Mr. Cowboy was wearing a crisp white T-shirt that clung to chiseled abs and a broad, solid chest. The bits of dirty blond hair sticking out from under his hat matched the several-day-old stubble on his face.
She didn’t know if it was the jet lag or the altitude that made it difficult to swallow.
She looked down, her gaze devouring him like a life-size Snickers bar, repeating the mantra in her head when she hit his narrow hips…
Hungry? Why wait?
“Ma’am?” he asked again.
She snapped out of her ogling and grimaced when she realized her own mind and body had betrayed her. Sure, it had been a while since she’d had sex, but she needed to get a grip. Wasn’t like she’d never seen a cowboy before. Because she had…in the movies.
“I apologize,” she said, harnessing all her assertive grace. “I’m a hot mess because of this car and I’m—”
“A city girl,” he finished for her with a smile, then effortlessly rounded the car and popped open the hood.
“You say ‘city girl’ like it’s a bad thing,” she responded.
That smile stayed on his face as he shook his head and looked over the engine.
“Not a bad thing. Cities can be fun. Lots of flash.” He glanced her way, only his eyes started at her feet and slowly slid up her legs. Her skirt felt tight against her thighs, her button-up top suddenly constricting. Or maybe Mr. Cowboy’s eyes were making her flush.
“Nothing flashy around here, it seems,” she said, breaking his gaze on her.
“That’s not true. This place puts on a hell of a rodeo show every summer.”
She laughed.
He blinked.
Oh, he was serious?
“That sounds like…something,” she said, trying to polite, but the way Mr. Cowboy bent over the engine and messed with God-knew-what under the hood made his tan arms flex and that shirt of his pull tight over his shoulders. Well-defined shoulders. Shoulders that could handle fingernail scratches…
She shook her head again and reasoned that she was hungry and just needed an actual Snickers bar. That was it.
“Looks like you’re overheating,” he said, and stood to face her.
Her eyes shot wide and she smoothed her hands down her skirt. “I’m perfectly fine,” she defended.
He chuckled. “Nah, I mean your car. You’re low on coolant. I have some in my truck.” With that, he walked about fifty feet up the street to a massive truck and grabbed something out of the back. She thought she’d appreciated the front view of him? The back was even better. And those jeans? She didn’t know who designed Wranglers, but she was going to write that genius a letter because damn, they showcased Mr. Cowboy’s ass to perfection.
Maybe she could enjoy the sights of Wyoming just a little. She was set to be farm-locked for the summer. Maybe she had time to take advantage of the town before all the work and caretaking started?
Cowboy walked back to her with a jug of what she assumed was coolant in his hand and went back under the hood.
“Tough way for a lady to meet Cheyenne,” Cowboy said, focusing on the pouring he was doing.
“I must admit, this first experience could skew my judgment of Cheyenne from here on out.”
“Aw well, I hope you can leave with only a positive view of things,” he said, standing and brushing off his hands.
Positive view, indeed.
“Start her up and see if that helped,” he instructed.
She got in the car and left the driver-side door open. She yelled, “Okay, going to start it up now…”
She did.