CHAPTER FOUR

Casey must’ve dozed. But for how long? Two, maybe three minutes? The truck coming to a halt turned on her brain, and she immediately missed the safety of her snooze. She began to study her surroundings.

The house was lovely. There was a long covered front porch that even had one of those swings hung by two chains. Christmas lights strung along the eaves added a welcoming glow. The driveway was circular, and she could see buildings off to the left, including what she presumed to be a barn.

Cowboy Sam was coming around the front of the truck, but she beat him to offering her any help by shoving the door open and jumping out. Bad idea. She felt weak and wobbly, and nearly went down. Strong hands cupped under her arms, holding her up.

“Dammit, cowboy, I can manage.”

“I disagree. Have you forgotten you almost hit a cow and wrecked your car?” He let go of his support, and she straightened her spine.

“Are you teasing me again? Because if you are, it’s getting old. And now, thanks to you, I’m not sure it was a cow. You know, it could have been,” Casey smiled, and added sarcasm to her tone, “a heifer, a steer, or a bull. It wasn’t a calf though. Nope.”

He laughed at her joke, and pulled the largest of her suitcases out of the bed of the truck. “You’re an interesting woman, Casey Pickett. I’m looking forward to becoming better acquainted.”

“Well, that is so not happening. I’ll be leaving in the morning, cowboy.”

“Is that you, Sam?” Casey turned her head to see a woman backlit by interior lights coming down some porch steps. “Sam Wagner, you had me worried sick. I thought you’d be back from the sale at least two hours ago.”

“Sorry, Emma. I stopped in at The Dusty Boot for dinner.” Nodding in Casey’s direction, “Picked up a stray on the way.” She wanted to smack him for the comment, but bit her tongue. “We’re putting her up for the night.”

Instead of a smart remark, Casey turned to face the woman, seeing a moment of surprise on her face. She was tall and slender, mid-sixties maybe? This must be the housekeeper. Remembering the brain warmer, she whipped it off her head, shoving it in her coat pocket.

“Hello, dear. Welcome. I’m pleased to meet you, but we’ll freeze out here, so let’s get acquainted inside.” She studied Casey’s frame as if assessing her for auction. “Hmm. Did you eat, young lady? You must be hungry, come on. Except you, Sam Wagner, you grab any luggage first.” Without hesitation, she looped her arm at Casey’s elbow and started walking her up the stairs. “Dear girl, I’ve got to hear everything.” She giggled, adding, “Sam Wagner never brings anybody home.”

“Well, what about his wife?”

“Dear me, he doesn’t have one. Not in ten years. Long story. Again, did you eat? I bet he didn’t offer you dinner.”

“He didn’t, actually. And I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Sam Wagner, you ate and didn’t feed this girl? For pity sakes.” She said nothing more and, gently ushering Casey into a large entry, closed the door. “Sam will be along, but this time of year you don’t leave doors and windows open for long.”

Casey took a quick look at the surroundings. “It’s stunning.” Dead ahead was a staircase to another floor. The house was done in Spanish style, like many of the houses on the coast of California. The walls were stucco and painted a soft beige. An arch separated the entryway and the living room, which was to the right and down two steps that ran the same width of the opening. Exposed beams ran lengthwise along the high ceiling, and she heard the snap of a crackling fire.

The housekeeper’s voice tugged her out of further observation. “Where are my manners? I’m Emma Blake, but just call me Emma. Come into the kitchen and I’ll whip something up.”

“Thank you. I am starving.”

“You’re a very pretty young woman.”

“I’m thirty-four.” Uncertain why she’d blurted out that tidbit, Casey pinched the skin between her thumb and index finger to stay alert.

“That, young woman, is young. And you’re too thin, but we can fix that in a few days.”

Casey opened her mouth to protest, thinking she should let Emma know she was only staying one night. One single, solitary night. But the cowboy’s voice echoed from behind her, interrupting any about-to-be notice of departure.

“Emma, you got any Christmas cookies?” Casey sensed him before he slid up to her right side her and whispered, “Emma makes the best sugar cookies in the whole world.”

Hay and cows and hard work clung to him, and she liked it. His nearness gave her a fuzzy feeling accompanied by an urge to reach up and touch his face. When she turned, tilting her head to study him, he stepped even closer.

“You like it? My home?”

He was so close, she swallowed past the lump in her throat. “It’s lovely.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Ms. Pickett.”

“Casey, please.”

“Only if you call me Sam.”

“Okay.”

“Say it.”

“Sam.”

His left hand somehow came to rest at the base of her spine, and with the touch a sensation struck that made her suck in a breath. “I like you calling me Sam, Ms. Pickett.” Then without another word he gently pushed her toward an entryway through which Emma had disappeared. It was nice. Too nice. His touch. Get a grip, Casey. One night. You’re here for one night. I don’t care if you have to hitchhike out of this town to leave.

***

Sam stood quietly outside the bedroom Emma had readied for his houseguest. A light shone from under the door and he wanted to knock, see how she was doing, but two things stood in his way. For starters, she must be exhausted. He sat at the kitchen table sipping the bourbon he’d thought about, what, an hour and a half ago? The whiskey settled him, allowing him to watch as she’d devoured a hefty sandwich made from leftover steak, and knocked back two full glasses of Chardonnay. Add that to her drive, a wrecked car, and a complete stranger taking her in, and no doubt she was tired. Plus, he’d given her enough of a hard time that she probably never wanted to see him again.

Sam was interested. He figured that’s why he’d felt so compelled to tease the woman. But recognizing his interest and putting a name on it eluded him. He hadn’t been around a woman for quite a while—maybe getting burned so bad by his ex-wife made him defensive around females. He hadn’t really had much in the way of relationships since Rachel left.

Dragging a hand through his hair, he reached for the doorknob. A voice in his head stopped him, and instead, he turned down the hall toward his room. The place he’d slept alone for a long time.

Okay, there’d been Mary Adams, a teacher. They’d dated for several months over four years ago. The sex had been satisfactory and they got along well enough, but there was no spark. Mechanical. It all felt mechanical.

He also didn’t miss her when they weren’t together.

He realized as he closed the door to his bedroom that wasn’t true of one Casey Pickett.

And that realization intrigued him.