“You’re Bart’s friend,” he said, not moving any closer. She still looked intimidated by him.

She nodded. She swallowed, hard. Her weakness showed, to her worst enemy. She was ashamed and embarrassed. She swallowed again.

He studied her quietly, his horse’s reins held lightly in one hand. “What were you doing here?” he asked belatedly.

She had to try twice to get her choked voice to work. “I saw the calf down,” she managed. “I was checking it for injuries. We have wolf packs around here. Sometimes they prey on our herds when they can’t find anything else to hunt.”

“The calf was separated from its mother because we were checking the herd and it scattered,” he explained.

She looked up at him, still pale but faintly defiant. “And now I know that, don’t I?” she asked.

He moved a step closer. She didn’t back away, but she looked nervous. She looked fragile, vulnerable, with her long, blond-streaked brown hair loose around her shoulders under the cowboy hat. It was a worn hat, like her stained, warped boots.

“You know about cattle,” he said after a minute.

She nodded. “I own the ranch next door,” she said. “I have purebred bulls, just like Bart does. We have production sales jointly. I was coming over to talk to him about it.”

He was still shocked by her unexpected behavior when he’d shouted at her. He felt guilty. Something had happened to her, something bad. She was afraid not only of loud voices, but she seemed to expect violence to accompany them.

“You didn’t see the cow that was charging you,” he said after a minute. “I wasn’t sure I could cut her off in time. I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t expect the apology. It changed the stubborn, hard set of her face into something less antagonistic. She shifted from one foot to the other. “I didn’t even see her. I should have realized that the calf was just separated from her. I thought it was hurt.”

He smiled. It was a genuine smile, not the sarcastic one of their first meeting. “So you knit and run cattle.”

She glowered at him. “And wear cut-rate dresses. Yes. I don’t like dressing up.”

He shrugged. “Neither do I, honestly,” he said. “I’m more at home with cattle than people.”

She smiled shyly. “Me, too. Cattle are usually nicer than people.”

He chuckled. “Is that a dig at me?”

She flushed. “Not really. I was thinking about…other people.”

He tilted her hat up just a little so that her whole face was on view. “Someone yelled at you and hit you,” he said abruptly, and saw her wince and bite her lower lip. “A man.”

She backed away a step. “It’s ancient history. I need to talk to Bart.”

He wanted to pursue the conversation. She troubled him. “Okay,” he said instead.

She turned and went back to Sand, patting his neck gently as she took the reins and jumped up into the saddle with an ease that wasn’t lost on her companion.