by Laura Wright
Traffic was pretty light, and when he caught up to her, he slowed to a crawl. “Heading back to work?” he called out.
Her head came around so fast he was worried she might get whiplash.
“Oh, hi,” she said, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. “I’m actually going out to the ranch.”
He patted the side of his truck. “Let me give you a lift.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s okay. Thanks, though. And thanks for breakfast.” She gave him a wave, then turned and continued down the street.
His gut tightened, and he tapped the gas, followed her. “Why not?” he called.
This time she kept walking. “I’m working off my breakfast, if you must know.”
He chuckled. “I thought we talked about that, Miss O’Neil. You don’t need to work a damn thing off that body.”
Her cheeks flushed pink and she picked up her pace.
“Come on now,” he coaxed. “You tryin’ to avoid me or something?”
“Why would I do that, Mr. Cavanaugh?”
Mr. Cavanaugh, huh? He sighed. “Maybe because it’s the smart thing to do.”
As if his words had struck some kind of nerve, she stopped and turned to face him.
James hit the brakes. Someone honked behind him, then went around him with a pissed-off screech. James didn’t turn to give the driver a wave of apology for his asshole move. His attention was on the woman walking up to his window. She was stunning, sexy, her hair swirling around her shoulders and face in waves of red and gold and brown.
His fingers curled around the steering wheel as he waited for her to give him a cool dressing down. But it never came. Instead, her gray eyes studied his blue ones for a moment; then she asked, “Are you even headed out that way?”
“As a matter of fact I am,” he said with a grin.
He thrust the truck into park and got out. He went around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. For a few seconds, she stayed where she was, mulling things over, chewing at her bottom lip. The slightly sensual action caused a small fire to erupt within James’s chest, but he didn’t say a word.
Finally, she came around the truck and gave him a cautious smile. “All right,” she said. “Truth is, that car of mine is giving me fits. I think it’s the alternator or the oil pan area.” Slipping inside the truck, she looked up at him and laughed. “I’m thinking my air filter needs to be replaced. And I should check my transmission fluid. Just haven’t had the time.”
James stared down at her. “You know about cars?”
“Little bit. In college I had the hardest time falling asleep at night. Only thing that helped was reading my owners’ manuals. Car, fridge, television, toaster . . . that kind of thing.”
He closed her door and went around to the driver’s side. Beautiful, intelligent, hardworking, knew her Shakespeare . . . He didn’t think it was possible for Sheridan O’Neil to get any sexier. But she just had.
He belted up and put the truck into gear. “So,” he said pulling away from the curb. “You could fix my fridge?”
That brought on a bright, almost wicked smile. “Possibly. If it was something like a blown fuse or a tripped circuit breaker.”
Damn. . . . James stifled a groan as they left the small town behind and hit the interstate.
“But I feel like I am most gifted in the toaster arena,” she added, her hair blowing in the breeze that was rushing through her open window.
“I don’t have a toaster,” he said. But I’ll sure as hell be buying one tomorrow.
Her hair was blowing in the breeze, swirling around her face, and he had this intense and worrisome desire to reach over and run his fingers through those auburn strands. Hell, run them up until he cupped her skull, eased her face his way, took his eyes off the road for a second to steal a kiss.
His eyes caught and held on the exit to Redemption Ranch. It was about a quarter mile off. Miss Sheridan O’Neil had work to do. For her boss. Your brother, asshole. Seriously, he didn’t want to screw anything up for her. But something was happening to him when she was around. He felt different, lighter. Able to catch his breath. It made him both nervous and hungry for more. And instead of slowing down and taking the off-ramp when it came up a second later, he pressed down on the gas pedal with his boot.
Sheridan noticed right away. She looked back over her shoulder at the exit, then turned to face him. “Wait,” she said, her expression confused. “That was where we get off.”
“I know.” He was a damn fool.
“Well, then maybe we should turn around and go back?”
James kept his eyes on the road and his boot on the gas. “That work of yours . . .”
“Yes?”
“Is it pressin’?”
“Pressing?” She paused, no doubt thinking. He wanted to tell her not to. That thinking got in the way of people being impulsive. And goddamn, he really wanted her to be impulsive today. With him.
“Not terribly pressing, I guess,” she said at last.
His glanced over at her. She was looking at him, those gray eyes warm, hair swirling around her face, and something in his chest pinged.
She shrugged, her smooth, tanned shoulders lifting and lowering. “I worked until pretty late last night, so I’m caught up.”
“Good.” Real good. He turned back to face the road and tried to suppress the gleeful grin that wanted to emerge.
“So, where are we going?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. But his grin widened.
“Oh dear,” she said. “Do I need to take out my cell phone and call nine-one-one, Mr. Cavanaugh? Report an abduction?”
“Nope.”
“And why’s that?”
He turned to look at her again. “No reception around here.”
Her soft, pink lips curved into a smile. “Come on, I don’t like surprises.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded.
“Everybody likes surprises, Sheridan.”
“Not me.” She took a deep breath, then blew it out. “When I was eight my mom threw me a surprise party.”
“Surprise parties are fun.”
“Not this one. Picture it: fifteen screaming eight-year-olds jumping out from closets and bathrooms and behind couches in the near darkness. I had a panic attack and spent the night in the hospital.”
“No way.”
“Way.” She gave him a serious look. “So. Not a fan of the surprise.”
He laughed and turned back to the road. “All right. We’re going to see a piece of ranch land for the mustangs.”
“Oh.” That one word was doused in curiosity. “Okay. And you want me to come along because . . .”
“Come on, woman,” he grumbled.
“I’m just trying to ascertain my role in this endeavor.”
“Your role?” he repeated. Shoot. He turned to look at her. “Are you really going to make me say it?”
She blinked innocently back at him. “I think so.”
“Fine,” he ground out, facing the road again, his hands fisting around the steering wheel. “I want you to come with me because I like you. There. I said it.”
He waited, just for a second to see if he’d get the “Oh” again. When she didn’t say anything at all, he ventured a glance at her. She was staring straight ahead at the highway, chewing her bottom lip. It was sexy and annoying at the same time. What was she thinking? That he was an idiot? Inappropriate? Well, she’d be right.
“But I’ll turn around and take you back to Deac’s place if you’d rather not,” he said, hating every word as it exited his mouth.
“Yes,” she said at last, her tone tight and professional. “Please. Take me back.”
James’s gut rolled over. He turned to look at her. “You kiddin’ me?”
James just stared at her. “Sheridan, you’re something else.”
“I hope that’s a compliment, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
“Oh, it is.”
Grinning, she turned back to the road. “So, how far is it to the ranch?”
“Well, now, that all depends,” he said, taking in the three paint horses walking a white fence line to his left.
“On what?”
“If you like it fast or slow.”
He felt her turn to look at him. Felt her eyes bore into his skull. And it was his turn to laugh. “I’m talking about speed, Miss O’Neil. In my truck, to our destination.”
“Well in that case,” she said, facing forward again. “I like it fast, please.”
• • •
Sheridan loved the city. Both living and working there. She adored its skyscrapers, its Starbucks on every corner, and all the sensational clothing shops and restaurants within walking distance of her small but modern condo. But the more she lived and worked in River Black, the more that love she had for city life diminished. There was something to be said for the country roads she traveled down, the clean air and open sky she was exposed to, and the townspeople whom she was just getting to know, but who always seemed genuinely pleased to see her. All of it made her feel . . . calm. And truly, with her drive and ambition and blind need to prove herself, she hadn’t felt calm since grade school.
That said, there was one thing about River Black that didn’t make her feel calm. Quite the opposite, in fact. And he was standing right beside her near the fading red barn at Bronco Barn Ranch. He wore brown boots that were worn and scuffed, dark blue jeans that showed the world what riding horses on a regular basis did to a man’s thighs, and a white T-shirt that was pulled tight across his broad chest. But it was his eyes that truly made Sheridan’s heart weaken. They could go from expressive to amused to serious to tough to sensual in seconds. It was those ocean-blue pools that had made her forget who she was and who she worked for and agree to this jaunt without any real hesitation.
“You two from the Triple C?” someone called out.
Sheridan lifted her gaze. A cowboy was walking out of the barn, heading their way, leading two silvery white horses with deep-set black eyes and thin faces.
“That’s right,” James answered in a friendly manner, pushing away from the fence they were leaning on. “Micky call you?”
“Yup.”
“How’d you know there were going to be two of us?”
“Didn’t. Figured you might want a guide. But I see you brought along some company.” The cowboy handed the reins over to James. “They’re sisters. Love being together, and’ll stick close. Names Brigitte and Bardot. Watch ’em ’round the wildflowers though. They love ’em. Will do just about anything to get to em.”
“Appreciate that,” James said. “Can I pony one of ’em?”
“You bet. Either one’ll work. But Bridget likes to lead mostly.” He jerked his head in the direction of the corral at their back. “Lead rope’s hanging on the post there.”
Sheridan had been so taken with her surroundings and the beautiful animals: Brigitte and Bardot—so cute!—that she hadn’t really been listening or using her brain. Her skin bristled with nervousness. James wasn’t here to just walk around the place on foot—safely on the ground. Or drive a truck or tractor or whatever they used to get around great spans of ranch land.
“I suggest going up to the rise ’bout a mile west,” the cowboy said. His eyes flickered toward Sheridan, and the nonriding outfit she was sporting. “Take it at a walk, I think.”
James turned to Sheridan and winked. “That’s the plan.”
The nervousness inside Sheridan bloomed into a full-fledged panic. She didn’t ride, and heights scared the shit out of her.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” the cowboy said before walking off toward the barn.
As soon as he was gone, Sheridan turned on James and ground out, “Riding?”
“I need to see the land, Sheridan.”
She gestured to the ten thousand acres of rolling hills that stretched out in green waves and was dotted with wildflowers and pods of grazing cows. “There it is.”
He chuckled. “I need to see if there’s really room for them. And it’s not always about acreage. I need to see how the land is laid out, where the water is, how the fence line’s maintained.”
That absolutely made sense. He should see it. “I understand,” she began in a more professional tone. “While you survey, I’ll hang out here and wait for you.”
She saw how much that idea appealed to him by the insta-frown he tossed her way.
“Hang out?” he repeated, his brows coming together. “I’m not leaving you here. I want you to come with me.” He gestured to the horses. “Look at those pretty girls. They can’t help but treat us right.”
Sheridan looked from one saddled horse to the other. They were stunning, amazing creatures. She shook her head. “Pass.”
James came toward her, all soft concern and gorgeous cowboy. “What’s got you so scared? These mares are gentle. And we won’t be doing anything but a walk. I swear it.”
Her eyes fell to her boots. They weren’t the riding kind, just pretty. “It’s not the horse, it’s the height.”
“You’re afraid of heights?”
“I’ve been known to be, yes.”
“But you rode with me before. Couple weeks ago. On Triple C land. I remember it very clearly.”
“That was an emergency situation.”
She felt his hand under her chin, and then he was lifting her face and her eyes to his. They were deep blue and filled with lighthearted warmth. “You’re going to enjoy it. Trust me.”
Her heart stuttered and everything south of her belly button warmed. “I barely know you.”
He grinned, released her chin so he could take her hand. Back in Dallas, in the Cavanaugh Towers, every hand she shook was smooth, even the men’s. Now, against her palm, she felt calluses and strength, pure rugged masculinity that stated very clearly that the man doing the holding wasn’t getting manicures or lotioning up after his shower every night. This man worked with animals and rope, with his hands, pushed his body to the limit, and didn’t give a lick about hydration or grooming. It was intoxicating and potentially addictive.
“Besides,” he said, leading her over to the mare. “If you’re going to be hanging out with me, Ms. O’Neil, horses are part of the package.”
“Hanging out with you?” she said, the air inside her lungs vanishing. “So we’re buddies now?”
He turned to look at her, those blue eyes vivid under a dusty black Stetson. He could seriously make a girl melt with just that look alone. It wasn’t fair.
He held out the stirrup. “Put your boot in here, buddy.”
Her heart was beating furiously inside her chest. For so many reasons. What did she do? Run? Fake a hamstring injury? There were about three things she was actually afraid of—and dammit, two of them centered on heights. But she had the feeling that if she refused, James wouldn’t go either. Then it would be her fault if they didn’t see the ranch land. Oh, those potentially homeless mustangs . . .
Dammit again. With a quick prayer for her safe return and the hope that there would be no symptoms of vertigo, she muttered a terse, “Fine,” and slipped her foot into the stirrup. She was about to pull herself up when she felt James’s hands around her hips. In one smooth movement, he lifted her up and placed her in the saddle. Totally breathless, her hips humming with a tingling sensation, she grabbed hold of the horn.
James crossed his arms over his very impressive chest and stared up at her. “You need more pancakes, Sheridan. That was like lifting a butterfly. I was scared I’d rip a wing.”
No
doubt he was saying that to lighten the mood and calm her fears. Which, she had to admit, was kind of sweet—even though it wasn’t working.
Her knuckles white as she gripped the horn, she glared down at him. “I’m rolling my eyes right now, in case you can’t see me through that mist of bullshit.”
He pretended to look hurt. “No bull. I’m serious. You’re a skinny thing.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Not everywhere of course. Not where a woman ought to have some extra, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
Oh my God. She blushed terribly. Her cheeks, and maybe other more intimate places too. He was talking about her chest, right?
“I might need to take you out for a meal or two,” he continued. “Make sure you’re getting enough food.”
The horse shifted beneath Sheridan and she inhaled sharply. “That’s totally unnecessary. I eat plenty—as you saw. I just have a fast metabolism. No need to meet me at the diner—”
“Doesn’t have to be the diner,” he interrupted, attaching a rope from his horse to hers. “We could go to the Bull’s Eye. May not look it, but they have some pretty decent grub.”
“Be careful, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she said as he jumped up and settled himself on the horse she believed was called Brigitte.
He tipped his hat back an inch. “Of what, Miss O’Neil?”
“You’re getting awfully close to this sounding like a date.”
He kicked Brigitte and set her in a circle. Bardot followed.
“And you and I . . . we don’t do dates,” she continued, taking one hand off the horn so she could grasp the reins.
“I say we just call it a friendly meetin’.”
“Meetin’?” she said, using his inflection.
He smiled, shrugged. “I like you.”
He said the words as if they explained everything. When in truth, they only incited more questions and confusion. As he led the way past the barn and out into the pasture, Sheridan tried to calm her beating heart. Not because she was afraid of the horse beneath her—in fact, the easy walk felt okay, nice even, and in time, she knew she would relax—but because of what he’d said. Twice now, in fact. He liked her. And if she was being honest with herself, she liked him too. Which sounded like a recipe for disaster. She worked for his brother and was here only for a short time. She didn’t do this. Get involved. Especially now. Her career was just getting started, and the last thing she was ever going to allow was for romance to derail her future.