Dirty-Talking Cowboy (Dirty Cowboys #3)

CHAPTER ONE

Maggie

The trunk of my ten-year-old SUV was a disaster of cardboard boxes and garbage bags stuffed with everything I owned. I was sweating through my cotton t-shirt trying to haul a particularly heavy box of books across the gravel driveway when I heard it. The sound of hoofbeats, slow and deliberate.

I straightened up, shoving my hair out of my face, and turned toward the sound.

My breath caught in my chest.

A man on horseback was riding toward me across the open field that bordered my property—my property.

I still couldn’t wrap my head around that.

Even from a distance, I could tell he was big.

Broad shoulders, narrow hips, sitting in the saddle like he’d been born there.

The late afternoon sun was behind him, turning him into a dark silhouette of muscle and masculine confidence, and something low in my belly tightened in a way I’d never felt before.

I stood there like an idiot, a box of romance novels at my feet, watching him approach.

He didn’t hurry. Just kept that steady, ground-eating pace until he was close enough that I could see details.

Worn jeans that hugged thick thighs. A dark shirt rolled up to the elbows, showing off tanned forearms roped with muscle and veins.

A black cowboy hat pulled low, shadowing his face.

And then he stopped, maybe ten feet away, and just looked at me.

I shivered. A full body, what the heck had just arrived, kind of shiver.

I couldn’t see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat, but I felt his gaze move over me like a physical touch.

Starting at my face, dragging down my body with a slowness that should have offended me but instead made my skin flush hot.

Over my breasts, my waist, my hips, my thighs.

Then back up, just as slowly, until I knew he’d catalogued every inch of my curvy body and filed it away for later consideration.

My heart was pounding against my ribs. My palms were damp. And between my legs, I felt an ache that I’d only experienced with the touch of my own hand.

He didn’t say anything, and neither did I, which was unusual because I always had something to say.

But my mouth had gone dry, and I couldn’t seem to make my brain form coherent sentences when all it wanted to do was focus on the way his thighs gripped that saddle and wonder what they’d feel like between mine.

Way to go, virgin brain, I scolded myself. First look at a cowboy and you’re already drooling.

“You must be the new owner.” His voice was deep, rough, like gravel and whiskey, with just enough Montana drawl to make my toes curl in my sneakers.

I swallowed hard. “Margaret Garrison. Maggie. And you are?”

“Rhett McKinnon.” He shifted in the saddle, leather creaking, and tilted his head just enough that I caught a glimpse of his face beneath that hat.

Sharp jaw covered in dark stubble. A mouth that looked like it knew exactly how to make a woman beg.

And eyes—God, his eyes were gray, almost silver in the sunlight, and they were looking at me like I was the most interesting thing he’d seen in a long time. “I own the property next door.”

The way he said own made it sound territorial. Possessive. Like he was used to owning things… Of course, my brain went there. Him owning me. In bed.

Alright, I had official crossed into some alternate universe. Or it was the sun. Wasn’t Montana sun hotter? Or was that the altitude? Either way, I was suffering from something.

Yeah, a flareup of your sex drive, dummy. Congrats, you’ve officially come down with a bad case of cowboy fever.

I lifted my chin, suddenly annoyed by my body’s traitorous reaction to him. “Nice to meet you.”

“That remains to be seen.” He leaned forward, crossing his forearms over the saddle horn, and I tried not to notice the way his biceps flexed beneath his shirt. “You know anything about ranching?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

His laugh was short, humorless. “City girls don’t last out here.”

My spine stiffened. I’d been here all of thirty minutes and already had some cowboy—admittedly the hottest cowboy I’d ever seen, not that I’d seen many—telling me I couldn’t handle it. “If you’re trying to scare me off, you’ll have to try harder.”

Something flickered in those eyes. Surprise, maybe, or interest, or something darker that made my pulse jump. His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered there long enough to make me aware of my bottom lip and the way I was unconsciously biting it. Did he want a taste?

Suddenly, I felt in need of a very cold shower.

“You should sell,” he said, voice flat. “Property like this, you could get good money for it. More than it’s worth to someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about cattle.”

“And that someone might just be you, wouldn’t it Mr. McKinnon?” The moment he’d said his name, I’d realized who he was. My closest neighbor—and the man who’d been trying to buy my aunt’s land for the better part of the last twenty years.

I didn’t know why she hadn’t sold it. The attorney who’d found me had suggested I do just that. When I’d question him about my aunt not selling, he’d simply said it was her home.

I had never known that feeling. My mother hadn’t been in the picture, and my father had done the best he could. The places we lived were just that—places to live. No white picket fences. No homemade bread fresh from the oven. Just him and me struggling to survive.

The total opposite of the lifestyle the man staring down at me had lived.

Rhett McKinnon was a man with money. And with money came power. Two things I was positive he wasn’t afraid to use to get exactly what he wanted.

Well, he wasn’t getting my aunt’s ranch. My ranch now.

“Funny thing,” I said, keeping my tone even. “From what I’ve been told, my aunt didn’t want to sell. Didn’t want to sell to you in particular.”

Something dangerous flickered across his face. Dark and foreboding. No doubt he wasn’t used to hearing the word no. Well, it was going to be my word of the day—for however long it took him to understand its meaning.

He swung down from the saddle in one fluid motion, and suddenly he was standing on the ground in front of me, and oh God, he was even bigger than I’d thought.

Had to be six-three, maybe six-four, all solid muscle and raw masculine power.

He didn’t have that lean, wiry build of a cowboy.

No, his shoulders were broad enough to block out the sun, and when he took a step toward me, my body’s immediate response was to back up.

Or hurl myself at him.

I did neither. I held my ground, even though my heart was trying to hammer its way out of my chest and my panties were growing damper by the minute.

“Your aunt never wanted to sell to anyone,” he said, and his voice had dropped lower, gone rough around the edges, if that was even possible. “She told me so every time I asked. She was a hell of a stubborn woman. Looks like it runs in the family.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Wasn’t meant as one.” He took another step closer, near enough now that I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact.

Near enough that I could smell him—leather and sweat and something woodsy that made me want to lean in and breathe deeper.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, little girl.

This place will eat you alive if you try to run it by yourself. ”

I gave a loud huff. “I am my no means a little girl, as you can clearly see.”

“Oh, I see you alright.” Another long drag of his gaze over me. Over my curves. I clenched my hands by my side, refusing to give into the impulse to pull my shirt away from my stomach. My hips. No doubt he was use to stick thin women who looked like a puff of wind would blow them away.

That wasn’t me. I had curves. I had grit. And was here to prove to myself that I could do this. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your opinion.”

“You should be. I know this land. Know what it takes to keep it running, keep it profitable. You don’t.”

“So, your solution is for me to just hand it over to you? Let the big, successful rancher swallow up the little property next door so he can expand his empire?” I heard the edge in my voice, the defensiveness, but I couldn’t help it.

He was standing too close, looking at me too intensely, making me feel too much. “How convenient for you.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought I’d pushed too far. Then his mouth curved into something that was almost a smile, but harder. “You think I want your land just to be greedy? To have more?”

“Don’t you?”

“I want it because I can take care of it. Because I know what the hell I’m doing.

” He moved even closer, and now I did step back, my spine hitting the porch railing.

He kept coming, bracing one hand on the railing next to my hip, leaning in until his face was inches from mine.

“You, on the other hand, don’t know the first damn thing about ranching.

You’ll run this place—and yourself— into the ground in six months, and then you’ll sell anyway.

Might as well save yourself the trouble and sell to me now. ”

I should have been intimidated. Should have been scared, maybe, with this huge man looming over me, using his size to make a point.

Instead, I was furious. And beneath the fury, something hot and electric was building inside me, something that had everything to do with how close he was and how good he smelled.

“You don’t know anything about me,” I said, and I was proud of how steady my voice came out. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“No?” His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered there. “Then enlighten me, darlin’. What exactly are you capable of?”

The word darling in that whiskey coated voice made my knees weak. I forced myself to meet his eyes, those gray eyes that promised I’d lose before I even knew we were playing.

My chin came up, defiant. “Maybe, I don’t know anything about ranching.

But I’ve been working since I was sixteen.

I learn fast, and I don’t give up. Ever.

This land is mine now, and I’m keeping it.

You can either accept that, or you can keep riding over here trying to intimidate me into selling.

But I’m telling you right now, it’s not going to work. ”

For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, slowly, that dangerous almost-smile came back. “You’ve got fire. I’ll give you that.”

“I’ve got more than fire. I’ve got a deed with my name on it and a backbone you apparently think I don’t have.

” I pushed away from the railing, forcing him to either move back or make me brush against him.

He didn’t move. I had to turn sideways to slip past him, and the brief contact—my shoulder against his chest, my hip grazing his—sent sparks racing across my skin.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have boxes to unload. ”

I made it two steps before his voice stopped me.

“I don’t do things halfway, darlin’.”

That freaking, deep voiced endearment again.

I looked back over my shoulder. He’d turned to face me, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, hat shadowing his face again. But I could feel his stare like a physical touch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means when I decide I want something, I get it. One way or another.” He paused, and the air between us went heavy again. “I wanted this land. Now I’m thinking I might want more than that.”

My breath caught. There was no mistaking his meaning, not with the way his gaze was moving over my body yet again, slow and hungry and possessive. Not with the way my own body was responding, heating everywhere he looked.

“Well, you can’t have either,” I managed, but my voice came out breathless.

“We’ll see about that.” He walked back over to his horse and swung up into the saddle with easy grace, settling into the leather.

Looking down at me from that height, he looked even more imposing, more in control.

“You’re going to need help around here, Maggie.

And when you’re ready to admit it, I’ll be right next door. ”

“Don’t call me Maggie.”

“Why not?” His smile was slow, wicked. “It suits you.”

“Because we’re not friends. We’re not anything.”

“Not yet.” He gathered the reins, and his horse shifted beneath him, ready to go. “But we will be. Count on it.”

Before I could respond, he straightened in the saddle, gave me one last lingering look that made my knees turn even weaker, and turned his horse. I watched him ride away, that same slow, deliberate pace, and tried to ignore the way my body was still humming with awareness.

Tried and failed.

“Arrogant asshole,” I muttered, turning back to my car and the mountain of boxes still waiting to be unloaded.

But my hands were shaking slightly as I grabbed another box, and I couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d looked at me.

Like he wanted to devour me. Like he already knew exactly how I’d taste.

I’d never been looked at like that before.

Never been looked at much at all, if I was being honest. I was curvy—had always been curvy, would always be curvy.

Most men seemed to prefer quiet and compliant.

I came with opinions—and hips. I’d accepted that, made peace with it, stopped waiting for someone to see me as desirable.

But Rhett McKinnon had looked at me like my curves were exactly what he wanted. Like he wanted to put his hands on every inch of me and make me forget every insecurity I’d ever had.

It was terrifying.

It was also the hottest thing that had ever happened to me, and he hadn’t even touched me.

But he was right. I knew nothing about ranching, but I did know one thing for certain. Rhett McKinnon was going to be a problem.

A big, muscled, infuriatingly attractive problem.