The Cowboy's Texas Rose (The Dixons of Legacy Ranch 1)

He huffed a laugh. “Sure. Yeah.”

He didn’t believe her. But unlike him, she hadn’t grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, and for whatever reason, Toby drove this POS by choice. Her dad had never owned a new vehicle in his life, nor had she.

“Have your crew follow me to the main house,” he added. “I’m in the Beast—eh, that Bronco.”

Really? He’d nicknamed his vehicle? “The Beast, huh?” She didn’t even try to mask her teasing this time, giggling. And something told her he’d dish it back.

“Laugh all you want, girl,” he chuckled. “But this pile of metal ain’t failed me yet.”

*

Yeah. The Beast.Now didn’t that sound like some dumb high school shit when someone like Rose said it? Oh, he’d play it off for the sake of his ego, but there was no masking the embarrassment tingling his neck.

Rose turned back to her group. “All right, y’all. I’m riding with Mister Dixon to firm up a few things.”

The tall guy with the dreadlocks—the same one who’d put his hand on Rose as if he owned her while glaring at Toby like a gunslinger about to throw down—frowned. What was he, her boyfriend? The guy had obviously seen him checking Rose out and hadn’t liked it.

“Rose, do you think…” But whatever the guy was saying trailed off while Rose kept talking.

“So just follow us to the main house,” she continued. “Megan, you can drive my RV, and Howie, you can take over Meg’s van. I’ll keep my cell handy. Call if there’re any problems.” She fished out her keys and tossed them to, presumably, Megan.

Howie? Toby climbed up into his Bronco, shaking his head, as Rose came around to the passenger door. He reached across and pulled the lock up, cranking the door open, ready to jump back down and help her up when he noticed a pink bra sprawled across his back seat that looked like a suspicious match to Blond Chick’s panties. Shit. How had it ended up in here? Until he vaguely remembered making out in the parking lot until someone had knocked on the window and goaded them to get a room. Which was when they’d stumbled across the road to King Pin’s five-star cash-on-the-barrel accommodations. It was all coming back now.

He craned back to stuff it under the blanket he kept with his emergency kit as Rose heaved open the creaking door and hoisted herself up. She hadn’t waited for him to get the door. Most women waited—it gave them a chance to brush against him, or him against them, and he felt cheated now by Rose’s initiative.

She’s different than the others, isn’t she?Stella said in the back of his mind. Jeez, he couldn’t unhear her voice. Stella, with all her philosophies about fate and love.

Rose plopped down next to him, her curls bouncing and sending a faint draft of tea tree to his nostrils again. He breathed deeply. It was a complex scent compared to the cotton-candy smell of his date last night.

“Man, I always forget how fast it heats up out here,” she said, stripping out of her North Face hoodie to reveal a vintage T sporting a faded Star Wars–poster image. Dark green, V-necked, it accentuated a nice-looking rack. Yeah, he looked, just for a second. He’d make no apologies for being all guy. And heaven help him but if she didn’t have a tattoo snaking out of her left sleeve, twining down her arm, a vine of roses that stopped near her elbow.

Roses? And wouldn’t you know, his radio was playing the local station’s Golden Country hour. “There’s a yellow rose in Texas…” He looked up at the heavens. What the hell? Yellow roses were his momma’s favorite flower. She’d always wanted him to fall head over heels for someone like she had with his pops and make some grandbabies. Was his momma trying to screw with his mind like Stella had?

Okay. Rose had just ratcheted up from cute geek to sexy geek, with a bare ring finger to boot. She pulled out a notepad and a pair of glasses from various backpack zippers, oblivious to his wandering eye, and put them on. They were squarish, black framed, like something a pretentious intellectual would wear.

Man, it succeeded in making her cuter.

“So, can we put our field lab in your barn again? We’ll only need a couple stalls,” she asked.

“Why don’t you use my great room,” he replied.

“What?” she asked, surprised. “Your great room?”

He chuckled, the corner of his mouth tipping up. Surprisingly, his headache seemed a bit more manageable right now, and there was no way the ibuprofen had kicked in yet.

“In my house, yeah. It’s climate controlled, secure, good for any artifacts you end up curating. Better than a barn. Y’all could come and go through the kitchen door.”

“That’s generous. But I wouldn’t want to impose, and I bet we’ll track in dirt—”

“I ain’t using it for anything else, and I ain’t too proud to push a broom, either. Every time the door opens, dirt blows in.” He shrugged. “The house is huge and the barn’s under renovation, so take it or leave it.”

“Okay…take it,” she conceded. “Thanks. So the lab goes in your living room—”

“Great room.”

He felt her glance sidelong at him. Was that a mimic she made with a mocking furrow to her brow? His smile lifted higher. If she could tease him about being tied up last night after barely meeting him, he’d give her some hell and see how she took it.

“And you said there’s water on site. Potable?” she continued.