Desert Wolf. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ hat. Broad shoulders balanced a narrow waist. Long legs were clad in jeans, and his boots made soft thudding sounds on the pavement. A silver buckle on his belt flashed in the sun the way diamonds flared beneath jewelry store lighting.

      Those things screamed the word cowboy.

      A white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows showed off sun-bronzed skin. As he approached, Paxton saw that enough top buttons on the shirt were open to lay bare a triangle of skin that attracted her attention for a little too long. When she looked up, he was close enough for her to see his wide, engaging smile.

      And his face...

      Christ almighty. It was chiseled, angular, with taut skin that fell somewhere on the golden spectrum. This guy, whoever he was, seemed to have inherited a lucky combination of genes that made him both elegant and rugged. The whole package suggested a new classification of the term handsome. Even if he was a cowboy.

      “Paxton Hall?” He stopped a few feet from her and removed his hat, showing off a mass of shaggy auburn hair.

      He was fine to look at, sure, Paxton noted. But what could he possibly want?

      “Ms. Hall?” he repeated, with a slight variation.

      “Yes.” She continued to shield her eyes. “That’s me.”

      The hunk’s smile was as brilliant as the rest of him, and that was saying something. Fine lines shot out from the corners of his eyes in honor of some years in the sun without detracting from the overall hunky look.

      Paxton wished she could see the color of those eyes, hidden behind his sunglasses, and wondered if they’d be blue. Light blue eyes set in sun-darkened skin would have topped the whole thing off nicely.

      “I’ve come to escort you to your hotel,” he said in a deep voice that ran ridiculous circles around Paxton’s impoverished libido. It was obvious to her that she hadn’t taken enough time lately to explore the ramifications of having been without a boyfriend for several months now.

      Plus...didn’t every woman have cowboy fantasies?

      “Your hotel,” he repeated, probably wondering if she had hearing problems.

      There was just something about his voice and how suggestive it was of star-filled desert nights and the almost unearthly scent of night-blooming flowers. Two sentences from him and Paxton was thrown back in time to when she had first noticed things like those strong, sweet Arizona scents.

      Or maybe it was all just a side effect of the stifling heat.

      “I didn’t call for a taxi service,” she said.

      He nodded. “I thought you might like a ride.”

      “Because?”

      “It’s hot.” He was still grinning, and that grin was contagious.

      Paxton smiled back.

      “I totally agree about the heat. But I’m pretty sure you didn’t answer my question about not calling a service,” she said.

      “Your attorney mentioned that you might be headed this way today.”

      Okay. That made sense. She felt better.

      “In that case, yes. Thanks. I’d like a ride to...” Paxton paused, mid-speech. “I didn’t book a hotel, sure there are plenty of them.”

      He nodded again. “No problem. I’ll take you to one. I think you’ll find most of the accommodations around here acceptable.”

      He was staring at her, not exactly rudely, but with the kind of lingering appraisal that brought on a blush. He’d be taking in the black silk shirt, the high heels and the private plane her attorney had let her use because several well-off clients needed to hitch a ride back to Maryland. This guy would probably be thinking he’d have to book her a suite in a fancy boutique hotel.

      Hell, she couldn’t afford a suite. Not that she wouldn’t like one. Cash wasn’t exactly tight, but it was on close watch. She didn’t get paid for extra time off from her gig as a nurse in the ER, and her return trip to Maryland was on a commercial flight, in coach.

      “That would be great,” Paxton said. “Any hotel will do. I’m not fussy and I won’t be here long.”

      She just needed to get out of this heat and into different clothes. Big thanks would be due to her lawyer for thinking about her enough to send a gorgeous chauffeur.

      That smile he was still offering? Dazzling. Yet Paxton’s instincts warned her that the guy’s smile hid something. A trace of concern, maybe? Concern for what? That she’d be a prissy Easterner for whom the extremes of comfort were paramount, when that was miles from the truth?

      If they spent any time together, he’d find out how unprepared she was for this trip into her past. Her black silk shirt hadn’t been the greatest idea for day wear in a sun-drenched state. Cowboy would note that, too. She had worn it in honor of her father’s recent passing, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t really known her dad.

      Briefly, Paxton closed her eyes, thinking that anyone would have assumed she’d have gotten over that kind of loss, along with old abandonment issues. But being here in Arizona again was causing a sudden emotional upheaval. Just a few steps off the plane had been all it took to bring the old days back.

      “This way,” the cowboy said, stepping aside, waving his hat at the terminal. “I hope you don’t mind riding in a truck.”

      So, no real chauffeur then. Just a favor from someone her lawyer knew.

      “That would be fine,” she returned. “Would you mind confirming my attorney’s name?”

      “Daniel Dunn, Esquire.”

      “Do you know Dan personally?”

      “As well as anyone can know a lawyer by phone.”

      “Great.” Paxton moved forward, eager to get to the terminal. If this guy knew her lawyer, he had to be legit.

      “Do you think we could get something cold to drink on the way to the hotel?” she asked.

      “It would be my pleasure to make that happen,” her escort congenially replied.

      Though she didn’t glance sideways, Paxton was aware of every move the guy made. He purposefully shortened his strides to accommodate hers. Having him beside her was both a boon and another unsettling feature of this trip. Speed hampered by the height of her heels, Paxton felt doubly foolish and out of place. She no longer belonged here. She was trespassing on the past—both its ideals and its pain.

      What the hell was I thinking?

      As they entered the small terminal, her companion placed a hand on her elbow to guide her toward the bags. His touch was electric, empathetic. Paxton wanted to lean into him for the kind of support she needed to get through this ordeal, when giving in to the urge to fold up like an accordion would have been the end of her.

      Gently, he steered her toward her luggage, the two small bags she had seen fit to bring for a weekend in the desert. Her companion lifted СКАЧАТЬ