Tempting the Cowboy (4 page)

Rylan stirred sugar into her coffee. She and her brother had stayed on the farm until wanderlust took hold of them both. She’d gone to the police academy, her brother to work abroad as a photographer. Shortly after, their father sold out. All these years later, Rylan still felt a little guilty for not staying closer to her father to help.

Rylan didn’t question that Cole busted his ass. Everything about him screamed dedication, including the scowl that probably meant he always had too much on his mind. She’d always loved hardworking country boys. How she’d ended up married to a judge who freaked at the first sign of dirt under his fingernails was still a mystery.

A shaggy gray-and-brown dog burst into the room, stopping at Maeve’s feet and bumping her legs with his head. The sound of little feet followed right behind.

“Doggie!” a small voice cried out. A tiny little girl, maybe four years old, followed the dog and clambered onto Maeve’s lap. Maeve welcomed her with a kiss and snuggle. Rylan’s chest turned to stone, weighing her down, squeezing out her breath.

“Good morning!” Maeve gave her another kiss. The child studied Rylan with huge, emerald-green eyes—turquoise in the light—and popped a finger in her rosebud mouth.

“This little sprite is Bernadette, Birdie as we call her. Cole’s daughter. She’s an early riser, just like her daddy. Birdie, can you say hello to Miss Rylan? She’s the new housekeeper.”

The child might have said something, but Rylan didn’t know. Her ears were ringing with a rush of emotion so strong, she almost tipped backward off the stool. The counter was cool as she managed to grip it to steady herself.

Cole’s daughter? She thought fleetingly of his tattoo. The little girl was beautiful, but no one had said anything about a kid.

“Rylan, are you all right?” Maeve eyed her steadily, and Rylan nodded, realizing how crazy she had probably looked just then. But shit… If she’d known there were children in the house, would she have still come? Birdie nibbled a tiny thumb, the ruffles of her pink Dora the Explorer nightgown hiding her feet, save two little toes that peeked out.

A little girl in pink ruffles—maybe how her Rachel would have looked now.

“Yes,” she responded a little too quickly.
No!
“Nice…to meet you, Birdie.” That was the best she could manage, even with Maeve’s suspicious smile. Maybe it was concern—Rylan didn’t know, didn’t care. She needed to get out of the room before she threw up all over the beautiful kitchen.

“Will you excuse me?” Rylan dashed off the stool without waiting for an answer and hurried to her room. She sank behind the closed door, hugging her knees and stifling the sobs that raged like an angry mob in her throat. Suddenly, being locked away in her house again seemed like a great idea. There weren’t any children there. Not anymore.

Chapter Four

The new day was alive with color as red and yellow rays of sun cascaded over the mountain range. The sky was clear, promising warmth and good weather. Cole checked to make sure Birdie was still sleeping and found her snoring softly, snuggled in her blanket. Some days she seemed to be outgrowing her tendency to wake at four or five in the morning, though he could never count on when she might decide to sleep in or not. He was always glad to find her out cold when he left in the morning so he could get a few things done before she woke. Not that he’d complain if she was up early. He’d keep Birdie on his horse with him all day if he could. It just wasn’t safe for a four-year-old to tag along all the time.

Maeve’s health made it harder for her to care for Birdie than before, too, and the guilt Cole experienced when he watched his mother struggle to keep up with the child was crushing. Maeve insisted she was fine, but deep down, Cole knew it was time to look for a nanny. Though it hadn’t been in the job description, he’d hoped whoever they hired as a housekeeper could double with child care duty here and there.

Rylan had a clean background check and record of decorated service as a police officer. He’d checked up on her a little when Maeve said she was going to hire her.
Trying to simplify my life,
she’d put on her application. She seemed like the perfect candidate to approach about lending a hand—until Maeve filled him in on how Rylan had freaked out at meeting Birdie the day before. Maybe she wasn’t as good a fit as he’d thought.

Cole slid a hand through his hair, trying to forget how he’d lain awake much of the night thinking about Rylan. Pondering the housekeeper—her long legs and the way her hair wisped around her face, how her eyes changed from silver to pewter when her feathers got ruffled, what brought her to Paint River—would lead to nothing but trouble. But damn if his blood hadn’t gotten a little hot, tempting him to think a little more. He’d had to clamp down on his wayward brain hard and fast. Getting romantically involved with an employee was something he’d never, ever do again.

Growing up with a cold, anger-fueled father left a gap Cole had always hoped to fill with a family of his own. Love and lots of it. A peaceful, welcoming home.

Tried. Failed.

His marriage had been a sham, but it had given him Birdie, and she was enough. She was his, and he loved her more than he’d ever be able to express. But for a flickering moment yesterday, his mind had constructed a nice little image of Rylan holding Birdie on her hip, and it had hit him hard—maybe his mind was putting together a visual for what his soul wanted deep down. Telling him that it was okay to want more.

Squash.
He’d made dirt out of that little nugget right quick.

He went to the kitchen and filled his coffee mug, glad to see a fresh pot had been brewed, and pushed back thoughts of Rylan only to find her sitting sideways on the deck steps. He was flooded again with things he was better off not thinking about. Five in the morning and she was holding a steaming mug, her hair glossy as it fell to the middle of her back, the rich brown hues offset by the cream-colored sweater she wore, twisting his gut up in knots. Her eyes were closed, a small smile on pink, slightly parted, beautiful lips. She was enjoying the morning, the moment, and damn if he wasn’t tempted to sit down and enjoy it with her.

He mentally punched himself as he stepped out the doors and onto the deck. An uncertain smudge touched her lips when her eyes flew open and she saw him. The urge to sit down next to her and enjoy the sunrise just plain pissed him off. Cole frowned. He couldn’t have this…this reaction to her.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” He flipped his hat on and crossed to the stairs, glancing at her quickly before diverting his gaze so he didn’t get lost in the way her hair shone in the sunlight or the sleepy flush on her cheeks.

“Maeve said my working hours are 6:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. It’s only five fifteen, which means I can sip my coffee for another forty-five goddamn minutes if I want.” The lilt in her voice made him pause on the last step. Was she teasing him? Challenging him? Being sarcastic? Even as he tried to determine her mood—and wonder why he cared—his mind wandered to her abbreviated tour yesterday.

His brain started to rattle in protest to his thoughts.
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do—

“Then I suppose you have time to tour the barns, huh?” he asked as he descended the steps.

Shit.
Then he pulled himself together. After the way he’d acted when they met, he owed her a little hospitality to smooth things over. That’s all.

The sound of a mug being set on the wooden steps broke the small silence. “I shouldn’t.” Her voice was soft, as if she was trying to talk herself out of it.

Disappointment flittered through him. He gave a curt nod, cursed himself for offering in the first place, and started to walk away when the sound of her scrambling off the steps and hurrying down the gravel made the back of his neck tingle. Then she was next to him, close enough that he could touch her if he wanted to but far enough away to give them a buffer.

Their footfalls found an immediate rhythm. She put her hands in her back pockets, her eyes wide and eager as she took in her surroundings. Cole slowed his pace, though this was really the last thing he had time to be doing. Little flickers crossed her face as she looked around, but she didn’t speak. Most women talked his damn ear off, and as much as that drove him nuts, he liked the sound of Rylan’s voice and wished she’d say something to let him hear it.

“So you ride?” Cole asked as they approached the slight hill that led to the barns. She glanced at him and nodded.
Damn. Thwarted.
“Western saddle, I hope?”

Her head turned his way again, but her eyes didn’t meet his for nearly long enough. The quick flash of silver in her gaze left him longing for more. Rylan rotated her shoulders just a bit, her breasts pushing against her shirt. He recalled the slope and rise of the curves she had under that boxy sweater. The heat in his groin remembered too.

“Yeah, but truthfully, I prefer bareback.”

The sudden image he had of Rylan riding bareback didn’t have a thing to do with a horse. Cole adjusted his hat to give his hands something to do and picked up his pace. This simple, early-morning walk was nice, but considering he was the glue that held a multimillion-dollar ranch and tourist operation together, a morning stroll did nothing to erase his to-do list. Besides, the more he ambled, the more his mind took him and his cock places they shouldn’t be going.

The stable was busy when they entered, ranch hands getting ready for the day. Cole made brief introductions as they walked the rubber-padded aisle between two rows of stalls. The fruity scent of her freshly washed hair mixed in with the smell of hay and leather and horse, and in an enticing way, it fit just right. That eagerness was on her face again, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with excitement. Most of the horses were out to pasture, but he’d kept in a few, including the new black-and-white stallion he’d bought the previous week.

Angry banging on the last stall on the left told Cole that Pana Bar Noir still didn’t like his new home very much. Another bang followed by a sharp squeal had Cole taking long strides down the aisle to Pana’s stall. Rylan popped up next to him, a long, appreciative sigh rolling out of her. Pana’s mostly black coat was broken up with curving white patches along his huge hips and under his belly. His right leg was white and so was most of his face, though both eyes were surrounded in black like a mask. It made the stunning, liquid blue of the stallion’s eyes shine.

“He’s gorgeous!” The words tumbled out fast. Her cheeks blushed darker, as if the admission embarrassed her. Pana shook his head violently, strands of his long black mane coming through the bars on the top half of the stall door. Rylan gripped the bars, her eyes wide.

“He’s a goddamn pain in the ass. Aren’t you, Pana?” Cole dug around in his pocket. The stallion stopped his fidgeting, his left ear cocking to the side. Rylan reached three fingers between the bars. Pana bumped her hand with his nose, and realizing she didn’t have what he wanted, turned to Cole. Cole nudged Rylan’s arm with his elbow, and when she withdrew her hand from between the bars, he tipped sugar into her palm.

“He’s kind of addicted to the stuff. I bring him some every morning.”

She chuckled and stroked the horse’s nose with her other hand as he lipped the sugar from her palm. “He’s a beautiful paint.”

Warmth filled Cole’s chest at the compliment. When the sugar was gone, Cole led Rylan across the aisle and unlocked a stall door, letting it swing open. A bulky quarter horse with a color pattern similar to Pana’s wandered out and stopped like an obedient puppy at Cole’s side.

“This is Sisko. Just as pretty as Pana but not nearly as crazy.”

Rylan’s hands were on the horse in a flash. Cole couldn’t help but follow the path of her fingers with his eyes as she stroked Sisko’s black-and-white patched face. Her hands were narrow, fingers long and topped with neatly trimmed nails. No gaudy, bright-pink nail polish or fake nails and certainly no rings—not even a line to show where a wedding ring may have been. That little detail made him happier than it should have.

Rylan’s hands followed Sisko’s back, palms rounding over his bulky hips, almost as if she was sculpting him with her touch. She was appraising him with her hands and her eyes, and Cole felt a flicker of admiration. She knew her way around a horse. If her hands were any indication, she probably knew her way around a man, too. A quick shot of lightning zapped him in the groin. Cole closed his eyes for a second, realizing it had been way too long since he’d taken time off. His body was reacting to Rylan as a red flag that it was time for a break and to find himself some female company—away from the ranch.

She traced the dark outline of the Paint River Ranch brand on Sisko’s hip. The
P
and upside-down, backward
R
surrounded by a circle had been placed in a white patch, but the hair had grown in black, making the brand pop.

“Born here?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“Yeah. We breed for color patterns that stand out in the show ring.” He was proud of the breeding program he and Tucker started six years ago. Their paint stock threw some of the best-colored quarter horses anywhere. Paint River had a two-year waiting list for foal sales, and their mature, started-under-saddle stock commanded some of the highest prices in the state.

She gave an appreciative nod that revved his ego and his libido in one swoop. Cole leaned one elbow against the stall. Sunlight streamed in, casting rusty, barn-red highlights in her deep brown hair. The sounds of horses crunching hay, men talking, and tack being rustled around came together and danced in his head, but the sound that broke free was Rylan’s soft voice, talking to Sisko in quiet, hushed tones. A couple minutes passed, maybe even ten. He didn’t know because that sound was carrying him away.

Cole’s phone buzzed, making him jerk. He grabbed it to see a text message pop up.

Cole, we need to talk. Call me.

The ease that had settled inside him was ripped away, frustration and a heavy dose of anger replacing it. His ex-wife didn’t like being ignored, hadn’t gotten the hint when he didn’t return any of her voice messages or texts in the past week. When she wanted to meet and talk after a nearly four-year absence, he was pretty sure her idea of conversation topics involved one of two things: money or Birdie. With his luck, probably both. Livy popping up out of the blue had driven him to the rare drinking binge he’d been on when he’d met Rylan.

Rylan. Who was a Paint River employee, just as Livy had been when he’d fallen for her. He jammed the phone into his back pocket. He didn’t have any business feeling at ease around Rylan. The text message just reminded him why.

He cleared his throat impatiently. “If you’re done making love to him, I need to get to work. And so do you.”

Rylan’s head snapped up, the pleasure slipping from her face. She let her hands fall away from Sisko and stepped back. He was being an ass, but Cole couldn’t allow himself to care about hurting her feelings. The more he kept her at arm’s length, the better.

“Yes, sir.” Her reply was quiet but firm, with a slight edge of snark. She pushed up her sleeves as Cole whistled for Sisko to get back in the stall. A tendril of guilt uncurled and slapped him. He really disliked seeing the excitement gone from her face.

“You can consider Sisko yours to use while you’re here,” Cole offered neutrally as he latched the stall door and turned back into the aisle. “He’s bombproof.” He nodded for her to follow, taking her to the very back of the stable and opening a set of large double doors that led to the enclosed riding arena.

“If it’s raining or snowing, you’re free to ride in here.”

“Impressive,” she said softly.

Cole replied curtly, “We hold cutting horse trials here each spring. In fact, you just missed it. We also have a community festival here in the late summer. Some area horse trainers come in each week, too. There’s a schedule here.” He pointed to a paper taped to the door. “If it’s free, and you’re done with your work, go ahead and use it.”

Cole shut the doors and headed back the way they’d come, needing space from her damn fruity-smelling hair. She didn’t say anything as they walked to the exit.

“You know your way to the house.” He dismissed her, waving toward the door. The irritation inside him was prickly and demanding. Rylan didn’t respond, just walked past him. The sleeve of her sweater brushed against his bare forearm, sending shocks of pleasure over his skin at the same time the regret sank like a rock in his gut. He wiped the sensation off with a quick glide of his palm, but the quiver deep inside didn’t go away.

Cole gave Rylan’s retreating form one last glance before turning and storming into the stable office. Leave it to his ex-wife to pop up and remind him why he couldn’t trust a woman again, why he was better off alone.