This cowboy is rugged, proud...and incredibly sexy

Cade Covington is struggling with turning his family’s beloved ranch into a tourist attraction. It’s not just the mortgage big enough to choke a horse, or the invasion of his home by strangers. It’s also the arrival of a city slicker PR professional who doesn’t understand ranch life...and puts every beautiful woman he’s ever seen to shame. Cade wants her.

With her company on the line, Emma can’t afford any mistakes. Especially if that mistake is a broad-shouldered, blue-eyed cowboy who drives her crazy with hunger. But all it takes is one small wager and their chemistry explodes. When the dust settles, will Emma have obliterated her career...or captured her cowboy?

Cade’s breath came out in a rush. “You’re playing with fire, darlin’.”

Emma couldn’t help but agree. Heat rushed up her neck and down through her belly.

This man was sin incarnate, her personal temptation in every way, from his boots to his jeans to his very, very fine body. Everything about him appealed to her. Even his stubbornness.

She’d never experienced this crazy rush of desire, the raw cravings that had her wanting to accept his stupid challenge and see what two weeks would bring. Particularly if it meant seduction and touching and... She shivered.

Then she smiled, rubbing her cheek against his, leaving a slight whisker burn against her skin. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, darlin’.”

She pressed closer, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of...or just how good at it I might be...”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the second book in the Wild Western Heat series, where the New Mexico plains heat up with more than sunshine.

Cowboy Proud is the story of Cade, the second Covington brother. Cade believes that love isn’t worth the heartache it inevitably brings. Until he meets the woman who is his complete opposite—city to his country, slick to his rough, polished to his unpolished. But it’s their very differences that fuel the fires of a passion neither could have dreamed they’d ever find, particularly in each other.

Having lived on a ranch in New Mexico, so much of this brings home beautiful memories of my time there. The country there is unbelievable, ranging from plains to sand hills, barren desert to stunning mountains, tiny creeks to pristine, trout-filled waters and more. It’s truly one of the most beautiful and diverse places in the United States.

And, as I’ve said before, New Mexico cowboys are every bit as sexy and sincere as those neighboring Texas cowboys. I should know—I married one.

Until next time, happy reading!

Kelli Ireland

Cowboy Proud

Kelli Ireland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KELLI IRELAND spent a decade as a name on a door in corporate America. Unexpectedly liberated by Fate’s sense of humor, she chose to carpe the diem and pursue her passion for writing. A fan of happily-ever-afters, she found she loved being the puppet master for the most unlikely couples. Seeing them through the best and worst of each other while helping them survive the joys and disasters of falling in love? Best. Thing. Ever. Visit Kelli’s website at kelliireland.com.

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This book wouldn’t have happened if not for Gina Lamm, fellow author and friend, encourager and taskmaster.

Your creativity and drill-sergeant-like ways are absolutely amazing.

I’ll drop and give you twenty if this book doesn’t live up to its potential. I promise.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

Extract

Copyright

1

THE BLACK, HORSESHOE-SHAPED bootjack sat just inside the front door. It served as a subtle but unmistakable reminder to all who entered the Bar C’s main house that cowboy boots came off right there. If the boots, or the cowboy in them, went any farther than the foyer, that cowboy would find himself wielding a broom and a mop, courtesy of the lady of the house.

Cade Covington notched his left boot heel in the jack and tugged his foot free, repeating the action with his right. Standing in his stocking feet, age-old instinct had him looking down to see if they had holes. The action made him grin unexpectedly, as memories settled over him, thin as late-morning mist.

Not since his mother died more than nineteen years ago had shoe removal been a house rule. But Reagan Matthews had resurrected it the moment she’d moved in with the eldest Covington son and Cade’s older brother, Elijah. Didn’t matter that the house was owned equally by all three brothers. Reagan had taken over the majority of the household chores and thereby set the place to rights as only a woman ever could, turning house into home, and she’d lain down the law.

Cade had grumbled at the time because his easy acceptance would’ve been suspect. It was no secret he resented change, particularly in his personal life. But his dislike of mopping floors far exceeded “resentment.” He hated that particular chore. So he’d deal with this particular change.

The major ranch renovations were a different story. His personal comfort level was currently parked in another county—in a neighboring state, in fact. The project was almost done, and as soon as the last nail was driven and the last plant planted, the results would set in motion massive, unimaginable changes in everyone’s lives.

Cade had gone along with the initial suggestions months ago as a last-ditch effort to keep Eli involved in the ranch again, as a desperate measure to reestablish the lost relationship with his older brother, as an effort to fill the aching void Eli’s absence had wrought when he’d left the ranch years ago.

And there was also the money aspect. The three brothers and Reagan, at her insistence, had taken out a mortgage on the ranch. Land they’d owned free and clear, land that had been in the Covington family since before New Mexico had officially been a state, now held a million-dollar-plus mortgage on it.

The idea brought Cade to an unsteady stop. A million dollars. He’d never thought to see that kind of dollar figure attached to his name in any way, let alone as debt. Always the brother most focused on fiscal security, his hand had shaken so hard at the bank signing, he’d screwed up the paperwork. Twice. But it was done. Finding another way forward wasn’t an option anymore. No, his “option” was more do-or-be-damned “obligation.” The Bar C would be a successful dude ranch or they’d lose it all. Forcing himself to stand, Cade continued through the living room and headed for the kitchen, stockinged feet padding softly over worn hardwood floors.

Food first. Worry later.

If he was lucky, Reagan might have packaged the leftover enchiladas she’d made for dinner last night. She was awesome about stuff like that, the nurturing, thinking ahead, meal planning. All that and more, really. After his old man died, when it had just been Cade and his younger brother, Tyson, living at the house, mealtimes had been fend-for-yourself events. They’d considered it a good day if they came up with something that couldn’t be mistaken for a mold culture, wasn’t seriously outdated or hadn’t suffered such severe freezer burn it was rendered unrecognizable. Survival had depended greatly on peanut butter sandwiches or, if either of them finished their day and wasn’t too tired to boil water, one man might have put in the effort to cook spaghetti noodles and open a can of eighty-eight-cent sauce. Those days were over, though.

One change that’s been pretty good overall...

He grinned and shook his head. Keep up that kind of positive attitude and people would begin to wonder if he’d suffered a head injury. Not that he was negative, just realistic. The smile faded as quickly as it had shown. Cade was very, very realistic.

Hinges squeaked obnoxiously as someone opened the front door and let in the sound of bullwhip-like cracks of hammers striking nail heads. Sporadic pauses were punctuated by supervisors’ shouted directives and the crew’s answers. Then the door closed, muffling construction sounds that had, in their own unique way, become white noise over the past eleven months.

And every nail driven home brought them one step closer to completion.

The idea they’d be moving on to the next phase, actually opening the Bar C as a dude ranch to paying customers craving an “Old West experience,” rattled Cade yet again. Strangers wandering around what had, for so long, been his private sanctuary. Strangers who would spend their vacation riding his horses and learning to be cowboys for a week before returning to their real lives with jobs that paid well and allowed them to live in the suburbs. They’d drive expensive SUVs and enroll their kids in all sorts of activities. Both husbands and wives would work long hours at jobs they hated in order to fund the lifestyle they’d become accustomed to living. To Cade, it was as foreign a way to live as his day-to-day life was to the same folks he’d be catering to.

Sweat dotted his hairline, a bead of moisture trickling down his temple. He swiped at it with frustration. “Suck it up, buttercup. You signed on for this. From money to mayhem, you knew what the end result would be.” Cade entered the bright kitchen at the same time his stomach let out a sonorous rumble.

“You miss breakfast?” Eli asked, moving into the galley from the opposite doorway—he must have been the one who opened the front door. It didn’t escape Cade’s notice his brother had been reduced to socked feet, as well.

Cade pulled the fridge door open. “Got an early start this morning and wasn’t at a place I could stop when the breakfast bell rang.” Moving contents around, he grinned when several plastic containers of individually portioned enchiladas came into view. A glance over his shoulder revealed a sheepish grin on Eli’s face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d believe someone tried to hide these.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.” Cade pulled out two servings and tossed them into the microwave, shut the door and hit Reheat. He faced his brother and leaned his hip against the worn Formica countertop. “Before you go thinking I’m being generous, both of these are mine. Course, I ought to take yours from the fridge as well, just because you’re such a selfish old man, hoarding the cook’s goods.”

Eli’s brows drew down in a mock scowl. “Hey. She’s my woman. You and Ty may benefit from it, but technically she’s cooking for me.”

Cade burst out laughing, fighting to regain control before he answered. “Man, I dare you to tell her she ‘belongs’ to you. Or, even better, tell her she’s cooking for you. Go on. You might even tell her what she should fix for dinner tonight or that you hate the fabric softener she uses. I’ll stand near the phone in case someone has to call in the paramedics, Life Flight or, you know, the National Guard.”

Eli’s grimace was exaggerated but probably appropriate all the same. “Yeah. I’m not about to say any of those things. Woman’s wicked with a blade and a crack shot. She’d probably shoot me in the ass only to ‘volunteer’ to remove the slug without any kind of numbing agent.”

“No, I’d probably shoot you both in the ass and let the wounds fester before I removed the slugs,” a feminine voice answered. The woman under discussion strolled into the kitchen, long hair swinging from her high ponytail. Reagan moved straight into Eli’s embrace, their lips touching briefly, then lingering over the kiss.

Cade’s chest tightened. He’d never dated much, hadn’t considered it a priority, and now he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have the kind of intense intimacy Eli and Reagan had, the kind that would survive life’s fiery trials and rise from tribulation’s ashes stronger and surer. Nothing could tear these two apart now.

It didn’t bother him that they’d reconnected after Eli found his way home. What ate at Cade was his personal reaction to their undisguised, unguarded happiness. That kind of thing—love, he supposed, if he had to name it—didn’t fit anywhere in his life’s plans. It never had. Had he been wrong to take that path?

The microwave beeped, and Cade shook off the melancholy before retrieving the leftovers. Hot plastic burned his fingertips, forcing him to juggle the bowls. He tossed them on the counter before grabbing a fork and paper towel. He pulled the lid off the nearest container, forked up a large bite of enchilada and shoved it in his mouth. Less than a second later he was reaching for the fridge, intent on grabbing the first cold thing he found. Milk. He twisted the cap off and drank straight from the plastic jug, swallowing rapidly but still spilling it down the sides of his face and soaking his shirt.

“Hot?” Eli asked, the laughter in his voice undisguised.

Cade lowered the jug, glaring at his brother. “I won’t taste anything for a week.”

“Sucks to be microwave challenged.”

Blowing through his nose, Cade flipped his brother off even as Reagan closed in on him.

“How bad is it?” she demanded, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him down so she could examine his mouth and throat.

“Not that bad.” He pulled against her grip, but she refused to let go.

“Let me see, Cade. No reason to fight me on this if you’re sure it’s nothing.”

Cade closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m fine, Reagan.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He extricated himself, stepping away. “I burned my mouth, but my brain’s only singed. It’ll be fine. I’ll just finish up and get to work.”

She tucked her thumbs in her jeans’ pockets. “Whatever suits you.”

Eyeing her warily, Cade forked up another bite but blew on it for a good bit before sticking it in his mouth. “Like I said, that would be getting back to work,” he said around the food.

Eli pulled Reagan into his arms again, settling her against his chest. “What’s on your schedule this afternoon?”

Cade shoveled the food in faster.

“It’s not so much this afternoon as it is the next couple of weeks that’ll be hell. Got news this morning the interior decorators won’t be here with their semi-truck load of furniture until the day before our first guests arrive. Means we’ll all have to pitch in to assemble what isn’t already put together. Then we’ll have to get the rooms set up, beds made, that kind of stuff.”

Reagan’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s cutting it pretty close.”

“There’s absolutely no room for error, but there’s no other option,” he muttered around his last mouthful of lunch. “Can’t make them get here any faster. I tried.” He tossed the container and fork into the sink, the loud clatter startling in the heavy silence.

Reagan stepped out of Eli’s arms and began rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. “We’re having a group lesson on loading the dishwasher soon.”

Cade grimaced. “Sorry.”

She waved him off. “I actually came in because I wanted to follow up with you guys on the invitations I sent out for the inaugural cattle drive. Anyone have the head count as of today’s mail run? I haven’t heard from the PR company since Friday. I swear, we need to invest in better internet service. We could’ve handled all this so much faster than with rural post.”

“It’s Sunday. Mail doesn’t run,” Cade offered.

“You know it’s bad when you don’t even realize what day it is anymore,” Reagan grumbled.

Eli moved toward the small built-in desk. “Paper invitations are more personal. That’s what Michael Anderson, our contact from the public relations firm, advised, and we’re paying a pretty penny for his professional opinion. Regardless, I can give you the head count as of last night.” He pulled a worn Day-Timer his way. Absently flipping through several pages, he stopped and did a quick tally. “We have confirmations from twelve of the fifteen, and one regret. Leaves us waiting for the last two responses.”

Cade rolled his shoulders. Eli had won the argument about hiring a PR firm. Cade wasn’t sure why they’d paid the company so much money to put together a freaking guest list, but he’d given up the argument, keeping his mouth shut about that at this point. “Hard to believe that the moment all those folks show up, the Bar C won’t exist anymore.”

“She will,” Eli countered fiercely. “She always will. She’s ours.” He dropped his head to his chest. They stood in the ensuing silence, each of them surely lost to their own thoughts. Then his chin snapped up. “It’s like introducing her with a pseudonym for publicity purposes. She deserved something catchy, and Lassos & Latigos Dude Ranch is perfect for those who haven’t met her yet.”

Closing his eyes, Cade let his head fall back. “I still can’t believe you guys took me seriously on that name. I was joking.”

“It is sort of catchy.” The smile in Reagan’s voice rang clear.

“So, about the guests who haven’t responded?” Cade asked. “Do we chalk them off or plan on them showing up unannounced on opening—”

The phone rang, the jangle of the old bell ringer loud enough to nearly knock Cade out of his socks.

Reagan jerked her chin toward the phone. “Grab that, would you? My hands are wet and Eli’s lost in the guest list again. Could be a verbal RSVP.”

He hesitated, the idea of talking to a “guest” somewhat daunting.

Then he yanked the phone’s receiver off the wall.

* * *

“HELLO?”

The gruff voice infused that one word, an alleged greeting, with undisguised caution, throwing Emmaline Graystone off guard. “Hello?”

In the background, dishes clattered in a sink.

Did Michael give me the wrong number? Emma glanced at the invitation, and then checked the display on her smartphone. Nope. Right number.

Her business partner had handled this account save for a couple of phone calls she’d taken in his absence. For those, she’d talked to a man named Eli. He’d been cultured, polished and incredibly professional. This was clearly not the same man.

“Hello?” that deep male voice repeated, his impatience impossible to misinterpret.

“Hello...hi. Um, I’m...” She blew out a soft breath and squared her shoulders. “This is Emmaline Graystone. I’m with Top Priority Publicity, the public relations firm hired by Lassos & Latigos to guide the ranch through it’s inaugural—”

“I’m well aware of what your firm has been hired to do, Ms. Graystone. But I was under the impression Eli had been dealing with a man by the name of Michael Anderson.”

“Michael is the firm’s vice president and has been handling the account, yes. But he’s involved in another project where the opening date was unexpectedly moved up and has left him pressed for time. With your grand opening quickly approaching, I offered to take over your account.”

“You familiar with our account?” The Voice asked.

She lifted her chin a fraction and stared at the barren horizon. “I’m the firm’s president and owner. I’ve been through your account files extensively, and I fully understand the direction Michael had been taking things. He’s done a good job. I can take it from here.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The perceptible smile in The Voice’s response irked her. “Do you have a problem with me assuming this account?”

“Nope. As long as you keep in mind the same principles we drilled into Michael, I don’t care who handles our account.”

Curious. She hadn’t seen anything in the notes about hardline principles to respect. “Which principles, precisely, are you referring to?”

“We want to keep the ranch family focused, make sure it doesn’t become a commercial machine but rather an intimate experience for each guest and every booking. Do that and I don’t care what kind of equipment’s parked behind your zipper.”

She blinked wide eyes. “Glad to hear it,” she said, mimicking The Voice’s dry tone. If this guy was a Covington, and if he would be interacting with ranch guests, they were all in trouble. He couldn’t speak to strangers—paying strangers—this way.

“You want to talk to Eli?”

“Not necessary. I’m currently standing in the Amarillo airport and there are no rental cars to be had. I would appreciate it if you’d have someone pick me up.”

“You’re here,” The Voice deadpanned.

“If by ‘here’ you mean at the airport, then yes,” she answered, irritated that The Voice offered no courtesy. “More specifically, in case you missed it, said airport is in Amarillo. That would be Texas. Right inside the infamous Panhandle. I’m staring out the huge glass windows at a landscape that’s flat, dust-colored as far as the eye can see, and the wind is blowing. It isn’t even remotely similar to the brochure Michael created. Still, if that’s what you’re referring to as ‘here,’ then the answer stands.”

“I should have asked, ‘Why are you here?’” he clarified.

“Unannounced visit to put you through your paces before your guests arrive.” She tried not to fume at his ensuing curse. “We have fourteen days to work out any last-minute issues.”

He sighed. Something—a hand?—slid over the receiver on the opposite end. The Voice entered into a brief, muffled discussion with what sounded like another man and a woman. The Voice’s words, though indiscernible, conveyed his frustration loud and clear. If the dude ranch intended to operate this way, they wouldn’t last a single tourist season.

The Voice’s hand must have slipped from the receiver because Emmaline was able to determine the three were arguing over who would drive in to retrieve her. Travelers, particularly those with both the money for the experience and those bringing children, wouldn’t tolerate being abandoned at tiny airports as their well-paid “hosts” argued heatedly over who was supposed to have been at the airport to pick them up.

She’d have to put an end to this and figure it out on her own. “Excuse me?”

Nothing. No response whatsoever.

“Excuse me,” she said again, louder.

Still no response.

“Hey!” she shouted, ignoring the startled glances from the few passersby in the tiny airport.

“Give me a minute,” The Voice ordered.

She ran her fingers through her pixie cut, well aware it would make the ends stand up and not caring one whit. “I’ve given you more than forty-five between landing and now. If I were an actual customer, I’d be watching the clock, too. Now you’re telling me, not asking me, to give you more time. Not the best foot to start out on.”

“You’re here unannounced, so cut me a little slack.” His words were short and sharp.

“I am, yes. And I won’t, no,” she snapped. “You have one chance to make a first impression. So far? You’ve blown it. Badly. You’ll have to do better with your paying customers or you’re finished before you get started.”

Silence traveled between them, weaving together to form palpably fractious tension. This was far from the first instance she’d had to assert herself as a woman in a male-dominant world, and if The Voice believed he could wait her out, he had another think coming.

Several minutes passed, the only sound between them their mutual breathing.

The man in the background muttered something and The Voice sighed again, covered the mouthpiece and responded. Then he returned, his breathing soft and steady.

Enough was enough. She’d simply explain to the nameless man that he’d failed her test. She’d send Eli suggestions to fix the problems, namely to find an exceptional surgeon to perform an emergency personality transplant on The Voice. She’d wager everyone would benefit from it.

Leaving would also get her out of covering for Michael on an account where she was personally, uncharacteristically, out of her depth. He had briefed her on the dude ranch before she caught her flight to No Man’s Land, but he hadn’t mentioned what an incredibly tight-knit family the Covingtons were. She’d picked that up based on correspondence and notes she’d read on the flight into Amarillo. Everything in the file indicated the importance the family had placed—and The Voice had reemphasized—in keeping the ranch an intimate experience, not a commercial Wild West attraction.

Emma knew nothing about families, or how to foster intimacy in any way. A revolving staff of nannies and housekeepers had raised her, faces changing with predictable regularity. No one was ever good enough for her mother, efficient enough for her father or around long enough for the child Emma had been.

That left adult Emma entirely out of her element when it came to family units like the Covingtons. What they had was what she’d coveted all her life, and she had no more idea how to preserve it than she had to fit into it.

That decided it. She’d grab the next flight out of this dustbowl and return to Manhattan. Besides, skipping the dude ranch’s inaugural goat roasting or greased pig wrestling or whatever it was wouldn’t be a hardship. She opened her mouth to bow out at the same moment The Voice spoke.

“I’m sincerely sorry for the inconvenience.” He paused, clearly out of his element when it came to apologies. “The trip to Amarillo is almost three hours from here. If you’d like to catch a cab to a restaurant, I can pick you up there. Or, if you’d prefer to get a hotel and have a staff member pick you up tomorrow, the ranch will gladly reimburse any expenses you incur. Whatever makes you most comfortable is fine with us, Ms. Graystone.”

“It’ll take you three hours to get here?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s early enough in the day to have you come get me at the airport, but—”

“Can I call you back in a second?” The Voice interrupted.

“Sure.” Emmaline dropped into a chair at baggage claim. “My cell should be on your caller ID.”

“We don’t have caller ID out here unless we use our cell or SAT phones. What’s your number?”

She rattled it off.

Paper tore. “Gimme a minute.” He disconnected before she could respond.

She thumbed her phone off and buried her face in her hands. This wasn’t the vision she’d had when she agreed to fill in for Michael. Not even close.

She’d intended to swoop in, wow her country clients, gain a solid recommendation from a new business she believed would be highly successful and disappear immediately after the inaugural event. The high-profile clients they’d invited to the event would get a chance to see her in action, get to know her just a little. Business would pick up again. Things would turn around. She’d figure out why the firm’s profit and loss statement looked as if it was bleeding out for the first time ever. She’d fix it. She’d hire a forensic accountant to examine her books for fraudulent activity. She’d be able to trust Michael again when the P&L was verified, when her suspicions were proven erroneous. She wouldn’t doubt his professed loyalty or the fact he was now out of the office more than he was in. All of these things would be resolved. She’d be able to breathe again, to reclaim control of the company and buy Michael out if she had to.

All of which meant she had to stay and somehow make things work with the Covingtons. She was swallowing a prescription antacid when the phone rang. Choking, she bumped Accept and the call connected. Eyes watering, she wheezed out something that resembled, “Emma.”

The Voice was there. “You okay, Ms. Graystone?”

“Stellar,” she rasped through the next round of harsh coughing.

He waited her out, then said, “I’m going to drive in and pick you up.”

Her brows winged up. “You? You’re coming to get me yourself?”

He ignored her untempered surprise. “If I leave now, we’ll be at the ranch in time for dinner.” Clothing rustled in the background, and what sounded like first one and then another heavy shoe thumped against the floor. “Where do you want me to pick you up?”

Emma glanced around as she fought to recover her bearings. “The airport has Wi-Fi, so I suppose here’s as easy as anywhere.”

“I’ll call when I’m five minutes out and you can meet me outside with your gear.”

Before she could ask for his cell number in case she changed her mind and sought out a restaurant, he’d disconnected. Again.

“Great,” she answered, anyway. “Can’t wait to meet you.”

Grabbing her bags, she made her way to one of the small cafés and settled into a booth before pulling her laptop out. She had three hours to kill. Might as well make them productive.

2

CADE HAD BEEN unanimously volunteered for the trip to Amarillo. His protests hadn’t made a bit of difference. Eli had argued as only a lawyer could, defending his ability to manage the contractors and keep them lined out. Reagan’s efforts were split between working with the installers on the placement of the commercial kitchen appliances in the new dining hall and assisting Tyson, whose favorite, and most valuable, mare had gone into labor.

The animal had been in hard labor for about an hour before Cade left, and Ty wasn’t about to let something as mundane a surprise visit from some public relations exec pull him from her side. Reagan might be an entirely capable large animal vet, but the horses were Ty’s life. He was there for every major event, beginning with their birth and ending with either their sale or their death.

Singing along with the radio, cruise set on seventy-five and air conditioner blowing hard to combat the afternoon heat, Cade adjusted his rearview mirror to keep the slowly sinking afternoon sun from blinding him. He crested a slight hill, and Amarillo spread out before him. The city sat ensconced beneath a gritty haze, the dust driven by winds he’d guess were easily thirty miles per hour and gusting higher. While there wasn’t much in the way of a traditional city skyline, the view still left him with the impression of people surrounding him on all sides. Compared to Roy, the tiny town closest to the ranch, he supposed it was more reality, less impression. Harding County, New Mexico, had a total population of less than seven hundred. Last he’d heard, Amarillo was pushing two hundred thousand residents.

He exited the interstate and took Highway 60 north to Airport Road. Despite wearing sunglasses, he still squinted in the bright light as he pulled out his cell and dialed Ms. Graystone’s number.

She answered on the third ring. “Emmaline Graystone.”

Her voice, now more cultivated than irritated, was sultry enough he couldn’t help but take notice. It warmed a body from the inside out, same as a good whiskey sipped on a cold night.

A small, internal voice reminded him that even the smoothest liquors could deliver a vicious bite. Worse, if a man let the drink go to his head, that same warmth could make him do things he’d regret come morning. Still, Cade couldn’t help but wonder how that rich voice would sound in the dark. It wasn’t hard to imagine her whispering against his skin, the whisper of her breath hot and moist over bared skin. To consider how she might—

“Hello?”

Cade shifted in the driver’s seat, irritably adjusting his fly and trying to stop the path his out-of-control imagination had barreled down. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in a fantasy about an unknown woman’s voice—a contractor’s voice, no less. That particular realization did little to cool the inexplicable lust flooding his system, but it was more than sufficient to clear his mind. “Hi.”

“Is...everything okay?” she asked, curiosity unchecked.

“Fine.” He cleared his throat. “This is Cade Covington. We spoke earlier when you called the ranch. The dude ranch. Lassos & Latigos.” He set the phone face down on his thigh and shook his head. Just how many dude ranches do you think she called from the Amarillo airport, idiot? He refocused before replacing the phone to his ear. “I’ll be in front of the airport in about five minutes. You want to meet me curbside, or should I come in and get your bags?”

“I’ll meet you outside.”

“Fair enough. What should I be watching for?”

“I’m about five foot nine, very short dark red hair that’s natural and highlights that aren’t, black sunglasses, sleeveless black dress. Luggage—two pieces—is also black. I have my messenger bag over my shoulder. You can guess the color. I’m a travel cliché and a pretty drab one at that—everything’s black.” Her heels clicked across the tiled floor as she began to walk. “My purse is bright red, though. That might help you pick me out of the crush of people.”

Her dry humor made him chuckle. “I take it you’re used to busier airports than our humble little Amarillo hub.”

“I’ve travelled the world over more than once, Mr. Covington. But an airport with six terminals where at least a dozen men volunteered to retrieve my luggage out of courtesy is a phenomenon I can’t even begin to make sense of. I suppose I sound jaded.” She laughed softly. In the background, he heard the sound of the doors whooshing open and then the mix of traffic and wind sweeping across her phone’s mic. “I’m at the curb. What are you driving?”

He pulled into the passenger drop-off/pickup lane and opened his mouth to answer, but that was as far as his side of the conversation got. He dropped his phone and it bounced off the rubber floor mat, but he made zero effort to retrieve it.

The woman who’d snared his attention pulled her phone from her ear and stared at it in confusion. She had to be Emmaline Graystone. She’d described herself as “drab” only moments before. She’d flat-assed lied.

The short, black dress she wore showcased toned arms, a trim waist and lean legs that, based on the gawking of other drivers, were long enough they should’ve come with a hazard warning. He’d never been a fan of short hair on a woman, but the way the sun lit up her red hair, it appeared almost burnished. And she did, indeed, carry a red purse. All of that was delicious. What she’d neglected to mention were the red lips and siren-red stiletto heels that would be the showcase of his totally inappropriate dreams tonight.

She spoke into the phone, glancing around. Her gaze passed over him, and then snapped back, an eerie recognition on her face. Thumbing her phone off, she dropped it in her bag before reaching up and pulling off her sunglasses.

Cade had dealt with beautiful women before. Emmaline Graystone put every one of them to shame. Her beauty was a quiet demand that he stare whether he wanted to or not. No wonder so many men had offered to help her with her luggage.

The thought made him want to growl. And that shocked him into action. He had no business thinking of her that way. As both a contractor and a ranch guest, she wasn’t some random woman at a bar angling to gain his attention or take him home for the night. That fast, his mind ran off with ideas of all the ways he’d want her if she had come onto him under those circumstances. He’d figure out what made her tick, discover her every desire, particularly the kind that required no clothes and a lot of one-on-one instruction. In the dark. He fought the urge to punch himself in the temple. Instead, he swallowed his pride and retrieved his phone.

Emmaline had already started toward him, and he inched his truck close to the curb before slamming it in Park. He hopped out and jogged around the front to meet her and take her bags, hoisting them into the crew cab’s backseat. The large bags took up the whole bench. Then, steeling himself, he faced her.

In heels, she was only a couple inches shorter than him. Her eyes were the palest green with a dark ring around them. Her nose was short and straight. And her lips... Those lips had been created specifically to go with the rest of her sultry voice and body.

“Since you’ve taken my bags and put them in your truck, I’m going to assume you’re Cade Covington.” She arched a brow, considering him. “That or I’m being abducted in broad daylight and allowing it, which I can’t imagine I would.”

Cade proffered his hand. “Ms. Graystone.” His heart skipped a beat. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Call me Emma. Please.” She took his hand in a firm shake. “We’d have gotten off to a far better start if you’d laid on the cowboy drawl and charm when you answered the phone.”

He shook her hand in return, but when it would have been polite to release her, he couldn’t make himself do it. Instead, he stood there like an idiot, staring at her through dark shades, memorizing her face as if there would be a quiz later.

Her breath stuttered, her hand tightened and then she pulled.

There was no option but to yield to her unspoken demand that he let go. Man, he didn’t want to, though. In fact, he wanted to wrap her in his arms, pull her into the line of his body, to discover the type of perfume she wore—and the brand of lingerie.

It was ridiculous in the extreme. Never had a woman affected him this way, and it left his mind entirely scattered. Opening her door, he handed her into the cab without a word and pulled her seat belt forward, settling the clip in her palm.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she crossed tanned bare legs that ended in those siren’s heels, the dichotomy of elegance and sheer wickedness not lost on him.

No, sir.

This was going to be longest trip to the ranch he’d made from anywhere.

Ever.

* * *

EMMA WASN’T SURE what to make of the man in the driver’s seat. He’d introduced himself, the deep timbre of his voice stealing the common courtesy of her response before it was halfway out. She wanted to listen to him talk. Didn’t matter what he said so long as that voice continued to fill the air around her.

A fine shiver raced over her skin.

That led her straight down the road to considering the way his brief touch had been electrifying, sending little shocks of awareness along her skin. Sure, the contact had been innocent. Her physical response? Not so much. When he’d held on to her, something inexplicable and almost electric had coursed through her. Then she’d tugged, privately engaged in an internal struggle between want and need. She’d desperately wanted him to hold on, to maintain the connection between them; she’d needed him to let go so she could get her bearings.

But the small gesture had left her craving more skin-to-skin contact, and by “more,” her mind was clearly envisioning fewer clothes. Inappropriate images had filled her brain—and that’s when her sanity abandoned her, leaving sparse breadcrumbs should she attempt to find her way back to it. There weren’t enough to follow, though. Not really. Even if she’d wanted to try. For the record? She hadn’t.

In the strangest way, she’d found herself anticipating their road trip. The time in the truck would give her a chance to discover more about both the man and the dude ranch.

Instead of launching into conversation, though, he’d silently put the truck in Drive and pulled away from the curb. That hadn’t set well with her, not as her mind raced over all the things she wanted to figure out about him.

Michael’s point of contact had been Eli Covington, Cade’s brother. Michael had made copious notes about the family’s desires for their new business venture, as well as on Eli’s experience in corporate law and his wife’s role as the ranch’s vet. But he’d included very little information on the two other brothers, save that Cade was the middle brother and Tyson the youngest. It would be up to her to fill in the blanks, not only to satisfy her curiosity but to afford her every opportunity to ensure she delivered a service the Covingtons would be satisfied with and be willing to broadly recommend. This trip provided the perfect starting point.

They left the airport via a two-lane highway. A glance out the window showed flat expanses of desert with occasional arroyos and ever-present, never-ending barbed wire fences that ran parallel to the highway only to be swallowed by the distant horizon. Cows were scattered far and wide. Some fields appeared vacant save for the intermittent pump jacks that pulled oil from Texas’s subterranean depths and sent it on to refineries’ holding tanks. The wind blew hard enough to push the pickup around a bit, sand peppering the windows like invisible bullets. Cade never faltered, was never forced to steady the truck with a second hand. No, he just left his right wrist draped over the top of the wheel and hid behind those dark glasses.

What color are his eyes?

The thought caught Emma off guard, all the more so when she blurted it out.

Cade’s brows winged down and mimicked the corners of his mouth. “My eyes?”

Heat skated across her cheeks. “That’s apparently how I decided to break the silence, yes,” she muttered.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Just stared wordlessly down the long road in front of them until she was sure she wasn’t going to get an answer.

Then he reached up, pushed the brim of his black Stetson up and slowly pulled his sunglasses off, shifting slightly to face her.

Her breath caught.

“They’re just blue.”

Definitely blue, but far, far from “just.” His medium brown hair and the darkening hint of what would become a five-o’clock shadow made his eyes appear the pale color of sunlight caught in arctic ice. A much deeper blue ringed the iris. Combined, the two colors created a startling contrast.

Cade rolled his shoulders before shoving his sunglasses on again. “They’re blue,” he said gruffly.

“And Ballyportry Castle could be called stacked stone. Oversimplifying it doesn’t make it any less impressive,” she bit out, both embarrassed and irritated.

His lips twitched again. “You comparing my eyes to some stone castle?”

“No.” She settled deeper into the captain’s chair. “Stone’s cold and gray, not blue.”

“Then why bring up...what was it? Bally-something?” At her silence, he shot her a quick glance. “Emma?”

The sound of her name on his lips made her stomach roll over like a lazy hound lying under the summer sun. “Ballyportry. And I brought it up because I was just there. It’s in Ireland. The place made an impression. For better or worse, so do you. The difference is that the impression you make is more frustrating than fascinating.” She kicked off her heels and tucked one foot under her. No better time than now to begin filling in those blanks. “How in the world did you ever end up winning your wife over?” she groused.

“I’m not married.” Amusement made the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiled. “So, I make an impression, do I?”

“Girlfriend?” she asked.

“No wife, no girlfriend and no friend with benefits.” His gaze shifted to her then returned to the road where late-afternoon heat was stirring up thunderheads on the horizon. “I’d rather talk about this impression I make.”

“First impression was on the phone. You and the castle are the same there—generally unwelcoming.” His smile slipped, but she pressed on. “On meeting, it’s clear both you and the castle are immovable. Now, traveling through what seems to be an almost alien landscape, it’s clear you each situate yourself in the midst of an irascible environment. And if the castle could express emotion, I’d say you both enjoy the fact that the majority of the visitors to your little corner of the world don’t speak the native language.”

He pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them on the dash again before cutting her a sharp look. “Almost sounds as if you don’t think much of me.”

“I don’t know you, and after spending a couple of weeks with you, I doubt I’ll either fall madly in love with you or run screaming from the sheer terror of ranch life. I’d quite prefer it if you’d tell me a little something about yourself, Mr. Covington.” He harrumphed, and one corner of her mouth curled up. “I’ll concede here...Cade.”

“Concede, is it?”

“Seems appropriate since this has evolved into a verbal joust.” A grin spread across her face, surprising her. The verbal sparring was actually fun. She found she enjoyed pricking his ego a bit, so she pressed on. “I don’t suppose cowboys joust, do they? Might be a fun diversion for guests at the dude ranch.”

He scowled, hands twisting the leather-wrapped steering wheel until it squeaked in protest. “Look. I ride. I rope. I wrangle. I do not freaking joust. And, above all, I should never be mistaken for some knight in shining armor. And before you ask, that also means I don’t have or want a damsel in distress. Clear enough?”

Emma pursed her lips and shifted to her hip to consider him full on. “Odd. I was under the impression cowboys were all about saving the day.”

“You’ve watched too much TV, Emma.” He retrieved his sunglasses and slid them on his face with practiced calm.

“Fair enough. If I’m not up to speed on the way cowboys really behave or what they seem to want, educate me.”

He choked, color climbing up from under the collar of his shirt and rising until it reached the band of his hat and disappeared. “Educate you? What do you want to know?” The skepticism in his voice made her laugh out loud. This was so much fun she’d have to add “baiting Cade Covington” to her list of hobbies.

Untucking her foot, she crossed her legs.

Cade’s eyes glazed over and the rough-around-the-edges cowboy was forced to overcorrect to get the truck back on the road.

She crossed her hands in her lap, the picture of innocence. “Educate me the cowboy way, I suppose.”

Cade slowed the truck and pulled it to the side of the empty road. He threw one arm around the headrest of her seat and shifted on his hip to face her. “You want an education?”

The undisguised, unapologetic heat in his voice paired with the sharp smell of rain and ozone from the brewing storm and caused her heart to race to a tattooing beat inside her chest.

“I don’t believe I stuttered,” she managed to get out without her voice shaking.

He traced the line of her jaw, his touch as heated as a branding iron. “This ought to be interesting, then. Want to wager on the results?”

“What?”

“You’ll end up loving or loathing me, darlin’. Which will it be?”

Caught up in the intensity of his pale blue stare, she stuttered. “L-love or loathing?”

“That’s right, Ms. Graystone,” he replied softly, pushing his black Stetson up, again revealing those just-blue eyes. “You’re stuck with me for the next two weeks by your own doing...Emma. So what do you want to bet you either love me or loathe me by the time it’s all over?”

Her wits had become veritable marbles rolling around all willy-nilly inside her. She mentally gathered what she could, forced herself to slow down and then smiled with enough heat to make the asphalt seem frosty. “You want to play? Then we’ll play. But there have to be mutually agreeable, and equally impressive, stakes.”

Now it was Cade who, licking his lips, only nodded.

“If I leave here loathing you, you’ll donate a week at the ranch to the charity of my choosing.”

“And if you end up loving me?” His words were strained, voice so dry it was almost dusty.

“‘Love’ is a little strong, don’t you think? That emotion requires time to grow and prosper, and two weeks won’t cut it.”

His eyes heated. “Ever been in love, Emma?”

Warmth suffused her cheeks. “Not really a believer in happily-ever-after endings.”

“No? What do you believe in, then?”

She shrugged.

“C’mon, Emma. There has to be something,” Cade pressed. “And why wouldn’t you believe in true love?”

“You can’t believe in something you’ve never seen, never experienced.”

His eyes widened. “Yeah, actually, you can. It’s called having faith in someone or something. It’s like sitting down in a chair. I know it’s a chair because, even if I personally have never sat in a chair, I’ve watched others do it. So when I go to sit down, I have faith the chair will do what it was supposed to do and hold me up because I’ve witnessed it do so for others. Faith.” He reached up and undid the collar button on his shirt. “You probably understand more about love than you realize you do, Emma. You’ve witnessed it, whether over dinner with friends or between a man and woman standing on a busy street corner, so caught up in each other they miss their bus and don’t care. That’s love, so you’ve got something to draw on.”

She shifted in her seat, her gaze roaming the grandeur of the plains, her mind trying to commit the smallest details to memories.

He pressed further. “So, what—you want me to believe you’ve never loved anyone and never seen someone in love?” He settled his black Stetson firmly before shaking his head. “I don’t buy it, Ms. Graystone. Someone who looks like you? She’s been loved before, even if from afar.”

“It’s pretty to think so, isn’t it? Regardless, appearances have no bearing on love, particularly true love. Have you never watched a Disney movie? Beauty and the Beast, for example. Beautiful woman falls in love with a man cursed to beastly form. But love changes everything, making her whole and him the handsome prince he’d been before.” Emma fought to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “A fantastic tale that creates false hope in girls.” She choked on a bitter laugh. “As a kid, I wasn’t given anything but the hard truth. No disillusionment. Ever.”

“My old man was a real piece of work, too. Mom? We all swore she was an angel, but we lost her way too early. I get the maladjusted family bit,” he said, resting his wrist across the steering wheel casually. “We’ve all got some kind of dysfunction that dogs our heels. Doesn’t mean we have to let it herd us where it will, though.”

“You think I let my history determine my future?” How could he judge her? “I grew up with nannies. Some were young and nubile and spent a great deal of time in my father’s office. Then there were the rigid hardliners who stayed just long enough to offend my mother before being dismissed.

“It didn’t matter which camp they were in, though. Affection was forbidden. They were there to raise me, not coddle me.” She forced a smile. “My parents hated each other, but it was a strategic financial match, a practical investment of individual strengths in order to achieve mutual goals. So tell, me, Cade. Where in all of that should I have found faith in love and family? Perhaps somewhere between courses at dinner when I was allowed to eat with my parents so long as I didn’t speak? Or maybe at school, where my parents were the repeat no-shows for everything from concerts to parent-teacher conferences? No? I’ve got it! How about when I thought I’d bank on love and entered into a joint business venture they approved of with a man they’d chosen and suggested I marry in order to forge a stronger connection between the family businesses?” Her mind flashed to Michael, her business partner, the same one she currently suspected might be sabotaging the business she’d started before she’d met him and allowed him to buy in. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t get totally on board with the whole ‘love saves the day’ mentality.”

Lines appeared at the corners of Cade’s mouth as his frown deepened, but he didn’t comment on her outburst. He simply drove on, only the radio and road noise cutting the silence.

The reference to Michael reminded Emma of her worries. She’d left him a voice mail this morning, asking him to call her as soon as possible. The only thing she’d received was a text. “Good luck in the Wild West, Annie Oakley! Send a picture of you on a horse. Thanks for taking over this account and assuming responsibility for the Covington’s new dude ranch.”

The last line had bothered her. Why had he laid responsibility for both the account and, in particular, his clients at her feet?

“I’m under no delusions about what I want,” Cade said. His words sounded louder in a truck cab that had been silent as they’d traveled across the flat grassland all the way to the base of a mountain range.

She shook off thoughts of Michael. “Want? For what?”

“For our wager. When I have you wrapped around my little finger with love in your eyes, I want you to refund the money we’ve paid you and do all the PR and marketing for the dude ranch pro bono for the next two years.”

“I’ll take those stakes.” And she would do it without regret. There was a better chance of her taking up competitive hurling—Ireland’s official “sport” that was more like sanctioned war with blunt objects and no armor—than fall in love.

She glanced at him to gauge his reaction and found herself nearly struck dumb by the unguarded thrill of challenge on his face. One corner of Cade’s mouth kicked up to reveal a deep dimple, then he winked at her. He shifted his attention to the long stretch of road before them that appeared, from her vantage point, as if it turned into the mountain and then was swallowed by it.

He’d winked at her.

There’d been nothing offensive at all in the flirtatious gesture, but her body’s response was positively traitorous. Heat bloomed between her thighs. She rubbed her legs together subtly, longing for his touch, absolutely craving the kind of heat a man like Cade could offer, the kind that would assuage her unanticipated, uncomplicated desires. Her heart beat a rock-hard rhythm inside her chest and a fine sweat decorated her upper lip.

Images of the two of them intertwined flashed through her brain. Her imagination had definitely missed the memo that she was a woman who did not have physical or emotional responses. But, client or not, she craved Cade’s touch like a hummingbird craved nectar—in a mandatory, had-to-have-it kind of way.

Forcing her attention to the quickly changing scenery, she watched as they traversed a bridge straddling a wide but shallow and very rocky creek.

She also noticed that the blue of the sky was slowly being eaten away by encroaching dark clouds that were tinged with the oddest shade of green. Gesturing to the clouds, she found her voice. “Is that going to be okay?”

Cade glanced at her. “You’re safe with me, Emma.”

She nodded and swallowed so loud he had to have heard it over the radio. “Sure.” Unbidden, a quote from Mark Twain wandered through her consciousness. The famous wordsmith had said, “There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it absolutely desirable.” And he’d been absolutely right.

She’d never been sexually attracted, let alone tempted, by a client. Cade had broken that track record. Shattered it, really. But he’d broken Twain’s theoretical “rule.” Cade had started out desirable—the kind of desirable that made a woman throw caution to the wind and go where chance led her. Whatever this thing was, she’d negotiate with regret later. For the first time, Emma wanted to set all the pressures of life and work aside and do nothing more than simply experience what it was to be alive.

She knew with inexplicable certainty that this man could give her that.

3

THE REST OF the trip back to the ranch could only be compared to jockeying a Shetland pony in the Kentucky Derby: a bumpy ride that seemed it would never end. The heat between them refused to dissipate no matter how high Cade ran the air-conditioning. She kept shooting him covert glances from the corners of her eyes. He knew because he was caught up doing the same thing, thereby catching the majority of interest in those brilliant green eyes.

What the hell am I playing at?

He was a cowboy—he didn’t understand the type of sexual byplay that involved a high-powered, corporate woman who’d walk in and out of his life so fast she’d leave his head spinning. The woman probably collected men the way most women around here collected canning jars. Store them on the shelf until she had a use for them and put them away when that usefulness passed. Cade would never allow himself to be put on a shelf any more than he would live through the daily wear and tear a relationship would bring. And what in God’s name was he doing, thinking in terms of jam jars and relationships? He’d only met Emma three hours ago. Yeah, they’d flirted, but that didn’t mean he’d be off ring shopping come morning.

The last sliver of sun disappeared behind the variable peaks and crags of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, casting the early-evening sky in broad swaths of brilliant color. The storm brewed southwest of them, spitting lightning as the winds increased and kicked up dust.

He pulled off his sunglasses and clipped them to the visor. At the rate the two of them were going, he and Emma would make it to the ranch before full dark set in roughly an hour from now. When Eli, the attorney in the family, heard how the trip had gone down, when he learned that Cade had flirted with and challenged a contractor-slash-guest about falling in love, the fact that they were blood wouldn’t keep Cade’s ass out of the sling his older brother would aim to park it in. The only blood that would matter was whatever they shed as they beat the crap out of each other. Most annoying? Cade knew he had it coming. Every. Meaty. Fist.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened until he was choking the ever-loving hell out of the black leather. Sometime in the past half hour, the radio had officially devolved to short bursts of music followed by long runs of staticky white noise. The sound skipped across his nerves like a stone across water. Every point of contact was brief but annoyingly sharp.

If the dude ranch did well, the first thing he’d invest in was satellite radio. Screw the recurring expense. They could use it to play music in the sawdust-floored dining hall during gatherings and events. Hell, if he was going off the deep end anyway, maybe he’d forgo his cautious nature altogether and order the setup when he got home. He’d even add a second receiver to his truck as a personal bonus.

Mind on the possibilities of satellite radio, Cade reached out and turned down the volume, switching the output from FM to CD. Tyler Farr’s voice poured out of the sound system, his mournful song telling a story of heartbreak and betrayal. If Cade’s soul could have audibly sighed, it would have. Good music always did that for him, helping him calm and find his center no matter how strung out he was. Years of habit made Cade take a couple of deep breaths. Settling into the music, he began to sing.

Emma rounded on him, eyes wide. With deliberate care, she slipped her sunglasses into her short hair, little strands standing out in every direction. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Cade jerked, twisting the steering wheel to the right as he shot Emma a sharp look. “Singing. Why? Would you rather listen to the static?” He reached for the radio controls, surprised when she gripped his wrist hard enough the smaller bones ground together. Extricating his hand, his reproach was gentle. “That’s my roping hand.”

“Sorry.” Her apology, issued on a single breath, seemed almost anxious. “Will you sing some more?”

His brow creased. “Why?”

“Your voice is...” She waggled one hand between them before flattening it over her heart and drawing a slow, deep breath. “I’ve never heard anything as striking. Beautiful, even.”

Heat burned across his cheeks and he wished the option to hide behind his sunglasses still existed. “I don’t usually, uh, sing. For people.”

Her eyes widened. “Why on earth not? Your voice is amazing!”

“My mother...” He hesitated.

“She must have been proud,” Emma said on a soft smile.

“She died when I was nine. Last request she had was that I sing her to sleep.” His eyes burned, piquing both his irritation and his embarrassment. He tried to clear the gruffness from his throat.

She moved forward a fraction, froze, then settled deeper into her seat. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I can relate, though. I lost both of my parents at once.”

“Accident?”

She nodded. “Two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too, but probably not as sorry as you were—are—about your mother.” Heat stained her cheeks a deep rose. “Forget I said that. I apologize.”

“I’m surprised the fact we lost her so early on didn’t make it into the commercial file you have on the ranch.”

“Why would it?”

“Just seems it would’ve been a marketing ploy—three brothers brought together after the loss of their mother but driven in different directions.” He shrugged. “Almost seems too easy to avoid using.”

“I would never exploit your pain that way,” she bit out.

“You don’t seem the type, maybe, but what about the guy that’s been working with Eli? What’s his name...” He rubbed his chin. “Michael?”

“Your account’s in my hands now. I won’t take easy routes or cheap shots.”

The invisible fist around his heart eased up some, but he couldn’t thank her. Not yet. The most he could manage was, “Good to know.”

“I’ve been working my way through the file. Michael has a lot of notes, so it’s taking a bit to sort through it all.”

He shot her a hard glance. “Cutting it a little close, having someone new take over so near the event. You don’t—can’t—possibly understand what we want for the place.” Or, more importantly, what they didn’t want.

Emma nodded. “In general, I agree. But what I’m envisioning as we drive is a remoteness that’s become a way of life, a sense of total privacy, of communion with your heritage and your responsibilities to earth and animal. Definitely not the big, commercial, circus-y production you find in lower-end travel brochures.”

Cade fought the urge to let gravity have its way with his jaw, pulling the damn thing open. How could she possibly key into the very things that were important to the family? How could she read all of them so well without ever having met them? “Is that what Michael had in his notes?” It was the only explanation.

Grimacing, she shook her head. “He had plans for showy ads and more adventure-style photography. I’ll have a lot to do to change directions in two weeks, but it can be done. First thing I’ll do tonight is issue, via email, a formal stop order for all advertising until I can provide new directives in writing. I want a paper trail. Then I’ll revisit the long-term exposure plans that Michael created for your account.”

Shooting her yet another quick glance, he was surprised at the ferocity on her face. “Problems in paradise?”

“While there are undeniable perks, the reality is that owning your own commercial business is far from paradise.” Her eyelids fluttered shut, her head thumping the headrest. “Let’s leave this conversation with ‘I’m looking into it’ and fully intend to keep your account on my personal client list.”

Hmm. “Dun & Bradstreet didn’t give you a bad report by any means, but Eli said your creditworthiness had slipped in the last twenty-four months due to some serious fluctuations in cash flow when compared to the previous five years.” The shock on her face said she hadn’t expected them to do such intensive research on her.

“If you have concerns regarding my company’s financial stability or my ability to do my job—” she started, but Cade cut her off.

“We hired you. That ought to tell you everything you need to know. We’re not the type to make poor business decisions.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “We can’t afford to.”

The next few mile markers passed in silence, the emotional tension escalating inside the truck seeming to rival the storm building outside. Anxiety crackled between them as true as Mother Nature’s lightning did between sky and earth. The charge in the air gave off the same general discomfort, the kind that said, “Take cover.” Cade tried to reduce the strain by changing the subject.

“I’ve never been to New York,” he offered.

“Hmm.” Emma continued to stare out the window.

“You can do better than that, Graystone.” So could he. “Tell me something about yourself, seeing as none of us have really talked to you.”

“What would you like me to volunteer?” The question was polite but lacked the force of personality she’d shown.

“You single?”

Surprise colored her cheeks and brightened her eyes as she whipped around to face him. “What? That’s irrelevant when it comes to our business dealings.”

He fought the urge to grin. “Not really. The bet still stands. Love or loathing. No way can I win if you’re going home to someone in two weeks, someone who’s already got your heart. Of course,” he said, openly considering her, “I can’t imagine you’re the type to take such a wager if you had someone back home. And I doubt you’d have such a...unique take on happy endings if you were working toward your own, would you.”

When she didn’t answer, he rested his right forearm against the headrest on her seat, letting his fingers trace the silken skin of her neck. He was struck by the urge to move his fingers higher. Following the instinct, he played through the hair at her nape. Soft but thick.

He fought the craving to massage up her neck until he could play with the thick mass over her crown. He should move away, stop touching her, his personal temptation, without remorse. He was about to pull his hand away when she made a slight sound of encouragement. “Feel good?”

“Didn’t realize how stressed I’ve been.”

“So, will you answer me?” he said gently, never ceasing his tender attention.

Tipping her chin forward to give him better access, she mumbled, “I did. I said I didn’t realize I was so stressed.”

“That’s not what I was after, Emma, and you know it. Are you involved with anyone?”

She shifted in her seat, forcing Cade to move his hand. His fingertips brushed over the thin skin protecting her life vein. He paused, only briefly, but it was long enough to experience the thunder of her pulse beneath his thumb. He dropped his hand to the console between them. “You’re single.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” she objected. “I haven’t answered you.”

“Don’t have to.” Had she been seeing anyone, he had this innate, inexplicable knowledge she would never have taken the bet. She wasn’t that person. That was answer enough at this point. It also left him with plenty to consider. He cranked the radio up, trying to buy himself time to think.

A gust of wind caught the truck and pushed the behemoth like it was no more than a paper kite in the wind. The storm clouds had taken on a deeper greenish-gray tone that colored the land an odd, pre-twilight color that was impossible to mistake. Mother Nature was advising everyone in the county that she was about to unleash a can of whoop-ass. The wise man would hunker down. Problem was, there was no way Cade could get them to the ranch before the heavens loosed their fury. If it hailed, it could total his truck. Lightning posed the largest threat, though. They’d be okay on the flats if they stayed in the car.

As a rancher, he spared a thought for the poor animals. They didn’t always have a way to get out of this kind of mess, and if they balled up in a fence corner, the ranch would lose a few to electrocution when lightning struck the metal fencing.

Emma unbuckled her seat belt, twisted around and half climbed into the backseat.

“What’re you doing?”

A gust of wind slammed into the pickup, shoving the big vehicle hard enough it knocked Emma into him. She landed with her hip on his shoulder, that luscious ass in his face. The urge to nip it was nearly too much.

Her muffled reply caught him off guard. “Grabbing my camera.”

“Your camera?”

Another gust of wind parked her hip over his shoulder. She pushed herself up, clutching a black bag large enough to hold decent digital equipment.

Then she realized the predicament she was in. She had one knee solidly between his thighs and the other rested against the outside of his right hip. Her breasts were pressed intimately against his chest and arm. Her far hand was digging into his pectoral pad. She dipped her chin and peered down at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “How did I end up in your lap?”

His right hand moved of its own volition, coming to rest on the indention of her waist. “Your camera, Emma.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, a couple quick jerks of her chin. “The storm. I wanted a picture of the storm. I’ve never...”

“Never what?” he asked, urging her to finish her statement.

Without breaking her gaze, she set her camera bag in her seat and wrapped her hand around the nape of his neck. “I’ve never experienced anything similar to this. Never encountered anything so wild and free, something that acts without consequence or—”

“There’re always consequences.” His voice had devolved into a gruff whisper. “Always,” he repeated, tracing his thumb over her bottom lip.

“I’ll live with them,” she said, voice husky.

“All of them? Just like that?”

“Every. Single. One.”

So be it.

* * *

EMMA COULDN’T LOOK AWAY. Cade’s voice, sultry and wanting, had wiped out her every effort to maintain her composure. From the moment she’d met him, he’d had her heart rate speeding up in all the right ways. And for the last hundred miles, she’d been crossing and recrossing her legs in an effort to assuage the mild ache in her core. Then he’d sung. Just a few notes. That’s all it had taken to push her over sanity’s edge.

Driven by madness or not, she couldn’t give him complete control. No one held that over her head. Not ever. She would manage the way this happened—and it would happen. The undisguised desire on his face, that same face that had been so passive since meeting her, now empowered her. It was the type of desire a woman didn’t want to discount any more than she would the impressive bulge fighting to destroy his zipper.

She tossed her glasses onto the seat beside her before tipping up the rim of his cowboy hat. Tracing her fingers along the rough stubble lining his jaw, she leaned forward and laid her cheek next to his, her lips against his ear. “Just so I’m completely clear. You’re not involved at any level? Because I’ll never be anyone’s other woman or second choice.”

“Not involved, and you’re far from my second choice. You’re the first woman who’s ever crawled under my skin like this,” he replied, tension threaded through every word. His grasp on her hip tightened.

“That’s a powerful statement.” She nipped his ear. “Power is seductive, is it not?”

His breath came out in a rush. “You’re playing with fire, darlin’.”

She couldn’t help but agree any more than she could stop the rush of heat up her neck and down through her belly. This man was sin incarnate, from his boots to his jeans to his very, very fine body. Everything about him appealed to her. She’d never experienced this crazy rush of desire, the raw cravings that made her want to accept his stupid challenge and discover just what two weeks might bring. With absolutely no intention of falling in love, she could still enjoy the chase, the seduction, the touching and... She shivered.

Then she smiled, the stubble on Cade’s cheek leaving a slight whisker burn on her delicate skin. “I understand exactly what I’m doing, darlin’. I may be single, but I’ve never been celibate. I take liaisons as more than a casual fling but less than a plea for serious commitment. Clear?” She pressed closer, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. “And as for fire? You have no...idea...just how good it would be to burn with my particular brand of heat.”

Cade silently worked his jaw, the muscles and tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. She’d balanced herself by placing one hand on his headrest and the other against his ribs. Beneath the one hand, his heart pounded out a hard, fast rhythm. And she’d caused it.

Satisfaction rolled through her. It blazed, reducing any remaining hesitation to ash and clearing the path for her to touch, to taste, to experience this man who’d clearly kidnapped her common sense. This so wasn’t her norm. She was adventurous and fun loving, yes. To do her job, she had to be. But in her private life, she was far more cautious, always weighing the risks. Because once two people crossed a certain line, there was no going back. Ever.

“Hold on,” Cade snarled before he braked rapidly and yanked the wheel. Hard.

Emma tightened her thighs around his to keep from being tossed across his lap. She clutched his shirt in one hand and wrapped her other arm around his rigid shoulders, clinging to him and not sorry for the action or the opportunity.

They hit the dirt road at speed.

A shout of exhilaration escaped her as he wrestled the fishtailing behemoth into submission before stomping the accelerator. This, this was what she’d been so sure he could give her. In a lifetime of structure and boundaries, she was suddenly living, alive in a way she’d never been before.

They flew down a two-track dirt road, kicking up an impressive dust trail. The walls of the canyon rose around them and grew steeper the farther they went. They crossed a cattle guard so fast the truck hardly chattered over the pipes, but Cade still accelerated. Images outside the windows became blurred. But all she could focus on was the fierce, untamed expression that had taken over his entire appearance.

Daylight had abandoned them almost completely. They rounded a curve in the road and, before Emma realized what was happening, Cade left the two-track lane and headed across a wide field. She shifted to watch as the headlights flashed over a huge copse of aspens, their white bark startling in the halogen glare.

Canyon walls closed in tighter around them and drew the eye up, showcasing the building storm. Thunderheads roiled. Lightning flashed, nature’s strobe, and thunder rumbled a bass line. The storm would roll over them in minutes, but at the moment? The sliver of deepening night sky that could be seen was filled with brilliant pinpricks of starlight.

Cade rolled down the front windows.

The smell of rain and the charge of electricity in the air filled the cab.

Her last coherent thought fled, leaving nothing but instinct in its wake. She yanked at his shirt to pull him toward her, or her toward him. She wasn’t sure. Didn’t matter. The hem pulled free and her knuckles brushed down the edge of his abs and into a gutter created by his lats. She’d been relatively certain he was built. Now she had to revise her opinion to acknowledge he was honed and defined in a way that could make a woman’s common sense take a vacation while her body enjoyed the fruits of his labor—thick cords of muscle, ridges and valleys of definition, smooth skin interrupted by only the thinnest line of hair from his belly button and disappearing into his pants.

His arm banded around her.

She instinctively tightened her grip on him.

He slammed on the brakes, sliding the truck to a stop amidst the trees. A dust cloud rolled over them, but it was quickly blown away by the storm’s volatile winds.

Thunder boomed louder.

Ozone tickled her nose.

Cade shoved open the door and, pulling her into his arms, took her with him when he hopped down from the cab. He carried her with sure steps to the rear of the truck before he set her down.

She wobbled, her heels sinking into the dirt. “My shoes—”

“Stay on,” he said, blindly reaching for the tailgate handle and lowering the impromptu seat. Raw need made his smooth voice deeper, giving it a rough, commanding edge. His eyes darkened.

The first drop of rain hit her bare arm. She shivered. “This is crazy.” She took a step back and her ass hit the edge of the tailgate.

He reached out and wrapped his hand around her neck, tightening his grip. “Insane.”

Emma nodded her head, the movement minute. “There’s a zipper on the side. Pull it.”

Cade found the zipper tab and hesitated. “Do you want this, Emma? Say no and it all stops.”

Her pulse fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings. “And if I say yes?”

A flash of lightning lit his face, burning his image into her mind in stark relief before she was left blinking and trying to see through the burnout that had stolen her sight. She reached out and laid a hand flat on Cade’s chest.

“This is irresponsible,” he said softly.

“Irrational.”

“Mad.”

She hesitated before offering, “Undeniable.”

He moved in, his hard body pressing against her. “Done,” he whispered, his mouth closing the distance between them.

The sky opened up the moment he kissed her.

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