sigh, fully disgusted with her behavior of late. She’d become so infatuated with Rowdy it was no wonder he hightailed it out of the ranch every chance he got.
It hadn’t always been like that. Rowdy had been at the ranch for over a year. She’d liked him from the first time they’d met, and felt a strange connection to him. He was knowledgeable and respected others, as well as the land. His type of dedication and loyalty was seldom seen in drifters.
They’d gotten along quite well, but the last month or so, he’d been setting off a mass of unusual and uncontrollable sensations that left her heart pounding, and a jumbled mess of hot, raging ache deep in her core. It was a sort of obsession. Anytime they met, it was as if their bodies carried on a passionate conversation—a magical, mystical one that awakened an intense swirling need inside her.
She’d thought about talking to Constance. Normally, Angel discussed every womanly thing that happened with her stepmother, but there was something about the way she felt toward Rowdy that was too private to share. It was precious, and somehow only for him to know.
Yet she couldn’t talk to Rowdy about it. Lately, he seemed guarded, almost frightened of her. He still teased her, but not like he used to.
“I know it’s hard, but everything that’s meant to be turns out in the end,” Constance offered.
Angel cringed, wondering if her stepmother had read her mind.
“Men have their pride. They like to call the shots. You just need to be patient,” she continued.
Angel shook her head. “I think I’ve ran out of patience.” She sighed again and tried to change the subject. “I wish I was more like you, Constance. You’re always so positive. So happy.”
“I learned it from you. When I first moved out here I was scared and worried, and you were so caring, so wise beyond your years. You showed me what heaven on earth means.” Constance patted Angel’s knee and glanced toward the front door. “Just be yourself, sweetie. I’ve seen the way Rowdy looks at you. Like your father looks at me,” she whispered.
Angel’s heart slammed against her chest so hard she pressed a hand to her breastbone. If ever there were two people who worshiped each other, it was Constance and Ellis Clayton. The entire territory knew that.
Chapter Two
Rowdy McGuire sat with his back to the door, cringing every time the hinges creaked. He’d done it this time. Kissed the boss’s daughter. Ellis Clayton should fire him. It wasn’t Angel’s fault. He’d be sure and tell Ellis that. He was to blame. What had started out months ago as a bit of lighthearted flirting had grown into something he couldn’t quite comprehend, other than it had to stop—before he sullied her reputation.
The saloon door opened again, and Rowdy glanced over his shoulder. Frank Sanders walked in, the spurs on his boots jingling a lopsided tune. “Hey, Rowdy,” he called, making his way to the bar along the back wall. “You ready to leave the Clayton spread and come work for me?”
“Naw, I’ll stay where I’m at,” Rowdy responded. It was the same exchange they had every time their paths crossed, and lately, he’d been thinking that if he had a lick of sense, he should seriously consider the man’s offer.
“Well, you let me know when you are.”
“I’ll do that.” Rowdy turned back to the glass in his hand, the one he’d been spinning around in circles since arriving at the Whistle Stop. He should’ve gone back to the ranch, got Angel’s list.
The dress she wore today was a formfitting creation of yellow, the same shade of sunshine as her massive curls. It made her big brown eyes look as if they were flecked with gold.
Even here in the saloon, where stale cigar smoke and the scent of whiskey hung in to the air, he could smell her lemony scent. His body tensed, grew hard and edgy. The woman was going to be the death of him. All it took was a simple glimpse of her and his loins burst to
It hadn’t always been like that. Rowdy had been at the ranch for over a year. She’d liked him from the first time they’d met, and felt a strange connection to him. He was knowledgeable and respected others, as well as the land. His type of dedication and loyalty was seldom seen in drifters.
They’d gotten along quite well, but the last month or so, he’d been setting off a mass of unusual and uncontrollable sensations that left her heart pounding, and a jumbled mess of hot, raging ache deep in her core. It was a sort of obsession. Anytime they met, it was as if their bodies carried on a passionate conversation—a magical, mystical one that awakened an intense swirling need inside her.
She’d thought about talking to Constance. Normally, Angel discussed every womanly thing that happened with her stepmother, but there was something about the way she felt toward Rowdy that was too private to share. It was precious, and somehow only for him to know.
Yet she couldn’t talk to Rowdy about it. Lately, he seemed guarded, almost frightened of her. He still teased her, but not like he used to.
“I know it’s hard, but everything that’s meant to be turns out in the end,” Constance offered.
Angel cringed, wondering if her stepmother had read her mind.
“Men have their pride. They like to call the shots. You just need to be patient,” she continued.
Angel shook her head. “I think I’ve ran out of patience.” She sighed again and tried to change the subject. “I wish I was more like you, Constance. You’re always so positive. So happy.”
“I learned it from you. When I first moved out here I was scared and worried, and you were so caring, so wise beyond your years. You showed me what heaven on earth means.” Constance patted Angel’s knee and glanced toward the front door. “Just be yourself, sweetie. I’ve seen the way Rowdy looks at you. Like your father looks at me,” she whispered.
Angel’s heart slammed against her chest so hard she pressed a hand to her breastbone. If ever there were two people who worshiped each other, it was Constance and Ellis Clayton. The entire territory knew that.
Chapter Two
Rowdy McGuire sat with his back to the door, cringing every time the hinges creaked. He’d done it this time. Kissed the boss’s daughter. Ellis Clayton should fire him. It wasn’t Angel’s fault. He’d be sure and tell Ellis that. He was to blame. What had started out months ago as a bit of lighthearted flirting had grown into something he couldn’t quite comprehend, other than it had to stop—before he sullied her reputation.
The saloon door opened again, and Rowdy glanced over his shoulder. Frank Sanders walked in, the spurs on his boots jingling a lopsided tune. “Hey, Rowdy,” he called, making his way to the bar along the back wall. “You ready to leave the Clayton spread and come work for me?”
“Naw, I’ll stay where I’m at,” Rowdy responded. It was the same exchange they had every time their paths crossed, and lately, he’d been thinking that if he had a lick of sense, he should seriously consider the man’s offer.
“Well, you let me know when you are.”
“I’ll do that.” Rowdy turned back to the glass in his hand, the one he’d been spinning around in circles since arriving at the Whistle Stop. He should’ve gone back to the ranch, got Angel’s list.
The dress she wore today was a formfitting creation of yellow, the same shade of sunshine as her massive curls. It made her big brown eyes look as if they were flecked with gold.
Even here in the saloon, where stale cigar smoke and the scent of whiskey hung in to the air, he could smell her lemony scent. His body tensed, grew hard and edgy. The woman was going to be the death of him. All it took was a simple glimpse of her and his loins burst to
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