“I’m going to supper at the Gallaghers’ ranch and dinner at the Brennans’. At least no one can say I’m choosing sides,” she said with a long sigh as she plopped down on the other end of the sofa and kicked off her boots. “I shouldn’t sit down, or I’ll never get up and get this cleaning done. My feet hurt. My head is aching, and damn, Sawyer, why did I just agree to do two things I don’t want to do?”

He picked up her feet and put them in his lap, massaging the soles through her socks. “I’m going to Wild Horse for dinner and River Bend for supper, but believe me, it’s not happening but this one time,” he said. “I’ll be ready for them next time around.”

She dramatically threw a hand over her eyes. “Next time? Shit! We’re going to have to outrun them again? That feels so good. Did you ever think of leaving ranchin’ and going into massage work?”

“No, ma’am. My heart is in ranchin’, but it makes a person plumb cranky to have achin’ feet.” He cocked his head to one side, drew his eyes down, and asked, “What is that noise?”

“Sounds like thunder. Maybe if it rains, they’ll all stay on their asses at home and leave us alone so we can get this place cleaned up before dark. Thanks for the foot rub. It really did help.”

He cocked his ear to one side. “It’s not thunder. That’s cattle and four-wheelers.”

She set her beer down and ran to the back door. Sure enough, there were four-wheelers out in the distance. She couldn’t make out who was driving them, but she distinctly counted six.

Sawyer went the other way—to the front door. “I see three four-wheelers out on the far side, going toward the store. What the hell are they doing on Fiddle Creek?”

That’s when they saw the cattle stampeding toward the bunkhouse. She jumped back and slammed the door shut. “Shit fire, Sawyer! What is going on?”

“It’s a full-out stampede, but when they reach the bunkhouse, it’ll break their momentum and slow ’em down. Gladys is going to have a hissy. I see River Bend brands all mixed up with ours, and I was right, there’s Wild Horse brands in there too. Both sides must’ve had the same idea.”

“To cut fences and create havoc?” she asked.

“That’s the general definition of a feud,” he answered.

Gladys, Quaid Brennan, and Tyrell Gallagher all arrived at the same time, braking so hard that gravel spewed all over the front of the bunkhouse.

“You son of a bitch.” Tyrell jumped out of his truck and bowed up to Quaid, who had barely gotten his boots on the ground. “Why did you cut our fence and cause this mess?”

Gladys stepped between them.

Jill grabbed her boots and headed outside, yelling at Sawyer the whole way. “Go help her. I swear, if one of them throws a punch and hits her, I’ll shoot him dead.”

Sawyer didn’t hesitate. He and Jill might have gotten off to a bad start, but she was right. If one of those fools hurt Gladys, she could shoot him, and Sawyer would carry the body down to the Red River and toss it into the water.

Sawyer joined Gladys. “Looks like you two need to use your energy to sort out your cattle rather than fightin’.”

“That’s right,” Gladys said. “I’m damn sure not sortin’ them out, but I will be doin’ a count tomorrow, and if a single one of Fiddle Creek cows is missin’, you’ll both answer to me. Now get busy roundin’ up your herds, and then get the hell off Fiddle Creek.”

“Don’t worry, Miz Gladys. I’m going out there to make sure that anything with our brand stays right here,” Sawyer said.

“And I’m going with him,” Jill said from the porch.

Gladys nodded. “And you had best fix your own fences too.”

Without a word to her or to each other, both cowboys headed toward their trucks. They had phones to their ears as they backed away from the bunkhouse.

“Welcome to Burnt Boot.” Gladys laughed. “I’m glad I hired y’all, because I’m going back to the store and leaving you to take care of it.”

“My truck or yours?” Jill asked.

“I’ll drive if you’ll bring that shotgun with you.”

“You got it. And, Sawyer, it’s beginning to look like we’d best stick together if we’re going to survive living here.”

He held out his hand. “Deal.”

She shook it and then went back inside to get her gun.

The truck engine was running when she got back. Sawyer put it in gear and drove toward the herd of cattle right smack in the middle of the Fiddle Creek pasture behind the bunkhouse.

“We need to be cleanin’, not settling feud wars,” she said.

“I know, but here we are. Speaking of cleanin’, I didn’t know that you were moving into the bunkhouse. Thought I had it all to myself, so I unloaded my things in the foreman’s bedroom. That comes with a private bathroom. I can move them to the other side if you want,” he said.

“I remember the bunkhouse very well, and there are two bedrooms on the other side. One will serve as my office. Let’s get a few things clear though, Sawyer. I don’t cook, but I will take my turn at cleaning.”

He nodded. “You don’t cook or you don’t like to cook?”

“I never learned.”

“Well, I did, so we’re in pretty good shape there.”

* * *

His dark brown eyes met hers over the top of the console separating the two seats. He’d never been attracted to redheads or green-eyed women. He’d always gone for willowy blonds with pretty blue eyes, but something vulnerable in her eyes said that she needed a friend. And that light sprinkling of freckles across her nose was downright adorable.

“This has been a hell of a day. I expected to have the whole place cleaned and maybe go grab a beer tonight down at Polly’s,” he said.

“I had the same idea.” She smiled. “But don’t plans get turned around quick? Here they come.”

“Where?”

She pointed. “Four-wheelers from both sides.”

Sawyer got out of the truck and stood at the front, arms crossed over his chest until they arrived. They cut the engines—Brennans on one side of his truck, Gallaghers on the other. He saw Betsy and Kinsey and Quaid and Tyrell. The only sounds in the pasture were a bunch of heaving cows still trying to catch their breath from running and the occasional disgruntled snort from a bull or two. But the tension was so thick that a good sharp machete couldn’t have split it.

“Okay, this is the way it is,” he said. “I’m the foreman here, and to avoid any more trouble, the Brennans are going to gather up their cows first and head them back to River Bend. Then you Gallaghers can get yours out from the Fiddle Creek cattle and take them to Wild Horse.”

“Why do the Brennans go first?” Betsy asked.

“Because B comes before G in the alphabet.”

He heard Jill chuckle as she crawled out of the truck, the shotgun in her hands.

“And why has she got a gun?” Kinsey asked.

“To keep things nice and friendly,” Sawyer said.

“We didn’t do any of this,” Quaid said.

“Yeah, right,” Kinsey shot across the twelve feet separating them.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that both fences were cut and cattle from both ranches stampeded?” Kinsey stared right at Sawyer.

“I don’t give a shit,” Jill said. “Your cows are mixed up with ours, and we’re being kind enough to let you take them home. Now quit your bitchin’ and get on with it. Sawyer and I haven’t even unpacked yet, and we’ve got things to do other than babysit you people.”

The Brennans started the tedious job of rounding up fifty head of cattle. Tyrell Gallagher started toward Jill, but she shook her head. “Not today, cowboy. Today it’s all business.”

He turned and said something to Betsy that made her laugh loudly before the two of them sat down on the cold ground behind a four-wheeler. Their tone said they were brewing up some kind of trouble, but Jill didn’t care. Her feet were hurting again, and she and Sawyer had too much to do for her to get another foot massage tonight.

“When we get back to the bunkhouse, if anyone else knocks on our door, one of us is going to shoot them,” Jill said just loud enough for Sawyer’s ears.