His eyebrows arched. “He isn’t vindictive.”

“That’s what you think.” She picked up the file Matt had left and grimaced as she put it back in the filing cabinet. “I’ll start on those when I’ve finished answering your mail. Do you suppose he wants me to stay over after work to do them? He’d have to pay me overtime.” She grinned impishly, a reminder of the woman she’d once been. “Wouldn’t that make his day?”

“Let me ask him,” Ed volunteered. “Just do your usual job for now.”

“Okay. Thanks, Ed.”

He shrugged. “What are friends for?” he murmured with a smile.

The office was a great place to work. Leslie had a ball watching the other women in the executive offices lie in wait for Matt. His secretary caught him trying to light a cigar out on the balcony, and she let him have it from behind a potted tree with the water pistol. He laid the cigar down on Bessie David’s desk and she “accidentally” dropped it into his half-full coffee cup that he’d set down next to it. He held it up, dripping, with an accusing look at Bessie.

“You told me to do it, sir,” Bessie reminded him.

He dropped the sodden cigar back in the coffee and left it behind. Leslie, having seen the whole thing, ducked into the rest room to laugh. It amazed her that Matt was so easygoing and friendly to his other employees. To Leslie, he was all bristle and venom. She wondered what he’d do if she let loose with a water pistol. She chuckled, imagining herself tearing up Main Street in Jacobsville ahead of a cursing Matt Caldwell. It was such a pity that she’d changed so much. Before tragedy had touched her young life, she would have been very attracted to the tall, lean cattleman.

A few days later, he came into Ed’s office dangling a cigar from his fingers. Leslie, despite her amusement at the antics of the other secretaries, didn’t say a word at the sight of the unlit cigar.

“I want to see the proposal the Cattlemen’s Association drafted about brucellosis testing.”

She stared at him. “Sir?”

He stared back. She was getting easier on his eyes, and he didn’t like his reactions to her. She was repulsed by him. He couldn’t get past that because it destroyed his pride. “Ed told me he had a copy of it,” he elaborated. “It came in the mail yesterday.”

“Okay.” She knew where the mail was kept. Ed tried to ignore it, leaving it in the In box until Leslie dumped it on his desk in front of him and refused to leave until he dealt with it. This usually happened at the end of the week, when it had piled up and over-flowed into the Out box.

She rummaged through the box and produced a thick letter from the Cattlemen’s Association, unopened. She carried it back through and handed it to Matt.

He’d been watching her walk with curious intensity. She was limping. He couldn’t see her legs, because she was wearing loose knit slacks with a tunic that flowed to her thighs as she walked. Very obviously, she wasn’t going to do anything to call attention to her figure.

“You’re limping,” he said. “Did you see a doctor after that fall you took at my ranch?”

“No need to,” she said at once. “It was only a bruise. I’m sore, that’s all.”

He picked up the receiver of the phone on her desk and pressed the intercom button. “Edna,” he said abruptly, “set Miss Murry up with Lou Coltrain as soon as possible. She took a spill from a horse at my place a few days ago and she’s still limping. I want her X-rayed.”

“No!” Leslie protested.

“Let her know when you’ve made the appointment. Thanks,” he told his secretary and hung up. His dark eyes met Leslie’s pale ones squarely. “You’re going,” he said flatly.

She hated doctors. Oh, how she hated them! The doctor at the emergency room in Houston, an older man retired from regular practice, had made her feel cheap and dirty as he examined her and made cold remarks about tramps who got men killed. She’d never gotten over the double trauma of her experience and that harsh lecture, despite the therapists’ attempts to soften the memory.

She clenched her teeth and glared at Matt. “I said I’m not hurt!”

“You work here. I’m the boss. You get examined. Period.”

She wanted to quit. She wished she could. She had no place else to go. Houston was out of the question. She was too afraid that she’d be up to her ears in reporters, despite her physical camouflage, the minute she set foot in the city.

She drew a sharp, angry breath.

Her attitude puzzled him. “Don’t you want to make sure the injury won’t make that limp permanent?” he asked suddenly.

She lifted her chin proudly. “Mr. Caldwell, I had an…accident…when I was seventeen and that leg suffered some bone damage.” She refused to think about how it had happened. “I’ll always have a slight limp, and it’s not from the horse throwing me.”