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Wild Wyoming Nights
Joanne Rock
“You’ll stay with me.” Emma Layton is working in Wyoming to get away from her abusive ex. But when wealthy ranch owner Carson McNeill learns of her plight, he insists she stay with him for protection. Emma agrees—even knowing this cowboy may prove irresistible….


“You’ll stay with me.”
She can’t resist the rich rancher!
Emma Layton is working in Wyoming to get away from her abusive ex. But when wealthy ranch owner Carson McNeill learns of her plight, he insists she stay with him for protection. Emma agrees—even knowing this cowboy may prove irrestible... Proximity soon leads to passion, night after night. But when Carson learns her secret connection to his family, this ride gets a whole lot wilder!
Four-time RITA® Award nominee JOANNE ROCK has penned over seventy stories for Mills & Boon. An opti-mist by nature and a perpetual seeker of silver linings, Joanne finds romance fits her life outlook perfectly—love is worth fighting for. A former Golden Heart® Award recipient, she has won numerous awards for her stories. Learn more about Joanne’s imaginative muse by visiting her website, joannerock.com (http://www.joannerock.com), or following @joannerock6 (https://twitter.com/joannerock6) on Twitter.
Also by Joanne Rock (#u7232427f-f1c8-5252-b369-3abd3f452dfb)
The Magnate’s Mail-Order Bride The
Magnate’s Marriage Merger His
Accidental Heir
Little Secrets: His Pregnant Secretary
Claiming His Secret Heir
For the Sake of His Heir
The Forbidden Brother
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Wild Wyoming Nights
Joanne Rock


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07667-8
WILD WYOMING NIGHTS
© 2018 Joanne Rock
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my warrior readers who’ve had the
strength to leave unhappy relationships—
may you find romance in the everyday
and joy in your new journey.
Contents
Cover (#u3afc78eb-1e3d-5afa-acc2-95ff5f6c5e96)
Back Cover Text (#ueb3a932a-9d1e-5175-a40b-9efdf11180bf)
About the Author (#u2bd10442-20cc-53e3-8ab1-5e43c21d3eac)
Booklist (#u5ae36ba8-d013-58df-9ca0-f17e54476c84)
Title Page (#u5b55f9c5-a361-5727-80a2-eeaaf8ed3490)
Copyright (#uc8889c71-7bec-5a9a-9211-e23de05a5751)
Dedication (#u5faa2ddc-25bd-5546-87eb-81b479faf69f)
One (#u04be2df3-96b7-5c37-8e67-816143628a63)
Two (#u1336ee1a-20b2-5154-be55-e720e1159017)
Three (#u3b3bdec3-fdd9-5039-8c79-002e2187eb5e)
Four (#uef3e3d0c-f749-5645-b545-117a40c96347)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u7232427f-f1c8-5252-b369-3abd3f452dfb)
Nerves prancing harder than the spirited stunt horse beside her, Emma Layton gripped the reins tighter. This was only her second day of shooting on location in Cheyenne, Wyoming.
She prayed there would be a third.
The gray Andalusian was specially trained for trick riding, one of a half-dozen animals delivered to the Creek Spill Ranch for filming Winning the West. The horse shook its long mane and stomped the ground, bristling with impatience to begin their work together. The mare was far better prepared for the day’s challenges than Emma.
When she interviewed for this opening—only her fifth paying role as a stuntwoman—Emma had been so focused on nailing the job that she hadn’t thought twice when asked about prior riding experience. While it was true she’d taken informal lessons as a teen on the property where her mother worked for the famous Ventura family, Emma knew she’d only been granted the job because of her connection to Antonio Ventura, the director. Not that she would see him any time soon. As a stunt performer for one of the more minor characters in the film, Emma served as part of the second unit on this location. That meant she answered to the stunt coordinator, while Antonio would direct the leads.
Both units were filming at the Creek Spill for the next two weeks, but Emma hoped and prayed the shoot would run over. She needed the work almost as much as she needed to be as far from Los Angeles as possible right now. Far, far away from her ex-boyfriend, due to be released from state prison tomorrow. This job had been a godsend, a boon that made her determined to exaggerate her limited horseback riding ability.
This morning, Emma and her assigned mare stood outside the pristine Creek Spill stables with five other body doubles and their mounts. All waited for instruction from Zoe Bettle, the stunt coordinator who also served as horse mistress for the film. Zoe, an accomplished horsewoman in her midforties with the body of an athlete, appeared to be in a standoff with a tall, impossibly handsome cowboy in a dark Stetson.
At least, he looked like a cowboy.
His broad shoulders filled out a fitted gray T-shirt tucked into faded jeans with creases bleached almost white where the fabric contoured to his movement and muscle. His boots had the distressed leather look that costume designers labored to replicate with sandpaper and acetone. But the weathered appearance didn’t extend to the rancher’s face. He had the square jaw, chiseled cheekbones and full lips a camera loved. Clearly, he was one of the lead actors—someone with enough clout to raise Zoe’s hackles. Emma could tell by the set to her shoulders that she was not pleased with whatever the man had to say.
Already, Emma didn’t like him. She needed her boss in a good mood today so Zoe would be forgiving of the mistakes Emma was sure to make. As it was, the woman appeared ready to fire the first stunt rider foolish enough to screw up. Emma tried to calm her nerves by stroking Mariana’s soft gray muzzle.
“Fine.” Zoe’s last word had enough volume to reach Emma’s ears. She turned toward the assembled stunt talent. “A change of plans today, ladies and gentlemen.” She strode closer to them, her tall riding boots stirring up dust from the pasture. Although she was just barely five feet tall, she carried herself like an Olympic gymnast, her perfect posture and musculature outlined by tan jodhpurs and a bright red T-shirt. “Our host, Mr. McNeill, has expressed concerns about our horsemanship.” She articulated the word with all the affront she must be feeling. “So I have assured him we will slow down our training schedule to meet the ranch’s safety standards.”
Their host? Emma glanced back at the rancher she’d mistaken for an actor, seeing him in a new light. If he was responsible for this sprawling ranch with its well-kept fields and neatly maintained barns, he excelled at his job. The Creek Spill was like a minitown in the middle of nowhere, from its bunkhouse full of ranch hands to its on-site cooking facilities and dedicated water tower.
“Ms. Bettle, I think you misunderstood me,” the cowboy called from where he stood near the freshly painted four-rail fence that separated the pasture from the paddock area.
The stunt coordinator ignored him. She folded her arms and glared at the talent.
“We will divide into two groups. Ms. Layton and anyone else involved in the race scene, please show Mr. McNeill how well prepared we are for the stunt.” Zoe’s eyes bored into Emma’s, warning her not to mess up. “The rest of you, come with me. We will be working in the far pasture so as not to disturb the local horses while they ‘adjust to our presence.’”
Emma’s boss did not roll her eyes, but her tone suggested how much she wanted to. Two other stunt doubles—both men, both stronger riders than her—stepped forward with their mounts and headed toward the rancher. Emma started to follow them, keeping hold of the leather reins as she spoke soothingly to the mare at her side.
“Ms. Layton.” Zoe stepped closer to her, voice lowered. Hints of an Eastern European accent came through. “Carson McNeill signed a unique agreement with the production company that gives him the last word on safety conditions here. Since the Creek Spill is a working ranch, we don’t have the luxury of sending him on a two-week vacation while we shoot. We must make sure he’s satisfied that we know what we are doing. Yes?”
Emma nodded. “I understand.”
Impressing Carson McNeill was priority one if she wanted to keep this job. Her palms began sweating on the reins as she glanced at the cowboy who now controlled her fate. Why couldn’t she be filming a fight scene? Or jumping off a building? Anything but horseback riding. No doubt Zoe recognized Emma was the weak link in the stunt crew.
She’d been warned.
While Zoe and the remaining cast members mounted for the ride to the far pasture, Emma urged her horse, Mariana, forward. Morning sunlight glinted off the creek in the distance behind the ranch owner. The whole property flanked the water on both sides for two miles. When she’d first arrived at the Creek Spill two days ago, Emma had been overwhelmed by the beauty of Wyoming with its endless blue sky, rugged cliffs and rolling hills dotted with wildflowers. Now the spectacular view narrowed to Carson McNeill, where he stood under the shade of a giant ash tree.
He appeared to give instructions to both men in her group, and the guys were mounted and riding away before she reached his side. Her pulse raced; she wished she didn’t have to speak to him alone. She’d mostly conquered her demons where men were concerned. After the nightmare relationship with her former boyfriend ended three years ago, Emma had started training herself for this competitive profession to supplement her work as a personal trainer. Stunt work appealed to her need to be more sure of herself, and she’d fooled a lot of people into thinking she had already arrived at that goal.
Right now, she was more worried about Carson McNeill calling her out for a fraud where her riding skills were concerned. Without the men in her crew to hide behind, she would be making it easier for the rancher to see her weakness. But the idea of appearing weak steeled her spine as she walked over to him, giving her the shot of bravado she needed to pull this off.
“I’m in the race scene, Mr. McNeill.” She tipped her chin up and braced her shoulders. It was her personal “ready” position. “What would you like to see from me?”
She had a degree in exercise science. She’d trained hard to be here. This man would not send her packing.
“Call me Carson.” He just barely touched the brim of his Stetson, a cowboy tip of the hat.
“Emma Layton.” She didn’t offer her hand since she held Mariana’s reins with her right one and it was slick with nervous sweat. In her left hand, she clutched the strap of her riding helmet.
Carson McNeill was even more compelling up close, where she could see past the shadows cast by his hat. His eyes were pale blue. A hint of dark hair escaped his hat, curling at the base of his neck. His gaze dipped over her briefly, inspiring a flare of unexpected heat along her skin even though she was thoroughly covered in a standard workout T-shirt with the jodhpurs and riding boots Zoe had provided.
“Nice to meet you, Emma. And I assure you, I didn’t mean to start the day on the wrong side of your boss.” There was a certain practiced charm about his smile. She bet he unleashed it on other women with great success.
Emma couldn’t afford to be interested, despite that lick of warmth she felt along her skin. The sensation wasn’t from the smile that was too automatic, but from the intelligence in those blue eyes. A shrewdness that told her there was more to the rich rancher than a handsome face and honed bod.
“Zoe knows stunts and horses as well as anyone.” Emma had read everything she could find about the woman on her flight to Cheyenne, and she’d been impressed. “She’s probably not used to having her judgment questioned.”
“I don’t question her horsemanship, only the skills of her crew members.” His gaze moved from Emma to Mariana, and he reached to stroke the mare’s nose. “In particular, I noticed yesterday during the workout that you appeared uneasy at times.”
Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t known she was being observed.
“Yesterday we were simply tasked with getting to know our mounts.” Sweat broke out along the back of her shoulders, though it wasn’t all that hot for August. A breeze stirred the mare’s mane and made Emma’s skin turn clammy. Her heart rate quickened. “I’ve never worked with a horse that uses so many specialty commands. She’s highly trained.”
“Unlike you.” He reached for the bridle. “May I?”
His fingers brushed hers, the contact sparking unwanted heat despite how he’d just insulted her. Relinquishing the leather, Emma tamped down her anger, knowing she needed to smooth things over with him or Zoe would send her home.
“Mr. McNeill—”
“Carson,” he reminded her, letting Mariana’s lead dangle to the ground. “And you don’t need to hold her so tightly. That’s why she’s rocking her head like that. She wants some breathing room.”
“Carson.” She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Seeing the way Mariana quieted, Emma could hardly argue with him. “Stunt work involves a wide variety of skills. While I may not be the expert horsewoman that Zoe is, I assure you, I am well qualified to scale heights, take a fall or drive a burning car into a building.”
He folded his arms across his chest, seeming to take her measure. “But you’re not working with a car or a building. You’re working with a nine-hundred-pound animal with a will of its own, and that brings a whole new level of danger to the job.”
“That’s why the production company imports horses like Mariana. They’re used to the rigors of filming and working with a variety of people.”
“That doesn’t mean you can waltz in here after a Saturday at the local dude ranch and expect to pull off a stunt on horseback.”
Too bad she had to do just that.
“Then tell me, Carson.” She looked him in the eye, unwilling to back down. “What do I have to do to prove to you I belong here? You name it, and I’ll rise to the challenge.”
Because whatever dangers Mariana and the Creek Spill Ranch held for Emma, they were nothing compared to the damage an angry ex could do if she went back home now.
* * *
Emma Layton was turning out to be an enticing distraction he hadn’t anticipated.
Carson stared into her deep brown eyes, her gaze unwavering as she awaited instruction. She was scrubbed clean of makeup, her brown hair scraped back into a ponytail and wrapped into a haphazard knot. Everything about her said she was here to work, from the determined set of her full lips to the tense shoulders she’s squared to him.
She was a half foot shorter than him, with the kind of lean muscles that dancers possessed. She was hardly what came to mind when he envisioned a stunt actor but based on her scowl, he guessed she might breathe fire if he spoke that thought aloud. With her long elegant neck and delicate features, she looked more suited for ballet than daredevil tricks, but to each his own.
Or her own.
The fact that he found her grit and determination incredibly appealing should not be on his mind right now given how much production the Creek Spill Ranch lost every day that shooting continued on his property. Carson had his overly cautious twin brother to thank for all the added clauses in the contract with the film company that said the McNeill family had the last word on safety for the duration of the shoot. Normally, Carson was the easygoing twin and Cody took care of being the hard-ass. But Carson had needed to step in and fill his brother’s shoes. Cody had a lot on his plate with his girlfriend expecting a baby. And now they were dealing with a new crisis: Cody and Carson’s stepmother was in a coma.
Paige had been in intensive care after a fall while hiking in Yellowstone, putting the whole family on edge the same week the film company came to town. Making matters more complicated, just a day before the accident, Carson’s youngest half sister, Scarlett, had received a blackmail note threatening to reveal some secret from Paige’s past that would damage the family.
While hell broke loose all around them, Carson was left to oversee the Creek Spill, plus make sure Cody didn’t overlook anything at the other major family holding, the Black Creek Ranch, while everyone took turns sitting with Paige at the ICU in Idaho. Thankfully, Paige was being transported to the Cheyenne hospital today, now that she’d shown signs of coming out of the coma.
Still, it definitely wasn’t a good time to be noticing the sex appeal of Emma Layton, who stared him down as though she wished he was the one driving a car into a burning building. Preferably at full speed. More often than not, women found him charming. How damned ironic that the one woman to turn his head in recent memory looked like she wanted to take his head off.
“I want you to feel more at ease on horseback,” he told Emma finally, reminding himself he was not the demanding, inflexible McNeill brother. “That will decrease your risk of injury considerably.”
Once he felt assured of her competence, he would return to work. She was a professional, after all, and she had a stunt coordinator watching over her shoulder. The company was insured for this kind of thing and the ranch wasn’t liable.
Except Carson had a conscience to answer to, and damned if it hadn’t grown bigger with his ever-responsible twin out of the picture. Their own mother, an experienced rancher, had died from injuries sustained while trying to separate a bull from the cattle. Carson had been four years old at the time, and he’d been there, along with his older brother. Her death had haunted the family and changed their father forever. He knew all too well that animals could turn unpredictable.
Emma lifted her riding helmet and strapped it on her head. “I’m ready.”
“I sent your two colleagues out to the arena to work on their leg positioning.” He pointed out the track his younger brother, Brock, used to show and train quarter horses, a lucrative side business at the Creek Spill. “There’s a training area beyond that, next to a tack shed. Let’s take your horse out there and we’ll start working on your hands.”
“Her name is Mariana.” She pointed toward the horse as he began leading the gray mare out to the training field. “And what do you mean about my hands?”
He took the quieter shady route behind the barn, his boots finding the worn grassy path that hadn’t been trampled to dirt yet. He thought he’d been prepared for the added activity of a film production on his property, but he’d underestimated how much equipment and manpower it required.
“They’re too stiff.” He hadn’t given riding lessons since Scarlett was a girl. “You need a more elastic hold that doesn’t place extra pressure on the bit. As it is, Mariana will get confused about what you want from her if she feels like you’re tugging.”
“I’m a fast learner.” Emma slanted a look his way, peering over the horse’s nose. “Just tell me what you want to see from me, I’ll do it. I can’t afford to lose this job.”
There was more to that story. He could hear it in her voice. See it in the hint of vulnerability in those dark brown eyes. And he regretted that he couldn’t give her the reassurance she clearly sought.
Opening the gate to the training area, he waited until Mariana and Emma were through before he latched it behind them. “And I can’t afford for anyone to get hurt on my property. I made it very clear to the production manager when I signed the contract that a ranch is a dangerous place. I won’t allow you to continue if I think you’re at risk.”
She huffed out a breath, regarding him with frustration she didn’t bother to hide. Hands on hips, she faced him.
“Every single thing we do in my business puts us at risk. In my last job, I once had to reenact a knife fight over twenty times before it was right. The take they liked best was the one where I took a slice to the right calf that sent me to the ER. That comes with the territory and I know that going in.” Her cheeks flushed with color.
He’d hit a nerve. Or else just wounded her pride.
“I’m more concerned about head trauma. If your horse throws you—”
“I’m trained to fall the right way,” she reminded him.
“For a woman who is concerned about keeping her job, perhaps you should listen more and interrupt less,” he suggested mildly, even though she was beginning to get under his skin.
She pursed those full lips thoughtfully. Then her shoulders eased a bit. “You’re right. I’m nervous and defensive, and that isn’t going to help. What should I do first?”
He had to admire how fast she shifted gears.
“Hop on your mount and I’ll show you.” He watched as she placed a boot in the stirrup and swung her leg over. Smoothly. Easily.
He amended his earlier assessment of her skills. She had more in her background than a weekend at a dude ranch.
Quickly, he ran down what he wanted to see from her, starting with an explanation of what her hands were telling her horse. She practiced gripping the reins farther apart so she could feel the horse’s natural movement, allowing her to stay in sync with the animal. While the horse trotted around the track, Carson stepped out of the practice yard to check in with the two male riders in the arena. They looked better, but Carson wasn’t releasing them yet. He called over Nate—a ranch hand who’d been working closely with Brock and the quarter horses for more than a year—and tasked him with giving the riders a few more tips.
“Me? I’m no riding instructor.” The younger man scratched his head under his hat as he stared out at the arena, planting a dusty boot on the lowest fence rail. “I train horses, not people.”
“But if you had to give these guys a handful of tips to make sure they survive two weeks on horseback, what would you say?” Carson glanced back to check on Emma, who had slowed to a walk.
“I’d say I’d rather work the hot brunette.” Carson followed Nate’s gaze, and noted the appreciative grin pulling at his mouth as he watched Emma.
His protective instincts stirred, surprising him.
“Seniority has its privileges.” Though Carson didn’t plan on pursuing his attraction for the prickly stunt double, he needed to keep safe for two weeks, especially after seeing that vulnerable look in her eyes.
Then again, he wasn’t ready to walk away yet, either.
“You’re the boss,” Nate told him agreeably, turning his attention back to the stunt actors riding circles around the dirt track. “But the dude on the left rides too high in the saddle. Guess I could pull off his stirrups. Get him to work on his seat.”
Carson clapped Nate on the shoulders. “Good thinking. Whatever you can do. By the end of the week, they’re going to be racing and fighting on horseback, so I’d like to do whatever we can to keep them in one piece.”
Leaving Nate to take over with the men, Carson returned to the practice yard, his attention fully on Emma. The thought of her racing at breakneck speed in just a few days from now made him edgy. He didn’t want to tick off the stunt coordinator any more than he already had, and he had to get back to overseeing ranch operations, so he didn’t have time to interfere with the filming. But he wasn’t impressed with the level of safety he’d seen on set so far.
“Am I doing it wrong?” Emma called over to him as he neared her and Mariana. Her lean body swayed in the saddle. “You’re scowling.”
Of course he was. He wanted to drag her off her horse and see if those full lips were as soft as they looked when he kissed her. Instead, he was stuck teaching her how to stay on her horse before she broke her neck performing unwise stunts on his property. The thought of something happening to her only made him scowl more.
“Your hands are fine, but your seat is all wrong.” Had it been a mistake to work with her? To get involved when he had a multimillion-dollar ranching operation to oversee?
Heat crept up his back as he stared at her, an amused smile playing around her kissable mouth.
“My seat.” She forgot about her hand position and let the reins go slack as the horse halted beside him. “I didn’t know I could mess that up.”
He would have preferred crooning extravagant compliments in her ear about the tight curve of her ass, but that wasn’t going to help her stay upright during a race scene. Tightening his hold on his control, he reached to touch her left hand, nudging it higher.
“You need to be aware of your body at all times. Right now your hands are sending a bad message.”
Her eyes widened for a moment before she redirected her focus and moved her hands to the exact position he’d shown her ten minutes earlier. Away from his touch.
“Right. Like this.” Her cheeks pink, she stared down at Mariana’s head. “What else?”
He shouldn’t touch her again. Not when the point of contact from the first time still supercharged the air between them. He hadn’t gotten involved today because he wanted to hit on her, damn it. He was only trying to keep her from getting hurt.
“You’re sitting too far back in the seat.” His gaze veered to her hips as she edged forward. Saddle leather creaked. She used a hand on the pommel to inch along.
Killing him.
Making his throat dry as dust.
“Better?” she asked, her voice a quiet stroke to his ears.
He nodded. Then, forcing himself to finish the instruction since it was damned important, he touched the back of her thigh.
“Legs should be directly under you.” He let go almost instantly, backing up a step.
Still, the feel of her—lean muscle under those body-skimming jodhpurs—imprinted itself on his brain. He would be tracing a lot more of her in his dreams later.
“Is this better?” Her voice took on a husky note that he told himself must be from the dust in the air and not because the touch affected her as much as it had him.
“Looks good,” he managed. “Take a lap or two and see if you can maintain it.”
She rode off in a hurry and it was all he could do not take off his hat and use it as a fan.
Damn.
He’d exchanged far more provocative talk—and touches—with willing strangers in bars that had left him cold. Why was this bristly, defensive stunt performer getting under his skin so fast?
The sooner he finished the riding lesson the better. He had a ranch to oversee, a family falling apart and a blackmailer to catch. Thoughts of Emma Layton would have to wait.
Two (#u7232427f-f1c8-5252-b369-3abd3f452dfb)
Four miles into her evening run, Emma regretted the decision not to take the cast shuttle back to her lodgings at White Canyon Ranch.
She’d been in a hurry to burn off the keyed-up awareness she’d felt all day working with Carson McNeill and thought maybe she could jog away that hypersensitive energy. Now, her thighs burned with a soreness that no workout had ever given her before. As a personal trainer strictly for female clients, she had plenty of thigh workouts in her personal inventory. In the future, she’d have to start recommending a day in the saddle to women who complained about their inner thighs.
Slowing to a walk on the grassy path alongside a fenced-in field between the Creek Spill lands and the guest ranch where second unit cast and crew members were staying, Emma checked her directions on the GPS. She’d asked one of the stable workers about the route she’d chosen, and he’d assured her the dirt road was good enough to drive on in a pickup truck. Running would be no problem. She’d thought she’d been well prepared, peeling off the jodhpurs and stuffing them in her nylon knapsack along with an extra bottle of water. She’d changed into a clean pair of cropped leggings along with the running shoes she’d packed for her evening workout. Her boots she’d left tucked in a corner of the tack room, at the suggestion of the ranch hand who’d told her about the path.
The sun was sinking low on the horizon, though, and it occurred to her that it was liable to be very dark at sunset. Not like her neighborhood in Studio City, where she could run at all hours of the night and still see because of the streetlamps. Taking a moment to stretch in the hope it would ease some of the stiffness in her muscles, Emma breathed in the scent of fresh air and wildflowers. The breeze stirred the tall grass inside the four-rail fence.
She was just about ready to start running again when the hum of an engine alerted her that a vehicle was heading her way. Her shoulders tensed. Yes, Emma had taken plenty of mixed martial arts classes, training that served her well in stunt work and helped to make her feel sure of herself in isolated places. Still, she couldn’t shake some of the old fears. Her ex-boyfriend was a fellow fitness trainer who’d hit her in a public place, in front of a room full of witnesses after a kickboxing class he’d taught. He’d tried to play it off like he was giving her an extra lesson, but thankfully no one else in the class believed that. An off-duty cop had been among the attendees, leading to the battery charges that kept her ex locked up for almost three years.
She didn’t want to ever need saving again, though. She tightened her ponytail and started a light jog that irritated her burning thighs.
As the sound of the engine drew closer, punching up her heartrate, she turned to see a two-seater utility vehicle with an open cargo bed in back. The compelling cowboy she’d been trying to excise from her thoughts sat behind the wheel.
Her fears dissipated fast.
Carson McNeill braked to a stop beside her. The tension inside her shifted from fright back to the attraction she’d been fighting all day. She told herself it shouldn’t matter that she was red faced and sweating. But it was tough not to be aware that she looked like roadkill when he looked like he’d just had a shower, with his hair still damp and his face freshly shaved. He wore a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and a clean pair of jeans.
She paused beside the vehicle, swiping the back of her hand over her damp forehead. “You can’t possibly be here to critique my form. On my own two feet, I absolutely know what I’m doing.”
He didn’t even crack a smile. “My foreman told me you decided to run back to the White Canyon.”
“When running alone, it’s a good safety practice to let someone know where you’re going.” She’d taken extra precautions. “I told Zoe, too.”
His jaw flexed. She’d seen that look often enough today when she’d tried his patience. Now, the furrow in his brow said he was downright aggravated.
“Speaking of safety practices, how many times did I mention that a Wyoming ranch can be dangerous? That animals can be dangerous?”
“Several.” Hot, tired and sore, she was beginning to feel her own patience fray. “But since I’m off the clock for the day, I’m no longer your concern.”
“If you’re on McNeill lands, you’re my responsibility.” He swiped his Stetson off the passenger seat and tossed it in the cargo bed behind him. “Get in. I’ll drive you the rest of the way.”
She didn’t appreciate the command, but she also didn’t want to antagonize a man who still had the power to send her packing. Besides, her legs hurt and twilight would turn to full dark soon.
The vehicle didn’t have a door so she swung into the passenger seat while holding on to the roll bar. Carson revved the engine once she was seated with her safety belt buckled.
“Nice ride,” she remarked lightly, hoping he wasn’t going to hold this latest transgression against her during this extra stressful week.
She’d had multiple texts from her roommate and her mother reminding her not to answer any calls from unknown numbers this week. They were both worried about her, with her ex getting out of prison. As if Emma wasn’t worried enough on her own. But she couldn’t imagine how Austin would find her here. Hollywood made no secret of lead actors’ whereabouts, but anyone looking for information about stunt roles, especially smaller roles like this one, would be hard-pressed to find it. Another bright spot was that Austin would have no idea she’d gone into stunt work, even if he wanted to find her.
Beside her, Carson remained silent while the stars popped out overhead. One. Two. And then a million. The sight was breathtaking. She craned her head back to stare straight up, but she didn’t need to. Pinpoints of blue and white light blanketed the sky in every direction.
“Wow.” She glanced over at her silent driver, wondering if he’d grown immune to the beauty. “I’ve never seen stars like this.”
Maybe some of her wonder seeped through his frustration, because he slowed the vehicle, then stopped altogether, the engine rumbling at idle in the creeping night. They sat on a hilltop with meadows rolling out into the distance on one side, and a shadow of rocky cliffs and trees on the other. He snapped off the headlights to give them a better view and turned off the ignition. The engine ticked for a few moments and then went silent.
“It’s amazing how much the lights of a city detract from the night sky.” Carson tipped his head back, too, his hands resting on his sprawled denim-covered knees.
The right one hovered close to her leg, radiating a warmth she could feel. Or maybe it was the electric current of attraction that made her skin tingle that way beneath her leggings. She had been on a few dates since breaking things off with Austin but nothing serious. She definitely hadn’t experienced the sizzling awareness she got from being around Carson. What a shame for her body to finally wake up again around a man she needed to impress with her professionalism.
“It’s funny,” she said, needing to break the intimate thread of silence between them, “because I always think I live in a quieter area of Los Angeles.” She tried not to think about his knee next to hers. His hand close to her leg. But memories of the way he’d touched her earlier—shifting her thigh on the horse—sent a fresh surge of heat through her.
“Even in Cheyenne, you can’t see the stars the way you can out here. There aren’t many perks to ranching, but the night sky is definitely one of them.”
Straightening in her seat, she peered over at him. The breeze turned cooler.
“You don’t like your work?” She was curious about him, this man who allowed a film production company onto his property but couldn’t really relinquish control. “After seeing you on horseback today, I guess I just assumed you were born in a saddle.”
He’d ridden beside her briefly before setting her loose to try the track on her own.
“Almost.” She thought she heard a hint of a smile in his voice. Or was that wishful thinking? “But I never imagined myself overseeing cattle at my age. Ranching is fine for my twin brother, but I thought I’d be riding rodeo into my thirties.”
She hadn’t known about the twin brother. Or the rodeo past. Still, she could relate to what he was saying. She felt him shift beside her, turning toward her. A gust of wind blew through her hair, flicking strands against her cheek.
“I never thought I’d be recreating sword fights or high-speed chases, either. But sometimes life takes surprising turns.”
“I’ll bet it’s an interesting story how you got here, Emma Layton.” Her name on his lips felt as intimate as a caress to a woman who hadn’t been touched by a man in a long, long time.
The rush of heat through her veins shouldn’t have caught her off guard—she’d been feeling it all day around him. She’d run four miles to try to escape it. Even so, the magnetic force that seemed to pull her toward him was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Her shoulders shifted fractionally closer. Her knee brushed his.
She drew in a sharp breath at the contact, ripples of pleasure radiating out from the point where she touched him. She forgot what they were talking about. Couldn’t think of words to say even if she remembered. There was only the moment and the man. The endless starry sky enveloping them like a dream.
Maybe that was why she found herself leaning even closer—it all felt surreal. Like a time-out from the worry and stress of her real life, where everything was suddenly simpler. Where kissing Carson McNeill seemed like the only thing that mattered.
Her hand landed on his chest. Warm. Strong. Inviting.
She splayed her fingers wider, wanting to feel more of him. Then she tipped her face up to his. She was close enough to see him well despite the darkness. His eyes locked on hers for an instant—like two stars close up.
And then his lips claimed hers.
* * *
Carson had been wrestling with the need to touch Emma all day. For hours, they’d been in close proximity, and the urge to kiss her had been there. Every. Single. Moment.
He’d resisted. Triumphed. Walked away from her at the end of the work day, satisfied that he’d done the right thing.
But as soon as he’d spotted her treating his ranch like her personal gym out on the pasture road, her glossy brown ponytail swinging while she jogged, he knew his restraint was all out for the day. She’d worn right through it with her bullheaded determination to fake her way through a horseback stunt. Hell, she’d shredded it with her grit and bravado that rivaled any bull rider’s.
So now when she tipped her mouth up to his, freely offering the taste he’d battled his conscience over all day, he didn’t have a prayer of turning away. Petal-soft and strawberry-scented, her lips parted on a sigh, molding to his. Yielding sweetly. She skimmed her palm over his chest, sliding lower. He wrapped his arm around her, anchoring her against him, feeling the swell of her breasts as she eased nearer.
Wind whipped around them, stirring the scent of her fruity shampoo as tendrils escaped the ponytail and tickled his cheek. Hunger for more surged, hunger he couldn’t possibly satisfy. He’d never had a woman affect him like this—so swiftly or so completely. Her fingers clenched around the hem of his T-shirt, her nails gently scraping his skin and arousing a whole other heat they couldn’t possibly indulge...
“Emma.” He blinked his way through the sensual fog, hoping he’d regain reason as he broke the kiss.
As it was, he simply tipped his forehead to hers, waiting to catch his breath. Her eyes stayed closed a long moment. When she opened them, she edged away even more.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
His eyes were adjusted enough to the dark that he could see her run her fingers over her lips. The gesture made his insides twist with need.
“I wish you weren’t. Sorry, that is. I’ll be damned if I am.”
He debated starting up the utility vehicle and flooring the gas until he got her back to her room for the night. Behind a locked door. But his stepmother was being transferred to the local hospital tonight, and he wanted to be there for his family when she arrived in Cheyenne.
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew why I’m here.” Emma tightened her ponytail in a gesture he’d seen her repeat often over the course of the day.
He’d be willing to bet she didn’t let her hair down often. And yeah, maybe that made him want to crow with victory that she’d seemed to forget everything else with him just now.
“What do you mean?” He forced himself to focus on her words and not the leftover heat still sparking through him. Then he started the vehicle, knowing he needed to get on the road for the hospital soon.
“I mean, I’m not an up-and-coming starlet, in town because I’m so excited to further my career.” She hugged her arms around herself, sitting back farther in her seat.
“You’re not trying to get ahead in your career?” He didn’t follow what she was getting at. “Could have fooled me given how hard you worked today.”
“Yes. Well, I want to keep my job. Desperately.” She slanted a look his way as they skirted a patch of trees and neared the lights of the White Canyon Ranch. “But that’s because I need to be anywhere but LA this week since my ex-boyfriend is getting out of prison tomorrow.”
Carson tried to process that. He hoped like hell that the ex in question hadn’t hurt her. But damn. Wouldn’t that account for her level of determination not to be in California this week?
“I’m sorry to hear you were in a bad relationship,” he said carefully. “And I’m glad to know why it means so much that you stay in Wyoming for the film. But that doesn’t make me the least bit sorry I kissed you.”
“There’s relationship baggage, and then there’s relationship kryptonite. I’m pretty sure a felon ex-boyfriend puts me in the latter category.” She lifted her nylon knapsack off the floor and set it in her lap, as if she couldn’t sprint out of the vehicle fast enough.
Carson slowed to a stop outside the deep porch of the huge log guest ranch, wanting to tread warily in this conversation, but also needing to reassure her that her past didn’t change how he viewed her.
“Your ex being in jail doesn’t reflect on you. Only on him.”
She unfastened her seat belt with a jerky movement. She was upset and he regretted having any part in making her feel that way. He’d watched her overcome one challenge after another on her horse today, admiring her never-ending supply of resolve.
“He was in prison for hitting me.” She looked at him, her gaze unwavering. “And once he’s freed, he’ll come looking for me. The last thing I want to do is drag an unsuspecting man into the drama.”
She bolted from the car as if she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell in his lap. By the time he shook off being stunned and set out to follow Emma, the screen door was already banging behind her.
Three (#u7232427f-f1c8-5252-b369-3abd3f452dfb)
Emma realized she was being a coward the moment she got through the door of the White Canyon Ranch.
She’d kissed Carson and let that kiss carry her away. Then, when she acknowledged to herself how much she’d enjoyed it, she had panicked. She’d flung her past in the man’s face and sprinted. If she ever wanted to move beyond the abuse, she needed to stop acting like this. Like she was ashamed and embarrassed about it.
More than that, if she was going to move forward with her life, she had to stop putting up smokescreens when a hot guy tempted her to take a chance on the opposite sex again. She had to take ownership of her feelings.
Forcing herself to stop, she pivoted on the toe of her running shoe before she hit the first step of the main staircase. She wasn’t surprised to see Carson striding through the front door and into the huge foyer with cathedral ceilings.
Her pulse stuttered, then quickened. He’d been appealing, sitting next to her in the darkened vehicle under the stars. Here, in the light cast by the huge antler chandelier overhead, he stole her breath. His gaze locked on her as he closed the distance between them, and those blue eyes saw right inside her.
“Can we talk privately?” he asked, his expression concerned, his touch tender as he wrapped a hand lightly around her forearm.
“Sure.” She nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing.” Peering around the empty foyer, she set her knapsack in a window seat behind a floor-length curtain draped around a wooden pull back. Then she followed him back outside to the wide front porch that wrapped two sides of the building.
Although the guest ranch was full to capacity with cast and crew members this week, the property was relatively quiet now. Emma recalled seeing a bulletin on her phone that a charter bus had been scheduled to transport interested sightseers into downtown Cheyenne tonight for dinner and entertainment.
As Carson guided her toward the railing at the far end of the building, she decided to save him the trouble of asking her more about her past.
“That was wrong of me to spring on you,” she said, leaning a hip into the railing while he turned to face her.
“On the contrary, I’m glad to know so I can make sure you’re safe here.” His jaw flexed as he stared down at her. “I’m just sorry you went through that.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t help but feel touched. His words sounded heartfelt. “It’s not something I make a habit of sharing. But I guess I got rattled after the kiss, and felt like you should know.”
“I’d like you to move to the Creek Spill, where I have top-notch security.”
She noticed he didn’t say anything about the kiss, which was probably just as well. Maybe he wanted to forget about that moment of heated craziness, too.
Her thoughts skipped ahead to her position in the cast and what he’d just said about her staying at the other ranch. “Do you mean I can keep this job? You don’t plan on making Zoe send me back home?”
A hint of a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. She remembered what it had felt like to kiss him and got a pleasant shiver just thinking about it. It wasn’t going to be easy to forget what had happened between them.
“One thing at a time,” he cautioned. Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he tapped in some commands. “I’ve got a family obligation tonight, but I can have someone help you pack your things and move you into a suite at the Creek Spill.”
“That’s so kind of you, but I don’t need help—”
The warning look in his eyes stopped her protest. “Then consider it a favor for my peace of mind. From now on, you’re my personal guest.”
The seriousness in his voice made her wonder how personal a guest she was going to be. Plenty of the first unit cast members were staying on his property, so she assumed she would be housed with them. Still, it might make things a little awkward with Zoe and her second unit crew if she wasn’t staying with them.
“I’m not sure if my director will think that’s such a good idea.”
Carson finished whatever he was doing on his phone and pocketed the device. Then he put both hands on her shoulders, causing a warm heat that made her insides flutter.
“Then you can tell her the rationale, or I will, but she’s going to have to agree to the arrangement.” His thumbs sketched a light touch along her collarbone, and her skin heated everywhere. “I just asked one of the White Canyon staffers to meet you at your room, and transportation is on the way. The attendant will help you with your bags and see you into the vehicle. You’ll be met on the other end by my housekeeper, Mrs. Tillson. She’ll show you the suite where you can put your things and will have dinner ready as soon as you arrive.”
She tried not to notice the way she wanted to sway toward him. No man had touched her this way in years. As for tending to her every need so thoroughly? No man had done that. Ever.
Emma reminded herself not to get used to it. As soon as filming was done, she would be back in LA, trying to carve out a life for herself while Carson McNeill would still be lord of all he surveyed in Cheyenne. She couldn’t afford to get used to the sort of help he offered.
“That’s more than generous.” Blinking, she straightened away from his touch, needing to stand strong on her own feet. “Thank you.”
He studied her for a moment longer before he gave a clipped nod. “I’d help you settle in myself but my stepmother has been in the hospital and my family is expecting me over there. I’ll see you in the morning, though. Help yourself to anything you need while I’m away.”
He moved toward the driveway where he’d parked his vehicle, but stopped when she didn’t join him.
She was still stuck on what he’d said about helping herself. While he was away.
Did that imply he’d be...with herwhen he returned?
The breeze blowing off the hills made her wrap her arms around herself, as a chill set in from the sweat that had dried on her skin after her run. A chill...or a pleasurable shiver. She didn’t know what she was feeling, but she knew she needed to get a handle on herself.
“What is it?” he asked, though he didn’t move toward her.
“I. Um. Just wondering.” Nerves skittered through her. “Where exactly will I be staying at the ranch?”
He frowned. “The bunkhouse and external buildings are filled to capacity with the ranch’s employees and with the film’s cast and crew. But there’s plenty of room in the main house. You’ll stay with me.”
* * *
Carson couldn’t stop thinking about Emma.
He sat beside his stepmother, who’d finally been transported to the Cheyenne hospital after a week in a medical facility nine hours away. She had been cleared for a flight on a fixed-wing medical plane at the family’s expense so she could recover closer to home.
And she was recovering, according to her team of doctors, even if Carson couldn’t see much improvement in her condition. At least she was off the ventilator now. And all three of his half sisters—Scarlett as well as Maisie and Madeline—had been in the room with her yesterday when she’d opened her eyes briefly, a sign Paige was pulling out of the coma.
That was why Carson didn’t consider it disrespectful that his thoughts wandered to Emma so often in the hours that he’d been watching over his stepmother in her private room. The door was closed to shut out most of the sounds in the hallway. A nurse came in every half hour to check monitors and adjust IVs, but other than that, the room was quiet except for a gray clock ticking on the far wall. His half sisters had left to grab some dinner and change before Scarlett—the youngest of the daughters Paige had with Carson’s father, Donovan—returned to relieve him.
Carson had plenty to worry about right now with overseeing the ranches, making sure the filming didn’t interfere with day-to-day operations, and beginning a private investigation into his stepmother’s past to see if there was any merit to the blackmailer’s claim. Yet as he sat in the big gray lounger between the window and the hospital bed, what concerned him most was Emma.
He’d been floored by the idea of any man raising a hand to her. The thought still made him sick hours later. He wouldn’t have been able to take his shift at the hospital tonight if she’d refused to settle into a suite at his house. Because at least now he had the satisfaction of knowing—thanks to a text from his housekeeper—that Emma was safely ensconced in his place, behind doors with a security code. She was surrounded by ranch hands who worked for him, plus a security guard he’d paid to ensure the equipment barns and horses under his care remained untouched for the duration of the filming.
Carson had already requested two more security guards to start tomorrow. One to ensure Emma’s safety. Another to patrol the grounds. They needed to keep a watch for Emma’s ex, but it would also help the McNeill family to monitor for any new threats from their mystery blackmailer. Emma’s past gave him a good justification for the additional security since his siblings had agreed not to tell their father about the blackmail note Scarlett had received during her visit to LA the day before Paige’s accident.
As for Emma—no one was getting close to her on his watch.
Except for him.
The thought didn’t just whisper across his consciousness. It roared and shouted. The kiss they’d shared had seared itself into his brain, making him realize that despite his good intentions where she was concerned, staying away from her for the next two weeks was going to be impossible. It would have been tough enough for him to keep his distance while they worked together on her riding. But now? All that combustible attraction was going to be front and center, 24/7.
But she had to stay with him.
He’d kissed her. Touched her. Shared her confidence. That made him want to protect her.
The wide door to Paige’s room creaked open and Scarlett backed into the room, juggling a balloon bouquet, flowers and a brightly striped duffel bag.
Carson shot out of his seat to give her a hand, darting around the rolling table with a water pitcher.
“Thanks.” Scarlett threw him a grateful smile, her long dark curls still damp from the shower. “I couldn’t resist loading up on things at the gift shop since we couldn’t bring the flowers from the other hospital with us.”
Carson set the hot-pink roses on the bedside table before tying the balloons to a handrail against the far wall. “I’ll make sure she gets more in the morning.”
When he finished the task, he hugged his sister, hating to see her look so worn-out. Not that he’d tell her as much. She was a beautiful woman, but she’d always considered herself less attractive than her older sisters. It was something about looking more like her mother, whereas the rest of them took after their dad. Carson knew it was baseless nonsense. But Scarlett had once filled his favorite boots with rocks and flung them into an irrigation pond after he’d told her she looked like a cartoon giraffe. He’d been twelve.
And he’d learned not to tease her.
“How are you holding up?” he asked as he pulled away, taking an extra minute to look in her eyes.
As the recipient of the blackmail note, Scarlett had borne an extra burden before their mother’s fall. She’d been given the message during a confrontation with one of the actors in Winning the West at a Hollywood nightclub. A guy she’d dated briefly. Scarlett had gone to LA, wanting to set the record straight with the dude before he showed up in Wyoming to do the film. During their argument, a man neither of them knew had slipped her the paper. The message implied that Paige had had a different identity prior to marrying Carson’s father.
Scarlett had been caught flat-footed when Paige had the accident before she could share the information. She’d told her siblings in the hospital, but regretted not speaking up sooner, during the hours when Paige had gone missing the night before.
“I’m fine.” She nodded, then went to work around Paige’s bed, straightening the already straight blanket, fluffing the pillow behind her mom’s head. “No news from the private investigator you hired to look into Mom’s past?”
“No.” Carson knew Scarlett hadn’t been keen on the idea, but her older sisters had been worried about the danger a blackmailer presented. “But in all fairness, the guy has only just started making inquiries.”
For the first few days after Paige’s fall, her health had been the number one priority and the family’s time had been consumed with that.
“Dad will be angry when he finds out.” Scarlett paused in her busywork, turning worried blue eyes toward her brother.
In the quiet of the room, the balloons bumped one another as they swayed from the air-conditioning blowing through a nearby vent.
“No, he won’t.” Carson had watched his stern father crack under the fears for his wife after her disappearance and then her fall. And even before that, Donovan McNeill had been dealing with his own father’s reemergence in their lives after a long period of estrangement. The stress of the last year had changed him. “He’s got enough to bear right now just worrying about her. He texted me a little while ago to tell you he’ll be in around midnight.”
The fact that Donovan had texted him in itself told Carson a lot about how his father had changed. Carson had opened his home to his estranged grandfather, Manhattan-based resort mogul Malcolm McNeill, when the old guy showed up in Cheyenne. Donovan hadn’t spoken to Carson for weeks afterward, refusing to acknowledge the billionaire father he’d bitterly cut out of his life decades ago. But now, Donovan seemed to have moved past that, too worried about his wife to care about the old grudge.
“Okay. Thanks.” Scarlett dropped into the chair closest to the bed and held her mother’s hand, careful not to bump the IV line. “How’s the filming going at the Creek Spill?”
Thoughts of Emma filled his head. Her scent. Her touch.
The danger she was in.
“Everyone is still settling in.” He wasn’t ready to say anything about Emma when they’d only just met. No matter that he’d moved her into his house. “Shooting starts tomorrow, though.”
Scarlett stared at him expectantly. Had his sister already heard rumors about him spending all day with a sexy stuntwoman?
“Damn it, Carson, don’t make me ask. Have you seen Logan King or not?” She leaned closer, one of her dark curls falling onto her forearm.
“Sorry.” He’d been so wrapped up in thoughts of Emma, he’d forgotten about her sister’s tangled connection to one of the stars of the film. “I’ve been busy making room for the extra stunt animals they brought for this thing. When they wanted to house animals, I didn’t realize they’d be high-strung Spanish dancing horses that needed a whole damn barn to themselves.”
“Spanish dancing horses?” Scarlett grinned. “You mean like Andalusians?” At his nod, she continued excitedly. “They’re some of the best-trained animals in the world. I doubt they’re high-strung.”
His thoughts strayed to Emma again, as he remembered her working on the complex commands with Mariana. The horses knew how to fall, roll and do a series of complicated jumps.
He’d started out the day worrying about how Emma would do with the animal. Now, he was far more concerned about how she’d fare with a bastard of an ex circulating among free men again.
Before he could respond to his sister, two nurses entered the room, pushing a rolling cart between them. It amazed him how many different tests they needed to run on patients.
“I’m going to let you handle things,” he murmured to his sister before kissing her on the cheek. “But I’ll keep an eye out for Logan and let you know how the shooting is going tomorrow, okay?”
She nodded while the nurses moved the cart closer. “Sure thing, Carson. Thanks.”
He didn’t need to check his watch as he left the hospital room. He knew that Emma would be long asleep by now back at his ranch. But that didn’t slow him down any.
He’d rest easier once he was at home, under the same roof with her, personally making sure she stayed safe. The fact that he would relive every second of that kiss in his dreams tonight was just an added bonus. And something he couldn’t help.
* * *
Emma stood on the balcony of the suite Carson had given her long after dinnertime, staring out at the ranch under the rising moon. She knew the moon was the same size everywhere, but right here, where she could see it break over the horizon, it was a huge white spotlight turned on the Creek Spill. She wrapped her flannel shirt tighter around her to stay warm against the cool night breeze. She hadn’t brought a bathrobe, so she’d put on the flannel over the pajama T-shirt she wore with an old pair of running shorts. Summer was warmer in southern California.
The balcony under her feet was made of smooth planks covered by a big woven rug in sunset colors. The wooden chairs were made of narrow logs, the knots still visible, the cushions as thick as her mattress back home. She’d switched off the lights in the room behind her so no one roaming around outdoors would see her up here.
Or at least they wouldn’t see her well. She’d been drawn outdoors by that big glowing moon, but now that she was out here, she took a minute to orient herself. The main house overlooked stables and a lighted swimming pool, along with numerous barns and sheds, all landscaped and much of it fenced. The buildings she could see, however, were small compared to the stables and barns where the stunt horses were kept and where Zoe was staying with many of the other crew members. She’d read online that the Creek Spill and its neighboring ranch, the Black Creek, were a combined fifty thousand acres, an amount of land that had boggled her mind.
It made her wonder how the owner of all that property had time to watch her ride a horse today.
Carson had an army of people working for him. She understood that now after meeting his housekeeper, who had shown Emma her room. A maid had brought up her dinner, which had been prepared by a cook. Knowing there were so many people on staff in the house had helped her feel a little less awkward about sleeping in Carson’s home. It wasn’t as if she was alone in the house with him.
Deciding she needed to stop thinking and start sleeping, Emma was about to return to her suite when a shadow emerged near the illuminated swimming pool.
A very male shadow.
The heavy shoulders and narrow waist told her as much. But she’d spent enough time admiring that particular masculine physique today that she didn’t have to guess who she was watching.
Carson McNeill had come home.
He stood at the deep end, facing the house. Facing her. She recognized his clothes from earlier; he must have just returned from his family obligation. She didn’t move, not wanting him to see her.
Wanting to watch him a little longer.
But then he raised his hands and dragged his T-shirt over his head. The light from the pool glinted off the bare muscle of his arms. She couldn’t see his abs in the shadows but her imagination supplied a picture of them just fine.
It was too late to shout down to him. Or at least, that was what she told herself. She seemed to have forgotten how to move, let alone speak.
His hand moved to his belt and he stepped out of his boots. Her mouth went dry when he reached for the button on his fly.
She gasped out loud when he stepped out of the denim.
That must have been what he heard. His head snapped up then, his gaze immediately finding her.
Her heart thudded so loud in her own ears she wondered if he heard that, too. Still, she couldn’t seem to lift her eyes from the slim-fitting boxer shorts that hugged his hips.
“Emma?” His voice smoked through her, heating her skin from the inside. “Is that you?”
Four (#u7232427f-f1c8-5252-b369-3abd3f452dfb)
There would be no slinking back to her room now.
Emma struggled to find her voice, flustered to her toes to be caught gawking.
“Carson?” She feigned surprise, as if she’d been standing at the railing staring at the moon and not the almost-naked gorgeous man in the courtyard. “I—er—didn’t see you there.” She cleared her throat to smooth over the cracks in her voice. “It’s a little cool out for a swim, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t quite peel her eyes away from him. But it was dark enough he couldn’t possibly tell exactly where she was looking. She hoped.
He grinned, his teeth a flash of white in the moonlight. “Spoken like a southern California girl. And no, it isn’t too cold.” He backed up a step, retrieving his jeans and shirt. “I thought you would have been asleep by now or I would have checked on you.”
Moonlight played over his muscles as he slid the denim back up over his hips. The light in the pool cast a watery glimmer on his chest until he put his T-shirt on. Having him less naked helped her brain cells start functioning again, but she wasn’t forgetting what she’d seen any time soon.
“I’m fine.” She wondered what “checking on her” might have involved, though. “Mrs. Tillson made sure I had dinner and helped me get settled.”
She noticed he left his boots by the pool as he jogged across the pavers to the wooden staircase at the far end of the upper deck. The deck that led to her.
Straightening, she remembered what she was wearing. A flannel shirt over an outfit she normally wore to bed. It was decidedly lacking in coverage. While Carson climbed the steps, she discreetly adjusted the waistband of the shorts, easing them a bit lower on her hips to cover the tops of her thighs before wrapping the flannel shirt around her again.
Her heart thudded hard against her chest as he strode closer, his steps light on the planked decking that lined the whole upstairs floor along the back of this section of the house.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you need?” he asked as he reached her, his gaze missing nothing.
For one heated moment, she allowed herself to consider the question. Then reason returned and she shook her head. “I’m all set. And I appreciate the hospitality. I certainly never would have expected you to—”
He waved off her thanks, leaning on the rail as he faced her. “Don’t think twice about it. I will sleep better knowing you’re as safe as we can make you here.”
A different kind of warmth filled her at his kindness. “Thank you.” She soaked in the comfort of his protection for just a moment. His caring. Then she remembered his quick exit earlier. “Is everything all right with your family? I’m sorry that your stepmother is in the hospital.”
He looked out over the ranch for a moment, his jaw flexing. He nodded. “Things are better now. My stepmother has been in a coma since she fell in a hiking accident, but her doctors say she’s coming out of it.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been frightening for your whole family.” Her hand landed on his forearm. Squeezed. She had a tenuous relationship with her own mother, but she couldn’t imagine life without her. Jane Layton was the only family Emma had since her father’s suicide when she was three years old.
A cool breeze chilled her, sending a shiver up her spine.
“I just hope they’ll let her come home soon. Worrying about her has really taken a toll on my father.” Carson glanced over at her, frowning down at her bare legs. “You’re cold. Let’s find a spot to sit away from the wind for a minute and then I’ll let you get to bed.”
He palmed the space between her shoulder blades, steering her toward the seating area close to the French doors that led into her suite. As she dropped into one of the thick cushioned seats, he tugged a throw blanket off the love seat and laid it over her legs.
“It’s okay. I’m too wound up to sleep anyway.” She hadn’t anticipated her ex’s release from prison to churn up so many old insecurities, especially after the months she’d trained to feel strong and confident. She tucked the edges of the blanket—a soft wool blend—under her to keep the wind out.
“I ordered more private security starting tomorrow.” He lowered himself into the love seat, putting him at a right angle to her chair.

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