Gentling the Cowboy (7 page)

Sarah shook her head.
Did I hear that right?
Her pulse sped up. “What are you suggesting?”

“No reason why you can’t stay another night while you figure it out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just don’t do anything that would get a person asked to leave.”

I have no idea what that means, but not heading home right away is tempting. Okay, quick review of pros and cons. Con: I don’t know this man and he might expect me to pay for room and board with sexual favors.
Sarah inhaled a shaky breath, closed her eyes and admitted to herself:
That particular circumstance could also qualify as a pro.
She opened her eyes again and found him glaring at her.
Much more likely con: I make a complete idiot out of myself over a man who is simply inviting me to stay here because he feels bad for me. On the other hand, one pro that cannot be denied is that I won’t have to end this adventure before it has a chance to even begin. I won’t have to go home and explain to my parents and my brother that they were right and that the trip was a waste of time. I could stay right here and at least outline the story that is coming to life in my head.

Con: Melanie.

“It won’t be an issue for anyone?”

“I said it wouldn’t.”
And that’s all that matters,
his tone implied.

Straightening her shoulders, Sarah gave herself a pep talk.
I’m not going to let a grumpy housekeeper ruin the fact that I’m in freakin’ Texas on a horse ranch with a gorgeous man who is asking me to stay.
“Okay, I’ll do you . . . I mean, it. I mean, I’ll do it and stay here with you. On the ranch. In the spare room. Like last night.” A flush of embarrassment heated her cheeks.

The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly.
He’s laughing at me again.

Hands on hip, Sarah said, “It’s not nice to laugh at people.”

His expression darkened and his tone held both a warning and a tinge of regret. “I’m not a nice man.”

She stepped off the porch to stand in front of him. He was a good foot or so taller than her, so she had to tip her head back a bit to see his face. Standing so close, she searched his face and was moved by a pain she sensed within him.
In those freakin’ save-me sad eyes.

Like animals, injured people could be dangerous. She’d seen her parents’ marriage take a dark turn after the death of her youngest brother. Something that should have brought people together—loss—had turned her happy family temporarily against each other in a way they had never fully healed from. There had been a time when she and her family had been close, but that was a different life, when they were different people.

Something awful had happened to the man who stood before her. She’d bet her life on it. And whatever it was, he hadn’t healed from it either. Beyond any attraction she joked about in her mind, this connection to him touched her heart, overshadowing any self-consciousness she felt or second thoughts about her decision.

Sarah reached out, took his hand in hers, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She smiled up at him sympathetically and said, “I don’t believe that.”

He looked down at their hands and met her eyes with that guarded expression she was getting accustomed to. Just when she thought he was about to pull away, his hand shifted and his fingers laced with hers.

They stood there, saying nothing, the intensity of their connection building until everything around them disappeared.

Don’t trust her.

No one is that fucking sweet, that innocent. Just because her hand is as soft as velvet doesn’t mean she’s incapable of deception. A woman could rehearse those wide-eyed expressions. Which scenario is more likely? That a beautiful, loving woman got lost and ended up in my shower purely by accident and then conveniently had a reason to stay? Or that she planned this entire scenario and is either a reporter or on the payroll of one?

Optimism is best reserved for fools.

So why hold her hand? Why invite her to stay another day? He couldn’t justify either any more than he could stop his heart from thudding wildly in his chest when she touched him. He wished it were a simple itch a night of sex would cure, but in his near-thirty years he’d never felt anything close to this.

“You probably want to check on your horse,” he said, needing to break free of whatever web of fascination she was spinning around him.

Her hand shifted as if she were preparing to pull away. His hold on hers tightened instinctively and she smiled.
Damn. I don’t know if I do care if she’s a liar. A night with her would be worth whatever she found here to write about.

Idiot.

He dropped her hand with determination. It did matter. He’d protected his privacy for far too long to piss it away because some damn woman thought she could play him. “Well, you know where he is. David will show you around the barn if you need anything. His office is in the main aisle to the left.”

The momentary confusion on her face was almost comically kissable. Her chin lifted in defiance and she said, “Thank you.” But in a tone that didn’t sound at all grateful.

A stronger man wouldn’t have stood and enjoyed watching her cute, jean-clad ass strut angrily down the driveway to the barn. Tony barely blinked.

“A woman like that would never be happy here,” Melanie said from behind the screen door of the porch.

I know.

“Is she leaving today?” she asked.

Tony shook his head, but didn’t turn away from watching Sarah. She stopped at the entrance, looked over her shoulder at him briefly, then disappeared into the barn.

“Don’t suppose you’d welcome my opinion?”

With a brief shake of his head, Tony turned, strode up the steps, stepped around Melanie who was holding the door open for him, and headed up the main staircase. It was time he found out what his little blonde was hiding.

Unlike the night before, the barn was alive with activity. Two young men who were mucking stalls stopped and rested their picks for a moment when they saw her. Another man paused from brushing down a horse in the aisle behind them. They all appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties. Hard to tell much more at the distance she was from them, but Sarah smiled and waved. Just because she wanted to strangle their boss didn’t mean she couldn’t be friendly.

None returned her wave, but instead quickly returned to their work.

“Don’t be offended,” a deep male voice said behind Sarah. “They don’t want to do anything that would risk their jobs here.”

Sarah turned and her eyes widened as she looked over the man attached to the voice.
Is every man in Texas hot?
The blond-haired beefcake took off his hat and held out a hand to shake hers. She used to think that suits were sexy, but jeans and plaid were blowing that theory away. His blue eyes smiled down at her. Sarah appreciated his beauty as one would appreciate a painting or a sculpture, but her heart didn’t race when his hand closed on hers. She felt grateful for his warm welcome, nothing more.

I guess I go for the broody type.

“You’d fire them for saying hello?”

“I wouldn’t,” he said, but his tone implied that others might. “David Harmon, ranch manager.” He released her hand and replaced his hat.

“I guessed as much. Sarah Dery. Tony told me your office was in here.” Sarah stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I thought I’d come out and see my horse.”

David walked with her through the barn to the shelter and paddock her horse was in. “He settled right in. Most do.” He rested a forearm on the top of one wooden rail and tipped his hat back. “You planning a long visit?”

Who’s planning any part of this? I’m flying by the seat of my pants, hoping none of you turn out to be serial killers.
Sarah looked over her shoulder at the entrance to see if Tony had followed her. Of course, he hadn’t. “Not sure yet.”

David followed her gaze before meeting her eyes and said, “He’s not as bad as people say.”

Okay, that’s somewhat reassuring and a bit cryptic. I wish I’d brought my notebook with me. I could use that line.

“What do they say?”

David looked surprised. “You don’t know?”

Sarah shrugged. “Should I?”

He scratched his square chin as he considered her question. “I doubt it would help.”

Not only do Texans speak slowly, they also apparently talk in code.

They both turned their attention to the horse before them. Sarah decided to find her answers through less direct questions. “David, how long have you worked here?”

“Nearly five years.”

“That’s a long time. You must know Tony pretty well.”

“I understand him.”

That’s more than I can say, so here goes:
“He said I could stay until I cement my plans for my drive back to Rhode Island. Do you think I should?”

David didn’t answer at first. Then he said quietly, “Sometimes the only way you can determine a good choice from a bad one is by how much you like the person you see in the mirror the next day.”

Not really sure that helped.

She let his words echo through her again.
Do I like who I am? Not my nose. Not my expensive highlights. Me. Just me.

“Like” might be too strong of a word.

I thought I would be more.

Matter more.

Which led to a life-guiding question.

Who do I want to see in the mirror tomorrow?

Someone who made her way no matter the obstacles, here or somewhere else in Texas. Success requires perseverance. Mountain climbers don’t let a little rain stop them. Men went to the moon with less technology than I have in my phone.

I can do this.

I can find my story.

Tony stood next to the small nightstand where Sarah had left her spiral notebook. Would she have left it out if she had something to hide? Normally, he would never consider reading the private writings of anyone—mostly because doing so required a certain amount of interest on his part, which he hadn’t felt about anything in a long time.

But that book held the answers he needed.

Is Sarah taking notes on how I run the ranch? Is she working for a news rag? Why is she here?

He flipped the purple cover open and his jaw went slack with surprise as he read the first page.

Day One

This is what life is about: seeing new places, meeting new people, grabbing life by the . . . and squeezing until it coughs up a story worth telling.

Writers do not fear words.

Balls.

Balls.

Balls.

Big balls.

Hairy balls.

Bald balls?

A question was written in the side margin:
Do some men shave their balls?

Tony stopped, shook his head and reread the first entry. A grin spread across his face as he did. He picked up the notebook and flipped to the second page.

House:

Shouldn’t use Tony’s in the book. Porch is nice, but inside is too barren. Too cold. No one would believe that someone doesn’t at least have a television. Don’t want people to think hero is boring or out of touch. Visit neighboring homes for inspiration.

Tony stopped. He’d been right that she was taking notes on his place, but not in the way that he’d thought. He wasn’t sure he liked what she thought his home said about him.
Boring? Out of touch?

He read the next entry:

Characters:

Need a better name than Tony Carlton. Something more Texan. Something bold. Holt Johnson? Might want him to be a cattle rancher instead of a horse trainer. Something about rustling cattle is sexier. Maybe it’s the rope.

Tony’s mouth went dry at the images that last sentence sent racing through his mind. He shook his head and tried to focus on the words on the page instead of how Sarah would look, naked and tied to the headboard of his bed.

Physical description. Hazel/green eyes like Tony’s. Eyes that change color in different lighting and with his mood. Tall, built like Tony with broad shoulders and that perfect butt that looks great in jeans.

Pleasure whipped through Tony, his grin widening as he read that last part for a second time.
She likes my ass.
But what does she mean my name is not Texan enough? She’d rather call her hero Holt Penis? That’s Texan?

He continued reading:

Tony is attractive, but . . .

Tony stopped at that word.
But what?

He scanned the next few lines with less pleasure.

He’d be sexier if he smiled more. No woman wants to sleep with a man who always looks like he smells a rotten egg.

Miffed, Tony thought,
Is that right? Hasn’t stopped you from following me around and giving me those take-me-now looks.

He flipped the page of the notebook and kept reading.

Ridden Hard

By

Breshall Haas

Tony thought:
Who the hell is Breshall Haas? Her pen name? If that title is anything to go by, she’ll need one.