Her Cowboy Hero (The Colorado Cades) Read Free Page A

If it hadn’t been for the jeans she wore and the pair of muddy boots sitting on the porch, he would seriously question whether she actually owned this place.
    Behind her, on the other side of the screen door, an unseen dog scrabbled against the metal lower half and barked. Hannah shushed the canine over her shoulder, then flashed another sun-bright beam in Colin’s direction. “Don’t worry, Scarlett doesn’t bite. Come on in—breakfast is ready and waiting.”
    Even from outside the house, the food smelled too enticing, making his stomach growl in anticipation. He was reminded of the fairy tale he used to read his younger sister. Hansel and Gretel . Hannah’s house might not be made out of candy, but temptation was present just the same.
    Then again, she had a job to offer him. It was imperative that Colin stay busy. He needed physically draining, sunup-to-sundown work.
    Resigned, he followed her through the front door. “Holy sh—” He broke off, manners belatedly overcoming his shock. “That’s...some dog.”
    Hannah knelt down, patting the dog’s head. “Meet Scarlett.”
    Yesterday, Colin had thought Hannah’s truck an eyesore. Next to the dog, it was a luxury sedan. He’d seen “patchwork” mutts before with traits from different breeds that looked a little mismatched. Scarlett went beyond mixed-breed. She was FrankenDog. It was as if someone had placed a disproportionately large German shepherd head on a squat body—not an attractive head, either. The dog had a comically pronounced underbite and her ears weren’t parallel. One black ear stood up atop her head, as was common with shepherds, and the other seemed to stick straight out of the side of her skull. What were the legs, basset hound? Her red-and-white coat couldn’t decide whether it was supposed to be curly or straight, and her tail was a brindle-colored whip that didn’t match anything else on her. He assumed her neck bolts were hidden beneath the bright blue collar.
    “Scarlett,” he echoed. He would’ve gone with “Hellhound,” although that did imply a creature weighing more than forty pounds.
    Hearing her name, the dog whined and smacked him with her wagging tail.
    “She likes you. That’s a good sign,” Hannah declared as she stood, leading him through a spacious living room with a stone fireplace. He got a glimpse of a back hallway and a set of stairs, but she led him past that and into the kitchen. “I’m not a superstitious person, but everything about our meeting has been so lucky.”
    He kept his response to a vague grunt she could take either way. It was probably best not to argue with a potential employer, but mountainside storms and mutant dogs didn’t strike him as auspicious omens.
    “Hope you’re hungry. I love to cook. Before I came here, I was a pastry chef.”
    “Big change.”
    “True, but I’d been studying ranches for years. Running this place was always the plan. Besides, I couldn’t have stayed at my last job much longer.” She scowled. “My boss—never mind. We should be eating,” she chirped.
    He was reluctantly fascinated by her total about-face. It was as though she’d flipped a switch. One moment, she’d clearly been remembering something unpleasant, anger seeping into her tone, then, boom, she was back to beaming like a lottery winner.
    Maybe she was schizophrenic.
    Aware that he was on the verge of staring, he looked away. In appearance, Hannah’s kitchen wasn’t much fancier than the bunkhouse. Chairs at the oblong table were mismatched, and the countertops bore stains and scratches. Faded wallpaper covered the spaces between appliances but had been scraped off the main wall, which was bare. However, the bounty on the island more than compensated for the modest surroundings. Crisp bacon; eggs scrambled with cheese, peppers and sausage; a bowl of fruit salad; piping-hot coffee; and a cake so moist it looked like the cover photo of some food magazine. His mind darted back to the