Chapter 3

Miss Dulcie watched Clint come toward her across the long room, a simple smile on her dry lips. She admired the way he walked, the little saunter to his every step. He reminded her of Asa back in the early days of their relationship, back when he'd come find her in the apple orchard during the summer, that saunter belying his excitement—excitement she could always see in his green eyes.

"What can I do for you, Clint?"

He stopped in front of her desk, twisting his gloves between his hands. "Ma'am, I just wanted to let you know that we've readied the guest bunkhouse for the tourists arriving today. They should begin to arrive around noon."

Miss Dulcie glanced at her watch, noting that noon was less than fifteen minutes away. "All right. Inform the staff to prepare for their arrival."

"They're already out there, ma'am."

Miss Dulcie sat back a little in her tall chair, aware that it dwarfed her slight body. It had been Asa's, and she didn't have the heart to get rid of it. There were few things that belonged to Asa she'd felt right about getting rid of. It kept him close, keeping his things around her.

"Is there something else, Clint?"

He cleared his throat. "There's a guest in the other bunkhouse. We had an issue in town this morning, and we invited a woman back to the ranch with us."

"Is that true?" She crossed her arms over her chest, studying him closely, watching for signs of deception. Clint had never lied to her before—that she was aware of—so she had no reason to be suspicious. Yet, there were firsts to everything. "What happened?"

"A man was attacking her in the parking lot of the diner. Remington interfered, but the guy took off with all this woman's things. She had nowhere else to go."

Miss Dulcie nodded, her eyes falling to the stack of paperwork on her desk. She had never appreciated how much paper-pushing there was on this ranch when Asa was alive. She knew he spent hours in this office but, honestly, she'd always kind of thought he spent all that time in here to escape her. Not that they didn't get along, but Asa was a cowboy before anything else. He preferred his own company to anyone else's, including his wife. If he couldn't be out on a horse, he liked to lock himself up in this room where he could be alone with his thoughts. And, apparently, all this paperwork.

"I'd like to meet her. See that you bring her up to the house this evening. And make sure she has everything she needs."

"I will, Miss Dulcie."

She nodded, pulling the top sheet of paper toward her before shooing him away with a movement of her hand. "Get to work. Those guests will be expecting your attention."

"Yes, ma'am."

She watched him go, once again reminded of Asa. It seemed everything reminded her of Asa lately. The smell of the horses coming from her boys, the sight of the cows roaming in the distant paddocks, the simple sight of the apple orchard, the barn in sunset. They'd had more than twenty years together, she and Asa, but she often wished it had been more. She missed the simple sight of him sitting here, hunched over this desk, hiding from her as much as dealing with the business of this place.

She sighed as she focused on her work once more. It was her place now.

***

Westin took a light blanket from the closet and draped it over the woman, covering the places on her body that had become exposed by the shifting of her towel. Any other man might have left her uncovered, might have waited to see what she'd eventually reveal. But he wasn't one of those men.

He dropped back into his chair and leaned forward, running his fingers through his hair. If he'd known he'd be babysitting a sleeping beauty, he might have gone to the bunkhouse and gotten his book. He wasn't good with idle hands, and was even worse with idle thoughts. His mind moved immediately to Rena and all she might represent for him, and he really didn't want to think about that right now. When he over-thought things, he tended to screw them up.

A knock on the door rescued him from his thoughts. He got up and slipped into the corridor, not surprised to find Clint there.

"How is she?"

Westin rolled his shoulders. "She's sleeping at the moment."

"Did you have a chance to ask her anything?"

Westin glanced over his shoulder at the door, recalling the brief conversation he'd had with the woman. "She claims the guy was a former boyfriend. Then she made a phone call."

"A phone call? Using what?"

"My cell." Westin tugged the phone out of the pocket he'd returned it to just moments ago. He pulled up his call log and handed it to Clint. "She talked to someone—I could only hear one side of the conversation, so I don't know if it was a man or a woman—and told them, ‘Fang found me.' I asked her who Fang was, and she said it was her ex's nickname."

"Fang?" Clint frowned even as he took a picture of Westin's call log with his own phone before handing him the iPhone back. "That's an odd name."

"I get a weird feeling about this, boss," Westin told him. "I think we might have walked into something bigger than just a dispute between a man and his former girl."

"Did she say anything else? Anything that might tell us more about her?"

Westin shook his head. "No."

"Okay." He sighed, glancing himself at the door. "Miss Dulcie wants to meet her. I'll come for her about six to take her up to the house."

"Until then?"

"Stay with her."

Westin grunted. "We have one issue, though. The woman refused to put back on the clothes she'd been wearing."

"So, what does she have on?"

"A towel."

Clint frowned, his eyes jumping to the closed door again. "I'll see what I can do. Melanie might have something that'll fit her. They look to be close in size."

Mention of Clint's wife brought to mind the things Westin had discussed with the others over breakfast that morning. Tension burned through Clint's expression, stiffening his shoulders at the thought of going home to his wife. Westin patted his shoulder lightly, offering what little comfort he could. A man didn't get involved in another's marital issues unless asked. Westin had no intention of stepping over that particular line.

Clint walked off, the sound of his boots against the hardwood floor a final note to the conversation. When he was gone, Westin stepped quietly back into the room, settling in that same chair, his feet up on the edge of the bed. He pulled out his phone and started a game of poker on one of the electronic apps, losing himself quickly in the simple game. It kept his mind busy, but not quite busy enough that he didn't begin to think about the date he had with Rena tonight. He sincerely hoped that this mess Remington had pulled them into didn't screw that up, too.

Almost as an answer to his unasked question, a text interrupted his game.

Meet me at Stubbins's at seven?

He smiled, relieved to see those words. Perfect , he responded.

It was all coming together. In a matter of time, he would have what he'd come to this frozen ranch to get. Very soon. All the planning, all the waiting… it was finally coming to fruition.

"What are you playing?"

Westin glanced at the figure on the bed, watching as she tugged the light blanket higher up against her shoulders. She snuggled down against the pillow, the sigh that escaped her lips giving her entire face a gentle, almost erotic countenance. A part of him wanted to crawl onto that bed and join her, to lose himself in the comfort her whole presence seemed to emanate in that moment.

"Poker."

"I was never very good at that. I prefer solitaire."

"Solitaire is boring. Everyone can play solitaire."

"But poker takes skill?"

"Some. And guts. Mostly guts."

"I'll give you that." She sighed again, tugging at the blanket one more time. "How long was I asleep?"

"A few hours."

"I didn't get much sleep last night."

"You won't get much tonight if you sleep any longer."

She let her eyes slowly slide closed. "It's nice of you to be so concerned."

"I'm not. You won't be my problem in a few hours."

"Yeah? Who comes next?"

"Clint. He's taking you up to the main house to meet Miss Dulcie."

"Is that right?" She peeked at me through one eye. "I'm sure she'll be quite impressed with my undressed state."

"Clint's going to bring you some clothing."

"Nice of Clint." She made another soft sound before finally pulling herself up into a sitting position, tugging at the blanket to keep herself covered. "Why does your Miss Dulcie want to meet me?"

"You're a guest on her property. She wants to meet everyone who comes here."

"How efficient of her." She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at tangles as she did. Westin watched as she tugged awfully hard at a few of them, making a face when it caused her pain. She was ruthless, finally smoothing out her thick hair and twisting it into a loose bun, winding the strands tightly around its base to keep it in place. "When does this happen?"

"At six."

"And where will you be?"

The words on a date were on the tip of Westin's tongue, but something made him stop them from spilling from his lips. Normally, it was easy for him to keep things close to his chest, but something about her made him want to keep talking, to tell her things he wouldn't otherwise.

He set his phone on the table and got up to cross to the window. He peeked outside, watched as Bowie escorted a couple of women to the other guest bunkhouse, a building less than a hundred yards behind this one. The women were tall and slender, blond ponytails bouncing behind their heads as they walked quickly to keep up with the gentle giant. One whispered to the other as she gestured toward Bowie, clearly admiring something about him. Or making fun of his size. Westin couldn't be sure which it was, but when he turned to gesture for them to go into the bunkhouse and they started to giggle, he had a clear hint as to which it'd been.

"What are the chances your ex will continue to track you?" he asked of his own guest.

"Pretty good, I'd say. But I doubt he'd think to look here."

"Why is he so determined to find you?"

Lea made a little noise that made Westin turn. A part of him wished he hadn't because she picked that moment to whisk the blanket from her body, sitting up a little straighter so that he could get a good look at the length of her with just that towel to cover her. And the towel had slipped out of place in several sections, falling open at her thigh, her hip, revealing a curve that only a lover should have a view of. But that wasn't as good as the near-complete breast it also revealed, showing him everything but the cylindrical shape of her nipple, though he got a good idea of what it looked like from the way it pressed against the material of that towel.

Westin cleared his throat, allowing his eyes to move over the length of her. If she was willing to show it off, who was he to deny her the enjoyment? There was beauty in the female form that Westin hadn't had the joy of viewing recently. Why not allow himself the opportunity she was dropping right there in his lap?

Her skin was pale save where it was marked by a scattering of freckles here and there. Her thigh was a milky expanse marred only by a single, deep-brown mole near her hipbone. And then there was a small spatter of freckles across her lower belly that moved up toward her ribs, a pattern that begged to be explored, that asked a fingertip to connect those particular dots. Then there was another of those singular marks on the lower curve of her breast, another spot that wanted to be touched, that nearly begged to be nibbled, tasted, the texture of that anomaly of skin to be explored. And that sunflower, resting in the valley between those beautiful breasts. He would have given anything to be that sunflower in that moment, feeling the heat of her skin, the softness of those perfect mounds. Just a taste, a little touch…

He chewed the inside of his cheek as those thoughts rushed through his mind in a matter of seconds, that hot need so intense that he could feel his body come to attention, a stiffness in his jeans reminding him that he was most definitely still a young, healthy man.

"Does that answer your question?" she asked softly before tugging at the towel to make a vague attempt at covering the exposed sections of her skin.

"Not really," he said with forced nonchalance. "A man can find a desirable woman almost anywhere if he looks hard enough. I'm sure this Fang can find someone just as sexy as you elsewhere."

"I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted by that comment," she said as she stood, the towel finally falling completely into place, much to Westin's disappointment. "I can't tell if you're interested or just annoyed."

"I'm not here to be either," he said flatly. "I'm here to make sure that man doesn't try to take off with you again."

"But you're a man." She sidled up to him, pressing her shoulder against his chest as she shifted, turning to face him full on, her nearly naked body just an inch or so from his. "Surely it's not every day you find yourself alone with a practically naked woman."

"Is this how you seduced Fang?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes there isn't enough time for the classic rules of seduction."

"Is that what this is? A circumvention of the classic rules?"

"You can think of it any way you'd like as long as you play along."

"Sorry, lady." Westin rested his hands on her shoulders, intending to push her away but finding himself unable to pull up the strength to do so. "I'm not that kind of guy."

"Then what kind of guy are you?" She turned her head slightly as she lifted herself up on her tiptoes, her lips coming so close to his jaw that he could feel the heat of her, could smell the sweet scent of the soap she'd used in the shower. "What does it take to get a reaction out of you, cowboy?"

His thumbs moved over her collarbone as if they had a mind of their own, sliding along the smooth skin with a touch that sent a spark of electricity through his arms. He could almost feel the weight of her breasts against his palms, could almost feel the desire in her hardened nipples, could almost taste the warmth of her mouth. He ached to feel her body against his, the knowledge that all he'd have to do was draw her forward an inch or so making him almost lightheaded.

But he wasn't this kind of guy.

He pulled away, putting distance between them by crossing to the other side of the room, leaning his back against the door. She turned toward him, something like disappointment burning in her amber eyes.

"Okay," she said softly, almost as if she was trying to wrap her mind around the idea that a man might not want her. "Didn't mean to insult you."

"You didn't."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" She cocked her head slightly. "A boyfriend?"

Westin grunted. "I don't want to take advantage of you—therefore I must be gay?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Ms. Adams?"

"I'm just curious what your deal is. I practically throw myself at you, and you turn me down. That's not something I'm really used to."

"You throw yourself at men a lot?"

"No."

She picked the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself, dropping the towel at her feet once she was well covered. There wouldn't be any more peeks at that lovely form today. Westin felt a rush of disappointment despite himself, a disappointment that made him ache in places where it wasn't always pleasant to ache, especially like that. They had a term for what he was feeling: blue balls. He completely understood it in that moment.

"Look," she said with a heavy sigh as she dropped herself on the edge of the bed. "I just… It's been a long few weeks, and I was hoping to burn off a little tension. That's all. I'm sorry if I upset you."

"You didn't upset me."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "I think you're hot, okay? If you do have a girlfriend, or a wife, I apologize. You can tell her that you stood up well to temptation."

"I don't."

"Don't what?"

Westin stood a little straighter, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. "I don't have a woman. I just don't do things like that."

"Like what?"

"Sleep with some woman I don't know without benefit of protection."

Her eyebrows rose as she took a good look at him. "You mean you turned me down because you don't have a condom on you?" He rolled his head, not really admitting she was right, but not denying her assessment of the situation, either. She laughed a little. "Would you have done it if I produced a box of condoms before I dropped the towel?"

Again, he refused to answer, but he couldn't help the way his eyes moved over her, hesitating on her bare shoulders for a second before touching her eyes. She smiled, sliding back up against the headboard before she tugged the blanket a little tighter around her legs, then smoothing her palms over the soft material.

"Just my luck I run into the only hot cowboy with a moral conscience."

"I'm sure Landry or Bowie might be a little more open to your proposition."

"No, thanks. They're not really my type."

"Am I ?" Westin asked, recalling the fancy suit her ex had been wearing when he attacked her. The two men couldn't have been more dissimilar, really. Fang had been thin and wiry, the kind of guy who would be good in a street fight but probably couldn't handle a day's work on a cattle ranch. His kind of muscles came more from a gym, not from real work. In fact, a lot about that guy struck Westin as a city boy, the kind who was more likely to spend time in jail than on a horse.

But the way Lea looked him over made those thoughts evaporate from his mind. There was such heat in that look that he almost reconsidered his position. He even took a step forward, intent on joining her on that bed. Maybe just a little touch, a few kisses… But he knew it wouldn't end at that. There was an eroticism about her that had wormed its way under his skin the moment she came out of the bathroom in nothing but that towel. And her persistence… even a cold shower couldn't fix the ache that was burning through him. He wasn't sure anything could but her, lying with her.

"How long have you worked here?" she suddenly asked, reaching up to play with the bun in her hair again. "Do you live on the ranch?"

Westin cleared his throat, having trouble changing tracks. "How long…?"

She giggled softly. "How long have you worked here?" she repeated, emphasizing each word.

"Three years."

"You like it? You must."

"Miss Dulcie is a good and fair boss."

"Where'd you work before you came here?"

Westin dropped his head, finding it almost impossible to think while she was looking at him with that little smile on her pretty lips. He pushed his hands deeper in his pockets, that ache still burning through him. "Why do you want to know about me?"

"I'm curious."

He shook his head. "My story isn't that interesting."

"Maybe to you, but I'm dying to hear all about it."

He couldn't help but lift his eyes to her in that moment. That smile was still on her lips, but there was something new in her eyes. He couldn't tell if she was truly just interested, or if there was more going on here. He suspected she wasn't being completely honest about Fang, her supposed ex, and something about that phone call she'd made left him a little nervous, for reasons he couldn't quite describe. But this new look in her eyes felt genuine, like the first truly authentic thing she'd shown him all day.

"I worked in Texas. In the oil fields."

"Really? That's rough work."

"No rougher than the ranch."

She sat up a little straighter, curling her legs in front of her. "What brought you to Colorado?"

"I was born and raised in Denver. My mother passed, so I came back to deal with that, and when that was finished, I heard about the position up here, and thought it would be a good place to settle."

"Just like that?"

Westin rolled his shoulders. It wasn't a simple decision, and it hadn't been as random as he implied. In fact, his position here had been very calculated, but he wasn't going to tell her that. There were some things that even her pretty smile wasn't going to get out of him.

"Where are you from?" he asked her.

"Originally?" She leaned back, running a hand over her face. "I'm originally from California. My dad still lives there."

"Where do you call home now?"

"That's a good question." Now it was her turn to evade questions. She rubbed her cheek again, her eyes moving up to the ceiling like she was looking for a lie up there. "I move around a lot. For work."

"What kind of work?"

"Chemistry," she said with something like a chuckle, the amusement reaching all the way up to her eyes, making the gold in them sparkle. "I work in labs, mostly."

"Doing what?"

"Pharmaceuticals."

"You make drugs?"

She nodded. "Mostly. Medical grade. Nothing illegal."

"And that causes you to move around a lot?"

"What can I say?" She flipped her hand in the air, like she was powerless to change her circumstances. "I'm in high demand with some of the top companies around the country."

"You must make good money."

"You have no idea." She sighed. "But this whole thing with Fang is putting a wrench in things. Can't work while I'm on the run from some psycho ex. It's making my life really frustrating."

"But you had a plan?" Westin gestured to his phone where it still sat on the table. "That phone call…"

"Yeah, I had a plan. Hopefully it's not completely screwed."

The door suddenly opened, startling both of them. Westin twisted around, almost disappointed to see Clint coming through the door. But then he saw the storm on the man's face, and he automatically stepped back, aware that when Clint looked like that, it was best to get out of his way.

"Get dressed, Ms. Adams," Clint demanded, dropping a small duffel bag on the bed. "We're supposed to be up at the house in five minutes."

"I appreciate this," Lea said as she climbed off the bed and grabbed the bag. "All of it."

Clint didn't comment, just made a gesture to hurry her to the bathroom. She disappeared behind the closed door in an instant, Westin's last glance of her a wistful smile reflected in the mirror.

"Everything okay?" Clint wanted to know even as he went to snatch up the towel on the floor. "You're keeping your hands to yourself—right?"

"Of course."

Clint shot him a look that made it pretty clear he wasn't sure he could believe what Westin had said. But then the look melted into something else as he slid down to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Fucking women," he muttered under his breath.

Westin stared at his back for a moment, wondering what he should say. Was Clint talking about Lea, or someone else?

"I'm moving into the bunkhouse tonight," Clint suddenly said. "I know there have been rumors going around about me and Melanie… but I'm not going to air my dirty laundry here on the ranch. This is my workplace, not a place for that kind of conversation."

"Sure."

"You tell the others. I don't want any questions when I go to turn in tonight."

"Yes, sir."

Clint nodded. "You should go. You have a date tonight, don't you?"

Westin glanced at the bathroom door, wondering if Lea had heard that last little bit. He had no reason to feel guilty—he'd made the date with Rena before Lea came crashing into his life. Yet, there was something like a stab of guilt pushing into his chest at that moment.

What was this woman doing to him? Why now? If she ruined his plans… he'd worked too long and hard for this. Nothing was going to screw it up for him now!