The Rancher's Surrender

It’d be hell later, untangling the wire from the snarls in her curls, but that was a worry to be saved for nightfall.

“Hey there.”

He’d come right up behind her. She jumped a little because his voice was so rough yet silky, and it did something funny to her nerves. “Stop sneaking up on me.”

Solemnly, he held out a pair of gloves. “Keep these on,” he demanded. “You’ll ruin your skin.”

“You must be confusing me with Delia.” It was only fair to share her rotten mood with him since he’d caused it “I could care less about my nails.”

“Hmm.” His work-roughened hands brushed hers, and at the contact, her stomach tightened all funny. She jerked her hands away, annoyed at both of them.

“Touchy,” he noted.

“Just keep your paws to yourself.” No one’s touch had ever made her feel all tingly inside. Why his? Why now? And if she smacked him again, would he understand that it was just her irrational fear and nothing personal?

“Touchy and full of insults.” He grinned. “You’re a real joy to work with.”

“So are you,” she said evenly. “Just ask Cliff.”

He didn’t even look ashamed. “I apologized to him.”

“Not to me.”

“You slugged me!” He slid a hand over his perfectly flat stomach as if remembering the punch vividly.

Why, she wondered for the hundredth time, was he so gentle with the quiet, withdrawn Maddie, so funny with intense Delia and so absolutely ungentle and unfunny with her?

Instead he was bold and wicked and fierce, and she refused to feel bad, or at least admit that she did. “You could have chosen Maddie or Delia to help you today, so don’t complain that you’re stuck with me.”

“Who’s complaining?”

Well, he had her there. Feeling awkward with him so close and so big, she looked around desperately for a distraction. She didn’t have to look too far. The dry, parching heat was getting to her. “I wish I had a rubber band!”

“Here.” He reached into the truck and opened the glove box. His wallet fell out, opened, to the floorboard. Ignoring that, Ty found a rubber band and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” But the words were hard to say because she was looking into the truck, down at his open wallet. And at the two—two!—condoms in it. A little squeak of shocked embarrassment escaped her.

Without any sign of self-consciousness, he replaced the wallet and straightened.

“Better?” he asked, gesturing to her now-contained hair.

She could only stare at him. He carried two condoms on him, was all she could think. “Two?”

He let out a slow, sexy grin at that and she nearly swallowed her tongue, realizing she’d spoken out loud. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” he said. A long finger stroked her cheek, while his eyes flared with a surprising amount of heat. “I’m not promiscuous, I just like to be prepared. And sometimes one just isn’t enough.” His smile spread. “It wouldn’t be with you, Slim.”

“I—You—Oh.” Hopelessly flustered, she studied their feet, blushing all the more when he laughed softly. And she decided if he was enjoying this, she might as well ask “Just how not promiscuous are you?”

“Well...those two would probably fall apart if I needed them, they’re so old,” he admitted ruefully.

That cheered her up considerably. Until he tipped up her chin and said, “I’m thinking of replacing them.” His thumb glided along her lip, making it tingle, and the look in his eyes made her heart take off like a shot.

He did it on purpose, she decided, just to see her all ruffled, and she renewed her efforts at resenting him with all her locked-up heart.

Before she could stalk off, he easily captured her hands again, studying them carefully. “I want you to wear the gloves so you don’t get cut and scratched.” His thumb slid lightly over a reddened knuckle.

Just a simple touch. One little touch. And because of it, she had to open her mouth to breathe. Then he bent and blew lightly on her wound, just a slight puff of air, and she nearly moaned out loud.

She snatched back her hand. “Knock it off.” She was proud of her even, haughty voice. He didn’t have to know that her bones had just melted away, leaving her drowning in a pool of longing.

He just looked at her, all one hundred eighty pounds of uninhibited, rowdy, knowing male. “What’s the matter?”

She lifted her chin and glared back. “You’re wasting precious daylight hours. I’m going to have to dock your pay.”

“I’m not getting paid.”

Which was another puzzle she’d been meaning to solve. “You cared for Constance that much that you’d do this for one year without compensation?”

He met her gaze evenly. “Yes.”

That sort of generosity was unheard of where she’d come from. There was a reason for it, she reminded herself. Just as there was a reason he was trying to butter them up.

“We are going to pay you, you know,” she grumbled, looking away. “Soon as we can.”

He smiled then and leaned against a post, all sinewy grace. “The gig is up.”

“What gig?”

“Why don’t you save us both a bunch of trouble and admit how you feel about me?”

She managed a laugh. “It’s not flattering.”

That infuriatingly sexy smile stayed put. “You’re crazy about me.”

“Crazy, definitely.” She flipped her precarious ponytail back, using annoyance to cover her fear. Had she given herself away? He couldn’t have guessed her deepest, darkest, most secret fantasy, could he?

Her secret little hope that someday he would be the crazy one. Crazy for her. Not for the land, but her.

Just thinking it in the light of day had color rushing to her cheeks. She put her hands on them, feeling the dirt streak on her skin.

She could only imagine how she looked. And how was it that she felt as though grime clung to her every pore, while he looked cool and clean? He even smelled good, she thought resentfully. Lingering soap and one hundred percent male. No man should be allowed to smell that good. Standing there thinking about it, she wavered in the heat.

No wonder women fell over him. It was disgusting, yet she leaned just a tad closer to catch another whiff.

She must be more tired than she thought.

His eyes narrowed on her, reminding her she didn’t like that he noticed every little thing about her, especially the things she didn’t want him to notice. “You’re slacking off, Jackson,” she muttered, turning away. “Get back to work.”