Tempting the Cowboy Read Free

where the short bartender was watching her things. There was no backup plan, but sleeping in the alley was preferable to getting into a truck with him driving. She’d made it four steps when Cole’s strong hand gripped her shoulder. Shocks raced down her spine as his warm fingers pressed into her flesh.
    “Dammit, woman. Fine.” He spun her around fast. She tipped forward right into him. Her heart short-circuited, her breath stalled in the single moment her chest made contact with his. With a gasp, she put her palms on his hard body and shoved herself back. He grabbed her left wrist with one hand and flipped it over. His thumb made a soft back-and-forth sweep over the pulse point before he dropped a set of keys into her palm with the other.
    His eyes were blocked by a shadow cast by the brim of his hat, but the grin on his lips was perfectly clear. A soft, rapid pounding vibrated against Rylan’s hand. She looked down—her right palm was still on his chest. His heart was racing, his body heat strong under her touch. Eyes wide, she jerked away, her skin feeling immediately empty at the loss of his heat. Despite his inebriation, his expression was bland.
    “No adjusting the seat. No changing the radio station. And no talking.” He broke away from her and walked toward the door. Rylan spun to hurry after his long strides. Grabbing her bag from the barstool, she reached in her pocket for cash to pay for the beer she hadn’t drunk.
    The bartender shook his head. “Consider it a Welcome-to-Hell gift.”

Chapter Two
    Cole, as it turned out, was about as easy on the ears as he was on the eyes. He didn’t say more than necessary on the drive to Paint River and spent the majority of it slumped in the seat with his hat pulled down. He didn’t even react when she adjusted the seat to account for her much-shorter legs and changed the static-filled radio station for background music.
    Rylan drove slowly in the star-dotted darkness, sure a deer would dart out at any moment, especially after paved road turned into two-lane dirt and led her far from civilization. Rylan was almost afraid for her life. If Cole Haywood turned out to be a murderer, she was screwed, and the sweat on her palms and itch of her neck proved her subconscious was considering it. Not that he’d given any indication that he would harm her. Unless she counted the rank scent of beer rolling off him as potential poison.
    He’d been giving her short directions—“Turn here” and “Left at next sign”—but beyond that, nothing. She hadn’t attempted to make conversation since he kept drifting off. A sober-up nap was exactly what he needed. That and a long, hot shower to peel the layer of cigar smoke off him. Rylan gave Cole a sidelong glance. Underneath the bar smell were notes of pine and cedar, and some kind of fresh, clean deodorant. In a way, it was sexy and heady…and not helping her concentration one bit.
    Rylan rolled the window down to push the scents out and keep her sleep-deprived senses alert. Concentrating on the drive helped push away her nonsensical physical reactions to him earlier. She needed sleep, food, and strong coffee, and in the morning, she’d be much better able to interact with Cole Haywood as she did most people: without emotion and as minimally as possible.
    A fork in the road appeared in the headlights. Cole was snoring softly. Rylan flicked his leg, and he jerked. “Left or right?”
    He startled just a touch, then gave an annoyed sigh. “Right.” His hat was pulled over his face, his long body languid in the seat. “Just keep right. It’ll take you to the main gate.”
    The gate was a huge arch of timber beams supporting a long, rectangular sign that read Paint River Ranch, Est. 1878 . Rylan drove through the gate and down a long, curving drive. Several buildings made hulking shadows on both sides until the main house, a lumbering post-and-beam creation, stretched out before them. A covered deck wrapped around one side,