Montana Sky

there were cattle to round up.
    Bess was down with a cold, Tess had broken most of the eggs for the third time this week, and Lily the mouse was in temporary charge of the kitchen.
    To top it all off, her men were bickering.
    “A man plays poker and has a run of luck, I say he sticks around to give the rest of the table a chance to even the score.” Pickles adjusted the annoyed calf’s horns in the squeeze shoot and popped them off to the tune of Tammy Wynette backed up by insulted moos.
    “You can’t afford to lose,” Jim shot back, “you don’t play.”
    “A man’s got a right to get back his own.”
    “And a man’s got a right to turn in when he wants. Ain’t that right, Will?”
    She medicated the cow, plunging the needle in swiftly and efficiently. It was cooler today, autumn coming in strong. But the jacket she’d started out with was now slung over a rail as she sweated through her shirt. “I’m not getting in the middle of your petty feuds.”
    Pickles’s frown carved vertical lines between his brows and set his moustache quivering. “Between Jim and that cardsharp over to Three Rocks, they took me for two hundred.”
    “J C’s not a cardsharp.” More to spite Pickles than anything else, Jim flew to his new friend’s defense. “He just played better than you. You couldn’t bluff a blind man on a galloping horse. And you’re just pissed off because he fixed Ham’s rig and had it purring like a kitten.”
    Because it was true, down to the ground, Pickles’s chin jutted like a lance. “I don’t need some a-hole from over to Three Rocks coming ’round and fixing our rigs and takingmy money at cards. I’da fixed the rig when I had the chance.”
    “You’ve been saying that for a week.”
    “I’da got to it.” Grinding his teeth, Pickles got to his feet. “I don’t need somebody coming around taking over. I don’t need somebody changing the way things are. I’ve been working this ranch for eighteen years come next May. I don’t need no Johnny-come-lately a-holes telling me what’s what.”
    “Who’re you calling an a-hole?” Eyes hot, Jim sprang to his feet, pushed his face into Pickles’s. “You want to take me on, old man? Come ahead.”
    “That’s enough.” Even as fists raised, white-knuckled, Willa stepped between them. “I said enough.” Using both hands she shoved the men apart. One sweeping glance dared either one to take a punch. “As far as I can see, there are two assholes right here who don’t have the sense to keep their minds on their work when they’re hip-deep in it.”
    “I can do my work.” Pickles’s jaw clenched as he glared down at her. “I don’t need him, or you, to tell me what has to be done.”
    “That’s fine, then. And I don’t need you to start a pissing contest when we’re hip-deep in balls and horns. You go cool off. And when you’ve cooled off, you ride out and check on the fence crew.”
    “Ham doesn’t need anybody checking on him, and I’ve got work right here.”
    Willa stepped closer, bumped her temper against his. “I said go cool off. Then get your butt in your rig and check fences. You do it, and do it now, or you pack up your gear and pick up your last paycheck.”
    His color rose high, as much in anger as at the humiliation of being ordered around by a woman half his age. “You think you can fire me?”
    “I know I can, and so do you.” She jerked her head toward the gate. “Now get moving. You’re in my way here.”
    They stared at each other for ten humming seconds. Then he stepped aside, spat on the ground, and stalked toward thegate. Beside Willa, Jim blew out a breath between his teeth.
    “You don’t want to lose him, Will. He’s ornery, Christ knows, but he’s a hell of a cowboy.”
    “He’s not going anywhere.” If she had been alone, she could have pressed a hand against her jittery stomach. Instead, she crouched and prepared the next hypo. “Once he clears the mad out, he’ll be all right. He didn’t mean to swipe at you, Jim. He likes you as well as he likes anybody.”
    Grinning now, Jim hauled a cow toward the squeeze shoot. “That ain’t saying much.”
    “I guess not.” She smiled herself. “Prickly old bastard. How much you win off him last night?”
    “About seventy. Got my eye on some pretty snakeskin boots.”
    “You’re such a dude, Brewster.”
    “I like to look sharp for the ladies.” He winked at her and the routine fell back into place. “Maybe you’ll come