The Rancher's Rules

“Look, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She shivered. “Can you tell me inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Sure.”

She started taking off her coat when they got inside, and innate courtesy had him reaching out to help her. The words he wanted to say stalled in his throat as he became aware of what Carlene was wearing under the coat.

Her boots stopped at her ankles and fishnet covered the rest of her bare legs. Her dress looked more like a shiny Spandex slip. The way she kept tugging on the hem was probably meant to draw his attention to her skimpily clad thighs. The top of the dress was skin-tight and off the shoulder. If she was wearing a bra, it had to be the size of a Band-Aid. Nothing else would fit under the snug fabric.

Her lips curved in a smile that looked a little ragged around the edges. What was going on?

“Like it?” she asked.

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? All he could think of was that if Zoe walked in now, he was a dead man. “Isn’t that a little cold for this time of year?”

She sidled up to him and trailed her fingers down his shirtfront. “It’s my working gear, but I’m counting on you to keep me warm.”

He stepped back hastily, before she could get any more ideas. The thought had him jumpier than a colt in his first batch of snow. “I’ll turn up the heat.”

Her laughter trilled over his stressed nerves, sounding more forced than seductive. “I’m counting on it.” She undid the top button on his flannel shirt with trembling fingers.

Grant stumbled backwards and escaped into the hall. Rejecting a woman’s advances never got any easier. It went right against the strictures his dad had drilled into him about courtesy toward women since Grant had been old enough to notice the difference between the sexes.

He stood staring at the thermostat stupidly, forgetting what he had come into the hall to do—besides get away from Carlene. Taking several deep breaths, he reminded himself that he was a man and in control of the situation.

Yeah. Right.

When it came to women, men were rarely in control.

He walked back into the kitchen and stopped short at the darkness. Carlene had extinguished the lights and lit two candles on the counter. “What the…? I can’t do dinner. I’m sorry. I was just about to leave when you showed up.”

Her smile faltered and then came back, turned up a notch. “Maybe you could put off your errand for a little while?”

“We need to talk.” He started backing up toward the light switch.

Her eyes flared with what looked like hurt at his rejection.

His shoulder hit the wall and he desperately searched for the light switch. His grateful fingers closed over it and he pushed upward. The kitchen flooded with light.

Carlene jumped, her eyes blinking at the bright fluorescent light. Under the bright light of the kitchen she looked tired…and sad.

He hated what he had to say next. “I should never have asked you out in the first place.”

“Are you in a relationship?”

“Not exactly.” Not until Zoe said he was. “But I want to be.”

“Oh.” Her expression was pained. “I’m sorry I misread your signals. The roses…” She sighed. “You know?”

“It’s not your fault.”

She nodded, obviously agreeing with him, and turned to go. That was when the lights went out, quickly followed by the high-pitched whine of the fire alarm.

“Hell.”

“What is that?” Carlene shouted.

“My fire alarm.”

“There’s a fire?”

“No,” he shouted over the alarm. Remembering how the light had gone off on its own, he yelled, “There must be a short in the wires or something.”

The hiss of escaping water put the cap on Grant’s endurance. “Get out of here!” he yelled.

Carlene was already headed for the door. It didn’t save her. The automatic sprinkler system went off and both Carlene and Grant were drenched in seconds. Grant headed for the phone on the counter. If he didn’t call the fire station immediately, he’d have a whole lot more to worry about than a wet floor.

It took two tries to get the receiver, slippery with water, to stay in his hands before he could dial the number. Thankfully, he got through immediately, and explained that his place was not on fire.

Leaving Carlene in the kitchen, where it was warmer, if not drier than outside, since she was soaked to the bone, Grant sloshed outside to find the emergency shut-off switch. After only six tries, he got it to turn off. He stepped back into the house, relieved that the high-pitched wailing had finally stopped.

The blessed silence was interrupted by the sound of another rig coming down his drive.