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

Toby laughed. Not a chuckle, not a huff, but a real laugh. She looked at him, smiling herself. His entire face had lit up, from the happy, kissable divot in his cheek to the enticing curve of his lips—don’t go there, Rose. Her conscience lectured her. He’s got love ’em and leave ’em written all over yesterday’s clothes. You had to grow up after Sage was born. He hasn’t. Not your type. Eye candy only. The players are the cheaters, too. Don’t get pulled into the bullshit again.

A shame, too, because Toby was so personable, she could easily picture them having a beer, laughing about inane stuff, ribbing each other. But gone were those days of casual involvement other than safe, good-natured friendships on campus. Being a young mom meant taking dating prospects seriously—and cautiously. Most guys, Howie had taught her, had no desire for a woman with a kid anyway.

“So you’re from A-town?” he asked.

“You call Austin A-town, too? Sweet,” she remarked, offering a fist bump.

Oh for goodness’ sake. A fist bump? Was her brain-body connection defective? Jeez, Rose, first The Lion King, now a fist bump?

At this rate, it wouldn’t matter if he were a player or straightlaced—he’d think her a dork regardless.

Still, the man obliged and bumped her fist back, still smiling. Was he laughing at her now? Find nearest hole. Crawl into it. Stay there until field school is over. Her cheeks burned, and dammit, he was looking at her again. She always did and said stupid things when she was nervous. Ugh.

“Can’t say I don’t break out in hives every time I see a freaking longhorn, but I love that city. Been there lots of times,” he replied. “My brother used to work there.”

She grinned. She could probably expect a steady stream of insults from here on out. “Ah, hives. Haven’t heard that one yet. Gotta hand it to you, you’re good.”

“All the ladies say so,” he joked, huffing on invisible rings and shining them on an invisible lapel.

She burst out laughing. “Oh, Lord help us all! Don’t let your happy camper swell with pride just because I said so. I was talking about your insults. So good at the insults.”

Her innuendo hung in the air between them, and oh God, she was just making all of this worse by being so awkward! He cleared his throat next to her. Cleared it again. Took a sip of his to-go cup, as if washing down something lodged in his gullet.

She ought to apologize but, before she could do so, saw his lips tipping up. He chewed his cheek in an oh-so-sexy effort to not react to her remark. But then he glanced at her, his sparkling blue eyes drilling into hers for one brief moment with a questioning eyebrow before dipping hotly down her body to linger on her breasts.

“What else you need for this archaeology gig of yours, girl?” he asked, getting back to business and focusing on the gravel road. “Sawhorses, right? I got a workshop full of ’em out in the barn.”

She’d overstepped her bounds, but thank God he hadn’t just dumped her on the side of the road and told her to take her crew back to Austin. In fact, he seemed amused.

“And a power line,” she croaked. “If you don’t mind. Just a long extension cord will do.”

He nodded once. “Consider it done.”

“Thanks.”

He flipped on his blinker and turned onto the two-mile stretch leading to the main house. Crunching to a halt, he punched the code into his solar-powered gate as a plume of gravel dust puffed around them. Despite the awkwardness, excitement brewed in her stomach to be so close to the Legacy again. She lived for this short stint of field work every year, before she languished the rest of the year in laboratory hell. What archaeologist worth their salt didn’t?

“You never answered my question,” he said as he rolled into a slow drive.

What question? What question?She racked her brain but was so flustered, she couldn’t remember.

“You from A-town?” He helped her out with a delighted grin.

Oh, he can tell you’re worked up in knots, Rosalinda.

“Nope, I grew up near Del Rio, on the border, on my parents’ ranch. Not a big, fancy one like yours, but some land out in the middle of the mesquite. My dad raises goats. My abuelo was a goat farmer in Mexico before immigrating here.”

“Huh,” he remarked. “You’re a country girl, not some city chick—errrr…person. City person,” he amended, and she noted the redness now creeping up his neck at the word chick slipping out, as he stared deadpan at the road ahead of him.

She fought to keep her smile hidden, as she felt a familiar flutter in her stomach, the flutter she felt when her body reacted to a man she liked—oh for heaven’s sake. But for some reason, being from Del Rio seemed to mean something to him.

“What made you decide to study archaeology? You like slinging bull whips and discovering holy grails?”

More ribbing.

“Aaaand there’s the ubiquitous Indiana Jones reference.” She laughed, jostling her backpack off her lap in the process. “Oh no!”

“What?” he exclaimed, the wheel jerking as he lunged for whatever might break while trying to hold his course steady.

“I think I broke Coronado’s cross. It belongs in a museum, you know.”

He smirked at her movie joke, slowly sitting upright again as his arm slid against her thigh, withdrawing, but she was frozen. He’d reached between her knees to snatch her backpack, and the smooth withdrawal sent sunbursts to her cheeks and fire racing over her skin. God, if he was so smooth collecting a backpack off a floorboard, how on earth would he feel doing—

“I suppose I walked into that one,” he muttered.

“Seriously. If I had a dime for every time someone teased me about Indiana Jones, I wouldn’t be combing academia for teaching leads, that’s for certain.”

Toby snorted.

She cleared her throat, laughed, looked out the window. The way he kept side-eying her…was he feeling this weird tension, too? What should she make of it? Get it together, chica.