Tempting the Cowboy by Elizabeth Otto

blackberry wine—at least, she thought she had. The warm buzz and hum in her veins told her maybe she hadn’t been as prudent as she should have been. All day, she’d tried to forget how it had felt to care for Birdie that morning. Once the initial shock took a hike, pure motherly instinct had taken over. Fix it. Make it better. Kiss the boo-boo and dry the tears.
    Birdie had turned to her, not Cole, a surprise that pulled Rylan’s heartstrings so hard they nearly snapped. In a tiny, quiet way, it had felt amazingly good to be needed like that. To be wanted. When Birdie’s small arms reached for her, Rylan nearly lost herself in the memory of another pair of small arms reaching for her in a time of pain or fear. She’d held Rachel countless times, dried her little tears, and this morning, for just a moment, she’d been a mother again. A gnarled web of emotion had rolled around in her brain—fear, joy, regret, longing—slinging arrows to her heart. Her child was gone, and she could not, would not, replace her.
    No wonder the wine tasted so good.
    Just when she considered it time to head inside, Rylan spotted Cole wandering into the tent, hands shoved in his front pockets. She boldly watched him come closer, her pulse getting quicker with each step he took. She wanted him. The bad-girl side of her said it was time to take a risk, to be up-front with him and see where it led. The rational side of her, the one that usually got its way in matters like this, said no way. So many things about Cole Haywood made him the type of man she’d always wanted: strong, hardworking, sexy, caring. His appeal was starting to override common sense, and she was just tempted enough to let her body overrule her head. Rylan narrowed her eyes and took another drink. Ah, heck. Let the wine decide.
    Cole laughed as he sauntered over. Light-blue shirt half-unbuttoned. Snug, dark jeans, with a square silver belt buckle. And those eyes—the eyes that she could never get enough of—piercing right through her. She nibbled her lower lip, then gave a mock salute with a wine bottle. He strode over to her place on the stool and hitched a hip against the bar.
    “That’s Paint River’s homemade wine. It’s pretty strong. You’d better be careful with—” Cole’s voice drifted off with a sigh when she showed him how little was left. “Did you drink the entire bottle?”
    Rylan made a pfft sound. “What?” She gave a forced pout. “No…it was almost empty when Tucker gave it to me.” For a fleeting second, she wondered if she’d get in trouble for drinking. “I figured he owns this place, too, so if he said to drink some wine, I’d drink some wine.”
    Emboldened by Cole’s easy smile and the way he leaned a little closer to her, Rylan cocked her head and grabbed his gaze. He was gorgeous. It hurt the deepest pit of her stomach, made her chest hurt and her center ache, all with one glance. Ridiculous.
    “You know, the first time I ever drank wine was at my wedding.” Rylan set the bottle between her legs. The bunched, hiked skirt of her dress floated off the stool and brushed his knee in a reminder that only inches separated her long, bared legs from his body. He could reach out and touch her if he wanted to. If. Did he want to? God, did he?
    She looked down at the bottle, rimmed the opening with her pinky. “I married Peter Donovan. Judge Donovan. Yeah. But he didn’t want me. Not me , me, you know. Just the image. He figured marrying the hero cop would be good for his career.” Her cheeks went hot as the words spilled out. Oh hell, what did it matter? There could never be anything between her and Cole—she was an emotionally broken housekeeper now, and being sued for every dime in her bank account and then some, thanks to the civil suit brought against her from the car accident her husband had caused.
    Husband. What a joke.
    Cole reached out and took the bottle from her, his hand brushing against her thigh. Dark curiosity