No Strings Attached (Last Hope Ranch Book 1) Read Free Page A

her “perfect man” so many times in the past few years that she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle a relationship with any man.
    Clay Saunders glanced over his menu, his dark green eyes capturing hers. A snappy comeback to Dalton’s remark dissolved in her brain.
    ***
    Clay took another long swallow of the coffee he’d brought with him. Rein had jostled him out of bed at the crack of dawn, insisting that they had to get chores done early so they could begin demolition today in Sally Andersen’s kitchen. He turned as he heard Sally thundering down the stairs and could have placed bets on the fact that she’d not be able to stop when she hit her highly polished hardwood floor.
    He peeked around the industrial plastic they’d hung over the kitchen entrance to prevent as much dust and dirt as possible from getting into the rest of the house. Sure enough, he heard the thud and a gasp just before a tote somersaulted through the air, its contents fluttering across the floor.
    Clearing his throat, he walked idly over to where the pretty redheaded Sally sat looking suitably stunned. He held out his hand to help her stand. “In a hurry?” he said, eyeing those legs in old-fashioned winter tights. She wore a red plaid skirt, decidedly bunched high on her hips at the moment and a black cashmere turtleneck that molded to her body. Her hair was wound up in some twist that he hadn’t seen since episodes of Green Acres, but on her it looked damn appealing.
    “I forgot I had bus duty this morning.” She accepted his hand.
    He pulled her to her feet in one quick yank. Her stocking feet slipped a bit as she bent down to pick up the papers littering the floor. “You know they make stair treads and rugs for wood floors.” he said, trying to force his gaze not to linger too long on the spot where the skirt curved around her thighs. Bending down was not an easy task with his artificial leg, but he attempted to scoop up as many papers as possible without toppling over.
    “Where’s Rein?” she asked, not looking up—and, he noted, ignoring his comment.
    “Had to go to the hardware store to pick up a couple of things,” Clay answered.
    “Thank you.” She took the papers from him and stuffed them in the bag. Searching around her, she sighed and looked up at him. “Would you mind holding this?” She grabbed her winter boots and, sitting on the bottom step, slipped them over her feet and zipped them up. She quickly slid into her coat. Her hair listed precariously to one side.
    Clay fought the urge to reach up and let the fiery waves slide through his fingers. Damn, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even toyed with such thoughts.
    “Thank you,” she said in a curt tone.
    Sensing she was clearly a woman on a mission, he thought it best to step aside. He handed her the bag and did just that. She’d probably bruised her tailbone with the intensity of her landing. But he knew the woman’s pride ran deep. He’d bruised it once a few months ago at a moment when she’d challenged him and he snapped, saying some unkind things to her. Things between them had been chilly since, to say the least. He told himself that he didn’t care. That she was a strong-willed, bossy little thing who could drive a man to drink. But in the dark hours of the night when he was left alone with nothing but his anger and his guilt, he knew that part of what she’d said to him was true.
    But he’d be damned if he’d let her think she was right.
    He watched her hobble gingerly down the front porch steps to her beat-up old truck. A blue Ford with more rust than paint that was her dad’s as he understood. He envied her a little, not only for the truck, but because she possessed something of her past—her family. He had nothing except a sister whose pity had driven him away after he’d come back home and a mother who recently passed from Alzheimer’s, never again regaining any recognition of him, but always talking to him about her son in