomach the smell or the frantic struggles of the terrified little animals.
    â€œIt’s my ranch,” she reminded him, ice in her tone. “Either I help, or the deal’s off.”
    John didn’t say anything. There was no point in arguing. He simply wasn’t going to let her do it, and that was that. He’d handle her when the time came, but he didn’t expect much of a fight. When she saw what was involved, she wouldn’t want any part of it. Besides, she couldn’t possibly like the hard work she’d been doing; he figured she was just too proud to back down now.
    It was a long drive to Tampa, and half an hour passed without a word between them. Finally she said, “You used to make fun of my expensive little cars.”
    He knew she was referring to the sleek Mercedes, and he grunted. Personally, he preferred his pickup. When it came down to it, he was a cattle rancher and not much else, but he was damned good at what he did, and his tastes weren’t expensive. “Funny thing about bankers,” he said by way of explanation. “If they think you don’t need the money all that badly, they’re eager to loan it to you. Image counts. This thing is part of the image.”
    â€œAnd the members of your rotating harem prefer it, too, I bet,” she gibed. “Going out on the town lacks something when you do it in a pickup.”
    â€œI don’t know about that. Ever done it in a pickup?” he asked softly, and even through the dark glasses she could feel the impact of his glance.
    â€œI’m sure you have.”
    â€œNot since I was fifteen.” He chuckled, ignoring the biting coldness of her comment. “But a pickup never was your style, was it?”
    â€œNo,” she murmured, leaning her head back. Some of her dates had driven fancy sports cars, some had driven souped-up Fords and Chevys, but it hadn’t made any difference what they’d driven, because she hadn’t made out with any of them. They had been nice boys, most of them, but none of them had been John Rafferty, so it hadn’t mattered. He was the only man she’d ever wanted. Perhaps if she’d been older when she’d met him, or if she’d been secure enough in her own sexuality, things might have been different. What would have happened if she hadn’t initiated those long years of hostility in an effort to protect herself from an attraction too strong for her to handle? What if she’d tried to get him interested in her, instead of warding him off?
    Nothing, she thought tiredly. John wouldn’t have wasted his time with a naive eighteen-year-old. Maybe later, when she’d graduated from college, the situation might have changed, but instead of coming home after graduation she had gone to Philadelphia…and met Roger.
    They were out of the lawyer’s office by noon; it hadn’t been a long meeting. The land would be surveyed, the deed drawn up, and John’s ranch would increase by quite a bit, while hers would shrink, but she was grateful that he’d come up with that solution. At least now she still had a chance.
    His hand curled warmly around her elbow as they walked out to the car. “Let’s have lunch. I’m too hungry to wait until we get home.”
    She was hungry, too, and the searing heat made her feel lethargic. She murmured in agreement as she fumbled for her sunglasses, missing the satisfied smile that briefly curled his mouth. John opened the car door and held it as she got in, his eyes lingering on the