Cowboy Crazy(24)

“Dayummm. You must really have bad technique.”

It was Hank’s turn to throw a shovelful of shit at his brother. It hit him square in the chest and ran off him in smelly chunks.

“You’re askin’ for it, bro.”

“Let’s go.” Hank poised, ready to fling cow pies in his brother’s face if it would shut him up about Charlotte. But five breathless, laughing minutes later, all he was left with was the need to hit the shower.

Even though her car still sat in the garage, it was as if Charlotte had already driven away.


* * *

For three weeks Charlotte had been on the Paradise Valley Ranch. In that time, she’d learned how to bake everything from biscuits to bread, and homemade donuts to blueberry pies. She could make a mean chicken gravy, and failed twice at the Dalton’s favorite country fried steak. The boys had been nice, forking the burned meat into their mouths, but she knew how bad it tasted.

Still, most of the things she tried her hand at were successful. At least when she left, she’d practically have a degree in home-cooking.

She leaned against the sink and stared out the window at the setting sun. The kitchen was clean after dinner, and Mrs. Dalton had used her brand new set of crutches to get into the living room, saying Jeopardy and her recliner were calling.

The times Charlotte wasn’t scrubbing mud off the floors or folding whipped cream into a fruit and nut salad, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Usually Hank came inside and she’d hurry to find busy work, but today he’d stayed away.

All day.

Cash had come in and talked her ear off about calving season, though. While the topic fascinated a city girl like Charlotte, she wished it was Hank doing the talking.

If she were honest with herself, she missed him.

Stupid. I don’t know him enough to miss him.

But she knew his crooked smile when he’d taken a bite of her first dumpling, how his hair stuck up when he came into the house after a long night on the porch.

And how good his rough fingers felt as she rode them.

She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to ignore the heat coursing through her body. She wasn’t getting any relief from this deep ache, and it was her own fault. If she went to Hank again, he wouldn’t turn her away. The burning in his eyes assured her that he still wanted her.

She could spend the last few weeks of her stay enjoying him. What was holding her back?

The knowledge that he wanted more. It was written all over the cowboy—the way he looked at her, the way he moved when he was around her. And he wasn’t the type of man to love ’em and leave ’em. If she slept with Hank, he wouldn’t take it lightly.

It had taken her all of a week to discover he was a forever kind of guy.

A gorgeous Dalton boy strode into her view, long legs eating up the yard. He wore his hat low and his T-shirt was tucked in his back pocket, dangling down one chiseled thigh. Muscles glistening in the sun.

Hank. She stopped breathing.

Prince bounded into view, ears stiff and tail wagging for attention. Hank paused to ruffle the dog’s coat before continuing on.

After he left her field of view, it took ten full seconds for Charlotte to be able to draw breath.

It was pretty damn telling—she liked him. A lot.

Turning from the window, she poured herself a glass of sweet tea. Then she drifted to the front porch to sit and think.

Even pursuing pleasure with Hank was unfair. She’d be leaving in a short time, and both of them would be left bleeding a little in the aftermath. She wasn’t the type of girl to love ’em or leave ’em either. She’d had five boyfriends in her life, and didn’t take relationships lightly.

That’s why she’d been so devastated by what Stephen had done to her. The burn, surgeries and scarring were a lot less painful than knowing he’d tried to kill her.

Was she over Stephen enough to share her body with Hank?

The answer was crystal clear—yes. This wouldn’t be a rebound affair. But it would be an affair—short, pleasurable. Probably poignant, something to look back on later in life and remember the time she’d been taken in by a beautiful cowboy—in all ways.

Witt rounded the corner of an outbuilding and tipped his hat at her. “Got more of that sweet tea?”

“Yes, in the fridge.”

“I’ll be lookin’ for it when I’m done.” He dropped her a wink, and she smiled back. The Dalton boys were all flirty, but only one caused butterflies to take flight in her stomach.

She made up her mind. Tonight she’d find Hank and try again.

She finished her sweet tea and went up to her room. A shower would feel good after a long day in the hot house, and she had a cool sundress in her suitcase. She spent some time lathering herself with floral-scented body wash and even longer drying her curls, first with a towel, then a hair dryer on low heat.