CHAPTER SEVEN

The reliable ranch rooster crowed, but Casey was already awake. Incredibly, today marked her sixth day on Sam Wagner’s ranch. Her body was sore, but she was getting stronger all the time.

Remembering how she’d rejected Sam’s proposal that she work off room and board, how she’d whined like a spoiled child and spit out a stubborn retort to the very idea, her “Hell no” echoed in her head. She’d been so mad back then, enough that she demanded he take her to the airport the night after. Sam, instead, offered logic. Regional flights booked out months, and Denver was a ten-hour drive without guarantees she’d get anywhere given the holidays and weather issues.

Oh, she’d wanted to get away from the cowboy back then. Now, her heart wouldn’t allow her to leave. God knew she’d tried to dislike him.

Now that she wanted to be close? It was too late. Since the night of the porch swing incident, Sam had been mostly invisible. Gone early, home late. She’d misread his cues, believing that night he felt the same.

Sam obviously didn’t want her, and the sensations that raced through her body around him were apparently hers alone.

Damn, it stung.

He’d flipped from close to distant and she didn’t know why. Two sleepless nights of running through every scene of the two of them together, and she still couldn’t pinpoint anything that would turn him away. “What did I say, Sam?” She sat up, pulled the pillow onto her lap, and punched the thing several times.

Until that evening on the porch, every encounter, each exchange, had chipped away at the debate in her head against having feelings for the cowboy. He was funny, articulate, hardworking, kind, too handsome for his own good, and… The list was a page long. She’d typed it on her laptop, then tucked the machine back in her suitcase.

When she tossed in the night sky, fresh air, deep sleep, and a growing friendship with the man’s housekeeper, Casey stayed, and she worked. And there was the food. Morning one, Emma served an aromatic fat-infested breakfast of fried eggs, crisp bacon, fresh biscuits, and a large glass of orange juice. The food got better each day. And the coffee. Whatever Emma put in the brew left Casey ready to run marathons.

Somehow, during her stay, pitching hay, cleaning out stalls, feeding and milking a cow—okay, she wasn’t so great at the latter—had become a routine. One that made her feel good about herself.

She’d never slept as hard, never experienced feeling refreshed and yet so exhausted simultaneously. And more surprisingly, Casey had been so content, so much so that she almost forgot the cloud over her head.

At first, she thought she hadn’t gone far enough away, but the need to distance herself from her old life had lessened a little each day. And it had to be because of Sam. Dammit, she had fallen for him.

She missed the feelings that accompanied his tendency to lean in to her, get close. Casey shook her head to escape an image of his eyes, sparkling with a tease, the man stacking bales of hay, his biceps pumped up with muscle that showed beneath the wool t-shirt that fit him like plastic wrap. There’d been times when they were so physically close, her skin tingled. She argued with her feelings based on his actions.

Three separate times she’d sworn he was going to kiss her.

But he hadn’t.

The Devil knew she wanted him to.

The snooze alarm went off. “Shoot.” She jumped out of bed, hastily making it—everyone did in this house. It was protocol to earn breakfast. Grabbing fresh clothes, she poked her head out and looked up and down the hallway. All clear. Then she stepped out to cross to the bathroom, and his deep voice nearly stopped her heart.

“Well, Ms. Pickett, slept in a bit, did we?”

She stood stock-still, like a deer that heard something in the forest. A quick inventory of her appearance drew a gulp. Sleep shorts, Santa socks, and a form-fitting Henley t-shirt that was too holey for in-public viewing. Dammit, Sam. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.

“Ma’am, I do believe you’re blushing.” The grin, the one that made her crazy, appeared for the first time in days.

“You know, cowboy, I’m getting tired of your incessant teasing, not to mention that ma’am sh…” She stopped herself and took a breath. “And for your information, I wasn’t sleeping in, I was thinking. Serious and important thoughts, in fact.”

“Oh. I see.” He stepped closer. Excitement jumped like dry lightning from synapse to synapse in her brain. Her knees went weak, and she knew in an instant that her nipples were taut against the t-shirt. Embarrassment wrapped around her like spandex, and she felt hot. Casey was certain that if he came one centimeter closer, she’d disappear—nothing would be left but a puddle and her silly sleeping outfit on the floor.

“How would you feel about a ride instead of work this morning?”

“Oh, that would be great, can we go into town? I’d like to get something for Emma for Christmas.”

“I meant on a horse.”

“Oh.”

“Can you ride?”

“It’s been about ten years.”

“Okay, well, you’ll be fine then. You know what they say, it’s like riding a bike.”

No, it most certainly is not.

“Meet me in the barn in half an hour. Forget the shower, you’ll want one

afterward.” His gaze caught hers. “You’re looking cute again, Pickett.”

Then he was gone. She didn’t dare turn to watch him leave. Besides, she was confused. Totally. Why the sudden reversal in his behavior? She’d yet to reveal her past, nor had she killed or maimed any of the ranch animals, broken a fence, or some antique in the house. Maybe it was a plan to kick her off the ranch.

Still, she’d swear in the moments before he walked away, once again, Sam Wagner wanted to kiss her.

Ducking in the bathroom, she reached for her toothbrush, wishing he had.