How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart Read Free Page A

including talking to Dawson about the upcoming meeting of local ranchers. He was relieved to see her car wasn’t in the driveway. After bungling his apology yesterday he wasn’t in any mood to cross swords. He had enough on his plate.
    The barn was empty when he checked so he made his way to the house, his boots crunching on the brittle snow.
    He knocked at the back porch, and when there was no answer, tried the knob. He and Dawson had been dashing in and out of each other’s houses since they were old enough to run between farms, and going in to leave a note was common practice. The door was unlocked as usual and he entered the mudroom, removing his boots before stepping inside the warmth of the kitchen. It smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and his stomach rumbled. With Aunt Stacy gone most of the time now, he’d had to rely on his own basic cooking and once she was married he’d be on his own altogether. Which was fine. He wouldn’t starve. But he was the first to admit he wasn’t so great on the baking sweets end of things.
    The coffee cake sat on a cooling rack and he imagined cutting a slice while it was still warm. He smiled tohimself. Linda Briggs would give him heck if he pulled such a stunt.
    Linda always kept a notepad beside the phone, too. He went to the counter and grabbed a pen.
    â€œClay!”
    He jumped at the sound of his name, nearly dropping the pen.
    Megan stood at the junction between hall and kitchen wearing jeans and a sweater and a towel wrapped around her head. She looked anything but happy to see him. “Don’t you knock?”
    He forced a calming breath. “Since when have we ever knocked?” He picked up the pen and began writing, trying to look far more composed than he felt. His heart was beating a mile a minute. As he scribbled the note he said, “And as a matter of fact, I did knock. No one answered.”
    â€œI was upstairs.”
    He looked up. She didn’t wear a speck of makeup and the dark blue towel contrasted with her flawless complexion. He could smell the flowery scent of her soap or shampoo from where he stood and it felt disturbingly intimate. “So I gathered. I’ll be out of your way in a minute. I’m just leaving a note for Dawson.”
    He finished and ripped the paper off the tablet. “Where is he, by the way?”
    Megan’s lips twisted and she looked away. “He didn’t come home last night. And he has my car.”
    Clay remembered the goofy way his friend had looked at Tara Stillwell last night as she’d waited on them at the Spur. Dawson had been interested in her for weeks, but Clay hadn’t realized the attraction went both ways so completely. “Tara’s a nice girl. He could do worse.”
    â€œTara…you mean Tara from my graduating class?” She finally moved from the doorway and into the kitchen.
    â€œYou didn’t know?”
    Megan shook her head, looking genuinely distressed. “Not a clue. He never said a word to me about it.”
    â€œI guess you haven’t been here to see,” Clay replied, unable to resist the slight dig.
    Fire flashed in Meg’s eyes as the towel slipped on her head. With a look of annoyance she took it off. “I’m well aware that I’ve been out of town,” she snapped. “I don’t know why you feel you must continue to bring it up. And my family did visit me, you know. If Dawson kept his personal life to himself, I’m not totally to blame for that, too.”
    Clay heard the sharp words but they bounced off him at the shock of seeing her hair. It was short, sleek and lighter than he remembered, even though it was wet. A light reddish-brown color that reminded him of Tinkerbell. Short and saucy and cute.
    But it was the cause of the change that felt like lead in his feet, heavy and immovable. All her gorgeous dark curls were gone. The woman in front of him seemed even more of a stranger.
    Her