Cowboy Crazy(12)

Around the ranch, they were always fixing tractors, old trucks, and more. Hank hadn’t been lying to Charlotte when he said he knew his way around a transmission. Unfortunately, hers was in bad shape.

Rebuilding would be costlier than she could probably handle, and he didn’t know if he could get one from the junkyard eighty miles away.

He leaned against the workbench and sipped coffee from the thermos he took into the field daily. Due to sleeping in a different bed—and knowing a pretty little woman was stretched out in his—getting up this morning had been harder.

He’d lain awake well after 2:00 a.m., thinking of her pink toenails and the way her curls brushed her succulent earlobes.

Spending half an hour fantasizing about ways to taste her seemed reasonable. He spent another half an hour obsessing over the stressed look she wore. Another two dwelling on why his chest burned with the need to fix everything for her.

“Start with the car.” He set his thermos among greasy tools and farm implements and wandered to the car he’d pushed into the garage last night. Pa had asked a lot of questions—more than usual for a man who didn’t have a lot of need for words.

Where did she come from? Was it better to take her into town? Or the bigger city beyond? Was she going to stay on the ranch while Hank repaired her car, because it was going to take a while on top of his work? With his brothers off hunting for wives, Hank was shouldering all of their workloads too.

In the end, Hank had looked Pa in the eyes and told him he was fixing it and he hoped Charlotte would be welcome to stay until he got her wheels on the road.

That glint had been in Pa’s eyes—the same he had after one of his sons had done something he felt to be worthy.

When Hank opened the driver’s door and leaned in to pop the hood, he caught a whiff of perfume. The warm florals hit him square in the chest with all the impact of a cow hoof.

His mind whirled. Had she slept well in his bed, and what had she worn? His Wranglers grew tight in the crotch as he pictured lacy panties and tank tops. Hell, she’d be adorable wrapped in a feed sack.

He bit off a groan and forced himself to close the door. For the next part of the morning, he threw himself into tearing apart the engine to get at the right parts, but Charlotte kept returning to his thoughts.

She was running from something. A bad breakup? An overbearing family?

Using a wrench, he put his strength into removing a bolt. It suddenly gave, and his knuckles struck the metal, splitting them.

Ignoring the blood, he kept working, stripping parts to get to the transmission. Unfortunately, the sun was angling into the garage windows, reminding him he needed to start cleaning barns. The cows had been fed—the first chore of the day. Not being a morning person, he usually saved mucking out barns for later.

His stomach rumbled. He’d grabbed a few pieces of toast and OJ before he left the house, but it had long ago worn off. Soon Momma would be calling him in for a second breakfast.

And Charlotte would be there.

He rubbed his face and realized he’d smeared blood on his cheek. Hearing a quiet footstep, he hurried to get a towel to wipe it away, but he was too late.

“Oh!” Charlotte paused in the doorframe, a snapshot of perfection. Her eyes were round as she stared at him. “You’re bleeding.”

He gave a small grunt, his chest suddenly tight. “Nah, it’s from my knuckles.” He held them up, and she came forward, curls fluffier than yesterday, and wearing a denim skirt that showcased tanned, curvy legs.

She stopped a foot away, but her scents clouded around him—perfume that smelled like wildflowers and pure female.

“Your mother asked me to tell you breakfast’s ready.” She looked at the scattered parts of her car, and that worry was back between her arched brows. “Is it bad?”

Bad enough that I’ll have to keep you here long enough to explore this attraction.

“I think I know what’s wrong and I’ll make a list of parts. When I head into town for them, you can go along.”

She twisted her lips.

“Or I can pick them up and we’ll discuss prices afterward.”

Her features shivered, and she bowed her head, staring at her fingers. “I have to be honest. I don’t have much money. I’m not sure I can afford a big car repair.”

Damn, the tense set of her shoulders and the way her curls tumbled over her forehead were tough on him—he wanted to wind his arms around her and shield her. He could tell himself that he was raised to protect and nurture—it was a cowboy’s life on a ranch where vulnerable animals depended on him. But he’d be lying.

It was her—a sweet, vulnerable woman down on her luck. And he was pretty sure her curves would mold to him just right.