One Hot Cowboy (9 page)

“I belong here,” she argued.

“Doesn’t mean you have to do without

electricity tonight,” he countered. “Or

dinner.”

“If I come, that doesn’t mean I’m giving

up the house.”

Christ, he didn’t need to think about her

“coming.” Not now. Forcing the sensual

images from his head, he made his case.

“I get that. This is a temporary deal. A

little détente. Come stay at the ranch, and

take a couple of days to think things over.

You don’t have to decide standing on the

damned porch, do you?” Her feet finally

started moving, and he knew he was on the

right track. “Back at the ranch,” he coaxed,

“you can look over the estimates, see

what’s possible.”

“All right,” she said, climbing up into

the truck. “But this is just temporary, Cabe.

I’m coming back here.”

“Got it.” Shutting the passenger door, he

went back around the pickup.

Primal satisfaction flooded him.

He was taking her home.

To his home.

Chapter Three

T
aking Rose home with him had meant she

couldn’t run out on him again. But it also

meant she was sleeping just down the hall

from him, and that was a distraction Cabe

hadn’t been prepared for. The fucking

fantasies were driving him nuts. There was

no escaping her. Three days running, he’d

gotten up and out early, but she’d been

waiting for him at lunchtime.

Today, though she was completely

dressed, she looked tousled and sexy, and

all he could think about as soon as he laid

eyes on her was figuring out a way to get

her back upstairs and into his bed. He saw

her, and he remembered the sweet, hot feel

of her body beneath his when she’d pulled

him into the swimming hole, when he’d

taken her into his arms on Auntie Dee’s

porch three nights ago. Hell, just hearing

one of his brothers or the housekeeper

mention her name had heat blasting through

him.

Out of sheer desperation, he’d suggested

she ride out with him in the pickup that

afternoon to check on a watering trough.

Surely that had to be about as unsexy as

ranch work went.

Still, he was proud of his herd, and the

animals needed their water. He had the

best fucking beef cattle in the state. Select

—that was the only way to make any

money at it—and even then, it was a break-

even proposition at best.

“We get to the trough, you follow the

rules,” he cautioned. She might have him

hotter than hell, but he knew what she was

like. When she looked at him, all sweet

innocence, he added, “I mean it, Rose. No

games.”

“Sure.” Her hand darted out and flicked

the radio on.

He covered her fingers with his. “Tell

me I’m not going to regret this.”

“I can follow the rules.” When he shook

his head and smiled, she repeated, “I can.”

“You never met a rule you didn’t want

to break, Rose.”

“I was a kid,” she protested.

“You were eighteen. Old enough to

know better. Remember that time you took

the truck out into the foothills and camped

out in the truck bed for two days? You had

a bonfire going when I showed up, and the

only food you had were marshmallows and

beer. And what about the time you toilet

papered my barn? You toilet papered my

orchard,” he continued. “If I posted a no

trespassing sign, you’d be sitting just

beyond it in a lawn chair, Rose.”

“Just once,” she muttered, her fingers

twitching in his hold.

“You cemented my saddle to the tack

room wall and I woke up one morning and

you were all sleeping in the cattle chute,”

he continued ruthlessly. “Tell me how that

is following the rules.”

“Those were pranks,” she protested.

“I discovered you in the cattle chute

when I pulled up with a load of bulls,” he

continued. “What do you think would have

happened if I’d unloaded directly into the

chute, Rose?”

“You didn’t.” She pulled against his

hold and, this time, he let her go. “We all

knew you wouldn’t run cattle in that chute

without double-checking first. You were

always careful.”

“I closed gates. You opened them,” he

continued, shaking his head. “You drove

that car of yours twenty miles an hour over

dirt and we all knew you were coming

when we saw the road dust. I said: Be

home by nine, and you’d drop my brothers

off at nine. The next morning.”

“A simple misunderstanding?” She

grinned over at him. “Next time, you knew

better. You clarified.”

“I’m just saying, no games today, Rose.

Be careful and listen, okay?”

“Sure,” she repeated and gave him

another smile.

As they jolted down the dirt road, Rose

hummed along to a country hit playing on

his appropriated radio dial. The song was

all heartsick love and loneliness, suiting

the sky ahead of them, which was filling up

with dark clouds. The air around them was

pure tension that came from more than the

exchange they’d just had. He’d have a

storm on his hands soon enough.

When he pulled up at the trough, the

galvanized tank that should have held

almost a hundred gallons was as dry as a

bone. The pipeline from the source well

ran almost a mile to this particular trough.

If that well was running dry, too, Mother

Nature had just raised the stakes on him.

Grabbing his tool belt from the back of

the truck, he waded through the thirsty

cattle and swung himself up onto the

trough. The inch or so of standing water

was barely enough to wet his boots. He got

busy with the wrench, working the valve

until the water came out grudgingly,

flowing just a little faster.

There still wasn’t enough. The pipeline

was only delivering maybe five, ten,

gallons per minute—far less than he

needed to keep the trough full. Enough for

today, sure. Maybe even enough to get the

herd through the rest of the summer, but the

well was running on empty. The sluggish

trickle from the pump should have flowed

hard and fast.

Behind him, he heard Rose slide out of

the truck and come over to lean on the

railing. Watching.

“Empty?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said curtly. This wasn’t a

conversation he wanted to have right now.

“You checked the pump?”

Better to have a broken pipe or a

clogged pump than the truth. He’d brought

three drillers out to the ranch, and they’d

all said the same thing. There hadn’t been

enough rainfall this last winter, and the

aquifer was done. His ranch had drained it

dry. Sure, the change hadn’t happened

overnight, but the slow, steady suck—

decades of overuse—still spelled the end.

“Pump’s sucking air.” He gave the valve

one last, hard twist. It wasn’t going to help,

but it made him feel better. “Water level’s

just too damn low.”

“Oh.” She chewed on her lower lip,

running through an unseen mental checklist.

“You had someone out here to take a

look?”

“I’m working on it,” he said tightly.

“Right now, I’ll call it in. One of the hands

can bring the water truck out here and fill

her up.”

Maybe, if he gave her a little more time,

she’d see the light. Maybe she’d decide to

sell all on her own.

Hell. He was so screwed, it wasn’t even

funny.

Going back to the truck, he made the

call. As he hung up, however, tossing the

cell onto the front seat of the truck, he

realized fate wasn’t finished with him yet.

The truck had a flat. Punctured tires were

an occupational hazard out here. They

weren’t going anywhere until he’d changed

the tire, because he wasn’t taking the rough

ranch roads on a bare rim. He reached for

the jack in the pickup bed.

Rose looked at him. “You want a hand

with that?”

“No, it’s a one-person job,” he

muttered. Stripping off his shirt, he hung

his hat on the side mirror, grabbed a

wrench, and lowered himself down,

sliding under the truck to free the spare.

Rose’s bare legs below her shorts

moved in and out of his field of vision. He

forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

When he got the spare free, he slid it

out, and her legs moved away. Somewhere

close by, thunder rumbled, and the cattle

called restlessly.

“We’re going to have rain,” he said, but

there was no response. It figured. When he

wanted her far away from him, she was

right there. When he wanted her to stick

close by, she’d gone off. Sliding out from

beneath the truck, he sat up and spotted the

rain sweeping down from the hill.

The gray sheet of rain was headed right

toward them, and he saw Rose watching it

from a little distance away.

She laughed, delighted, as if he’d

arranged the downpour just for her. “Look,

Cabe! Rain!” She was fairly dancing in

anticipation of getting thoroughly soaked.

“That’s rain, all right,” he agreed. And

he would have enjoyed watching her joy

except he realized that a heavy downpour

was going to turn the dirt road into shit if it

stuck around. Getting the tire fixed quickly

was suddenly paramount. “We’ve got to

get on the road if we don’t want to get

mired out here.”

“You’re no fun,” she snorted, dancing

away from him.

True enough. Since one of them had to

be practical, he dropped to his knees by

the bad tire, working the jack underneath

the truck. Rose had her face turned toward

the approaching rain. Shaking his head, he

worked hurriedly, testing the jack to make

sure he had it firmly in place. He couldn’t

afford having the truck slip when he was

underneath it. Still, his eyes kept being

drawn to Rose.

The rain came hard and fast. He should

have been paying closer attention to the

job, but instead, there he was, his hand on

the sun-heated metal of the truck, watching

Rose. The first wave of wet hit, the drops

pinging against the pickup and stinging his

skin. Wiping an arm over his forehead, he

grabbed his hat from the side mirror and

jammed it on.

Rose didn’t seem to mind the wetness at

all. The rain slicked the flimsy material of

her tank top and shorts against her skin,

and there was no way he could pay

attention to the damned tire now. She was

literally dancing in the rain, her hair

slicked against the sides of her face. Those

clothes of hers weren’t decent anymore.

She was soaked to the skin, every curve

and shadow on display. Just for him. A

fierce urge to possess her, then and there,

lit him up.

Fuck
. He worked the tire iron with a

vengeance, forcing the stubborn lug nuts

free, then jacking the truck up with slow,

even pumps. He pulled the flat tire off and

set it aside.

After finally getting the new tire on and

secured, he lowered the truck and finished

tightening the nuts. Rose was still dancing,

a slow, sensual weave that tempted him to

join her. Instead, he tossed the jack back

into the truck bed along with the flat tire.

Not too much to salvage there, but a man

could hope.

His gaze fixed on Rose again, taking in

her slender, sensuous form. The hardest

damn thing he’d ever done was having her

in his house and keeping his hands off her.

He’d offered to look out for her, let her

stay at the ranch as long as she liked, but

she insisted on standing on her own feisty

two feet, taking over a lot of the cooking

and cleaning from the happy housekeeper,

all the while revisiting Auntie Dee’s to

straighten up the place, reviewing her

estimates, calling around for better bids,

and scrutinizing the Help Wanted listings

for architect jobs that simply didn’t exist in

Lonesome. That stubbornness exasperated