CHAPTER 2
Frankie
I’ve been here one day.
One miserable day.
It’s not exactly the Ritz.
It’s not even a Motel 6.
It’s barely more than an outhouse.
But I thought it would at least serve a purpose, which was to be alone.
Alone, dammit!
A girl on the run is supposed to be alone. It’s the whole point of running!
This is all I get? All I’m allowed to have? Just a single, miserable day of solitude? Why is it so damned impossible for a woman to be alone?
I narrow my gaze at the behemoth standing next to his horse. His huge arms are extended in front of him, palms out as if he’s assuring me I have nothing to fear.
Riiiight.
His scowl carves deep creases in his brow, visible under his cowboy hat. But the scowl and the hat can’t hide the startling purple-blue of his eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like those. They look unnatural.
I don’t recognize him as one of Niko’s men, and that’s the most important thing.
And I’m absolutely sure I’ve never seen him before, anywhere, in any context. I’m an expert at remembering faces as a rule, but this face in particular? Seriously, if this guy ever crossed my path, he’d already be invading my dreams on the regular.
He’s that hot.
So, no. Never seen him before.
Which is good, because if I did recognize him, it would mean I’ve been found, which would mean I’m already in a world of hurt.
I can’t let that happen. I can’t let Niko track me down. It would be the end of me.
The axe is heavy, and I can’t get my hands to stop trembling, so the wood and iron are wobbling in my grip. It’s the adrenaline. I take a deep breath and try to get my brain to work.
So this dude doesn’t work for Niko, then who the hell is he?
If his body was less WWE-worthy, I’d think he was a country-western supermodel or a Nashville superstar. But he’s dressed like a ranch hand. An extremely handsome ranch hand.
Not that it matters who this sexy Stetson-wearing gym bro is. He’s as hot as a blow torch. He could easily become a distraction. He’s got to go.
“I said stay back!” I raise the shaking axe. His scowl deepens and he takes a step toward me.
I force the panic from my brain and tell myself that he probably works for that ranch in the valley. From certain spots up here, I can look down on a huge spread. This guy must tend some of the cattle I’ve seen roaming around the area.
But if he’s a ranch hand, they sure outfit their employees with the finest of everything around here, because that giant Quarter Horse of his is worth a fortune.
And even though it’s been a long time since I spent any time around horses, it’s impossible to miss the fancy, hand-tooled leatherwork of his custom-made saddle.
He takes another step in my direction.
That’s when I notice that the cowboy’s hair is the exact shade of strawberry blond as his horse’s. It’s too matchy-matchy to be a mistake.
I sniff the air. Under the notes of trail dust and horse sweat, I smell giant wads of cash. I can detect money from a mile away. It’s one of my many talents and one that has helped me achieve certain career goals working in Sin City.
More specifically, the career goals I set for myself while working at Lynx, the most exclusive “gentleman’s club” in Las Vegas.
The other Lynx dancers call me “Tits with Assets,” because of my investing success. One dancer said I should start an Only Fans empire. Like that would ever happen.
Not now, anyway. Not from up here.
“Back off!” I scream.
He inches closer. He doesn’t walk; he stalks like a panther. Agile. Dangerous. His power is restrained and controlled. I bet he could wrestle a longhorn to the ground with one arm tied behind his back.
There’s probably an audience for that in Vegas. What woman wouldn’t flock to a show starring Cowboy Eye Candy and a big, dangerous bull? There’s an audience for everything in Vegas.
I should know.
He’s still broadcasting his neutrality to me. Shoulders relaxed. Spine soft. Palms out.
He just can’t get rid of his scowl, though. Maybe that’s his baseline, which is probably for the best. Without it, I’d have to admit that he’s the most shockingly attractive man I’ve ever seen.
I feel the top few layers of terror dissolve. I start to breathe normally. Which gives me an opportunity to study him.
I can tell by the easy grace of his movements that he’s a man who lives fully in his body. Since I do the same, I can always spot the trait in others. This is a man who knows how to use his body and is well aware of its capabilities.
I bet he has a lot of capabilities.
I don’t trust those kinds of men. They’ve always got an agenda, and it’s usually one they don’t like to share.
The cowboy takes another step. My knuckles go white on the axe handle, and I lift the weapon over my shoulder. My triceps burn and the panic returns. I gulp down mouthfuls of thin air.
“You’ll regret this, asshole!” I yell.
He points to my pile of wood. “Won’t burn.”
“What?”
“Green. Not seasoned.”
I lower the axe. “What are you—some kind of socially awkward forest ranger?”
I detect a slight twitch of his mouth, but I see nothing in his eyes. They’re humorless and shut down.
“Rancher. Name’s Kevin MacLaine. You’re on MacLaine land.”
“I have no idea who those people are or what you’re talking about, but you’re wrong. Get lost. I have a gun and a deed to this place.”
He arches an eyebrow at me, the first outward sign of any kind of emotion other than the scowl. “Gun’s a smart move. There’s bobcats, black bear…”
“What the…?”
“And rattlesnakes, of course.”
I’m so pissed off I’m seeing spots. I don’t appreciate someone trying to scare me off the land that’s been given to me. Bears? What a crock of shit. There aren’t bears in Nevada!
Right?
“Get off my property.”
He looks down at his boots for a moment. He glances up and locks eyes with me again. “Sorry, but the deed’s worthless. You’ll need to pack up and leave.”
“Make me.”
As soon as the words come out, I want to snatch them from the air, shove them back in my mouth, and put a padlock on my lips. What have I done? This MacLaine dude’s expression has just changed. I don’t see anger.
I see intense curiosity.
I think I prefer the frowning and the dead eyes.
I hold the axe in front of me. I don’t take my eyes off his face. It wouldn’t be safe to. And I don’t want to. Because he fascinates me.
This is a highly sexual man standing in front of me, out here in the middle of nowhere. I know his type—I’ve known a lot of them. He’s the powerful and secretive kind. I don’t like that combo. I like my men approachable and honest.
At least I think I would if I ever met a man like that.
My rancher friend is a feral, sexy animal.
Holy shit, this man is hot.
I shake my head.
Nope.
Fuckin’ nope to the nope.
Not happening, Frankie. Don’t go there. Don’t you dare let one brain cell go anywhere near there!
And without even meaning to, I laugh out loud. It’s the stress and exhaustion, of course. It’s also because at this point, I really don’t give a shit.
I’m so completely done with men, so exhausted by them. Every single man I’ve ever known has brought me nothing but grief. They always start with potential. With a few of them, I’ve even gotten a hint of something more, a promise of the storybook happy ending.
Hints of storybook endings can keep me going for a while, even make me blind to huge red flags flapping around in the wind right in front of my face.
But in the end, every relationship I’ve ever fallen into has left me shaking my head and walking away in disgust.
Except the last one.
I didn’t walk away from Nikolai Kozlov.
I ran.
I ran for my life. And I worry that I’ll always have to run from Niko and his buddies.
However many of them are still alive.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” the cowboy says, turning to leave. “You’ll need to be gone.”
I let the head of the axe hit the ground and I lean on it like a cane. “Or what?”
MacLaine turns back to me, raises an eyebrow, and then casually mounts his expensive horse. I watch him settle into the saddle and expertly turn the horse around. But he immediately spins around to face me again.
That is one giant hunk of man muscle, midway between six and seven feet tall.
Despite his size, I just watched him fly effortlessly into his saddle.
He’s at home in his skin and even more at home on his horse.
I note how he controls that beast like it’s nothing, like it’s an extension of himself.
His hands are as light as feathers on the reins.
Dark blond curls poke out from under his cowboy hat and catch the late morning light. His eyes are the color of the millions of tiny wild violets popping up all over this landscape.
He nods ever so slightly at me. “Goodbye. Safe travels.”