Kiss Me (Fool's Gold 17)

“I guess the real problem is that I’m attracted to Zane,” she told the steer. “Some of it is he’s really good-looking and some of it is...” She paused to try to figure it out. “I’m not sure. A chemical reaction maybe? Destiny?”

The last word surprised her. Destiny? She didn’t believe in that. People weren’t fated to be together. She’d never wanted to believe that life happened according to a plan, because that meant some force had wanted her to grow up without a family of her own—without someone to love her. Could the universe really be that cruel?

“So I really can’t explain it,” she told the steer. “Still, he’s very nice. Zane, I mean. And a good rancher. Maya told me that. I don’t think he likes the goats much. They were cute, except they bite. Did you know that?”

She suddenly caught a glimpse of large bovine teeth and took a step back. Baby goat nibbles had startled her. If this big guy wanted to take a go at her, he could probably chomp off her hand. She carefully tucked her fingers into her back pockets and continued the conversation.

“At first I didn’t think he was very friendly. But he’s sort of started talking to me, which I like. I think he feels alone, too, so we have that in common.” And he’d kissed her which she wasn’t going to mention to the steer. “But I think he figures I’m an idiot. Which I’m not. I’m from LA. It’s not like I grew up knowing how to do all this ranch stuff.”

“Does he answer back?”

Phoebe gasped, then spun around, only to find Zane on his horse, Tango. The two of them were right behind her.

She felt the instant flush of heat on her cheeks as embarrassment flooded her. She wanted to throw herself in front of the herd and be trampled. She wanted to ask how much of her muddled, one-sided conversation he’d heard.

But Zane’s dark blue eyes were unreadable, nor did he offer the information.

She cleared her throat and tried to smile. “He, um, isn’t much for conversation. Are we heading out?”

Zane nodded. “Rocky’s waiting.” He turned Tango back the way they’d come, then paused and glanced at her over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t mention this to Rocky,” he said, jerking his head at the steer. “You don’t want your horse getting jealous.”

Phoebe’s mouth dropped open. Fortunately Zane was moving away and didn’t notice. Wow. He’d been humorous. And charming.

“Did you see that?” she asked the steer. “Maybe he doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot. Isn’t that the best?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CANVAS WAS NOT generally a fabric Phoebe thought of as confining, but when it was sewn into the shape of a tent and wrapped around her body, she started having second thoughts. Somehow she’d thought there would be more room. But her sleeping space was barely wide enough for her sleeping bag. Her saddlebags were pressed up against the wall, and her duffel fit down by her feet. A tent for one was not a place for a party.

There was also the issue of the ground. Perhaps if she’d thought it through, she might have considered that earth was, by nature, hard. Very hard. It was the kind of hardness that defied even an air mattress which, by the way, squeaked when she moved on it.

Then there was the whole outdoors thing. It was all much...bigger than she’d ever thought. Bigger and maybe a little scary, but in a good way. In an exciting, I’m-so-alive way.

She shifted on her sleeping bag, not yet ready to crawl into it and sleep. She was tired but also surprisingly alert. And tingly. There had been wine with dinner.

She was a pretty cheap date, with a single glass making her giggly and a second giving her a buzz. She’d downed her limit of two and still felt the delightful sense of blurriness that softened the crueler edges of the world into something beautiful and appealing. The two glasses of wine were also responsible for her need to go use nature’s restroom.

Phoebe sat up and immediately bumped her head on the roof of her tent. After feeling around for her boots, she found them and pulled them on. She was still wearing her light jacket, so all she needed was a flashlight, and she was set.

The second she stepped out of her tent she became aware of the noise. There were hoots and clicks and rustles and swishes. Over to her left she could see the remnants of Cookie’s fire, carefully contained within a ring of stones. To her right were the other tents. Low conversation drifted to her, although she couldn’t make out the words.

She clicked on her flashlight, then headed away from the camp. After a few minutes of walking, she did what she’d come to do and headed back. She stepped around a tree and ran smack-dab into something big, hard and unyielding and she dropped her flashlight.

Even as panic ripped through her, an essential part of her being recognized Zane.

“Out looking for your watch?”

There wasn’t enough light for her to see the details of his face. He was all shadows and outlines, a quick stroke of a man who made her body long to surrender.

“I’ve let it go,” she said.

“That’s probably wise.”

She told herself she should head back to her tent, or maybe just bend down and pick up her flashlight. But she couldn’t seem to move. Breathing was as much as she could manage.

She shivered, but not from the cold. Was it anticipation? What was it about the night, or was it just the man? Did he know?

“Zane?”

She had no idea what she was asking or what he might answer. Yet she liked the sound of his name. She liked saying the word and having it fill her mouth with its strength.