Teaching the Cowboy by Holley Trent

him. She met his blue gaze again and he winked at her.
    “No, we’re not at the house right now. I’m taking her out on Sandy to see a few dozen acres of the ranch. Probably good she do the tour once just in case she ever gets lost out here, you know?”
    Ronnie startled. The thought had honestly never crossed her mind. Lost out on the prairie with the coyotes and snakes and God-knows-what-all? Jesus . Her core temperature ratcheted up a few ticks at the thought. She fanned herself with her hand.
    “Yeah, she’ll probably be back by then, but listen, we’re going to feed her over here tonight, okay? I feel like such an asshole that you all are doing so much over there. Let me pull my weight, okay?”
    Ronnie’s jaw dropped.
    John stroked the bottom of it with his thumb and nudged it upward again.
    “No, you don’t have to reschedule. If you were going to cook all that meat, you should go ahead and do it. Kids’ll eat it, or some of the ranch hands if you’re really desperate.”
    Before she could further balk, he kissed her, a short, tender thing she was pretty sure was meant to be silencing. It worked. She even closed her eyes to savor just how soft his lips were. They shouldn’t have been that soft. Cowboys shouldn’t have lips like that. They should have been rough and wind-burned, not delectably addictive. He groaned and drew back from her.
    “Hold on, let me ask. No, matter of fact, here she is.”
    She took the phone from him. “Hello.” Her voice quavered, much like her legs were starting to as she watched John lick his lips. She cleared her throat.
    “Ronnie, honey, me and the girls go to early service at the church. You want to tag along? Then lunch at our place?”
    “Uh…”
    John smirked and wrung a cowboy hat, not his, in his gloved hands.
    “What denomination?” Like it matters .
    “Lutheran, of course.”
    Don’t remember anything about Lutherans. Must Google.
    Hell . “Sure, why not?” she replied, baring her teeth at John.
    “Yay! We’ll swing by and get you around seven thirty, that all right? Early service.”
    “Sure, that’ll be fine.”
    She ended the call and clipped the phone back to her belt. “You couldn’t make an excuse for that? I don’t go to just anyone’s church.”
    He smiled and handed her the hat. “I’m just throwin’ Becka a bone, you know? I think she thinks I’m out to get her.”
    “Aren’t you?”
    “Of course not.” He goosed her rear and made her yip. “I’m out to get you .”
    She sighed and straightened out the hat. At least he was straightforward about it. It was downright refreshing compared to what she’d been used to. “What’s this for?”
    “Helps with staving off heat stroke a little bit. It’s yours. Put it on.”
    She assessed the bone-colored thing a moment, turning it around and around in her hands. “I’m not really a hat girl, John. Headbands and scarves, sure.”
    “And the occasional tiara?”
    The blood drained from her face. “How’d you hear about that?”
    “People like putting pictures of pretty women on the Internet, I guess.” He took the hat from her and propped it on her head. “You’re going have to flatten that bun, honey.” He smirked.
    She ground her teeth and yanked the hat off, mumbling to herself as she pulled out bobby pins and hair ties. She let her hair fall, gathered it into a messy low ponytail, and jammed the hat onto her head before he could make further commentary.
    “You should wear your hair down sometime,” he said, tipping her hat up so he could plant his lips on her forehead. “Like you did in the pageants.”
    “I’ll keep that under advisement,” she said, and then blushed at the rasp that had seeped into her throat. God, what is this man doing to me? She cleared her throat and pulled her hat down a bit farther over her brow as she backed away from him. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
    He wrapped his large hands around her waist and then skimmed down her left