CHAPTER 6
Cal
She clutches her phone to her chest like it’s a life raft. I hope I’m not coming off as intimidating. I don’t mean to.
But she covers her anxiety with a lift of her chin and a shake of her head. “I’m sure my car will be here any minute.”
I can see that she’s skittish. High-strung. And stubborn.
The ranch is full of that kind of female, even if they are Appaloosas and Paints and Quarter Horses.
This one, though… I can already tell she’s a Thoroughbred. Silky and hot-blooded.
But she’s still considering my offer. She purses her mouth as she thinks, and a small divot forms between her brows.
She’s not wearing her movie-star sunglasses now, and I’m getting a good look at her eyes for the first time.
They’re a sexy shade of green, as dusky as an angry sea under stormy skies. Unpredictable and maybe a bit perilous.
Luckily, I have lots of experience with that sort of thing.
Her phone rings. She answers, listens for a moment, and says, “Thank you for trying. I’ll call you back.” She shoves her phone into her bag, places a hand on her hip, and gives me a once-over.
She’s trying to hide it, but I can tell she likes what she sees.
It’s mutual.
Ms. Businesswoman is a whole lot of hot in that suit. It looks custom-made, some kind of fine lightweight wool. The jacket is fitted against her waist, and the skirt is straight, short, and tight, not leaving much to the imagination. I can see her flat belly and firm thighs.
That suit is expensive. Like the luggage, the haircut, the makeup, and those fucking shoes.
I let my eyes travel down her body to her feet, doing my best to hide my grin. Those heels are pencil-thin and look to be about five inches high. I see her cute little pink toes peeking out the front.
The shoes arch her back, push out her breasts, and lift that ass in the most appealing way possible.
I think I remember hearing that it was a man who came up with the concept of women’s stilettos, and my hat’s off to the bastard. He knew what he was doing. I rake my gaze up the front of her body until we’re eye to eye again.
We stand like that for a moment, sizing each other up. She crosses her arms under those spectacular tits, and once again, I can’t fathom what business a woman this fucking beautiful has out here at the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas.
It makes absolutely no sense.
“If you still need that ride, I’m happy to help.”
One of her eyebrows arches. “How do you even know I need a ride?”
“Because I heard you say that you did.”
“Do you make a habit of listening in on private phone calls?”
I start to chuckle but realize that maybe her sense of humor isn’t as finely crafted as her thighs. I stifle the laugh. “No, ma’am,” I say. “In my defense, you were quite loud. Plus, the airpark is public property.”
Well, maybe not. After securing the StellaR Tech contract with Naval Intelligence last year, my brothers and I bought the airpark from the county. We handle the maintenance and carry the insurance, but leave it open for public use.
“Hmm,” she says, arms still tight under her breasts. But then she does the damnedest thing—she lets the tip of her little pink tongue slide along her bottom lip, leaving a wet streak on that plump flesh.
And just like that, I wonder if maybe I’m in over my head. I want to grab her and kiss her, though I’m too much a gentleman for something like that. But my dick has a mind of its own, and I force myself to think of our next round of contract negotiations to get it to behave.
I've never seen a woman quite like her. Sure, there are plenty of beautiful and brilliant women in the Navy, and I admit I enjoyed the sight of a shapely officer in her dress blues as much as the next man. I dated a few of them over the years, in fact. Maybe even had a relationship or two along the way. And I’ve certainly met women in business who were beautiful and sharp.
But there's something about this woman that I've never encountered before. I'm not quite sure what it is. Maybe it’s that expensive hard shell that can’t hide the hint of sweet softness underneath.
It makes itself known with all that gorgeous red hair—all natural, I can now see—those green eyes, and that delicate, feminine face. And that body…
Contract negotiations!
“I’ll take you where you want to go today, and maybe from there you can find another driver for the duration of your stay.”
She sighs, irritated. “But the older lady said—"
“Elsie?”
“I think that’s her name. You know her?”
“Of course.”
“Well, she told me that the only driver she has—”
“Clem.”
“Right.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, she says Clem’s wife is in labor and she has no idea—”
“Angel’s in labor? That’s wonderful news. It’s their first.”
The woman blinks, like she’s struggling to be polite. “So I was asking my assistant to see about getting a rental car delivered here from Carson City, and that’s when you snuck up behind me and nearly gave me a heart attack.”
She’s a drama queen. Of course she is.
“Well, I am leaving now. I have a vehicle, right there in the lot.”
She pulls her lips tight.
“Scout’s honor, I'll stay on my side of the car and give you your space.” I offer her a polite smile.
I don’t blame her for being cautious. Every woman should be.
She has no way of knowing this, but I’m the kind who keeps people from harm, not the other way around.
Turning my back on a stranded traveler isn’t even an option.
“I’ll carry your bags.” I glance at the three giant suitcases and wonder if she’s moving to Sweetbriar. “If I can lift them.”
She sighs. She’s got to know I’m joking. No one would look at me and think I was a wimp. I'm six-foot-four and a solid 230 pounds.
She surveys the parking lot, peering at the beater Ford Super Duty pickup. The beast belongs to Winslow, who runs the airpark office. She frowns. “It’s not like I have a lot of options, so I guess this will have to do.”
She heads off to the truck and I follow behind, one hard-sided, Volkswagen-sized suitcase under an arm and the others rolling behind me.
I get a nice view of her ass as she navigates the uneven gravel, and I feel like a real jerk for not correcting her as she pulls open the passenger door of the pickup, rusted hinges squeaking.
I walk past the truck toward my Jeep.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
I pull the key fob from my pocket and open the back of my shiny new Jeep Rubicon, then shove her suitcases inside. I hear the gravel crunch behind me.
“What was that—a test? You wanted to see if I’m a snob? Just for assuming a cowboy like you would drive a truck like that?”
“No, ma’am.” I walk past her and pull open the passenger door, suddenly aware of how good she smells. “Here you go.”
She blinks in surprise. “Well, thank you.”
“What? You assumed a cowboy like me wouldn’t know how to open a door for a lady?”
She shakes her head in annoyance and reaches for the grab handle.
She tries to bend her knee and get a foot on the threshold, but that skirt is way too tight to allow that kind of movement.
She attempts it again, and I got to give her credit for that.
I watch her expression change as she understands how the laws of physics leave her only one option: if she wants to bend her knee, she’ll have to yank her skirt up to her bikini line.
“Shit,” she hisses.
As much as I would enjoy a glimpse at those upper thighs, I decide to take matters into my own hands. Literally. I grab her around the waist and lift her straight off the ground, feeling her wriggle in protest and slap at my hands.
“Put me down!”
“You got it.” I let her plop down in the bucket seat. I watch as she tugs at her skirt and pulls her long, long legs inside. “Buckle up,” I say, then shut the door.
I walk around the back of the Jeep, knowing I’ve made a mistake. She feels too damn good in my hands. She smells too damn good. She’s too damn beautiful. I sure as hell hope this will be a quick errand.
I’m having more fun than I should playing the country cowpoke to her big-city business lady. Especially since I have no idea why she’s here.