She drew in a long breath as she studied his job application. She looked up suddenly and surprised an odd, watchful look in his eyes. “Why do you want this job?” she asked with her accustomed bluntness.

He smiled sadly. “Nobody else had one,” he said simply. “Early spring’s a bad time to be out of work, because most ranchers have already hired on any extra hands they need for calving. And this isn’t Arizona. I wanted a place that wasn’t so hot.” Arizona was where his references were from.

She looked back down at the paper. “What sort of salary would you expect?” she asked, and lifted her eyes to his.

He spread his hands. “Whatever the going rate is up here in Wyoming,” he said simply. “I don’t have a family to support and I don’t drink or smoke or gamble. I just mainly need a place to stay and food.” He smiled. “I’d work hard. I’ve always worked hard. I think a man should earn his keep.”

She smiled at that, noting the curious look on his face. “Well, I can pay you the going rate,” she said after a minute. “It’s not a fancy operation, just a beef enterprise. I have two part-time cowboys and a part-time foreman, Bill…”

“… McAllister,” he finished for her, and smiled. “I met him in town Sunday. We’re both Methodist. He’s the one who told me about this job.”

“Well.” If Bill had pointed him in Mina’s direction, he must have seen something good in the man. She clasped her hands on the desk in front of her. “Suppose we give it a try for a month and see if we suit each other?” she asked. “And I have to tell you that I won’t be here for a good bit of the year. I write books. I’m already fairly successful so my publisher is sending me on tour, all over the country, to sign books, in a few weeks. Before that, I have a research trip planned. You’ll mostly be working for Bill until I get home. And he won’t be here all the time,” she added.

He shrugged. “I’m a self-starter,” he said. “I’ll see what needs done, and I’ll do it.” He hesitated. “There’s just one thing. Do you mind dogs?”

Her brows drew together. She’d only ever had one, when her father was still at home. It had been a German shepherd, a huge, beautiful red-and-black one named Duke. The dog had gone with her father, all those years ago.

“I guess not,” she said finally. “As long as he doesn’t eat calves.”

He chuckled. “He’s a sweet boy. He never bothers other animals. In fact, he has an actual distaste for raw meat. He likes his cooked.”

“My goodness,” she laughed. “What breed is he?”

He shrugged. “Sort of Heinz 57, if you get my meaning. There’s husky in him, and some border collie, too, I think. His name’s Sagebrush.”

She sensed a story there. “Sagebrush?”