Whoa.
Something didn’t make sense.
He put the empty glass on the table and slipped his hands into his back pockets. What was a pretty thing like her doing on a broken down ranch anyway? “What’re you doing out here?”
“This is my place,” she replied wistfully, gazing around at the vast expanse of space.
“I figured that.” He braced his hands on the railing, leaned back. “What are you doing here?”
Her vibrant eyes glittered as she set down her drink. “I bought it a couple of weeks ago. I’m fixing it up.”
“You just bought it?”
“That’s right. From the Perezes.”
Lang swallowed against the bewildering pang of regret swelling his throat as the truth of things made itself known. No doubt this ranch was the very one Cole had told him to look over. “You bought it from a man named Pete Perez?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“That’s right. You know him?”
Her cheerful enthusiasm grated on his nerves. “No. Heard of him though.” He couldn’t tell if the emotion squeezing his chest was misplaced disappointment at losing out on the ranch or resentment that this spoiled, citified girl was the new owner.
Lang tried to look on the bright side, that with the place off the market he wouldn’t have to spend time explaining to Cole why he didn’t want to start all over again but for some reason the bright side was surprisingly dark.
She brushed her sleek hair back with a precise wave of her slender fingers. “I open for business next week.”
He recognized that flash of excitement in her eyes. It was something he knew all about. She had the look of someone who had a vision and believed she could make it come true.
When he remained silent, she added, “The Circle Cat’s going to be the best dude ranch in Arizona.”
He spun on his heels to take more thorough look. For the first time he noticed the recent repairs dotting the place. Several of the barn windows were new and the fence along the drive showed signs of mending.
The buildings out back could be bunkhouses, the barn he’d run into could hold plenty of horses. Once it was repaired. The old house probably had a dining room big enough to seat a dozen or so hungry tourists.
Lang rubbed his bristled jaw. The yard sure was nice enough. Tall Ponderosa pines and aspens framed the whole place pretty well. He could see the potential.
If he was a dreamer. Which he definitely was not.
Not anymore, anyway.
He roped in his rambling thoughts and brought them back to the problem of the barn. Thanks to the disaster his life had become he couldn’t pay for repairs. He couldn’t leave the mess either. On one hand Victoria Moore didn’t need his money, on the other he didn’t want to be indebted to a wealthy man’s daughter.
Still…
Although he couldn’t imagine how, trouble would crop up somewhere down the road. That was the problem, Victoria Moore’s kind of woman knew how to zero in on a man’s weak spot and then, using a surprise attack, work it to her advantage.
His cheating ex-wife, Lori Anne, had done that very thing and he wasn’t going to let that hard-learned lesson go to waste. No sir, the anguish of losing his ranch, everything else he owned—including his prized horses—well, that wasn’t something he could live through twice.
Think with your brain man, not your cock.
That was his new mantra and he’d better remember it.
Gorgeous Lori Anne had battered his heart and torn apart his pride but deep down he was still the same man and that meant buried under all his pain, he still had integrity.
That integrity left him with only one choice. A choice that was going to keep him from the Mexican border a little while longer. “I’ll fix the barn.” The dog stretched out of the way as Lang leaned around the corner to study the damage. “It’ll only take a couple of days.”
She didn’t say anything.
Did she expect him to pull out a checkbook and take care of it that way?
He turned to find her dazzling eyes assessing him from under long, feathery lashes. Her gaze flickered across his shoulders, then back to his face. That needy feeling in his gut came back and he started wondering if she heated up as quickly. Or would she make him take things slow and steady, stroking her until they both ached for release?
Maybe sticking around wasn’t such a good plan after all. His wandering gaze skimmed over her cotton covered curves, lingering on the points of her nipples then skimming down to the zipper on her jeans.
No maybe about it. Being around that sweetly sexy woman was the worst idea he’d had in months and he had enough horse sense to know he’d be regretting his decision soon enough.
For now, he had no choice. He’d be staying.
Victoria moved to stand beside him. “At least you didn’t hit a supporting beam.”
He stepped away from the railing—and the delicate citrus scent he was beginning to recognize as hers. “Is it a deal, Miss Moore? I’ll take care of the damage myself?”
She leaned back on the rail like a sleepy kitten and grinned. “You never did tell me your name.”
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was flirting with him. Couldn’t be though, because a woman with her background would be a whole lot more skillful at snaring a man’s interest. But the odd combinations Victoria kept offering up, well, they were just that. Odd. Hot—cool—genuine—forced…in short, a little weird. Cute and damned sexy—if he was interested—which he was not. Not quite the well-practiced, come-hither package he’d expect from someone like her.
Twisting from side-to-side, she asked his name again.
Keeping a watchful eye on her, he answered, “Lang Thompson, from north of Phoenix.” He folded his arms across his chest, a lame attempt to protect himself from the stir-crazy effect she had on him and stared hard at her.
Again, her gaze zigzagged over him, blazing a hot trail of want and leaving a path of oversensitive nerve endings. “It isn’t necessary for you to do the work.”
Now what did she mean by that? He wasn’t good enough to do the work? Indecision sparked through him, stamped it out, grumbling. “I caused the damage. I’ll make it right.”
She blinked and then turned her attention to the mess across the yard.
So now he gets the cold shoulder? “You have a problem with me doing the work?” he asked, not willing to allow her the upper hand.
“No, it’ll be a straightforward job,” she answered so softly she could’ve been talking to herself. But then she spun and stretched out her arm. “We have a deal, Lang Thompson.”
Lang accepted her hand but because his body wasn’t listening to the don’t-look, don’t-touch messages his brain kept sending out, he hurried through the motion, then pulled back. The road of sizzling, physical attraction was rough and filled with holes and he didn’t want any part of it.
There was still one more thing. “You won’t mind me sleeping in my truck? I’ll move it behind the barn so nobody will see it from the road.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “Why would you want to sleep there?”
“Like I said, I’m not from around here.”
Her soft mouth rounded into an “o” and her eyes brightened. “You willing to work extra for meals?”
Home-cooked food instead of gas station burritos?
He nodded.
“You’ll stay here but you’re not going to sleep in your truck.” The flirtatious smile reappeared. “I want you comfortable and well rested so you can earn that food,” she added with exaggerated sweetness.
He clenched his jaw, fighting against the picture starting to form in his mind. Silky strands of long blonde hair, sliding across a naked woman’s shoulders…a woman’s hand reaching for him as she climbed across his lap and mounted up, sliding his cock into her tight pussy then throwing her hair back as she rode him…
Lang shook his leg to chase away the stirrings of an erection. There was no way she was about to suggest what he
was imagining.
Or was there?
“You’ll sleep with Hank, my hired hand.”
Lang nearly choked. The hazy image in his head turned into a nightmare. Instead of a sexy blonde in his arms, tangled among the sheets, he held a weathered cowhand.
To add to his disgust, Victoria laughed.
The light, feminine sound skittered across his nerves, making his heart pound harder.
After a hearty chuckle at his expense, she said, “Don’t look like that. There’s more than one bed.” She stepped off the porch, beckoning him with a wave. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
He glared and stayed put.
“I have a bunkhouse ready. Doesn’t a nice, cozy bed sound better than the cab of your truck?”
Lang was having a hard time shaking off the original sleeping arrangement his traitorous imagination had cooked up. There was no telling what images might appear if he got close to her again, so he stayed put, unwilling to leave the safe distance he maintained on the porch.
She rooted her boots in the dirt and squared her shoulders. “I can be as hardheaded as you, cowboy.”
There was no point in arguing. Obviously the woman had a stubborn streak. Besides, he’d already spent too many nights cramped in his truck. The idea of just one night in a real bed, even if it was alone, had a lot of appeal.
He eyed the sleeping dog enviously. “I’m coming.”
Apparently satisfied that she was getting what she wanted, she headed back the way they’d come. Lang hung behind a bit, then thought better of it when he found himself admiring the way her jeans molded to the perfect shape of her ass. Strong, firm, hips meant to be held. His hands were just the right size.
Because of the enticing scent spinning around her, walking beside her wasn’t much easier on his overly charged state. Having the hots for Miss Moore would only cause trouble and he’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime.
Once they got to the barn mess, he slipped into his truck, carefully pulled it out of the rubble, then rolled it around back. Before he climbed out, he grabbed his duffle bag.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Victoria watching his every move. The hesitant, shy way she studied him quickened his blood even more than the showy smiles she’d offered earlier.
He doubted she realized her wide eyes and slightly parted lips revealed keen interest. Unable to keep himself from pointing out her obvious behavior, he paused, letting her know he had all day to stand there while she drank her fill.
She blinked and jerked away but not before he saw an honest, pink glow brighten her cheeks, giving her complexion a just-kissed look and putting his senses on full alert. Lang muttered a curse. What was he doing? He was supposed to be tending that fence around his heart, not hacking away at it with a newly sharpened ax.
They approached the buildings he’d seen from the barn. Up close they didn’t look nearly as rough. Some boards had been replaced and newly laid, stone paths connected a long walk that ran the length of them. All they needed now was a good, thick coat of paint.
When she paused beside the large bunkhouse, he realized she’d been watching him check out the buildings. The pride in her delicate, surprisingly strong, shoulders was unmistakable.
“I’m going to paint each one a different color and decorate them with different themes.” She stretched her tanned arm, pointing. “The first is The Wranglers’ Restplace, next is Gunfighters’ Lodge, then Cactus Cabin.”
“What about that one?” Lang indicated one she’d left out, a small house nestled among some pines.
There was the shortest pause before she answered with a soft voice, “That’s Paradise Hideaway.”
The tiny place was probably only big enough for a bed. That relentless picture of himself twisted in the sheets with a sexually charged woman popped back into his head. He glared at the tempting blonde causing the image, she wasn’t looking at him at all.
A daydreamy expression had gentled her face. A warning bell pealed into Lang’s muddled head. His male instincts knew what was coming even before the words slipped across her lips.
“It’s for the honeymooners,” she said with a wistful sigh.
He pulled hard on his thoughts. She was talking about a different kind of paradise altogether. The make-believe kind that women made up so they could talk men into doing things they didn’t want any part of.
Commitment and marriage.
Well, he tried ’em both but they weren’t for him.
It was way past time for him to take control of the conversation. “You were going to show me the bunkhouse?”
When she turned back to him, a trace of the longing remained. For a spilt second he wished she’d look at him with that vulnerable expression. Then his sanity returned. All he wanted was to fix his mess and get across that border. He’d call his cousin from Mexico, tell him the place was already sold, then find himself a dark cantina with an endless supply of cheap, mind-numbing drinks. Now, thanks to Victoria, he was going to need a generous supply of willing women too.
She opened the door of the bunkhouse, then stepped in and held it for him. He moved over the threshold, careful not to let their fingers brush when he took the door from her.
There were four sets of sturdy wooden bunk beds, twice as many dressers and a long table with eight chairs in the back. A fat, wood-burning stove, guaranteed to keep the place warm enough in cold weather, squatted in the center of the room. After the nights he’d spent in the truck, it looked like a slice of heaven.
She smoothed the white-and-red-checked cloth covering the table. “There’s plenty of room for you.”
“Hank is your only hand?”
“For now.” She shrugged. “He came with the ranch.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. The room was too quiet, the walls too tight. Out in the open it was much easier to deal with his body’s reaction to the hankerings he was desperately trying to squelch.
He struggled for something to say. Anything that would get his attention away from the round swells of her breasts and the gentle curve of her trim waistline. Anything that would get him to stop thinking about acting on the coming-out-of-nowhere, all-too-impulsive, surge of hormones making his blood pulse in all the wrong places. “It’s good to have somebody who knows the place,” he muttered to fill in the silence.
Biting her sweet, full, bottom lip, she nodded and looked away. “He’s been great.”
Lang shifted, his boots crunching on the pebbles scattered by the door. Victoria’s face clouded with uncertainty while she fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth.
She stepped back, pointing past the bunk beds. “If you want to get cleaned up, there’s a shower behind that door.”
Curiosity nudged him. Earlier she’d been teasing him, coming on strong, yet he was certain that when it came to men she was still a filly—all full of charm and energy but at the first attempt at being handled, she’d sidestep with the speed of a road runner.
He watched her from the corner of his eye, the same way she eyed him. Sly and appraising.
A bit of the devil got the better of him and for the first time in weeks, a real grin tugged at his mouth. With a quick jerk, he yanked his shirttail out and slipped apart the top two buttons.
Her quick intake of air confirmed his theory. Her blue eyes widened. “Wha-what— What’re you…doing?”
“I’m getting undressed.” Sure, she’d be dashing out the door quick enough but it felt good to put some of his energy to use. He loosened two more buttons, grinned wickedly, loosened two more.
Her wobbly gaze fell to his nearly bare chest. “Why?”
After he freed the last of the buttons, he whipped the shirt off, tossed it onto his bag. “I’m taking you up on your offer.”
While she watched, as still as a possum playing dead, he unbuckled his belt. He popped open the top button of his jeans.
She backed up, her gaze darting down to the white band of his briefs.
He winked an
d smiled the easy way he did at the dance hall to draw out even the shyest girl. “Your offer to get cleaned up.”
A flush of red stained her cheeks. “Of course. Well,” she scurried for the door. “Yes, um, I’ll see you later. When you’re…dressed…”
With that, she dashed through the doorway, closing the heavy wood door tightly behind her.
For the first time in weeks, he laughed.
As much as she’d tried and she certainly had, that woman was no temptress. His hostess was a fraud. A sweet, sexy-as-sin-on-Saturday-night, fraud.
He kicked the last of his clothing toward a bunk and strutted to the shower. The warm desert air from an open window whispered across his bare skin, reminding him too much of a woman’s touch. It caressed a man everywhere at once. Without even trying.
The hot water wouldn’t be necessary until tomorrow morning. Maybe not even that soon, if his night dreams picked up where the day dreams had started.
At least he wouldn’t have to worry about her flirtatious game. He laughed as the icy water ran down his back. His virtue was safe during his stay at The Circle Cat.
Chapter Three
Victoria marched away from the bunkhouse with the sound of rich, male laughter flooding her ears. Those hard wooden beds and that solid planked floor never looked intimate when she stopped by to talk with Hank. That old man always made the place feel like a stage set from that old TV show, Gunsmoke.
With Lang Thompson standing there, filling the place up with his bare chest, it looked more like a photo backdrop from one her sister’s tattered Playgirl magazines. She ought to know, she’d looked those over a few more times than she’d care to admit.
She raised her palms to her cheeks where the heat of embarrassment still lingered. What an idiot he must think her to be, the way she gaped at his chest, nearly swooning at the sight of those magnificent masculine curves. Staring at the tight, smooth skin of his abs and wondering how it would feel pressed against her. If she weren’t so mortified, she’d be laughing at her awkward reaction too.
After rounding the corner of the house, she climbed the front porch steps to snatch their glasses and half-empty pitcher. She grumbled as she stalked through the house. He thought he was so funny. Stupid, infuriating man.
Cowboy For Hire Page 2