One Hot Cowboy (7 page)

hers. He hadn’t said another word after

she’d rejected his latest offer, just settled

back in his chair. That was Cabe Dawson

for you. Slow. Thorough. Immovable.

Would he be that intense in bed?

Cabe had simply held out one big hand,

and the lawyer had forked over the will

without so much as a peep. Ten minutes

later, they were still waiting while Cabe

silently reviewed its contents. Rose

wanted to get going, wanted to see the

inside of the place again.

Her
place.

“Look,” she tried again. “I just want to

go over to the house. Take a look around.”

No way Cabe hadn’t read the will before,

so there was just no telling why he wanted

to read through the whole thing again.

Right now. Unless he was simply enjoying

making her wait—which was a distinct

possibility.

The lawyer looked alarmed. Cabe just

looked at the will in his hands. Maybe he

was holding a grudge about last night,

although he’d always been more of a swift-

and equal-retaliation type.

“All you have to do is give me the key to

the house,” she pressed. “And I’ll be on

my way. ”

The lawyer looked at Cabe, and she

sucked in a breath, reminding herself she

wasn’t ten any more. “The key?” she

prompted.

Cabe finally looked up. “She wants her

key, Mitch. Give it to her.” He shot her

another of those inscrutable glances she

remembered so well. “You should have

asked last night. You lose yours?”

“Something like that.” She’d been too

busy pulling him into the water to

remember the key.

Pulling open a drawer, the lawyer

rummaged around as if he was glad to be

busy. When he finally slid a little manila

envelope across the desk to her, she tore

the sealed flap open impatiently, dumping

the familiar key chain into her palm. The

key was attached to the little pink rabbit’s

foot she’d bought Auntie Dee one year.

The fur had worn away on one side, where

Auntie Dee would rub it before she got

onto the bus that took her on senior trips to

the local Indian casino. The fur tip was

permanently matted from a run-in with a

diet soda, and there were other injuries as

well. The little pink token had become a

road map of precious moments of Auntie

Dee’s life.

Wrapping her fingers around the rabbit’s

foot, she fought back tears. She might be

late, but she was home for good now.

All she had left of Auntie Dee was this

worn-out rabbit’s foot, too many regrets,

and a house. She’d lost her one true family,

she realized in a rush. She hadn’t fully

acknowledged

just

how

strong

the

connection was between her and Auntie

Dee until it was too late. Now Auntie Dee

was gone, too.

The lawyer slid a little plastic-wrapped

package of tissues across the desk to her as

if

that

could

fix

this

enormous,

insurmountable problem.

“I miss her,” she said out loud.

Cabe got to his feet, placing the stack of

papers back on the desk. “We all do.

Auntie Dee was a good woman.”

Bending over the desk, he signed his

name next to hers on the last page of the

will and then slid the stack of legal

documents back to the lawyer. “She was

proud of you,” he said quietly. “Real

proud. She talked all the time about how

you were learning to be an architect. She

didn’t get the chance to go to school

herself, so it meant the world to her that

you went.”

She looked down at her hands. She’d

gone, all right. Almost clear to the other

end of the state. As far away from this man

as she could get because he was just the

last in a long line of little failures on her

part. Lost in the memories, she almost

missed his next words.

“We’ll get an appraisal,” he suggested.

“Find out what the house is worth, and I’ll

write you that check.”

Like hell he would.
“I’m not going

anywhere, Cabe Dawson, but out to my

house.”

“We’ll talk about it,” he said, his tone

warning her that there was no negotiating

room on this one.

She let him grab her suitcase and steer

her outside and toward his truck. Just like

that, he was taking over her life. Deciding

what was best for her. She was

hyperaware of his large, warm body

beside her. And that was the problem,

wasn’t it? Cabe was just doing the right

thing, looking out for her. Being protective.

When he looked at her, he didn’t see Rose

Jordan. No, he saw a problem needing

fixing—and she was done being just

another item on his to-do list.

“We’ll get the place appraised right

away, and I’ll write you a check,” he

repeated, and a slow burn got going in the

pit of her stomach. There he went, taking

care of her. Making decisions. She’d lived

on her own long enough to appreciate the

sentiment, but she wanted to stand on her

own two feet. She looked down at her new

cowboy boots. Even if her feet were

killing her.

“No.” She tossed the word out, and, sure

enough, Cabe Dawson hadn’t changed.

He pushed his Stetson back on his head

and looked her over. “You sure about that

answer? Because I’m willing and able to

write a check, Rose.”

She didn’t want a check—she wanted a

house. A
home,
her heart whispered, and

another chance to get things right.

“I want to see my house, Cabe.”

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head, as if

her agreeing to his terms was just a matter

of time. “You want to see the place, I’ll

take you there.”

“I have a car,” she pointed out, but he

just shook his head again and opened the

passenger door of his pickup. Since this

was a battle she clearly wasn’t going to

win, she got in. Carefully closing the door

behind her, he went around the pickup and

slid into the driver’s seat. It was going to

be a really silent ride out to Auntie Dee’s.

Cabe never had been one for chitchat, but

now he appeared to have given up on

talking altogether. His hands on the wheel

shouted “capable, in control.” He knew

where he was going and why, just like he

always had.

“We could have taken my car,” she said,

just to needle him. Cabe didn’t like others

to drive him. Sure enough, he shot her one

o f
those
looks and jammed his Stetson

down on his head. She’d forgotten how

very large and immovable he was.

It didn’t matter.

He wasn’t going to get his way this time.

The house was waiting for her, heat-

soaked and dusty. Rose could almost

pretend she’d never left, that the last few

years hadn’t slipped by. Even with the

miles she’d put between herself and Auntie

Dee’s place, she’d thought about the older

woman every day. She’d needed to stretch

her wings and figure out who she really

was, and Auntie Dee had understood.

Now she needed to come back home.

She got the truck’s door open and

hopped down from the pickup before Cabe

could even kill the motor. He’d been a big,

silent presence next to her on the ten-

minute drive out here. Whatever doubts he

had—and she was sure he had plenty—he

was keeping them to himself for the

moment. Knowing Cabe, of course, he was

probably just waiting for her to figure out

the truth for herself.

The house redefined
fixer-upper.

As she crossed the yard, she waved to

the contractor she’d asked earlier to come

by to check out what work would need to

be done immediately. Cabe had taken so

long reading the will that the other man

was almost finished with his external

inspection.

The sun’s heat was a sensual weight

beating down on her bare shoulders. It was

almost shocking to step onto the porch and

into the cooler shadows. Cabe, of course,

followed her inside the house as if he

owned

the

place,

the

floorboards

squeaking noisily with each step he took,

but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Had

he always been this sexy? Cabe looked

both familiar and unfamiliar. Somehow, he

seemed even bigger, even harder, than she

remembered. And last night, he’d seen her

naked.

The wave of mildew and must that hit

her when he finally shouldered open the

kitchen door—it stuck, of course—wasn’t

a good sign. Cabe flipped light switches.

Nothing. Of course. No electricity. When

she ran the tap, however, there was water.

“You’ve got a good well here.”

Mentally, she arranged the house,

placing the furniture she’d left in storage in

repainted, cleaned-up rooms. So what if

Cabe was more concerned with support

beams and wiring and whether or not the

place was up to code? This was the one

place she’d felt at home in her life. Hell,

this was the only place she’d
had
a home.

Still, as the inspector took her point by

point through a damning litany of critical

repairs, Cabe was a silent, solid presence.

He didn’t say anything. Hell, he didn’t

have
to say anything. He was right, just like he’d always been. The house wasn’t

really livable and might not even be

salvageable. How long had it been this

way growing up and she just hadn’t seen?

She squared her jaw. She’d overcome

worse odds. If she wanted her home back,

she’d do whatever it took. Sweat equity

had to be worth something. Even if it

seemed likely that she’d still be hammering

and sawing when she was ninety.

Finally, the contractor shut the lid of his

laptop. “I’ll e-mail you the final report,”

he said, pocketing the check she handed

him. He shook her hand and then took the

hand Cabe extended. “You be careful in

here,” he said, clearing his throat. “This

house needs work.”

“I can handle it,” she said, projecting a

confidence she didn’t quite feel.
Yet,
she

told herself. She knew how to design

houses. Surely, she could learn how to

make home repairs.

“Lots of work.” Cabe’s voice was

deliberately dry, but it still had that little

growl that always started her thinking

about sex.

“You listen to your boyfriend here.” The

contractor nodded toward Cabe. “He’s

right.”

Watching the man go, she’d have bet

those words had horrified Cabe. She

wasn’t the kind of woman he admired.

Cool, put-together brunettes were more his

style. As soon as he’d done what needed

doing here and the estate was wrapped up,

he’d get back to work, and they would only

see each other from a distance. Things

would go back to the way they’d been

before.

Cabe would go back to the way he’d

been before.

God, she knew she shouldn’t wish things

were different. Cabe Dawson was the kind

of hard, disciplined, determined man who

knew precisely where he was going in life

and how he was getting there. He was all

wrong for her. None of which explained

the heat blossoming inside her as she

watched him move around her kitchen,

testing the cabinet doors.

Wanting Cabe Dawson was crazy.

Sunset had color streaking the horizon

and roused raucous commentary from the

nesting birds in the cottonwoods. She’d

always loved this pretty time, when the sky

softened up and things got ready to hunker

down for the night. The morning glories

twining up the chimney had already closed

up in anticipation of the darkness. For a

moment, sitting on what was left of the

house’s wraparound porch, she could

pretend she’d gone back in time. It was

harder to see at dusk that, while the porch