The Rancher and the Redhead by Suzannah Davis Page A

After a tortuous moment, her breathing evened out again, and he gently eased her onto her back and climbed out of bed.
    He was so excited, he could barely walk, and he sucked in air, willing his body into compliance. Not sparing her a look—all it would take to send him straight back to bed again—he headed for the coldest shower he could find.
    * * *
    Later, after Sam returned from his early-morning chores and a furious gallop on Diablo that was meant to pound the devil out of them both but hadn’t, he found both his girls still fast asleep. He had no doubt it was the best thing for them, so he packed up Roni’s artwork as her note requested and decided to take it on into town to the post office.
    And since the transport truck wasn’t good for much more than salvage now, he was going to have to lay it on the line down at the local bank, and there was no point in putting off the unpleasant task.
    It was worse than unpleasant. It was downright humiliating.
    â€œI’m sorry, Sam,” Jack Phillips said as he saw Sam out of his office a couple of hours later. “The directors are adamant. Until you’re able to make some payment on the principal, we just can’t extend you another loan. Wish there was something more I could do.”
    â€œI appreciate it, Jack.” They shook hands at the plate glass entrance. Sam started to turn away, then had a thought. “If I land that contract with Buzz Henry at the Wichita rodeo, would they consider it then?”
    â€œWell, now, that would be different,” Jack said thoughtfully. “A signed contract might shed a whole new light on the subject. Any chance of it happening?”
    â€œLet’s just say that I’m doing my damnedest,” Sam drawled.
    â€œGood luck, then. And let me know.”
    â€œRight.” Nodding, Sam donned his hat and went outside. The hot May sunshine beat down on the sleepy streets of Flat Fork with the early promise of sweltering summer. The chime of the Methodist church bells sounded eleven, but only a few dusty trucks and a handful of cars moved up and down the tiny business district that hadn’t changed substantially in fifty years.
    The orange sign above Kelly’s Pharmacy was a reminder for Sam, and he dug into his pocket for the scrap of paper with the prescription number of Jessie’s medicine. Since most of the pink stuff was currently decorating the nursery’s walls, he figured he might as well get the refill while he was in town. With the truck out of commission, no help at the bank and himself fresh out of ideas, it wasn’t as though he had anything better to do.
    The inside of the drugstore was dim and cool and smelled faintly of antiseptic. Sam approached the rear counter, coming up behind a tall cowboy dressed in an ebony shirt and jeans with his left arm in a white sling.
    â€œYou know why cowboys ride bulls, don’t you, darlin’?” the cowboy was asking the pretty blonde behind the cash register.
    The young woman giggled flirtatiously while she rang up his purchase—a small bottle of prescription painkillers—on the register. “No, why?”
    The cowboy draped his rangy form over the counter and gave a wide grin that lifted his black mustache and made his dark eyes dance. “To meet nurses, of course.”
    Sam stiffened as he recognized Travis King’s brash cowboy charm at work. Truth be told, it had always attracted women like flies, and it seemed things hadn’t changed. Especially the fact that Travis, for all his likability and good-ole-boy charisma, was a hell-raiser and a troublemaker from the word go. And there was no getting around the fact that if he hadn’t been liquored up after a big win, Kenny might still be alive today.
    The girl giggled again, flirting back with the handsome cowboy. “Well, I’d say you’ve met your share of pretty nurses, Travis.”
    â€œDoctors, too.” He winked.