“Got it.” This time she hung up on him.
Well, hell.
“Ready to go for a ride, Red?” Peyton never went anywhere without him. She jumped to her feet and shook off a cloud of dust. Peyton had rescued the Australian Sheppard from the pound when he was little more than a puppy, six years ago. Best damn dog a man could have.
He wiped his hands on a nearby cloth but traces of oil remained nonetheless. He’d have to clean up later tonight. Maybe he’d pass Corinne on the way out. He hoped so.
Although the truck’s thermostat showed a rise in the outdoor temperature as he descended the mountain, Peyton didn’t feel it until stepping out of the truck. Thank God for air conditioning. Snatching his hat from the console, he approached the only car in the lot– a black convertible Audi, it’s engine purring softly.
He assumed it belonged to his guest. Wonderful. Although he did maintenance on the road regularly, he’d noticed a few sizable ruts coming down. This little buttercup might bottom out a few times.
The driver’s side door opened and long, slim legs emerged. Irritation warred with testosterone induced appreciation. At least she wasn’t wearing heels. No, those delicately manicured feet wore flat little sandals consisting of nothing more than chains and jewels. And was that a ring on her toe? He adjusted his jeans uncomfortably.
And then the rest of her followed.
If she intended helping, she was gonna need an entirely different wardrobe.
Her skirt may have been made of denim but it clung to her bottom as though it was spandex. And her top? A flimsy little lace thing beneath a cropped brown leather jacket. He supposed she considered the outfit ranch wear.
Even Red seemed a mite suspicious. Instead of welcoming Miss Fairchild happily, as he tended to do with most people, he parked himself on the ground beside Peyton emitting a growl from deep in his throat.
“Does your dog bite?” At her words, Peyton trailed his gaze upward.
His mouth went dry.
Red shiny lips, smooth creamy skin, and her eyes… flashing blue-grey, practically silver. Peyton didn’t care too much for girls who wore all kinds of makeup but dayam, this one pulled it off. Those old photos hadn’t done her justice. Her jet-black hair fell all the way to her waist and when she turned to close the car door, silky strands swung around with her.
Oh yeah, she looked like trouble all right.
CHAPTER TWO
The jacket hadseemed like a good idea while driving over in the air-conditioned car. Standing in the heat though, with Peyton Parker glaring her down, it suddenly felt stifling. Her body temperature spiked and she felt a bead of sweat trickle between her breasts.
Stella ignored her discomfort and eyed the dog warily.
She’d never had a dog but had heard dogs could sense fear. Hearing the mongrel growl, she clutched her purse against her chest somewhat defensively.
“Nothing to worry about. Red here wouldn’t hurt a fly.” The owner’s voice drawled lazily.
Stella shifted her eyes to the tall man blocking the sun. With his face shadowed, she couldn’t quite make out his expression. “Peyton?” She embraced long ingrained manners and stepped forward with one hand outstretched. She held it there all of five seconds before he took it.
His hand felt warm, and strong and a little dangerous. She wasn’t normally one to dramatize things, but a zing of static shot through her at his touch. Maybe she’d imagined it though. When he loosened his grip, breaking contact, she ignored the desire to check for burns.
What was her problem? This guy was Corinne’s brother, for God’s sake.
He stood about six inches taller than her, so he must be right around six feet, but his frame was lean– all sinewy muscle. He wore a button up shirt with the top three buttons undone and a pair of jeans that could have been a hundred years old. As her eyes trailed downward she noticed rugged leather boots planted firmly on the ground. Hmm. So, the men over here really did wear cowboy boots. And the hat, too.
With her hand once again in her own possession, she wrinkled her nose. Motor oil? Sure enough, he’d left a residue of lubricant on her fingers and palms.
“You caught me working on one of the tractors. Sorry if I’ve ruined your manicure.” Of course, he’d noticed her– well– noticing.
Stella shook her head. For Corinne and Misty’s sakes, she would find a way to get along with this Neanderthal. “Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. Shall I follow you then?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, just tilted his head. “I don’t suppose you’ve got four-wheel drive on that.” His tone came out sarcastic. But then she considered the ramifications of his question. Her car was her baby.
“Is the road that bad?”
He tilted his head again and the sun illuminated one side of his face. A shiver ran through her. Chiseled jaw, sensual mouth. She jerked herself back to reality when he answered. “Not too bad, but that’s a low-profile vehicle. Might bottom out in a few places. You might want to leave her down here, in Jake’s garage.”
