hole up on his ranch southwest of Dallas.
He punched the button for the speaker at the gate.
“Yup,” a man’s deep voice answered.
“Cooper Johnson to see Ms. Emma Jacobs.” He shook his head. The formality of the speaker system seemed out of place with the whole Texas ranch thing, but if the machine made them feel safer, so be it.
“Hold on…Hey, Ace,” the voice yelled. “It’s him. Emma’s date!”
Coop groaned inwardly.
“Well, let him in,” another voice called out faintly.
“Oh, yeah. Got it.” A pause and clicking noises. “Must have left the speaker on. Damned system. I’ll never get used to it. Come on in, Cooper. Emma’s getting her clothes on.”
Cooper shifted into drive, a chuckle rising up his throat. If this was any indication of what his day would be like, he was in for hell. The man on the speaker sounded like a redneck with the IQ of a mule.
The driveway wound through a stand of gnarled red oaks, shading the pavement all the way, without giving Cooper a glimpse of the house until the trees parted at the base of a rise. On top was a large old colonial mansion that would give the plantation houses of the south a run for their money. Surrounded by double decking and creamy-white limestone, the building looked like something straight out of a Texas history book.
And on the porch, three men leaned against the support beams and railing—all large, broad-shouldered and wearing cowboy hats. The welcoming committee, no doubt.
Cooper fought the urge to turn his truck around and drive straight back down the driveway. No woman was worth running a gauntlet of cowboys, even if she looked like the girl-next-door.
Before he could change his mind, he pulled up in the drive and shifted into park.
A truck rounded the corner of the house, dragging a gooseneck trailer, and a fourth cowboy parked and got out. This one looked much like the others.
So the woman had family, or were these her bodyguards?
As Cooper climbed down from the driver’s seat, the men on the porch closed in and surrounded his truck, inspecting it like a prize horse.
“The man drives a truck. A four-wheel drive, at that. Can’t be all bad.” The first man to him stuck out his hand. “Ace Jacobs. Emma’s oldest brother.”
The man’s grip was strong, stronger than necessary. Cooper reckoned the cowboy was testing him. “Cooper Johnson. Nice to meet you.” No stranger to a good workout, Cooper squeezed back until his knuckles hurt, keeping a poker face the entire time. Even when he wanted to jerk his hand free and coax the blood back into it.
One by one, each of the four men subjected him to a vice-like handshake. By the time he’d made the rounds, he had a sore hand and four names to remember. Ace, Brand, Colton and Dillon. All Emma’s brothers and all interested in sizing him up.
“Emma should be out in a minute,” Ace said. “She just got out of the shower.”
“And a good thing,” said the one who’d identified himself as Colton. “She smelled like a horse.”
Nice image. Cooper was wishing he’d turned tail and escaped while he had a chance. Too late. Now, he had to suffer the brother inquisition.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Johnson?”
“I’m heavy into the stock market,” Cooper hedged, reluctant to say too much. He didn’t like telling people he made a pile of money at what he did. The fact changed how they treated him. Mostly, in a bad way.
The one he remembered as Colton crossed both arms over his chest. “So, you don’t make an honest living. Instead, you gamble other people’s money?”
Cooper shook his head. “I only work with my own money. Keeps it simple.”
“Desk jockey, huh?” Ace smirked. “Do much ranchin’ with that truck?”
Cooper shrugged. “Some.” His truck had hauled its share of trailers loaded with hay and loads of firewood and fence posts. He made sure it got a good cleaning after each, taking pride in the vehicle he’d always dreamed of owning
He punched the button for the speaker at the gate.
“Yup,” a man’s deep voice answered.
“Cooper Johnson to see Ms. Emma Jacobs.” He shook his head. The formality of the speaker system seemed out of place with the whole Texas ranch thing, but if the machine made them feel safer, so be it.
“Hold on…Hey, Ace,” the voice yelled. “It’s him. Emma’s date!”
Coop groaned inwardly.
“Well, let him in,” another voice called out faintly.
“Oh, yeah. Got it.” A pause and clicking noises. “Must have left the speaker on. Damned system. I’ll never get used to it. Come on in, Cooper. Emma’s getting her clothes on.”
Cooper shifted into drive, a chuckle rising up his throat. If this was any indication of what his day would be like, he was in for hell. The man on the speaker sounded like a redneck with the IQ of a mule.
The driveway wound through a stand of gnarled red oaks, shading the pavement all the way, without giving Cooper a glimpse of the house until the trees parted at the base of a rise. On top was a large old colonial mansion that would give the plantation houses of the south a run for their money. Surrounded by double decking and creamy-white limestone, the building looked like something straight out of a Texas history book.
And on the porch, three men leaned against the support beams and railing—all large, broad-shouldered and wearing cowboy hats. The welcoming committee, no doubt.
Cooper fought the urge to turn his truck around and drive straight back down the driveway. No woman was worth running a gauntlet of cowboys, even if she looked like the girl-next-door.
Before he could change his mind, he pulled up in the drive and shifted into park.
A truck rounded the corner of the house, dragging a gooseneck trailer, and a fourth cowboy parked and got out. This one looked much like the others.
So the woman had family, or were these her bodyguards?
As Cooper climbed down from the driver’s seat, the men on the porch closed in and surrounded his truck, inspecting it like a prize horse.
“The man drives a truck. A four-wheel drive, at that. Can’t be all bad.” The first man to him stuck out his hand. “Ace Jacobs. Emma’s oldest brother.”
The man’s grip was strong, stronger than necessary. Cooper reckoned the cowboy was testing him. “Cooper Johnson. Nice to meet you.” No stranger to a good workout, Cooper squeezed back until his knuckles hurt, keeping a poker face the entire time. Even when he wanted to jerk his hand free and coax the blood back into it.
One by one, each of the four men subjected him to a vice-like handshake. By the time he’d made the rounds, he had a sore hand and four names to remember. Ace, Brand, Colton and Dillon. All Emma’s brothers and all interested in sizing him up.
“Emma should be out in a minute,” Ace said. “She just got out of the shower.”
“And a good thing,” said the one who’d identified himself as Colton. “She smelled like a horse.”
Nice image. Cooper was wishing he’d turned tail and escaped while he had a chance. Too late. Now, he had to suffer the brother inquisition.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Johnson?”
“I’m heavy into the stock market,” Cooper hedged, reluctant to say too much. He didn’t like telling people he made a pile of money at what he did. The fact changed how they treated him. Mostly, in a bad way.
The one he remembered as Colton crossed both arms over his chest. “So, you don’t make an honest living. Instead, you gamble other people’s money?”
Cooper shook his head. “I only work with my own money. Keeps it simple.”
“Desk jockey, huh?” Ace smirked. “Do much ranchin’ with that truck?”
Cooper shrugged. “Some.” His truck had hauled its share of trailers loaded with hay and loads of firewood and fence posts. He made sure it got a good cleaning after each, taking pride in the vehicle he’d always dreamed of owning
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