“Who’s Bessie?”
“Damned if I know,” I mutter to myself, and address the door. “I’ll be right back.”
The key could be in the safe. Or the barn. I head toward the front of the house, but when I spot the figure in the doorway, I slide to a halt on my bare feet halfway there.
The silhouette of a woman is outlined clearly against the screen in the double-wide frame. Curved hips flare out from a cinched waist in the sort of skintight jeans it takes an hour of worshiping to peel from a perfect hourglass figure. Long red hair flows over her narrow shoulders, hanging almost to her thighs. A hint of garnet glimmers in her silky locks, visible even beneath the veranda’s shadow.
“Hi,” I call, her features sharpening as I step closer, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest intent on derailing every breath. Dusky pink lips and high cheekbones that flush in a deeper shade. “You must be…” I trail off, leaving room for her to fill in her name, cursing Winnie in my head for a different reason than before.
“I’m here to get Sally.”
“Yes. Good. And you are?”
Bright blue eyes blaze at me through the screen door, the corners narrowed beneath thick lashes like she’s contemplating how to best shred me. And damn, with hair the color of wild cherries, darker than I originally thought, and a black tee that saysMy project is in its cocoon phasetucked into her dark jeans, she can destroy me any day.
Keep your head in the game, Rand.
I have a niece to protect, not a goal to get my ass laid.
Her boot taps a staccato rhythm while she assesses me, her gaze hovering over my bare chest. I might as well be naked under that sunlike glare. “Are you going to let me in?”
“Ah.” My brain jams on cue. “Your name?”
Despite my earlier promise to myself, I open the screen and back up a few paces, reclaiming my manners. It isn’t like she’s got anywhere to take Sally with a dozen men working within yelling distance outside.
My mystery woman folds her arms, her feet planted firmly on my doormat. “Where’s your boss?”
“My boss?” It takes a moment, but my brain belatedly plays catch-up.
Forgoing the shirt earlier seems like a bad idea in retrospect. I’m suddenly aware I look like a ranch hand who’s wandered into the wrong house. Which is rich, considering Iownthe damn house. Every hand-hewn beam. Every notch in the wood. My body bears the scars of a man who never had a reason to take care of himself. An ex–rodeo rider’s bachelor life doesn’t come with a whole lot of self-care, only a decade or two of toxic habits. Any muscle tone I have has been earned from manual labor around the ranch. While Winnie will bitch to anyone who’ll listen that she drew the short end of the gene stick, I’ve been blessed with a quick metabolism that means there’s not a square inch of fat on my body.
And I’m about a week overdue on a decent shave.
Another blessing of living well away from civilization and working with a cadre of men who really couldn’t care less whether or not I’m baby-butt smooth at five in the morning. As long as I haul my ass up at sunrise to work, so will they.
“Uh, yes. Rand? The ranch owner?” the woman asks, hesitant for the first time.
Dammit, I’m reacting exactly as what she’s accused me of being, a rough-and-ready cowhand in a homestead where I don’t belong. Hell, she probably thinks I’m the ranch owner’s lover, looking like I do, just hopped fresh out of his shower. The thought brings a smile to my lips. It takes me too long to answer her, and by the time I’ve pulled myself together, we’ve both forgotten the question.
“Cord! Lanie!” Sally’s voice rings throughout the homestead as she thunders along the hallway toward us. “I got the door open on my own!”
“That’s a relief.” I smile but keep my eyes on the woman—Lanie—the entire time. Hell, it’s not like I can look anywhere elseright now. I haven’t reacted to a woman in a long time, and never like this.
Get your shit together, cowboy.
Sally launches herself into the air and Lanie holds her arms out as Sally leaps at her and clings on around her neck. “Sweetie, you’re far too big to do that.”
“I know, but I love you.”
“I love you, too, lupa.”
I watch them cuddle, and something in my chest pulls tight at the nickname.Wolf.“Lupa? Like the wolf who mothered Romulus and Remus?”
Good to know that classical education finally came in handy.
A slow smile spreads across Lanie’s face as she clutches Sally, her eyes sparkling, a brilliant sapphire. “The same. Someone knows their history.”
“Or myths and legends, at least.” I grin back. “Cordell Rand. Cord.” I offer her a hand, more than a little stunned at the instantaneous way this woman breaks down my barriers when I usually go by my surname alone.
