A Cowboy To Keep. Karen Rock

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      “Outside the gate.”

      “Let’s go.” She nodded toward the entrance, down one of the dirt paths crisscrossing the property. It passed the two-story main lodge and the corral where they brought saddled horses for daily expeditions.

      “I need my gun.”

      Her eyes widened. “Not on my property.”

      “I need my gun.” His tone sounded easy as ever, yet steel had entered it. An implacable quality that suggested a man used to getting what he wanted.

      “Then you shouldn’t have dropped it.”

      He lowered his head and peered at her from beneath his brows. “I’m not leaving without it.”

      “If we agree that leaving on a stretcher is an option, then go for it.” She didn’t even try keeping the sass out of that one. In the oddest way, she enjoyed the tightrope feel of this conversation. Recognized it from the days she’d run with the wrong crowd until that fascination had come back to bite her. Hard.

      But she wasn’t the kind of woman who enjoyed that sort of thrill anymore... Resentment rose at the glimpse of her old self. She’d worked too hard to start over, to become a better person, to ever go back to the way she’d been.

      He rolled his eyes skyward and his chest rose and fell. “Ma’am. I have no quarrel with you. Let me have my gun and I’ll be on my way.”

      She blew out a breath. “Kick it over here.” He did, and the Glock skidded to a stop at her feet. “Don’t move unless you want your head blown off.” At his nod, she snatched it up and straightened, her rifle still trained on the trespasser. “I could shoot you. It’s the law.”

      “But you won’t.” He lowered his arms and crossed them.

      There was a breathtaking silence as that sank in. Her mind raced wild along its trail. “How do you know?”

      “You ever shoot a man?”

      Heat crept up her neck. She willed herself not to turn red like she always had, growing up, when caught out. “Have you?” she challenged, and lifted her chin. Tried looking tough. Lord, she hoped she looked tough.

      He gazed at her steadily, and she clamped her teeth together. Swallowed hard.

      He sauntered closer and she stared, mesmerized, the way a hare does when cornered by a western rattler. With a small push, he nudged her rifle barrel down. She breathed in the pure male scent of him. Not so much unwashed as worked hard. It made her nostrils flare. Her palms began to sweat. He wasn’t a man to tangle with.

      “I want my gun.”

      His words snapped her out of her trance and she backed up a few steps. Her mind turned in circles. She was fooling herself to think she had the upper hand here. Time to level the playing field. She tucked her rifle under her arm, pulled back the Glock’s slide to remove the chambered round, yanked out its magazine and tossed the empty gun back.

      He caught it neatly with one hand. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll see myself out.”

      “I’ll be right behind you.”

      His eyes gleamed. “And here I was, thinking you didn’t like me,” he said, and there was the corner of a grin there, bitten back as he holstered his gun.

      Arrogant bastard. “I like your back. Intend to watch it as you go.”

      His low chuckle made her flush again and then he strode away without a backward glance. Pebbles grazed the bottoms of her feet as she hurried after him, slightly dizzy. Off-balance. Bats called, up in the dark air. A clump of aspens leaned in the wind, intent, watchful. The rush and whisper of them roared in her ears.

      At last they reached the gate and her fingers trembled on the keypad.

      “No need.” He scaled the fence and dropped neatly on the other side. The moonlight glinted on his white teeth as he smiled. “Thanks for the tour.”

      He tipped his hat and she watched him go. Studied the shadows long after they’d lost sight of him, too. She gripped the gate’s metal bar when her knees turned wobbly.

      What had he wanted? Not to harm her, it seemed.

      Would he come back?

      Given her past, she wasn’t in any position to be spending time with dangerous men. But, suddenly, she wanted to know more about the scarred man who both frightened and fascinated her.

      She gave herself a mental kick and headed back to her room behind the stables.

      Bad boys.

      She’d more than had her fill of them and wouldn’t let another occupy her thoughts. Not when the last one nearly destroyed her life. Not when, with her recent promotion to stable manager, she’d finally achieved the security that’d let her put her past behind for good.

      The stranger’s striking face returned to her as she slipped under the covers. She punched her pillow. Hopefully she’d never see him again.

      She wasn’t so sure her resolve would be up to the test.

      * * *

      JACK’S CELL BUZZED beside his plate of hotcakes the next morning. He nodded to the Shawnee Diner waitress holding a coffeepot, slid his mug to the edge of the table and brought the phone to his ear. It was a three-cup morning. He’d been up since four hanging flyers for his bail jumper, adrenaline jittering through him at the thought that he might be on the trail of his brother’s killers—and the redemption he desperately needed.

      “Jack.”

      “Mr. Cade, this is Diane May, owner of Mountain Sky Dude Ranch. I’m sorry we didn’t return your call last night. My husband forgot the charger and...” At a gruff throat clearing, she switched gears. “Anyways, how can we help you?”

      Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the approaching server. She crept forward, her expression wary. She looked ready to bolt at any sudden movement. He held still. Funny how that pretty gal last night hadn’t seemed the least afraid of him. He smiled inwardly as he recalled her sass, her humor, her bravado. “I’m a bounty hunter looking for a fugitive who’s worked for you.”

      A gasp sounded, followed by, “A criminal? One of our workers? Who?”

      Murmuring rose on the other end and Jack kept his face averted out of habit when his waitress poured the coffee then scuttled behind the counter. The cash register dinged as the joint’s only other customer checked out. A banjo and fiddle mingled in a broadcasted bluegrass tune.

      The small restaurant must have been retrofitted from one of the old train cars that ran through this area once, he mused, waiting for someone to come back on the line. Its old-time booths rose high and pressed against small windows. Scuffed wood floors ran the length of the narrow space. An antique mirror reflected the space from behind the polished counter.

      “Mr. Cade, this is Larry May,” came a man’s voice. “What’s going on?”

      He glanced down the length of СКАЧАТЬ