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How To Train A Cowboy
Caro Carson
LESSONS IN LIFEThough marine hero Benjamin Graham doesn't know the first thing about ranching, his new job is the lifeline he desperately needs. Without the help of feisty cowgirl Emily Davis, though, he's lost—in more ways than one. But as their desire ignites, the hardened warrior turns away from the gorgeous girl. She might know every inch of her family's land, but Graham doesn't want her to share his pain.Even if the world is Emily's oyster, all she's ever wanted is the family land. And though rugged Graham seems like an unlikely trainee, he is taking her dreams of running the ranch more seriously than anyone else. As they grow closer during hot days – and nights – working the range, Emily starts to think that maybe the man is part of her dream…


Lessons in Lassoing
Though marine hero Benjamin Graham doesn’t know the first thing about ranching, his new job is the lifeline he desperately needs. Without the help of feisty cowgirl Emily Davis, though, he’s lost—in more ways than one. But as their attraction turns combustible, the hardened battle vet turns away from the gorgeous college coed. She might know every inch of her family’s homestead, but Graham doesn’t want her to know his pain.
Even if the world is Emily’s oyster, all she’s ever wanted is the family ranch. And though rugged new ranch hand Graham seems like an unlikely trainee, he is taking her dreams of running the ranch more seriously than anyone else. As they grow closer during hot days—and nights—working the range, Emily starts to think that maybe the ranch is only a piece of her dream…
He held her just right, his arms across hers, no accidental brush against her breasts, no awkwardness in trying to avoid touching certain parts of her, either. He’d just come up behind her and enclosed her in his arms, sheltering her from the cold just as he’d sheltered her from the bar fight. It was heaven to be with a man who knew what he was doing.
Being the helpless one was every bit as addictive as she’d been afraid it would be.
She was strong and strong-willed—stubborn, her mother called it—and she needed to continue being both if she ever hoped to prove to her family that she belonged in the ranching business.
But for tonight… Right this moment…
She let herself relax in Graham’s arms. She was tired of proving herself to her family. She was tired of playing the social games at college. For just one night, she wanted to be wanted without having to work for it.
Nothing would change if she gave herself one night with a man who knew what he was doing.
* * *
Texas Rescue:
Rescuing hearts…one Texan at a time!
How to Train a Cowboy
Caro Carson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Despite a no-nonsense background as a West Point graduate, army officer and Fortune 100 sales executive, CARO CARSON has always treasured the happily-ever-after of a good romance novel. As a RITA® Award-winning Mills & Boon author, Caro is delighted to be living her own happily-ever-after with her husband and two children in Florida, a location which has saved the coaster-loving theme-park fanatic a fortune on plane tickets.
This book is dedicated to
my fellow Harlequin Special Edition authors.
Thank you for being the colleagues who understand me, the friends I love to spend time with and the authors who write the stories I love to read.
Contents
Cover (#u1f9c7981-f19f-5179-b2b7-ab1424621c5c)
Back Cover Text (#u7fd40d92-05c4-59f4-b87a-873bd9945540)
Introduction (#u624d185c-2112-58af-9301-0b5a9c9bb2a9)
Title Page (#uab659005-66b4-54a9-b270-861a0c481fc6)
About the Author (#u8e5149cc-30f3-595a-b207-6a687d9741f7)
Dedication (#u53def135-14c4-57d1-abdb-d84199ce555a)
Chapter One (#u48b827b0-f0a2-517e-97bd-afd216ec4d98)
Chapter Two (#u7a961104-c5dd-5e64-8d88-26438de1d324)
Chapter Three (#u3b1714c1-a1fc-53c7-96ce-149dc8675ae5)
Chapter Four (#u4f599130-7c75-57b4-becc-38cd8fc703cf)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ub1dd3a45-205b-5aff-bc0b-040f549beb5d)
January 2015
He didn’t belong here, either.
Graham pushed his empty beer glass toward the bartender and abandoned his bar stool. He hadn’t belonged anywhere in a good, long while. He should have known a honky-tonk bar in Texas would be no different.
He’d been seduced by the appearance of this bar, he supposed. Something about the way it stood alone on the side of a rural road had caught his eye. The cinder block building was just old enough to prove the bar knew what it took to satisfy its customers, new enough to flaunt a pre-fab extension, all wood and aluminum. If it hadn’t been the look of the building, then Graham would have stopped because the size of the dirt parking lot meant that the place must see enough business to keep its kegs fresh, even if the parking lot and the bar inside had been nearly empty as twilight set in. He hadn’t expected such a fresh-faced crowd to start filling up the place so quickly after dark, though.
He should have. It was only Thursday, but the University of Texas in Austin was an hour east of here, and the massive army base, Fort Hood, an hour north. The average age inside the bar couldn’t be more than twenty-one, even though it wasn’t yet the weekend. Students and soldiers laughed and drank and tried to shout over a band that played Southern rock far too loudly for the low-ceilinged space.
No, Graham didn’t belong here.
Eighteen months ago—a lifetime ago—he’d been Captain Benjamin Graham of the United States Marine Corps. For eight years, he’d served everywhere he was needed, from Japan to Europe, but after his last deployment to Afghanistan, he’d had the distinct feeling he no longer belonged in the military. His body had taken a beating in those years. The daily wear and tear of backpacks and boots had taken as much of a toll as the bursts of adrenaline that kept a Marine from noticing that he was bleeding while returning enemy fire.
But it was more than that.
Graham had simply known, one average day on an average rifle range while safely stateside, that he was done. He’d proven whatever it was young men had to prove when they volunteered for the service. He’d served his nation and he’d served with good people—but it was time to move on. Graham had submitted the proper paperwork to his chain of command. In short order, he’d gotten his final orders and left.
Those eight years felt like eighty, sometimes. Like now. Graham worked his way toward the exit, leading with his good shoulder as he snaked his way through the impossibly young crowd. He might have felt like the oldest thing around, but he knew he wasn’t. The three-man band kept riffing—endlessly—on a Lynyrd Skynyrd tune that was older than he was. There were clusters of weathered men here and there, men like his uncle, who’d lived most of his sixty years outdoors, working a ranch.
The man ahead of him abruptly cut out of the traffic flow to join a group wearing black motorcycle jackets that matched. The biker lowered himself onto a bar stool as if his whole body ached, a feeling Graham knew too well. But the biker had gray in his beard; Graham was thirty. Maybe Graham had seen too much overseas to have anything in common with the young college crowd, but surely he didn’t belong on a bar stool next to that biker. Not yet.
A woman stumbled into him, one of the college set.
He caught her with one hand as she glared over her shoulder at the girls who had pushed her into his path. Then she turned her attention to him with a flip of her hair. She bit her lip and checked him out from his eyes all the way low to the zipper of his jeans.
“Sorry,” she said over the music, with a smile that said she wasn’t sorry at all. Her top was cut low, her breasts were pushed high and she nudged against him as the crowd pushed them together.
Graham assumed the attention meant he must not look as old as he felt—which changed nothing.
“No problem.” With an attempt at a polite smile, he turned sideways and stepped around her, leading now with the shoulder he’d shattered on the other side of the world. The shrieks of her girlfriends followed him. He was so not into you carried over the music, and was gone.
Graham soldiered on. The traffic flow was hampered by the pool table and a foosball game. He spotted another motorcycle jacket, but it sported a different logo than the bearded man’s club. Bikers, college kids, soldiers and locals—too many people in too small a space, with alcohol thrown into the mix. By the time that mix went sour, Graham would be long gone, but since everyone was peaceful for the moment, he changed his target from the exit door to a side hallway that held the restrooms. He didn’t know how far he had left to drive tonight, maybe sixty miles. Best to hit the head while he could.
There was a line for the bathroom, but at least the hallway was marginally quieter, since it was out of the direct blast of the band’s oversized speakers. Conversation continued all around him as he took his place in line with the men. Women formed a line on the opposite wall, the sexes as segregated as they’d be at a dance in a middle school gym. Each time a person came out of either of the bathrooms, bright light and the sound of running water spilled into the little hallway.
Graham resisted the reflex of closing one eye at each burst of bright light. This wasn’t a combat zone. He didn’t need to save the night vision in one eye each time the enemy sent up a flare. He let the back of his head rest on the wall and closed both eyes, weary of his own habitual alertness.
“Come on. Just one drink. I’m buying.” A male voice, cajoling.
“No, thanks.” A female voice, polite.
“Don’t be like that. You’re too pretty to pay for your own drinks.”
Spare me from college hormones.
Graham had turned thirty this fall on a college campus while in pursuit of an MBA. Although he’d realized pretty quickly that going back to graduate school wasn’t right for him, he’d forced himself to finish the semester. Most of his fellow students had entered straight from their bachelor’s degree programs, which meant they were twenty-one-year-olds like this guy, who was green enough to try to seduce a girl who needed to use a bathroom.
Graham had quit the MBA program a few weeks ago, at the end of the semester. The university had a nicer name for it; they’d charitably listed him as on sabbatical, but Graham doubted he’d return. He didn’t belong there, with the college boys.
“Come on,” this college boy said. “Dance with me.”
She doesn’t want to dance if she’s got to pee, pal.
If being thirty meant one had lived long enough to gain a few scars, it also meant one had gained some practical wisdom—or at least better control over one’s hormones. Either way, he was grateful that he wasn’t desperate enough to pursue a woman in a bathroom line. Graham opened his eyes and took the burst of bright light as the door opened.
“You gotta forgive me sooner or later,” the young man said, managing to whine and laugh at the same time. “Come on, let me see that pretty smile. You want to smile for me, Em, I know you do.”
Graham glanced at the man: button-down shirt, blond hair, tanned skin that said he’d probably spent the Christmas holidays somewhere tropical. The look on his face wasn’t confidence but cockiness.
The woman whom the man seemed to think owed him a smile had her back to Graham. He let his gaze follow her dark brown hair as it flowed over the large, loose ruffles of her light blue dress, stray curls detouring on their own little paths here and there. Her hair fell all the way to the small of her back, capturing what light there was along the way, lustrous with youth and health.
The door shut, leaving them all in the dark.
Em, the man had called her. They knew one another.
“Why don’t you go back to Mike and Doug?” This Em spoke almost like a teacher, not shrill, no giggles—a teacher whose patience was being tested as she tried to redirect a student’s attention to something more appropriate. “I’ll stop by in a minute and say hi. You don’t want to stand in line here with me.”
“I’m not leaving until you say yes.” The man leaned in closer. “Come on. Say it. One little yes. You won’t regret it.”
Graham felt older than ever. Had he ever been that cocky? At what age did a man learn that persistence was annoying, not charming?
Then the ladies’ room door opened again, the woman turned away from the college guy, and in the sudden bright light, Graham saw her face.
For one moment in time, just one suspended moment, Graham stopped thinking. The Marines, the bar, the MBA, everywhere he’d been, everywhere he was going, everything just ceased for a moment of blessed...interest. He looked at her, and he wanted to know her.
She was beautiful. Of course she was, but there was something about her, something that appealed beyond an oval face and pink lips and the smooth skin of a young woman, something in her expression—it felt like morning, to see her face in the bright light. For the first time in years, something, someone in the world, was interesting.
Their eyes met and held for a fraction of time, but then she blinked and turned back to the man who stood too close to her.
The guy poked the corner of her mouth with one finger. “Smile for me, baby.”
She stepped backward.
Graham stepped forward.
Her back was to him, so he doubted she knew he was standing behind her like some kind of bodyguard, but he stayed where he was. She didn’t want to be touched by that guy. The way she’d jerked out of his reach made that obvious. She didn’t even want to talk to the guy, but she was being too polite about it.
Women were too polite too often, something Graham had realized after playing wingman to an endless number of Marine buddies over the years. The awkward chuckle, the gentle no, thank you, the drink or the dance they ended up accepting although they didn’t really want it at all—these were common ways women dealt with unwanted attention.
They shouldn’t have to. How old did a woman have to be before she skipped right to telling a persistent creep to go to hell?
“Go to hell,” said the woman in ruffles.
Graham looked at the back of her head and almost smiled.
The college guy looked surprised. “Don’t be like that, Em. You’ve gotten all uptight, haven’t you, without getting any—”
“Go to hell.” She didn’t raise her voice. “We’re through. We’ve been through. We’re always going to be through. I don’t want to drink, and I don’t want to dance. Leave me alone.”
She turned her back on the guy, but since she hadn’t known Graham was so close behind her, she nearly collided with him, her cheek grazing past his chin.
“Oh, sorry.” Her apology was automatic, a reflex.
He put a hand out to steady her, also reflexively. But over her head, he locked gazes with the other guy deliberately.
“I heard her,” Graham said. “Didn’t you?”
The guy glanced at the way Graham kept his hand on her arm, and he hesitated—his first smart move. For all the guy’s youth, he was still a grown man, only an inch shorter than Graham, but there was nothing he could do that Graham could not counter, bad shoulder or not. That wasn’t cockiness; that was confidence, earned the hard way, year after year in the Marine Corps.
Think about it, pal, before you put another finger on her.
Graham waited, hand lightly resting on her soft skin so he could get her out of the way if push came to shove.
Another opening of the door, another burst of light. The woman called Em nodded politely at Graham and stepped around him, her ruffles and soft hair whispering past his shoulder. Then she was gone inside, disappearing along with the light as the door slammed shut.
The woman who’d exited the ladies’ room drawled an approving hello in the dark as she rubbed her way past Graham to head back into the crowd. His night vision was shot, but he didn’t need it to know the college guy had made the smart choice and beat a retreat.
Which left Graham alone. Again.
He was next in the men’s line, but when the door opened, he almost turned to let the next man have his place. Graham didn’t want to miss her when she came back out.
Her. Em.
Just as quickly as he recognized that anticipation, that almost hopeful desire to see her again, he pounded it down. Hopeful. Who did he think he was?
She was self-possessed, confident—intriguing to him. But she was still young, a woman who’d calmly set her boundaries while wrapped in youthful blue ruffles.
He was nothing more than a jarhead who’d left the Marine Corps, who’d spent a year after that burning a few bridges in the corporate world, who’d returned to grad school only to drop out weeks ago. He was on his way to take the only job offer he had left, one from his uncle, one that would barely pay minimum wage, but one that would require little to no human contact in the rural part of Texas. He’d given up on fitting in with the world, and he had no business forgetting that tonight, not even for a minute.
Let the beauty live her beautiful life.
He stalked toward the blinding light, straight into the toilet stall, and slammed the door.
* * *
Oh, my gosh. Ohmigosh, ohmigosh—who was that man?
Emily washed her hands quickly, thoughts racing.
Heart racing.
She wasn’t sure what had just happened. She’d taken one look at him and bam! Her heart had started pounding. Then when she’d turned around and brushed against his body, she’d practically melted at his feet. He was hot. Hot in a way that the other men in her world weren’t.
She had the impression he could be dangerous, but she couldn’t say why. He’d just stood there, really. Just said one sentence to her idiot ex and nothing to her at all. But there was an aura about him that left her in no doubt that he was a man with whom one did not mess. An aura and a hard body.
She shivered as her soapy fingers slid together, but it was a delicious shiver. None of that danger had been directed her way, but she’d felt it. And it had triggered just about every primitive response she was capable of. More than she’d known she was capable of. She’d never met a man like that, not on her college campus, not even among the cowboys on her family’s ranch. She’d grown up here in cattle country, so she knew plenty of men who were plenty masculine, but none had ever been so...dangerous.
No, he wasn’t dangerous to her. What was the word she was looking for?
Sexual.
Maybe it was just sexy to have a man step in to defend her.
Him, Tarzan. Me...Jane?
No way. As long as Emily could remember, she’d always been able to rope and ride and keep up with the boys in her life. Unlike poor helpless Jane, Emily would never stand still in a frilly dress and scream uselessly, waiting for a man to swoop out of the jungle to save her.
Maybe that’s why no man ever has before.
She hadn’t known she could feel like Jane, body set all aflutter because a physically powerful man had brushed against her dress. Emily barely dried her hands before using the paper towel to yank the door open.
Too eagerly.
Slow down.
Had she learned nothing in her twenty-two years? Had her sisters’ dramatic love lives taught her nothing? Her mother’s three marriages?
Slow down.
She, Emily Dawn Davis, was not going to have her life derailed by a man. She was no Victorian miss, no helpless paragon of femininity waiting for a man to complete her. In fact, she’d prefer not to have a man in her life at all right now. She had plans. Things to do. Places to be. Goals to accomplish.
But not tonight.
She was going to have to obey her family and return to Oklahoma Tech University in three days whether she stayed at this bar another three minutes or three hours. She’d intended to leave when she’d realized her ex was here at Keller’s and her friends were not, but now...
A dangerous man had appointed himself her bodyguard. For once, she understood the appeal in having a man take care of everything. What would life be like as Jane, not having to stand up for herself as long as Tarzan was around? She could just look pretty in her new blue dress and—and—
And not be in charge of my own life.
Her mother was controlling enough. Her older sisters, too. This entire winter break had been one frustration after another as they put roadblocks in her path. The last thing she needed was a man to give her his opinions on where to go and how to live.
It was time to leave. There was nothing she needed from a man, not even from a bodyguard.
The men’s room door opened, and Tarzan stepped out in a blaze of light.
Sex.
Well. There was that.
She took in all the vivid details as the door slowly swung shut behind him. He wore a navy blue knit shirt, long sleeves pushed up his forearms. Snug jeans, not new. Boots, but not cowboy boots. Maybe he was a biker? His dark hair was just a shade shorter than most of the guys. Maybe he was from Fort Hood. A soldier?
She wanted to know. She was wild to know more about him.
In the last sliver of light before the door shut, their eyes met. The man had honest-to-goodness green eyes, a warm green, like the grass in autumn when she went riding, happy in her world.
Emily stared at him, mute. Had Jane been struck speechless when she’d first laid eyes on her uncivilized man?
We don’t do helpless. Snap out of it.
Emily forced herself to move. She stuck out her hand to shake his, as if she were back at the James Hill Ranch, meeting a new cowboy whom the foreman had hired for the season. Not the most feminine move, but it was better than staring.
“Hi there. I’m Emily Davis.”
“Graham.” He took her hand in his without taking his gaze off her face. He looked so terribly serious about a handshake, as if they were closing a business deal.
It occurred to her that she was accosting someone in a bathroom hallway, just like her ex had done. Just ugh. She was classier than this. More mature than this. Really, she was. But that electricity she’d felt when she’d first brushed against Tarzan was all there, that thrill in the air as warm palm met warm palm. Every crude line her girlfriends used to describe a sexy man, every purr about a man who could make a woman want to drop her panties at one smoldering look, all of them suddenly made sense.
Even his hand feels sexy.
He let go, gave her the slightest of nods and the smallest attempt at a smile, and then he started to shoulder past her.
No! Don’t go. In sudden desperation, words popped out of her mouth, the oldest pick-up line in the world, the one dozens of men had used on her. With a jerk of her chin toward the bar, she raised her voice over the music and the crowd.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Chapter Two (#ub1dd3a45-205b-5aff-bc0b-040f549beb5d)
Ohmigosh, he said yes. I don’t know what to do.
Yes, you do. Get your act together.
She was going to buy a man a drink. She’d asked, he’d nodded and it was as simple as that. She was no helpless Jane. She was Emily Davis, future rancher—whether her family approved of that goal or not—and current purchaser of a beer for a man whom she wanted to... Well, never mind where her mind went at the sight of him. She just wanted to be around him. So she was going to buy him a drink.
He’d gestured out of the hallway with his nod, so she’d turned and started pushing her way back into the crowd. Guitars and drums obliterated all but the loudest shouts as Emily headed for the far side of the room, where the iron-trimmed wooden bar stretched the length of the wall. The hottest man in her world was currently half behind her, half beside her, matching her every move as she dodged left and right around people who were talking and drinking and standing in one place. The rush was as exciting as that first drop on a roller coaster.
Emily wedged herself in between two other people at the bar. Like all the other girls who wanted the bartender’s attention, Emily put her elbows on the iron-trimmed wood and started to lean forward, prepared to flirt her way into getting some service, but she felt Graham’s presence behind her, and she paused. He was in a different league than her college crowd—the college she was being forced to return to. She didn’t want to act like the other girls.
It wouldn’t work, anyway. Leaning over the bar generally gave the bartender a nice cleavage shot, which would hopefully get his attention, but Emily’s outfit was more subtle than that. Sure, her dress barely reached to mid-thigh and she was wearing her fancy cowboy boots, the ones that were only good for dancing, but her chest was covered with ruffles up to her neck, not exposed by a low neckline. Besides, the bartender tonight was Jason, helping out his family on his own winter break from college. She’d known Jason in high school, when her previous stepfather had lived far outside of Austin and the school bus ride had taken over an hour each way. If the sight of Emily’s cleavage was going to make Jason hustle over to her, it would have done so years ago.
“Yo, Jason!” But her shout had to compete with the band’s cover of a Merle Haggard outlaw country tune. She whistled instead, another masculine move, but the piercing sound worked. Jason pointed at her to let her know he was coming her way next. She turned to ask Tarzan—Graham—what he’d like, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. Instead, with his eyes narrowed and his jaw set, he was scanning the crowd.
Maybe he was looking for whichever friends he’d come in with. She hoped he wasn’t looking for a particular girl, but that was entirely possible. He was undeniably handsome, and the protective streak he seemed to have—and the buff body his shirt clung to—only made him more appealing. Women would fall all over him, as she had.
He was watching someone in particular now, no longer scanning. The thrill she’d felt from having his attention dropped a notch.
“Is beer okay?” she asked over the band.
He didn’t hear her.
She reached out to touch him, her fingertips sliding over his shirtsleeve, the curve of his bicep solid underneath that soft knit.
He looked at her.
“Light beer?” she asked, pointing at the handles of the beer taps in case he couldn’t hear her. “Dark beer?”
He shook his head and made a small gesture with his hand, almost like he was busy and she shouldn’t bother him. Nothing. Not right now.
Disappointment flooded through her, washing the thrill away. A little embarrassment heated her cheeks, because she’d misread him. That nod in the bathroom hallway hadn’t meant Yes, I’d like to spend more time with you, after all. He probably hadn’t even heard her question in the first place. He’d just been on his way to the bar himself. He was waiting for her to get her drink and go back to her friends, so he could order his and go back to whomever he was looking for.
There was nothing more Emily could do. Graham had turned half away from her again. Since he wasn’t even looking at her, she could hardly flirt with him now, even if she had the guts to risk a second rejection.
Emily caught Jason’s eye and held up one finger. One beer, darn it. One lonely beer.
From somewhere beyond the pool table, a male voice shouted in anger. Two voices. More. Suddenly, Graham’s hand was on her waist, his palm immediately warm through the thin blue material of her dress. Emily turned to him in surprise just as a flurry of violence erupted near the pool table.
The crowd lurched away as one, pushing everyone a foot closer to the bar, butting up against Graham. He was braced for it, though, and didn’t move. Emily wasn’t squashed at all, not with him standing like a wall, breaking the tide of people coming at her.
Emily stepped back as much as she could to give him room, but she could only back up a half step until the rounded iron edge of the bar touched her back. He stepped with her, keeping his hand on her waist, then placed his other hand on the bar beside her and braced his arm straight. There was more shouting, another surge as people tried to get out of the way of the fistfight. Emily was sheltered from the second wave, too, safe as she looked up into those green eyes, feeling Graham’s muscles flex as he kept his arm stiff and people collided with his back, and wow, this is much too sexy.
She could love being Jane. It would be too easy to get addicted to having this man protect her from the dangers of the jungle.
But he shouldn’t have to. The crowd pushed against him, and Emily grimaced apologetically. Fistfights around here were usually over as soon as they started, but the distinctive sound of a pool cue cracking cut through the air, as loud as a baseball bat splintering on a fast pitch. Women screamed.
“Let’s go,” Graham said.
He didn’t wait for her to answer. He let go of her waist to put his whole arm around her, holding her so that her back was against his chest. He raised his other arm in front of her and used it to firmly clear the way as he herded her toward the closest door, an emergency door with an alarm on it. She knew it would open onto an outdoor courtyard full of picnic tables that would be empty in January. The door was usually propped wide open with a cinder block on summer nights.
Tonight, in the dark, people were heading for the main exit, so she and Graham were like salmon going against the flow as they headed to the much closer emergency exit. The band stopped playing, one guitar after the other petering out mid-chord. More women started screaming, which only added to the chaos.
Emily ducked instinctively as a bottle flew over their heads. She kept moving, the wall of warm man protecting her, his body all around her. The crowd jostled them—well, it jostled him. She only felt everything secondhand, a vibration at her back as his body absorbed any impact. In an amazingly short time, a matter of seconds, Emily and her bodyguard pushed open the silver bar of the emergency exit and burst into the crisp, cold air of the empty courtyard.
“Go on.” He let go of her so suddenly that she took a couple more steps before it registered that he’d changed directions and gone back to catch the door before it shut. No alarm was sounding; it had probably never been armed after the summer. Graham reached in, leaning in with his shoulder, and handed out another woman. Another. Then a steady stream of men and women started pouring out of the open door, dozens of people filling up the patio, bringing their loud and excited chatter out into the cold January night.
She lost sight of him.
Her ex, Foster Bentson, hustled out the door instead. Foster looked around the growing crowd, but there was no sharpness in his gaze, no efficient scan of the situation. Instead, Foster looked nervous, peeking back over his shoulder as he put distance between himself and the fight inside. Emily watched him for a moment. That wasn’t nervousness; it was guilt. He looked like a child afraid someone had seen him filch an extra dessert.
“Em! Hey, Em!” One of Foster’s friends, Doug, called to her from the rapidly growing outdoor crowd. “Have you seen Foster and Mike?”
She pointed briefly. “Foster’s over there.”
Tarzan had disappeared back into the jungle silently. Emily couldn’t do anything about it except wait and hope she’d see him again. Being Jane had its sucky side.
Emily crossed her arms to keep herself warm. It wasn’t freezing, but it was still in the forties, typical January weather around here. It was cold enough that she hoped the crowd would be able to go back inside shortly. She’d dressed for her night out in something fun and feminine, not warm. Her legs were bare from mid-thigh to the tops of her cowboy boots. She was going to get real cold, real quick.
Instead of walking over to Foster, Doug hollered at his friend to come over to them. The guys greeted each other like they hadn’t seen each other in months instead of minutes, performing some kind of an arm wrestler’s grip of a handshake and a bump of shoulders.
Oh, yeah. You’re a couple of he-men, the pair of you.
Emily looked around the growing crowd, but Graham was gone. It had been nice of him to get her out of the bar, but considering the way he’d helped the next few women as well, he’d just been a gentleman. He hadn’t wanted to have a drink with her, and he didn’t want to stick around and talk to her now. She wasn’t his Jane.
“Mike’s still inside,” Foster said. “I don’t know what happened. Some guy just pushed him, and next thing I knew, pool cues were flying.”
And then you ran outside to be safe and left Mike to fend for himself in there?
No wonder Foster had come out looking so guilty. He and Doug stared at one another in silence for a moment.
“But Mike can hold his own,” Doug offered.
“Oh, yeah. Mike can handle it.” Foster sounded eager to believe it.
“Yeah. Mike’s fine.”
Emily rolled her eyes even as she kept her arms crossed against the cold. “Whether Mike can handle himself or not, I’m sure he’d appreciate some backup.” She was half-tempted to go back inside, just to demonstrate how a loyal friend should act. But Mike was Foster’s friend, not hers.
Foster looked irritated. “Mike’s fine.”
“And you’re a wimp.” Then she smiled at him, very sweetly, just as he’d been begging her to do all night.
Foster opened his mouth, looking offended as all get-out, ready to tell her off.
Bring it, wimp. She was so in a mood for a fight. Nothing was going her way tonight. She’d come here to blow off some steam with girlfriends, because her family had spent the entire Christmas break trying to talk her out of the one career—the one life—she wanted. Talk had turned to ultimatums she couldn’t disobey. But her friends hadn’t shown up. Her ex had. Then a stranger named Graham had rocked her world just by standing still, but the man couldn’t be less interested in her. Frustration of every kind was boiling over.
Foster abruptly shut his mouth and settled for a sneer before he shuffled away a couple of feet.
Awareness prickled down her spine, and she turned around to find Graham back in his silent bodyguard mode, standing just behind her. He was scanning the crowd again, but he spared her a glance as she looked at him. He nodded.
Great. Apparently he communicated in nods, which she’d already misinterpreted once. She kept her arms crossed and crossed her ankles, too, squeezing her thighs together to keep warm, and tried communicating with words. “That was my ex and his friend.”
“I figured that out.”
Ah, he speaks. Emily waited, but that was apparently all Graham was inclined to say.
She tried again. “He’s harmless, but it was nice of you to step in earlier by the bathrooms. You don’t have to keep being my bodyguard, though. I can handle him.”
“There’s no gate in this fence,” he said. “We’re penned in if the fight spills outdoors.”
Okay, then. He was still in bodyguard mode. She might not need a bodyguard, but he’d be a heck of a good one, always on duty, always making people think twice with that air of danger about him.
She rubbed her arms. “The only way in and out is the front door where they check the IDs. We won’t be leaving for a while.”
“If the fight comes out here, we’ll have to go over the fence. I’ll give you a hand.” He glanced at her, and she knew, without a doubt, he was judging how much she weighed and how easy or difficult it would be to toss her over. It was a purely practical evaluation. There was nothing sexual in that look.
He nodded toward one section of the fence. “We’ll go there. I can see between the planks that there are no shrubs on the other side to get tangled in.”
It wasn’t that he was dangerous, she realized. It was that he was prepared to handle danger. “Do you always have an exit plan?”
“Always.”
She’d benefited from his last exit plan when they’d been inside, but it was kind of sad that he’d had one when he could have been smiling at her and enjoying a beer instead. Expecting the worst at all times must wear a person out.
“This bar usually isn’t this bad. Just a fistfight that’s over before it’s started, maybe one a week. This one’s probably over already. You won’t have to throw me over any fences.” She patted his arm without thinking, a couple of firm slaps. It was the same way she’d pat her horse’s neck after they’d worked the cattle.
Atta boy. We’re done now; you don’t have to keep watching the herd.
But this was no beast under her hand. This was a man, with hard muscles and an even harder expression on his face.
She pulled her hand back, embarrassed at her impulse, and tucked her hands back under her arms. She uncrossed her ankles, then crossed them the other way, trying to stay warm. There was just enough of a breeze to make the ruffles on her dress lift and ripple.
Graham didn’t look cold. In fact, he looked pretty comfortable outside. It was as if now that he’d assessed the situation and located his alternate exit, he was content to wait it out.
Emily wished everyone were that way. The drama gearing up around them was ridiculous. While the men all puffed out their chests and claimed they could have done something if they’d needed to, a group of girls hung all over each other, sobbing, not two feet away. Emily found their drama even worse than the men’s bragging. She just couldn’t summon up any sympathy for perfectly healthy, perfectly capable women who acted like they were dying.
“Did you see how close they got to me? I swear to God, I thought I was going to die.”
Emily glanced at Graham. He’d crossed his arms against the cold, too, but he was watching her instead of the crowd, for once. Great. She’d probably been rolling her eyes or wrinkling her nose in disapproval. Her family teased her about the faces she made all the time, so it was entirely possible that she hadn’t been keeping her thoughts to herself.
She could pretend she wasn’t embarrassed, but it was harder to pretend she wasn’t cold. The breeze was pretty brisk, but surely the police were on their way. It took a little while for them to get this far out of town, but they’d be here soon to sort out the action inside. Maybe the patio crowd would be stuck out here for another half an hour, tops. She’d survive.
The cluster of girls weren’t cold. They had each other to hug and weep upon, of course, but some had a different strategy. One woman chose a man from the crowd and zeroed in on him, tiptoeing over to him in little baby steps. She clasped her hands and blew on them like they were already frozen solid. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but could I borrow just the edge of your coat? Just to tuck my hands under the hem for a minute? It’s so freezing out here.” Within a matter of seconds, she had the man eating out of her cold hands, taking off his coat and laying it over her shoulders while she thanked him as if he’d done something extraordinary—as if she hadn’t maneuvered him into doing just that.
Emily knew how to play that game, just as she knew how to flash some cleavage to catch a bartender’s attention. She simply didn’t want to. It took too much energy to keep up the golly-gee-whiz facade. It felt a little demeaning to her, to have to act like an innocent child in order to be thought of as cute. She hadn’t been able to sustain it very long with Foster, and Foster hadn’t liked her much when she’d acted more like herself and less like a helpless doll.
Still, the girl in the borrowed coat was undoubtedly warmer than Emily at the moment. Girls who acted cute got all the attention.
Not from Graham.
Emily had given him a hearty handshake instead of a cute tilt of her head, and yet, for whatever reason, Graham had gotten her to safety first before helping anyone else.
No wonder Graham was so darned appealing. She hadn’t asked him to step in when Foster was harassing her; he just had. She hadn’t felt helpless when the fight had broken out, but he’d protected her, anyway. He had to be interested in her, didn’t he?
Graham walked a few steps to stand on the other side of her, just close enough to be in her personal space.
“Here, try turning this way,” he said. With one hand on her arm, he angled her so that she was once more standing with her back to his chest, but they weren’t touching this time. The ruffles of her dress fell still.
“What—what are you doing?” she asked.
“It feels less cold if the wind’s at your back.”
But of course, he’d blocked the wind for her with his larger body without her having to pout or flirt or even flatly ask him to.
If the man was trying to seduce her without touching her, he was succeeding. Now that Emily thought about it, the literary Jane wasn’t a cute or adorable character. She never manipulated anyone. She’d just been herself, lost in a jungle, and a man had swooped in to save her because he’d wanted to, not because she’d flirted with him first.
She looked at Graham over her shoulder. “Now the wind’s not at my back. It’s at yours.”
“That was the idea.” The ghost of a smile touched his lips. He looked so unconcerned, standing behind her, but he had to be cold. It was forty-something degrees out, and he was human.
“You’ll freeze to death,” she said.
“That’s doubtful.”
She did roll her eyes then.
He shrugged, a small movement of his shoulder. “It’s not that windy. More of a brisk breeze.”
“It’s still cold, no matter how much wind there is or isn’t.” She hesitated, all her thoughts about not being fake or manipulative swirling in her head. She hoped she wouldn’t come across that way. “I know we don’t know each other, but if you put your arm around me again, it would keep us both warmer.”
He didn’t move for the longest moment.
She hadn’t played the game right. She should’ve smiled when she’d said that and tilted her head just so, maybe run a finger over his arm. Or she could’ve just said she needed to warm up and then leaned into him with a giggle and puppy dog eyes.
Too late now. She’d been straightforward, and it would be too psycho if she suddenly switched gears. So she shrugged her own shrug, as casual as his had been. “I’d feel a little less guilty if I was helping to keep you warm, too. That’s all.” Pretending her pride wasn’t stung, she crossed her ankles the other way and studied the pattern of swirls that had been tooled into the pointed toes of her leather boots.
His arms came around her so gently, the only thing startling was how very warm he felt. He stepped closer, so his chest touched her back. His square-toed boots mingled with her fancy ones.
“Nothing to feel guilty about,” he said. “There was no sense in both of us getting windblown, so I thought I’d stand on this side.”
“But this is even warmer, for both of us.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
His voice was close to her ear. No, not his voice—his lips. His mouth. She hadn’t meant to use near-freezing temperatures to indulge in a little fantasy with this man, but being wrapped in his arms was delicious.
“For the record, I wouldn’t normally put my hands on a woman in the first half hour that I’ve met her,” he said. “My mother would call it ‘getting handsy.’”
He had a deep voice. She shivered, and pretended it was from the cold. “It’s forty degrees out. Believe me, all I’m thinking is that you’re warm, not handsy.”
He chuckled, which surprised her, because his expression hadn’t been anything but grave from the hallway to the bar to the patio. “My mother drilled it into my head that girls don’t like guys who get handsy. I should have dated more in the winter.”
“Look how we’re standing. We look like a prom photo. You’re not being any more handsy than a boy who gets to put his arms around his prom date for the camera while his teachers are chaperoning. Pretty innocent stuff.”
“I don’t know about innocent intentions at prom,” he murmured from his prom position behind her. “I think I was a pretty handsy date. Yours wasn’t?”
“I’d had my hair done at a salon. I didn’t want him to mess it up.” She loved this, being able to just turn her head a little to the side to have a private conversation with Graham, cheek to cheek. “I think I scared him off early in the evening when he went in for a kiss. I said, ‘Don’t touch my hair.’ Maybe it was more like a shriek. Don’t touch my hair. He barely touched any part of me after that, not even for the slow dances.”
She felt Graham’s smile even before she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. He held her just right, his arms loosely crossed over hers, hands resting at her waist, no awkwardness in trying to avoid touching certain parts of her, no accidentally-on-purpose brush against her breasts, either. It was heaven to be with a man who knew what he was doing.
“Whoever your date was, he’s kicking himself every time he remembers his prom,” Graham said. “An opportunity to hold a pretty girl doesn’t come along every day. Fortune favors the brave.”
“And you are the brave?”
He paused a fraction of a second. “Back then.”
“What about now?”
“I got older. I’m a very, very good boy now.” He murmured those words close to her ear, this man who knew what he was doing. Her breath left her in a rush of want, her body reacting instantly with a heavy ache deep inside. A very, very good boy...
She turned her head to see more of his profile. He had hard features, nothing of the prettiness of the theater majors at her college, none of the country club grooming of the aspiring business majors. Graham was still keeping an eye on the crowd around them, the way he narrowed his eyes causing little lines to fan at their corners. She felt that same thrill of being protected; she felt that same tug of sympathy for a man who never dropped his guard.
“At least now you won’t freeze to death for my sake,” she said. “You already took a few punches for me tonight. I’m sorry about that.”
“I did?”
“On the way out of the bar.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. That was just some pushing and shoving. No one landed a decent hit.”
And it wouldn’t have fazed you if they had.
He was older, stronger, tougher than the other guys. Stronger than she was, although she thought of herself as both strong and strong-willed—stubborn, her mother called it—and she needed to continue being both if she ever hoped to live the life she wanted. But always being strong could wear a person out.
So tonight...
Why couldn’t she be Jane for just one night? Not the strongest, not in charge, not the decision maker. What could be the harm in spending a little time with a man who knew what he was doing?
Chapter Three (#ub1dd3a45-205b-5aff-bc0b-040f549beb5d)
Graham had no idea what he was doing.
His plan had been set: he was checking out of the world, going to live in isolation on a cattle ranch, which sounded like going to live in Siberia. Good. He was battered and tired and ready to retreat from the human race. He’d be done with society and all the empty social niceties, officially, tomorrow.
And yet here he was, standing in the crisp, clean air with his arms around a woman who was warm and beautiful, young and full of the future. What the hell was he doing?
Starting tomorrow morning at sunrise, he’d report for duty, so to speak, at the James Hill Ranch. His uncle Gus was the foreman there, and had been for a long time. Word must have traveled through the family that Graham had left the Marine Corps, then left the corporate business world, and now left grad school. For thirty years, Uncle Gus had been a benignly neglectful bachelor uncle, but he must have decided it was time to pay attention to his nephew. The offer had come out of the blue.
Graham didn’t know anything about horses. The closest he ever got to cattle was seeing them out the car window as he drove the highways between military bases. That meant he was coming to his new job with no skills, so he’d only be good for the grunt work. He was going to get worked as hard as he’d ever worked in the Marine Corps, digging ditches and hauling sandbags like the lowest-ranking new recruit.
It had been a long time since he’d been the low man on the totem pole. Graham had left the service at the rank of captain. He’d been a company commander, personally responsible for the training and well-being of two hundred Marines, charged with leading them on every assigned mission, anywhere in the world they were sent.
No longer—and that was fine. Graham looked forward to the oblivion that hard labor would grant him. He’d be responsible for no one and nothing. He’d be bone tired every night; he’d sleep. He’d wake up the next day and do it all over again. He expected nothing more out of life.
So why was he standing here with one light and lovely Emily Davis in his arms?
Some of the crowd had started to go back inside. Graham watched as they hustled right back out again. The sound of men shouting and bottles shattering mixed with the hyped-up chatter of the outdoor crowd.
“It sounds like a war zone in there,” Emily said.
Not quite. But Graham had no desire to start dredging up memories from Afghanistan, so he said nothing.
“The poor Keller family. They bought this place just a few years ago. I went to high school with their son, Jason. Sounds like they aren’t going to have much furniture left.”
“So you’re a local?”
He could have bitten his tongue out. What was he doing? Making small talk? Trying to get to know her?
“Sometimes,” she said. “I was born in San Antonio, but I’ve got family around here. I grew up going between San Antonio and Austin, Austin to San Antonio. I never went beyond that little hundred-mile stretch until I started college in Oklahoma.”
He said nothing.
“I’m nearly done there. Nearly. Not soon enough.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. A college girl with her life ahead of her. His was so empty in comparison. He shouldn’t have his hands on her, not even in an innocent prom pose.
“How about you?” she asked quietly, and he could tell she’d turned her head to look at him.
He opened his eyes. “Just passing through.”
Glass shattered inside the bar.
“We may be here awhile.” She sighed and relaxed into Graham’s arms just as easily as if they were old friends who hung out together all the time. “Every time it sounds like it’s quieting down, it spins right back up again.”
The blue ruffles at her waist tickled the inside of his wrist.
Old friends. Sure.
The last time he’d held a woman in his arms for any length of time, he’d been in bed and they’d just shared some very satisfying sex. He didn’t mind falling asleep like this with a woman, spooning when they were still appreciative of each other’s bodies. He couldn’t remember the specific woman and the specific bed of the last time, though. Not at the moment, not with his arms full of Emily. It had been a long while, he knew that much.
He’d gone long stretches before, of course, due to deployments: a year in the Middle East, half a year on an aircraft carrier. He was a civilian now, no geography forcing him into celibacy, yet he’d had no interest in any of his fellow grad students while pushing through this past semester. Working for his uncle on a ranch far from civilization wasn’t going to require much of a sacrifice when it came to his social life. He didn’t have one, and he hadn’t cared.
Until now. The night before he was about to bury himself in the middle of nowhere, he was holding a woman who was making him remember things that were worth living for.
Maybe this was like quitting smoking. One planned for it, wanting it and dreading it at the same time, until finally, the night before officially quitting, one last cigarette, better than all the ones that had come before, was savored.
Emily Davis was his last cigarette.
He wasn’t going to sleep with her. Even if she’d have him, he would be all wrong for her. He wanted to make sure she got out of this bar safely and back to her bright life, and then he’d drive west two more counties and find the ranch where his uncle worked.
But in the meantime, whether he had minutes with her or hours, he’d savor this woman who was buoyant and charming—and unafraid to tell a man to go to hell—before he began his self-imposed exile.
There couldn’t be any harm in that.
* * *
Emily felt something change in the way Graham was holding her. It wasn’t a big difference, just an ease in his shoulders. His hand relaxed, fingers resting on her hip.
She could stay like this forever, but he’d said he was just passing through. The disappointment almost hurt.
You’re leaving for college in three days. Did you expect him to be waiting here for you when you came back on spring break?
She sighed, which only made her sink more cozily into his arms. How terrible, to be so fascinated by a man whom she might never see again.
Might never see again. It depended where he was going. It depended where he’d come from.
“You’re just passing through on your way to where?” she asked.
The roaring of motorcycle engines made an answer impossible. Five motorcycles or maybe more pulled in, from what Emily could see through the thin gaps between the wood planks of the fencing. The moment they killed their engines, the patio conversations resumed.
Not hers. She felt the tension return to Graham’s body. He let go of her, keeping only one hand on her waist, the position he’d taken just before they’d run from the bar fight.
“We should go,” he said.
“Bikers stop here all the time. They like to ride out here because there’s no traffic. It’s scenic in the daytime.” She hated to see him this tense again. She smiled, but she refrained from giving him another reassuring horse slap. “They aren’t as scary as they look. They’re just hanging out with their clubs. They’re sure going to be surprised when they open that door and walk in to that fight.”
Graham didn’t smile with her. “They’re not out for a Sunday ride. There’s a difference between a club and a gang. Whichever these men are, there are at least two different groups here tonight. Two different jackets.”
She looked around the patio crowd. Even Jason had come outside, abandoning his bar after calling the police, no doubt. None of the bikers had come outside. “You think this is a fight between gangs?”
“It’s no coincidence more bikers just showed up. This is going to get worse before it gets better.”
Graham had that aura of readiness about him again, the one that said danger was coming. He’d been right last time. She wasn’t inclined to question him now. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
“Is there anyone you came with that we need to get out?” Graham asked.
Just as she said no, there was another commotion at the doorway. Mike came barreling toward them, crashing into Foster, pushing him another foot closer to Emily.
“Where were you? Where the hell were you, Foster? Doug?” Mike was spitting out their names. His lip was bleeding. His eye was swelling shut. “You gotta get me out of here, now. They’re pulling out brass knuckles and chains. Knives, man, knives.”
“Is he a friend of yours?” Graham’s voice was back at her ear, level and patient, but his stance was ready to move, chomping at the bit to head for the fence.
“Not really. We go to the same college.” But Mike looked like hell, and she felt sorry for him, so she stepped just far enough away from Graham to tap Mike on the shoulder. “Hey. We’re leaving. Follow us.”
Then Graham’s hand was at the small of her back as they walked directly toward the section of the fence he’d already chosen. He escorted her as courteously as if she’d been dressed in high heels instead of cowboy boots. But since she was in boots, she made a little run at the fence when they were still a few feet away, wanting a bit of speed so she’d have the momentum to run halfway up and reach the top with two hands. To pull herself over, she had to walk herself up the planking, hoping for some traction between the leather of her soles and the grain of the wood. She felt one strong, warm hand on her backside, giving her that extra lift that made it easier to haul herself up and over. She dropped onto the dirt of the parking lot on the other side of the fence.
She tugged her dress back in place. More hands grabbed the top of the fence. Mike’s battered face appeared at the top, but he, too, was struggling to get over. One second later, he got almost too much of a boost to handle. He landed next to her, barely keeping on his feet. Foster came over next, same way. Doug.
The police arrived, red and blue lights shining on the planks of the fence as sirens screamed through the parking lot, passing them on their way around the building to the front of the bar. Emily shielded her eyes from the flashing and looked up to the top of the fence. When it was dark once more, Graham came sailing over the top, just one hand on the fence, clearing it cleanly, as if he’d flipped himself up and over a ten-foot fence a hundred times before.
You, Tarzan. For sure.
Mike grabbed Foster’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s go. I can’t get a police record. You know what my father would do.” Doug and Foster took off toward the parking lot with him, but Mike suddenly changed direction and stuck his hand out to Graham for a quick shake. “Thanks, man.”
Then Emily was alone with Graham in the dark. The planking of the fence was all that stood between her and the sounds of turmoil and outright violence on the other side. She stood next to Graham and felt safe.
“Where’s your car parked?” he asked.
Her heart fell a little. She didn’t want him to pack her off in her car, but what was the alternative while the police raided the bar? To hide here in the shadows of the red and blue lights and continue their little get-to-know-you chat?
“I’m parked around front.”
More motorcycles entered the parking lot. Another sheriff’s car pulled in right behind.
Graham’s hand on her waist came as no surprise. “Mine’s back here. I’ll drive you around the front.”
Ask me to go somewhere else with you to get a drink.
But he didn’t. His car was actually an SUV, new and expensive, an exotic European brand. He shadowed her all the way to the passenger door, shutting her into the leather-upholstered luxury before jogging around the front of the vehicle to reach his own door.
The upscale SUV meant two things to Emily. First, Graham had money, which she should have guessed. He was a man who knew what he was doing and how to handle the world around him. It made sense that he’d be on top of his financial world, too. Second, the sexiest man in her world really was just passing through. No one drove a vehicle like this in ranch country. She sat in her bucket seat, feeling a million miles away from him on the other side of the extra-wide console.
He started the engine. “What kind of car am I looking for?”
Ask me to go out for a bite to eat.
“I drive a pickup truck.” Not the most feminine thing to drive, but she did live in ranch country—or she would, when she finished her degree and her mother had no more leverage to wield over her choices.
Graham’s hands looked strong on the smooth leather of the steering wheel as he casually backed out of the parking spot. Emily would have hated to get a scratch on the paint, but he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his vehicle cost as much as some people’s houses.
“That doesn’t narrow it down much,” he said. “Three quarters of this parking lot are pickup trucks.”
“Mine’s red,” she said.
With a hitch to tow a horse trailer, because, unlike you, I am from around here.
She told him the make and model, an entry-level truck. She’d bought it from her brother-in-law, a bargain with only seventy thousand well-cared-for miles on it. She’d added another ten thousand miles, driving it to Oklahoma and back at the start and end of every semester, and from her mother’s house to her uncle’s ranch every chance she got—like this weekend. She’d come to spend her last weekend of the winter break back at her uncle’s ranch. She’d be mucking out stalls tomorrow morning. Voluntarily.
Emily flicked one of her ruffles into place. Yeah, her girly evening was rapidly coming to a close. Being taken care of by a man who was tough and strong had been sexy. Being taken care of by a man who was tough and strong and rich should have been even better, but instead, it only drove home that this was a fantasy with no hope of becoming anything else. He wasn’t from around here. He wasn’t staying around here, and he wanted to drop her off so he could get on his way.
At Graham’s soft curse, she looked up from her ruffles. The entire front parking lot was flooded by police cars and motorcycles. Her poor truck was one of an entire row stuck behind a fleet of sheriffs’ vehicles. Graham stopped the SUV. She wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.
She glanced at Graham. His eyes were closed. He rubbed his forehead with the fingers of one hand, disgust written all over his face.
Her heart had already been sinking. Now it hit bottom. The man did not want to be stuck with her all night long. It hurt, because she would have loved to spend more time with him.
Her pride rose to deal with the pain. He didn’t want to be stuck with her? Luckily for him, he wasn’t. She wasn’t helpless.
Say good-night, Jane.
“Well, thank you again for helping me get out of the bar. And for helping me get over the fence. Helping all of us get over the fence.” As long as she was relying on her own pride, she wanted to point out that the guys had needed boosts, too.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” she said, imitating his earlier words. She didn’t want to hear the man apologize for not wanting her company. She slipped her fingertips into the top of her left boot and under the edge of her calf-high sock, where she’d stashed the key to her truck. “You travel safely to wherever you’re going. I’m... I’m glad I got to meet you. Thanks again.” She opened the door.
“What are you doing?”
“Good night, Graham.”
“You can’t leave.”
As if she’d stay now, when he’d wanted nothing more than to put her in her truck so that he could get on to wherever he was going. She slipped off the high seat to land on the ground outside, nice and solid on her own two feet, her smile plastered in place as if her disappointment wasn’t choking her. As she closed her door, she caught a glimpse as Graham threw his gear shift into park and opened his door. He was fast; she’d taken only a step in the direction of her red truck before he rounded the hood of the SUV.
“Get back in the truck.”
She almost, almost obeyed that tone of voice, reaching for the door handle before she snatched her hand back. “Did you just give me an order?”
“You can’t stand out here.” He wasn’t looking at her, but over her, that sharp gaze on the police scene behind her.
“I’m not going to stand anywhere. I’ll sit in my truck until the police leave. My phone’s in there. My jacket’s in there. I won’t freeze.”
“It isn’t safe.”
“I’ll be just fine as can be. No one is going to bother me with this many cops around.”
He yanked the door open. “Your truck isn’t bulletproof. Let’s go.”
“Bulletproof?”
Wow, the poor man really was too much on alert—but then Emily heard the hoarse voice of a cop from behind her, sounding like something from a movie: “Let me see your hands!”
She whipped around to see cops running from the bar back to their cruisers, opening their doors and crouching behind them as they drew their guns.
“Put your gun on the ground!” ordered the hoarse cop, who was still standing, his weapon drawn and aimed at the front door of the bar.
Two hands on her waist yanked her back toward the SUV. Graham practically tossed her into the cab headfirst, then she felt his hand squarely on her rear end, shoving her farther into the cab. “Go. Get behind the wheel.”
She scrambled over the center console as Graham crowded her, climbing in behind her. She was still twisting around to get her butt in the seat when he slammed the gear shift down to the number one and pointed toward the field beyond the parking lot. “That way.”
The SUV started rolling forward in first gear. The driver’s seat was set for him, too far back for her to reach the pedals well, so she had to sit on the edge and hang on to the steering wheel to reach the brake. In the passenger seat, Graham ducked his chin to look into the side view mirror, then he turned around to look through the center seats and out the back window.
She’d just gotten her foot on the brake when she heard the unmistakable sound of a police megaphone. “Come out with your hands up.”
“Jeez,” she said, and switched to the gas pedal, steering with one hand as she used her other to feel around for the seat controls. The only way out of the parking lot, thanks to the patrol car barricade, was to drive cross-country through the scrub brush. “Your paint job is going to take a beating.”
“It’ll be just fine as can be.”
Wait—that was something she’d said. Was he being a smart aleck? She didn’t have time to decide; she was adjusting the driver’s seat with one hand as she steered toward the edge of the parking lot with the other, all while glancing from the view out the windshield down to the unusual drivetrain indicator. “How do you put it in four-wheel drive?”
“You don’t need to. It’ll adjust to the terrain.”
“Okay. Hang on.”
He braced one hand against the roof as they left the parking lot for the fields. They were bounced out of their seats a time or two, but she could feel the vehicle’s drivetrain adjusting, each wheel gripping individually when it got traction as she drove over hardened grooves in the earth, the muddy remains of a creek bed and the sandy soil beyond. She slowed once they’d gone the distance of a football field or so, but Graham gestured for her to keep moving while he kept watch out the back window.
“Take us all the way out to the highway.”
She hesitated.
“Bullets fly more than a hundred yards,” he said.
“If I remember rightly, we’re going toward a creek that probably isn’t dry.”
“It’ll wash the dirt off the paint job.”
Definitely a smart aleck.
“You might want to fasten your seat belt, then.” She let the SUV roll forward as she pulled her seat belt across her chest and buckled it. “You’re going to find out how good your suspension is the hard way.”
He looked at her instead of the parking lot scene for a moment, one of his infrequent smiles touching one corner of his mouth. “She’s more than a pretty paint job. She was built for this.”
“So I’ve heard.” The manufacturer was legendary for getting its start building safari vehicles. Emily put her boot on the gas again, pushing their speed a little more. “If I didn’t feel like I was running for my life, I’d be enjoying this.”
Graham turned around to face front and pulled his seat belt across his chest, too, as she drove on in silence. She couldn’t say he relaxed, but he wasn’t keeping a constant lookout behind them any longer. That had to be a good sign. Her knowledge of bullets was limited to her uncle’s rifles on the ranch. She didn’t know how far a police handgun could fire—and no one knew if the fighters in the club were armed, or with what. But if Graham was less concerned now, then so was she.
Foolish little Jane, putting all your trust in this man who just swooped in out of nowhere.
But gosh, he’d done just that. She was so very aware of him, of the size of him, the energy of his body in the close interior. Aware of the smell of his warm skin dominating the vehicle’s cool leather. Of the strength in his arm braced against the ceiling, the same arm he’d braced against the iron-edged bar to protect her when the only thing they’d known about each other had been their names.
She knew more about him now: how he reacted in an emergency, how he helped strangers without a second thought. How he’d tried not to be too handsy at a school dance, once upon a time, because he’d listened to his mama’s advice, like a young man should.
She liked everything she knew—except for one thing. He was only with her because the police had given him no choice.
If it weren’t for that, she’d really be enjoying this.
Chapter Four (#ub1dd3a45-205b-5aff-bc0b-040f549beb5d)
The creek was low at this time of year, so Emily drove Graham’s SUV through it easily enough. From there, it was just a short distance to the paved road, a two-lane highway that ran from the outskirts of Austin through hundreds of miles of cattle country. Emily headed west, away from the bar, away from Austin. There were no streetlights to cut through the black night, so the lights of another emergency vehicle were bright in the rearview mirror, although the red and blue flashes were at least a mile behind them. She watched in the mirror as the lights dipped below the horizon, adding to the distant glow of the police cars surrounding the bar.
She whistled low. “Police are still showing up. Do you think there was a shootout? Could you see what was—”
“No.”
His answer stopped her short. There was an awkward moment of silence while she wondered why he was so curt.
“We would have heard it if shots were fired,” he said.
“That’s good. I hate to think of anyone in uniform getting shot in the line of duty.”
Graham was silent.
Emily didn’t mind. “This is a Thursday night that’ll be talked about for a while around here. I’ve never seen that many patrol cars out here. We’re not usually this violent out in the country.”
“I can believe that. It’s empty out here. It’s as dark as...”
She stole a peek at him when his sentence trailed off into nothing. There was no trace of a sexy smile, no smart-aleck grin, either. He was in perfect profile, the lines of his forehead, nose, jaw all highlighted by the glow of the dashboard lights. He might as well have been carved from marble for all the expression his face didn’t show.
“As dark as what?” she asked.
“As anywhere I’ve ever been,” he finished flatly.
Emily looked out the windshield at the passing white dashes of the endless center line. She supposed being expressionless wasn’t the worst thing he could be. He could look impatient or irritated with the fact that he was stuck with her when he’d been ready to drop her at her truck and leave. Instead, he just looked stoic. Stoically surviving this additional time with her.
She felt just as bad as she had in the parking lot. She’d tried to leave him when he’d started saying I’m sorry. It wasn’t her fault he’d thrown her into his SUV when the cops had started ducking for cover.
She slowed the SUV and made a U-turn in the middle of the empty road. Once they were facing the direction of the bar, she pulled a good car’s length off the road and put the vehicle into park. She left the lights on, so other cars would see them on the shoulder, if another car was actually on this rural road. He didn’t ask her what she was doing.
She explained, anyway. “We can see the glow of the sheriff’s lights from behind that little rise in the road. When the red and blue cut off, we’ll know the coast is clear.”
And you can take me back to my pickup and get rid of me at the first possible moment.
“All right.” He opened his glove box and took out a cell phone, checked the screen, then tossed it to the center console.
Of course. He probably had someone to check in with, someone from the place he’d just left or the place he was going to. He couldn’t make a call with her sitting right here, staring at him and listening to every word. She’d never felt like such a burden before.
She hated it. She pretended she didn’t and let go of the steering wheel. “You’ve got a real nice ride here. It was fun to drive, considering the circumstances. But, you know, that whole little episode was pretty intense. Think I’ll walk it off a bit while we wait.”
“Emily.”
Jeez, he said her name like her mother would, Emily said in a tone that meant be sensible.
“No bullet is going to come over that rise and get me.” She unfastened her seat belt.
“You’ll freeze.”
“No, I won’t. I’m just going to stretch my legs.” She opened the door.
“Emily—”
She dropped down the foot to the gravel shoulder of the road and shut her door. The emergency lights flashed on the horizon. The air temperature hadn’t fallen any further. This was as cold as it was going to get tonight. Not too bad—if she’d had her jacket. She started walking and swung her arms, too. It did feel good to shake off some of the tension.
She avoided the bright headlights and walked around the back of the vehicle to the other side. Graham’s door opened and the interior lights came on, highlighting the rounded bulk of his shoulder muscles under that navy shirt. He stepped out and slammed the door shut. In the sudden shadows, he handed her a coat.
Oh, Tarzan. He was still taking care of her when he’d rather be free of her.
“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” She held the coat in one hand.
He leaned his back against the door and crossed his ankles, apparently prepared to relax out in the cold air. “You might as well put it on, if you’re going to walk around while we wait.”
“But now you’ll be the one freezing without it.” Although the headlights were pointed away from them, they still illuminated her little piece of the night enough that she could see her breath as a mist in the cold.
He shrugged in the shadows. “I’ll get back in the SUV if I can’t take it. If you feel the need to walk, you wear it.”
She swirled his coat around her shoulders like a cape, feeling a little bit sheepish. She didn’t want to admit that she didn’t need to walk anywhere, for any reason. “I thought—I thought you might want some privacy to make a call.”
“There’s no cell reception out here.”
“Oh. Right.” That must have been why he’d tossed his cell phone, not because he couldn’t make a call in her presence. To walk or not walk—which would make her look less dumb?
He tucked his hands into his front pockets. “Are you scared of me?”
With his face in shadows, she paid more attention to his tone of voice. He sounded concerned, actually concerned about her, Emily, the girl that the boys didn’t always like because they couldn’t beat her in a roping contest. A man who was concerned about her—it tugged at her heart. It made her weak in the knees. She was scared by how hard she wanted something she hadn’t thought she needed in her life. She didn’t need it; she just liked it. Loved it.
“When the police drew their weapons, I pushed you into my SUV pretty abruptly,” he said. “Maybe I scared you. I didn’t mean to. If the police needed to take cover, then we did, too.”
“I’m not scared of you.” That was sort of a lie, but she wasn’t scared of him the way he meant. She kept her chin up and pretended her heart wasn’t pounding just because he was talking to her with concern in his voice.
“I can imagine a woman might feel uneasy being out in the middle of nowhere with a stranger. I promise you, you’re safe.”
His hands were still tucked in his front pockets as he leaned against the door. He was being as physically non-threatening as he could be, she realized, putting himself in her shoes and trying to imagine what she might be afraid of. Just—jeez. What a good man. Who knew a man like that could swoop in to her local bar from out of nowhere?
He was watching her. “I’d never push anything farther than a woman wanted to take it.”
“Even though you were a handsy prom date?”
A beat of silence. “Even then, I could take no for an answer.”
“Because your mama taught you better.”
“Some things you don’t have to be taught. Of course I wouldn’t hurt a woman I wanted to...touch.” The slightest smile softened his features, but then he slayed her with a casual wink. “I just can’t imagine it would be any fun if she wasn’t having any fun.”
Well.
She couldn’t say anything to that. It was amazing she could even stand, because her bones had just turned to mush and she wanted to drop like a ribbon at his feet.
His voice was a gentle rumble in the night. “I’m trying to figure out why you got out of a warm car to stand in the cold air. Twice, not that I’m counting.”
“I was trying to give you some space. You didn’t plan on being stuck with me all night.” Her voice sounded sad. She tried to put a little spunk into it. “In my defense, this wasn’t my idea. I can take a hint. I did take the hint, in fact.”
“What hint was that?”
“In the parking lot. You were starting the whole ‘I’m sorry’ speech. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to get going now. Nice knowin’ you.’ I understand. You were never obliged to stay with me as long as you did. You could have jumped over that fence anytime you wanted to and left.”
His hands stayed in his pockets, but the muscles in his arms were taut, the muscles in his neck showing his tension. He looked away from her. “That wasn’t it.”
She waited, but he said nothing else. After a moment, she took a step closer to him. “Then what were you saying sorry for?”
He looked back at her with a suddenly fierce expression. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you out of there sooner.”
“Oh.” The look of disgust on his face, she realized, was directed toward himself, not toward her.
“I knew that crowd was going to turn bad. I failed to get you out of there. I was too slow to act on my own intuition, and I put you in danger because of it. Your truck is out of commission now, when it would have been fine if I’d gotten you out of there at the start. You would have been gone before the police arrived. I’m sorry.”
“We were only standing at the bar for a minute or two.”
“Long enough. I saw the argument starting when we were working our way through the crowd. I should have gotten you out that door instead of following you to the bar in the first place.”
Poor Tarzan, always obliged to help the people who wandered into the jungle. She felt a little guilty for soaking up all his protection. She’d done nothing except admire his body, his voice and his profile, while he’d been trying to keep her safe from fists and bullets, literally trying to save her life.
She turned to lean her back against the door, too, shoulder to shoulder with him, so he’d know she wasn’t afraid that he was going to physically attack her or anything like that. “It wasn’t your job to predict a fight or even to get me out of the bar. It’s my turn to apologize. I know I’ve given you the wrong impression all night, and I’m sorry for that, but I’m not actually the helpless type of female.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t think you do.” She glanced up to find him looking down at her.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “The first words I heard you say were ‘go to hell.’”
Her laugh of surprise was a single puff of white that floated away in the night air.
“You damn near made it over that fence before I could get a hand on you to help. This has nothing to do with whether or not I think you’re helpless. You’re clearly not.”

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