One Hot Cowboy (6 page)

belly, had nothing to do with the July

heat and everything to do with the man

watching her. And he was all man. Those

six years between them weren’t too much.

Not at all.

“I want to try something,” she said.

“Alright.” He stepped back from the

tree, leaned against the side of the pickup

patiently. Waiting for her.

This was it, she told herself. This was

the new start she’d wanted for them. He

was looking at her and she had a chance.

Don’t screw up, she told herself fiercely.

Get this right. But the words weren’t

coming, were drying up in her throat. He

was perfect. She sure as hell was not.

Palms damp, she swung off the ATV.

She was going to do this. This was going

to work. Screwing up her courage, she

threw herself at him. Her breasts hit that

hard, firm chest, his arms closing

reflexively around her, steadying her.

God, he felt good. She wanted to just stay

like that, wrapped up in him, but she had

to do this before nerves got the best of

her.

“Rose—”

He

sounded

irritated.

Impatient.

Before he could say anything else, she

reached up and tugged his head down. He

let her. She didn’t know if that was

because she’d clearly surprised the hell

out of him or because he wanted to be

closer. Please let it be the latter.

Still, she looked up because she needed

to see him coming closer. His lashes

swept down over those dark eyes of his as

he watched her carefully. Screw it. She

reached up and got her mouth on his.

He tasted perfect, felt perfect. His lips

were firm and so very male. She parted

her lips, coaxing him to open up. To come

out and play as her tongue licked the

closed seam of his mouth.

Perfect, but only for a too brief handful

of seconds. His hands carefully moved

her backwards and away from him.

“Christ, Rose.” He sounded tired. “I

don’t have time for your games today. Go

cause trouble somewhere else.”

Shame hit her hard. He thought she

was playing games.

“Cabe—” she held out her hand to

him.

“Go home, Rose,” he said, already

turning back to the olive trees. “No more

games. ”

So much for her chance. She’d screwed

it up. Again. Just like always.

After that, she’d decided that if she

couldn’t have Cabe as a boyfriend, she’d

settle for keeping him on his toes. She’d

devoted every day to proving all the

reasons she wasn’t good enough and

pushing all of his buttons.

She didn’t like the direction her brain

was headed now, so she picked out the

lawyer’s office. Right where it had always

been. With a little sigh, she bent down and

grabbed the handle of her suitcase. It was

missing a wheel, but, if she got it balanced

just right, the bag would roll, and she

wouldn’t have to sort out the paperwork

the lawyer had e-mailed to her from her

clothes.

If today’s meeting worked out, she’d

finally have a place to call home. Even

from beyond the grave, Auntie Dee was

watching out for her.

“You need some help, miss?” One of the

cowboys loitering in front of the bar

strolled over, offering his assistance. And

probably something else, too, but she

wasn’t going there.

She didn’t want his help. She didn’t

need
his help. The bag wobbled and then balanced.
See?
She could do this. “I got

it,” she said cheerfully, because there was

no point in burning bridges, and he’d meant

well. Those cowboys couldn’t really help

themselves, now, could they? Certain

things—like well-intentioned, teeth-gritting

chivalry—were practically imprinted on

their DNA from birth.

The guy tipped his hat at her. “If you’re

sure.”

“Positive.” She laid in a course for the

lawyer’s office. “And I’m only going a

hundred feet. I’ve got it.”

The cowboy nodded, as if good manners

had him pretending to believe her, but he

backed off. “You have a good day, then.”

She shot him a quick smile and got her

feet moving. Her destiny was waiting for

her inside the lawyer’s office, and Rose

had her fingers crossed.

God, she needed this to be a good day.

Twenty minutes he’d been waiting in

this office. Rose Jordan was late.

Again.

Cabe Dawson hated late.

Swinging the straight-back chair around,

Cabe straddled the seat. Pinning the

squirming lawyer with his eyes, he crossed

his arms over the back. He had calving

cows back on the ranch and a chore list

longer than his arm. Blackhawk Ranch was

fifty thousand acres. He ran cattle and had

a half dozen orchards. The size and reach

of his holdings made him a powerful man

in Northern California, but, even though he

owned this particular part of California, it

also owned him. His father, who’d married

into the ranch, might not have led by

example, but he’d sure as hell shown Cabe

what happened when a man didn’t take

responsibility for his land.

The lawyer looked as if he would have

given just about anything to be anywhere

but on the receiving end of that stare. Cabe

got that a lot. Most times, his hard-eyed

gaze was an asset. Right now, though, it

wasn’t working. Mitch tugged on his bow

tie—who the hell still wore a clip-on bow

tie?—and cleared his throat.

“We’re just waiting for Miss Jordan,”

he said, and Cabe wanted to no-shit the

man. Rose had never managed to be on

time even once in her life.

Auntie Dee hadn’t had any biological

family, not as far back as he could

remember. Just Rose Jordan, who’d come

up from Los Angeles that one memorable

summer as a skinny ten-year-old with all

this fine blond hair that stuck out in a cloud

around her head. Rose had stayed in

Lonesome until she’d finally headed off for

college, leaving Auntie Dee alone again.

Hell, that was why Cabe had made his

neighbor the offer he had—he would

reverse-mortgage her place, give her the

money she needed to live, and she’d give

him the property when she passed on. She

wouldn’t take his money any other way,

and Cabe figured he could always use

more land. Kept it quiet, though, because it

was nobody’s business but his and Auntie

Dee’s. Auntie Dee had her pride. When

he’d struck water on that land, he’d been

even more sure the mortgage was the right

angle to take. She needed something. He

needed something. They were square

enough. He’d given Auntie Dee more than

a fair market price for the place, but there

was no denying that the water made the

property more valuable.

When the whirlwind that was Rose

Jordan exploded into the room—late, as

always—her very fine ass bumping open

the door, he was more than ready to finish

up the arrangement. The arousal that flared

inside him wasn’t part of the plan,

however. He’d told himself that last night

was an aberration. He couldn’t possibly

still be attracted to Rose Jordan. She

wasn’t his type. All flustery blond, not

cool brunette. Not to mention, there was no

reason to believe she’d have him.

No reason at all.

“Am I late? I am, aren’t I? Did you start

without me?” She jimmied the door open

another foot and jerked hard on an

impossibly large black rolling suitcase that

had to weigh as much as she did.

He

couldn’t

stop

the

sensual

appreciation that had woken right up inside

him when she’d opened the door. He

should have been putting some much-

needed space between them, but instead

his feet and his upbringing had him

standing to help her. Before he could stop

himself, he had one hand wrapped around

her waist to steady her, and he was tugging

the bag from her fingers as she spluttered

some nonsense about
I have it
and
That’s

mine
. Since she clearly didn’t
have it,
he

stashed the bag in the empty space behind

Lawyer Mitch’s two guest chairs.

Rose needed to learn how to accept a

little help.

And she
was
late. They both knew it. Of

course, for Rose, twenty minutes late was

probably on time. Which was why he’d

told her the meeting started thirty minutes

earlier than it did. He was learning—

finally.

He didn’t know where she’d spent the

night, but, looking at her now, he had a

sneaking suspicion she’d once again failed

to plan ahead. He should have asked her

last night if she had a place to stay, but

she’d had him off balance from the moment

she’d surfaced in his swimming hole.

The lawyer did his thing, reading the

will really quickly. Rose got the house and

whatever was in it. Cabe had known that.

He cut the lawyer off, though, when the

man would have launched into the list of

outstanding debts the estate needed to

settle before Rose could claim free title to

the place. Maybe Rose would be

reasonable. Maybe, after last night’s swim,

she’d thought things over and come to the

logical conclusion.

Hell, a man could hope.

Before she could get her questions off,

he leaned in and made his offer. Money

would make this easier, and he didn’t mind

paying. “You don’t want the place, Rose.

It’d just be a giant headache for you. We

both know that. Tell me what you want for

it, and I’ll write you a check.”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Cabe

Dawson. You have no business even being

here today.”

“On the contrary, darlin’.” His slow

smile was a warning. “I’m just as

necessary here as you are. If you’d read

any of those letters I sent you, you’d know

why.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts,

which she wouldn’t have done if she’d

known what it did to the top of that

sundress. Her breasts were pretty little

mounds peeking over the band of ribbon,

and part of him wanted to cross the room

and trace that naughty line, first with his

fingers and then with his mouth.

“I’m waiting for an explanation.” She

was glaring at him now, just as impatient

as always.

“Well, the way I see it, you owe me. For

last night, at the very least.” He nodded

meaningfully, and the lawyer’s eyes just

about bugged out of the man’s head as he

misinterpreted Cabe’s words. The way

Cabe saw it, Rose had started the battle,

pulling him into the swimming hole the

night before.

“I’m the executor, darlin’, and it’s up to

me to settle Auntie Dee’s estate,” he said.

“So you’re in charge. As always.” Her

expression was mutinous as she faced off

with him.

Yeah, his Rose was going to be trouble.

Just like always.

Cabe Dawson might think he was in

charge, but there was no way he was going

to run this show. She thought she’d

demonstrated that last night. She wasn’t

about to let him take away her home.

Sure, she didn’t have the money for

renovations or property taxes or even the

damn electric hookup, but by being back in

Lonesome, she was one step closer to

realizing her dream. A home of her own. A

place where she belonged.

She wasn’t selling out to Cabe Dawson.

Words were easy—the bigger-than-life

problem was sprawled in a chair two feet

away, his jeans-clad knee almost brushing