The Cowboy's Pride and Joy

A swirl of something warm and intimate rushed through her and Cassidy took a deep, deliberate breath of the cold mountain air, hoping it would help. It really didn’t.

“You’re not what I was expecting,” he said and his voice was a low rumble.

She could have said, yeah, same to you. But she didn’t. This was ridiculous. She was here to do a job. This was her boss’s son for heaven’s sake, and standing there ogling him like an idiot was so not the kind of impression she had planned to make.

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you anyway,” she finally said and held out one hand.

He glanced at her outstretched palm for a long second or two, then reached through the fence and took her hand in his. An instant zing of electricity shot up her arm to settle in her chest and send her heartbeat into a wild, hard gallop. Oh my. Only here for ten minutes and I am using horse metaphors.

Releasing her, Jake took off his hat and speared his fingers through his hair. Which only made things a little worse for Cassidy because really, did he have to have such beautiful, thick, shiny hair?

“Mike!” His shout jolted her out of her thoughts, thank heaven. When another man answered, Jake called out, “Take care of Midnight, will you? I’ve got some business to see to.”

“Sure thing, boss,” the man said.

“Midnight’s your horse?”

“That’s right,” Jake told her just before he climbed over the corral fence to jump to the ground right beside her.

There went that little warm bubble of something dangerous, she thought and tried to get a grip. She was not the kind of woman to idly daydream about a gorgeous man. Usually. Jake Hunter seemed to be an exception. He was so tall, she felt dwarfed as he loomed over her, even counting her heels, which were now slipping farther and farther into the dirt.

Frowning, he looked down, then met her eyes and asked, “You wore high heels? To a ranch?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not for me.” A ghost of a smile curved his mouth so briefly, she couldn’t be sure it had actually been there at all. Then he turned and headed to the house.

She watched him go, those long legs of his striding purposefully across the graveled drive. He never looked back. Didn’t bother to help her as his grandfather had. She opened her mouth to shout after him, but snapped it shut before she could. Fuming silently, Cassidy drew first one heel then the other out of the dirt and started clumsily to the ranch house. Her first impression had gone fabulously badly. Now he thought she was an idiot for not dressing appropriately.

Well, that was fine, because she thought he was a troll for walking off and leaving her when he knew darn well that walking across that gravel in heels was practically a competitive sport. So much for those warm, intimate thoughts, she told herself. For a woman to have a decent fantasy going, the hero of said fantasy had to at least be civil.

Which seemed like too much to expect from Jake Hunter.

* * *

Jake headed straight for the great room and the wet bar. Usually it would be too early to have a drink, but today was different. Today, he had looked into a pair of cool fog-gray eyes and felt a stirring of something he hadn’t even thought about in more than two years. Hell, if he’d had his way he never would have felt that deep-down heated tickle of anticipation again.

The only other time he’d ever experienced anything like it had led to a marriage made in hell.

“Good times,” he muttered, and tossed his hat to the nearest chair. He shot a quick look out the wide front windows to the sprawl of gravel and grass beyond the glass. Damn woman was still coming, heading to the house with short, wobbly steps that almost made him feel guilty for leaving her to manage on her own.

Almost. Yeah, he could’ve helped her across the uneven ground, but he would have had to touch her and that buzz of something hot and complicated was still fresh enough in his mind that he didn’t want to risk repeating it.

“I didn’t ask her to come here,” he whispered and poured a shot of Irish whiskey into a crystal tumbler. Lifting the glass, he drank that shot down in one gulp and let the fire in its wake burn away whatever he might have felt if he were any other man.

His gaze fixed on her through the window. Behind her, the wide sky was filling with heavy gray clouds that could bring rain or snow. You just never knew in Montana. Wind lifted her dark blond hair off her shoulders and threw it into a wild halo around her head. Her short red jacket clung to impressive breasts and stopped right at her narrow waist. Her black slacks whipped in the wind, outlining her legs—short but definitely curvy—and those stupid high heels wobbled with every step.