The Legacy of Copper Creek Read Free Page A

horses and wet leather that pervaded Wylie’s Saloon. He breathed it in and found himself grinning. Delicate. Like wildflowers on a spring morning.
    Not that he was going to be fooled by that scent. This was no delicate flower. He didn’t care what she smelled like. And he wasn’t going to let himself think about that amazing body he’d viewed under the blanket she’d worn like a suit of armor.
    Who was Cara Walton, and what in the hell was she doing way out here?
    Just how long had she been holed up in this range shack? As far as he knew, none of the wranglers had used this place for months, not since the herd had been rounded up last autumn.
    She’d appeared genuinely terrified about sharing this space with him, and yet she’d put up a good fight. A good actress? Or an act of desperation? Whatever was going on with her, he’d figure it out sooner or later.
    He’d been too weary to hear her story last night. In truth, he could barely recall sliding into the bunk. He’d been dead on his feet and ready to collapse.
    But today was a new day. And after a good night’s sleep, he was a new man. He’d grab some grub and about a gallon of coffee, and then he’d be ready to deal with the weather and the woman, both of whom seemed full of surprises.
      
    Cara awoke to the wonderful aroma of coffee. After the night she’d put in, tossing and turning in the upper bunk, she felt vaguely disoriented as she pulled the covers over her head. Then, as she heard the door slam and felt the quick rush of cold air that shivered over her, she sat up with a start.
    The cowboy. Whit MacKenzie.
    She’d gone over and over again in her mind the story she would tell him. By the time she’d finally given in to sleep, she was satisfied that it would work.
    She descended the ladder and hurried into the tiny bathroom to prepare for the day while he was outside.
    She’d never showered and dressed in such haste, but since coming here she’d learned that there was nothing like freezing cold water to turn a shower into a torture chamber. She would have taken a pass today, but she wanted to look casual and disinterested by the time the cowboy walked in.
    She glanced at her reflection in the mirror over the sink and shuddered. With no makeup, and no way to dry her hair, she looked like something out of a horror flick. Not that it mattered. She certainly didn’t need to impress this backwoods bozo, even if he was good looking. But, she cautioned herself, she needed him to believe her.
    She winced before muttering, “Yeah. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
    She stepped out of the bathroom just as the door was opened on another blast of frigid air.
    Whit’s arms were filled with logs. He used his hip to nudge the door shut before crossing to the fireplace and depositing them on the hearth, where he knelt to add more logs to the already blazing fire.
    When he was done, he stood and wiped his palms down his pants before turning. “Hey. Morning, Goldilocks.”
    His obvious good humor caught her by surprise. His use of that stupid nickname, however, had her smile turning to a frown. “If I’m Goldilocks, I guess that makes you one of those smelly old bears.”
    When she got no reaction from him, she added, “I see you’ve been busy.”
    He nodded as he removed his parka and hung it on a hook by the door. “The first rule of ranching: Start your chores early if you want to stay one step ahead all day.”
    “And you like staying ahead of the game?”
    Another quick nod. “You bet. It’s a MacKenzie law.”
    He walked to the tiny kitchen and hauled powdered eggs and canned ham from a cupboard before rummaging around in search of utensils.
    She found herself staring at the ripple of muscle beneath the sleeves of his shirt. “Is there something I can do?”
    “Not unless you can cook.”
    “I cook a little. Enough to get by.” She bent down and retrieved a skillet. “How do you like your powdered eggs?”
    “Any way you can