Trouble in 3-D

By Louise Crawford Ramona Butler

Clay Daniels, oldest of the Daniel brothers and “Boss-man” of the 3-D Ranch in Dayton, Nevada is as hard-working and serious as they come, and dead-set against having a female wrangler on the ranch because his mother died as the result of a ranching accident. So, when he learns his younger brother Zack hired LeeAnn Campbell—a fiery, red-haired, ex-casino card dealer who insists work can be fun—as a full-time ranchhand, Clay almost has a heart attack.

LeeAnn, who yearns to return to the kind of ranch life she enjoyed in Montana, can hardly believe she has her dream job on the 3-D Ranch. But it means working for straight-laced Clay, who disapproves of everything about her. Before Clay can find a good reason to fire LeeAnn, however, her two sisters arrive for a visit—three, beautiful, look-alike triplets. Heaven help Clay and the 3-D Ranch!

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.F. Crawford
• Release date: Sep 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465740939

Louise Crawford Ramona Butler

L.F. Crawford started writing science fiction and fantasy 20 years ago. She then went on to write suspense, thrillers, chick-lit mysteries, and romance. Her latest suspense novels can be found at www.mundania.com or www.newconceptspublishing.com or on Amazon.

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TROUBLE IN 3-D

Copyright © Louise Crawford and Ramona Butler, 2011

Smashwords Edition ISBN 978-1-4657-4093-9

For other books by Crawford and/or Butler: http://www.LouiseCrawfordbooks.com or http://www.LFCrawford.com or http://www.RamonaButler.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted to any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

Chapter One

More hip action, Clay. Gimme everything you got!

Clay laughed in spite of himself. If Delilah Rumsey, his pixie-ish dance partner, who was seventy if she was a day, was willing to put up with his two left feet... Well hell, Clay Daniels could--for once in his life--put up with looking foolish.

Following Delilah's urgings, he caught the loud pulsating rhythm, then picked up the pace--to the amusement of the other dancers, who cheered and hooted with laughter as they moved back to form a loose circle around the makeshift dance floor. Anywhere else, such dirty-dancing moves might get him and the venerable Delilah arrested, but it was Saturday night and this was Stagecoach, Nevada, a tiny dot of civilization on the loneliest stretch of blacktop in the West.

Folks hereabout worked hard to eke out a living, so they took their entertainment when and where they could find it. Little brother Zack's Off-to-College bash was the only break most of them were likely to get, what with this year's too-wet winter and spring headed directly into a too-hot summer. So, despite his exaggerated reputation for being solemn--even dour--Clay wasn't about to spoil their fun.

I guess we showed 'em, Delilah chortled when the music ended and the roar of the crowd died down enough for her to be heard.

Too parched to do more than croak agreement, Clay gulped punch from a dinky little paper cup handed to him by one of her smiling contemporaries. The three swallows he'd managed before being dragged onto the dance floor hadn't even made a dent in his thirst.

How lethal is this stuff? he asked, when his empty cup was immediately replaced by another full one. He wasn't looking to get sloshed tonight--although he had to admit he already felt pretty good. Maybe letting off some steam wasn’t such a bad idea. As long as it didn’t interfere with work. Tomorrow was Sunday, but this time of year there was no such thing as a day of rest. Not in ranching.

Lethal? Delilah's pale eyes twinkled. This puny punch?

Her graying colleague giggled. Heavens, it's an old family recipe. My grandmother wouldn't... Her protest sort of trailed off.

No, sorry. I'm sure your grandmother wouldn't. Dry as the Forty Mile Desert, he downed another cup of the fruity-flavored liquid.

Tasty, with a bit of zing.

Ladies. Clay teetered as he tipped his Stetson to Delilah and her friends, mindful of their eager expressions and their feet tapping time to the music. Just let me batch my creath...uh, catch my breath...and I'll be back for another dance, he promised, threading his way over to the refreshment table. That little slip of the tongue had waved a warning flag, but all these smiling faces and tonight's sense of camaraderie made him ignore it.

He grabbed another cup of punch and finished it off while eyeing the huge selection of cookies and cakes, the biggest of which was frosted in lime-green, topped with a chocolate-y Give 'em heck, Zack.

It's a good bet the kid'll do just that, Clay mused.

Despite the open doors and cool night breeze, the big room was hot and seemed to be growing hotter by the minute. Abruptly, the floor shifted like sand beneath his feet. With an effort, he planted both hands on the table to steady himself.

Mmmmm, everything looks yummy, purred a throaty voice as a slender, bare arm reached past him. Long, manicured nails decorated with tiny gold stars against dark blue polish dazzled his eyes. Miniature works of art that he felt certain belonged to someone who hadn't even a passing acquaintance with ranch life.

Of its own accord, his gaze migrated to the owner of such artistry. Luscious. The dress--which she almost didn't have on --was mostly fringe. What there was of it. Short. Very short. A silvery shimmer that revealed an abundance of lightly freckled skin, shapely legs, a gracefully arched neck. The neck was pale, slender--and framed by crimson curls.

Uh-oh, a redhead. The last redhead to invade the Daniels domain had just about destroyed his relationship with kid brother Zack. This one looked just as dangerous. Petite. Her hair, wild and free, swirling about her shoulders.

She lifted a cupcake to lips so ripe he wanted to--

Her face suddenly blurred. He blinked, attempting to rid himself of the visual fuzz, then tensed as the feminine features came back into focus. LoriAnn? he choked.

LoriAnn Campbell, the same drop-dead gorgeous redhead from that previous disaster, Zack's casino cutie, a card dealer at the Silver Spur in Carson City. What was she doing here?

Hey, big brother, Zack whooped, emerging from the crowd. I caught your dance with Miss Delilah, and ZOWIE! Looks like you finally took my advice and loosened up!

Don't start on me with that 'you gotta loosen up' stuff, Clay growled, trying to ignore the scandalously-dressed redhead.

Zack draped his arm loosely across her shoulders, his grin broadening. You remember when you gave me the responsibility of hiring someone to replace me out at the ranch?

I merem--remember! Clay flushed hotly at the twist of his tongue.

Well, I’ve found the perfect candidate, Zack boasted.

I'll just jet. Holy heck, that granny's punch had gone straight to his tongue!

You know I wouldn't leave you short-handed, bro. Wearing an expression that looked suspiciously like guilt, Zack nabbed a chocolate chip cookie and devoured it in two bites. Your new ranch hand starts tomorrow morning, bright and early. So, don't act so darn worried.

Not row-wied, Clay denied. But he was, in fact, had been ever since he’d made the rash decision to turn the hiring chore over to Zack. Afterwards, the kid had looked so pleased at having finally earned that much trust Clay couldn’t change his mind. Now he wished he hadn’t drunk quite so much punch, because his head was buzzing like he’d stuck his head in a beehive.

In addition, he was feeling hot and bothered. And not quite himself.

With studied indifference to Zack's redhead, he watched the dancers. Gyrating, high-stepping, shaking body parts that had no business being shook.

Clay? Zack nudged Clay’s arm.

The room spun.

Hey, Clay. Come on, you remember LoriAnn.

The mention of her name sobered him, but only for an instant --as the world tilted abruptly.

’scuse me, Clay gasped.

Somehow, he made it outside.

Reeling, he leaned against the rough plaster of the building's exterior and filled his lungs with cool, clean night air. What the heck had been in that sweet little old lady's punch recipe? Getting a buzz was one thing, getting hammered another.

Ten minutes later, still feeling as though the universe was woefully warped, he pushed away from the wall. Finagling funds to convert this old school building into a community center was the one accomplishment of their current assemblyman. At the moment, Clay didn't know whether to appreciate the feat or not.

'Evening, Clay, said a voice that grated like new sandpaper. Noah Barnes’s voice. At sixty-five and as stubby as a fire hydrant, the man was tenacious as that stand of ancient cottonwoods down by the river. Gonna be lonely around here with Zack going off to college, Noah remarked.

Lonely? The old coot's words prompted ideas Clay had been dodging. What if Zack didn’t come back after college? Ranching was Clay’s life, but it might not be Zack’s. It had been the two of them ever since Rusty married Sabrina... Clay realized he’d been trying not to think about that possibility. His thoughts detoured to the notion of perhaps getting married, but finding a traditional, stay-at-home woman seemed more daunting than living alone.

From inside the community center the sound of the microphone crackling to life drifted out to them, then Zack's voice announcing, I'm taking off directly after this wing-ding is over, and I’ll be taking what’s left of these cookies and cakes with me-- an empty threat --so you better get some NOW.

Clay grinned despite prospects of the empty months ahead. Even with stern supervision, the kid's antics all-too-often bordered on catastrophe. The University of Colorado would probably never be the same.

Still feeling as though his brain had gone north for the summer, Clay decided he wasn't going to match wits with Noah tonight. Think I'll wander-- stagger was more like it --back inside for some of that...stuff. In truth, he was more interested in escaping whatever cause Noah was promoting than in cakes and cookies.

Clay headed for the wide double door--and almost missed. His eye-hand-foot coordination had developed a definite glitch.

Must come from over-exposure to freckled feminine skin, he thought, as he crossed the threshold, returning inside. The band was really beginning to rock. He ought to go ask Delilah for another dance.

Better yet, he'd ask LoriAnn.

So, what do you think? Zack insisted, breaking from a knot of well-wishers. The kid was fading in and out of Clay's consciousness. The beautiful redhead at his side remained well-defined, however. Extremely well-defined.

'bout what? Blind-sided by Zack's question, Clay downed another cup of punch while he tried to un-fuzz his brain enough to remember what they'd been talking about before he'd stumbled outside for some fresh air.

What I said earlier. Zack looked wounded. Having the new ranch hand use my empty room... Hawke and Tom have the bunkhouse so crowded it’d take a crowbar to make room for anyone else in there....

Although he’d somehow missed most of what his brother was saying, Clay nodded. The 3-D’s main house was huge and he had no problem with sharing it with the new hire. Right now, however, he was drowning in LoriAnn's ocean-green eyes, pummeled by currents that shifted in those emerald depths. And enjoying every minute of it. It was all he could do to tear his gaze free from those mysterious waters, only to notice the soft wisps of hair framing her face, and the fringe fluttering about her supple curves.

Clay? Zack's impatience sliced through Clay's fog.

Sounds fine Clay said, wondering where the antagonism he’d once felt for Zack's ex-girlfriend had gone. Would you like to dance? he asked her, suddenly swaying.

No! Not swaying, dammit. Just getting in sync with the music, he told himself.

LoriAnn's lips parted in surprise. Well... okay.

How much more surprised would she be if he gave in to the impulse to lower his head and taste sweet temptation?

Drawing her close, he whirled her into the throng of dancers, buoyed by the feel of her fingers twined in his, mesmerized by the tip of her pink tongue as it wet her lips, a nervous gesture that fired his imagination with fantasies of what it would be like to kiss her.

Would she taste like sun-ripened strawberries? The heady scent which wafted from her was like an aphrodisiac, jabbing his libido to life after its many months in hibernation.

Ah, but he still remembered what it felt like to hold a woman like this redhead in his arms, taste her fire, touch her heat, feel her beneath him....

Abruptly over-heated, he loosened his collar. His blood pounded to ancient drums, his mouth dry as a sponge beneath the desert sun. He'd gone from hot to numb. Or perhaps dumb, as in stupid, because he suddenly found himself singing along with the band.

When LoriAnn lifted her face to smile up at him, the dazzle almost knocked him over. For a smile like that he’d make a fool out of himself any day, he thought.

The music’s stopped, she murmured, backing out of his arms and taking a step toward the crush of onlookers along the sidelines.

Music? He couldn’t keep his gaze from following the lovely line of her throat...to her shoulders...to the flirty fringe dancing across her breasts.

It’s getting late, she said, taking two more steps away from him. With a quick smile that could have meant anything, she rejoined Zack.

Clay watched the two of them move toward the exit. That’s right, he should have remembered that she went for the younger guys, like his kid brother. She would never be interested in someone as ancient as thirty-seven.

Still...

Disgusted with wishful thinking, he muttered a self-directed oath. And went looking for more of that zingy punch.

Tonight, for damn sure, ought to erase the too-sober image his friends accused him of hiding behind. And a few more drinks ought to erase LoriAnn’s lovely face from his mind.

*****

LoriAnn couldn't believe it. Clay Daniels had asked her to dance? She grinned at Zack, her trepidation about reporting for work the next day at the 3-D lessening.

You see, he likes you, Zack said. And once he sees how experienced you are around horses and the other stock, roping steers and branding--

Okay, okay, I get the picture, she said. Although him asking me to dance and accepting me to take your place on the ranch are two different things.

Zack’s confidence bolstered her own. Zack knew his brother better than anyone. And she had to admit, Clay had surprised her tonight, hadn’t reacted at all as she’d expected. Of course, her attire might have distracted him.

She glanced down at her skimpy dress, unhappy with the image the costume projected. It was theme week at the Silver Spur, a gimmick her boss used to drag in those jaded locals who'd tired of the casino's usual Wild West ambiance. The theme this week was the Roaring Twenties.

I wish you'd given me a chance to change my clothes before we got here, she muttered to Zack, recalling Clay's slightly dazed expression.

No time. Clay isn't a party animal. I was afraid he'd leave before we had a chance to talk to him. He nudged her elbow. And you were so sure he didn’t like you. Sheesh. You just show up tomorrow ready to work. You'll see. He appreciates a hard worker. You'll have him won over in no time.

Irrepressible as ever--perhaps even more so due to his upcoming college endeavor--Zack gave her a quick hug.

Still a bit worried, she asked, But what if he won’t even give me a chance?

You’ll think of something. Convince him you can do anything needs doing around the place--tell him you know how to do the bookkeeping and such--he hates that stuff.

It's true. I do have a knack for numbers, she said. Zack’s enthusiasm was contagious. Thanks, Zack. This is a dream come true.

Hey, what are friends for, anyway.

She watched him go back inside, then thought about his older brother, soon to be her boss. Before tonight, from her infrequent encounters with Clay when she and Zack were kicking around together, she’d have said Clay Daniels was rigid as a fence post. Earnest. Solemn. Serious.

Now she flushed with the memory of his piercing blue eyes and the slow easy smile he’d worn tonight, a smile that had stolen her breath and made her heart flutter. She’d been tempted to run her fingers through his hair, snuggle against his ample shoulders. Shoulders as broad as his view toward women ranch hands was narrow, her inner voice reminded; two years ago when Zack had