later.”
“Fine.” She yanked open the driver’s door of her truck and scooted Ace into the middle of the seat. “As long as you don’t mind my stopping by the campsite first—I have some guests who need to be checked in. I missed seeing them this morning.”
“I’d rather go straight to the house.”
She stilled, hand on the door. “After thirteen years you can’t wait a half hour?” She couldn’t help it. The words just came out. He’d made her jump to his bidding. He was here to stick Myron into a hospice, carve up and sell this ranch. Make her find a new home. And she was drawing her own line in the sand.
He regarded her, a silent energy coming from him in waves. He dipped his gaze, taking her in, head to boot. Absorbing her. She shifted uncomfortably, aware suddenly of her hidden scars, her latent shortcomings. Her shame. Her need for distance from people.
“Olivia,” he said quietly, his voice deep, resonant. It curled through her like seductive smoke, and she hated him for it. It scared her. Her reaction to him. Everything about this guy. He took up too much space—too much of her space.
“I don’t know who you really are,” he said quietly, “or what your exact role is on this ranch, or what your relationship is to my father, or why you have clearly prejudged and taken a disliking to me, but you were the one who phoned me , remember? When you told me that my father was dying, there was a very real sense of urgency. I went directly from the bar to the airport, and I slept on a plastic seat until they could get me on a plane. Then I flew to Vancouver, drove up to Pemberton, got my plane, and flew directly here. I’ve been in transit for almost twenty-four hours. I’m beat. And you might have noticed I could do with a shower. But I’ll concede.” He hefted his duffel into the back of her truck. It landed with a soft thud on top of the wood she had piled in there.
“Come. Let’s go do your chores first.” He went round to the passenger side and opened the door, got in.
She opened her mouth in shock, leaned into the cab. Ace was trying to lick his face. “What do you mean about my relationship with your father?”
“My sister said you and he might be involved.”
“ What? Is that what you really think, that I’m in some kind of relationship with your father ?”
“Get in, Olivia. I’m tired.”
“Jesus,” she muttered as she climbed in, slammed the door, and fired the ignition. “I’m taking you back to the lodge first.”
“I’d rather you got your cash from the guests.”
“Forget it. I’d rather offload you.” She rammed the vehicle into gear and hit the gas, spitting up dirt. They bombed down the hill, grass ticking against the undercarriage, her hands tightly gripping the wheel. “Maybe if you’d come home in the last thirteen years you’d know your father better, and you wouldn’t make such goddamn offensive insinuations. Because you would know he’dnever look at anyone other than your mother.”
“Right. I forgot. My mother who’s been dead twenty-three years. He holds so tightly to that bitterness he can’t let anyone else in. Not even his kids.” He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the headrest. “Glad to hear you’ve gotten through his bitter crust.”
She shot him a look, dumbfounded.
“I don’t owe you any explanations,” she snapped. “I don’t owe you a thing.” She spun the wheel sharply and barreled too fast over the cattle grid. The vehicle juddered like a machine gun, forcing him to sit upright and curse.
Cole stole a quick glance at her profile. She was prickly all right, but also easy on the eyes. Pretty, full mouth set in a tight line. Thick hair that fell to her shoulders. Like her photo on the ranch website, she was dressed cowgirl-style in worn jeans, button-down flannel shirt over a white T-shirt, boots that had seen the business end of a barn. He’d noticed right away how her ass fitted into those jeans,
“Fine.” She yanked open the driver’s door of her truck and scooted Ace into the middle of the seat. “As long as you don’t mind my stopping by the campsite first—I have some guests who need to be checked in. I missed seeing them this morning.”
“I’d rather go straight to the house.”
She stilled, hand on the door. “After thirteen years you can’t wait a half hour?” She couldn’t help it. The words just came out. He’d made her jump to his bidding. He was here to stick Myron into a hospice, carve up and sell this ranch. Make her find a new home. And she was drawing her own line in the sand.
He regarded her, a silent energy coming from him in waves. He dipped his gaze, taking her in, head to boot. Absorbing her. She shifted uncomfortably, aware suddenly of her hidden scars, her latent shortcomings. Her shame. Her need for distance from people.
“Olivia,” he said quietly, his voice deep, resonant. It curled through her like seductive smoke, and she hated him for it. It scared her. Her reaction to him. Everything about this guy. He took up too much space—too much of her space.
“I don’t know who you really are,” he said quietly, “or what your exact role is on this ranch, or what your relationship is to my father, or why you have clearly prejudged and taken a disliking to me, but you were the one who phoned me , remember? When you told me that my father was dying, there was a very real sense of urgency. I went directly from the bar to the airport, and I slept on a plastic seat until they could get me on a plane. Then I flew to Vancouver, drove up to Pemberton, got my plane, and flew directly here. I’ve been in transit for almost twenty-four hours. I’m beat. And you might have noticed I could do with a shower. But I’ll concede.” He hefted his duffel into the back of her truck. It landed with a soft thud on top of the wood she had piled in there.
“Come. Let’s go do your chores first.” He went round to the passenger side and opened the door, got in.
She opened her mouth in shock, leaned into the cab. Ace was trying to lick his face. “What do you mean about my relationship with your father?”
“My sister said you and he might be involved.”
“ What? Is that what you really think, that I’m in some kind of relationship with your father ?”
“Get in, Olivia. I’m tired.”
“Jesus,” she muttered as she climbed in, slammed the door, and fired the ignition. “I’m taking you back to the lodge first.”
“I’d rather you got your cash from the guests.”
“Forget it. I’d rather offload you.” She rammed the vehicle into gear and hit the gas, spitting up dirt. They bombed down the hill, grass ticking against the undercarriage, her hands tightly gripping the wheel. “Maybe if you’d come home in the last thirteen years you’d know your father better, and you wouldn’t make such goddamn offensive insinuations. Because you would know he’dnever look at anyone other than your mother.”
“Right. I forgot. My mother who’s been dead twenty-three years. He holds so tightly to that bitterness he can’t let anyone else in. Not even his kids.” He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the headrest. “Glad to hear you’ve gotten through his bitter crust.”
She shot him a look, dumbfounded.
“I don’t owe you any explanations,” she snapped. “I don’t owe you a thing.” She spun the wheel sharply and barreled too fast over the cattle grid. The vehicle juddered like a machine gun, forcing him to sit upright and curse.
Cole stole a quick glance at her profile. She was prickly all right, but also easy on the eyes. Pretty, full mouth set in a tight line. Thick hair that fell to her shoulders. Like her photo on the ranch website, she was dressed cowgirl-style in worn jeans, button-down flannel shirt over a white T-shirt, boots that had seen the business end of a barn. He’d noticed right away how her ass fitted into those jeans,
Similar Books
