His Wranglers grew uncomfortably tight, and he tried not to shift in the seat. “Just a bit farther.”
“So the town you mentioned, there’s no garage there?”
“No. Actually, getting a tow truck out here is gonna be hell too. It would cost a fortune.”
Her brows furrowed.
Yep, he was right. She didn’t have a lot of money in that itty bitty leather handbag that probably had cost as much as a calf at auction. He knew good leather when he saw it.
“After I drop you at the house, I’ll grab a tow bar and go back for your car. The vehicle’s better on the ranch and off the road.”
“Okay.” She sounded uncertain and began to twist her fingers together. Looking at her fingers got him hard in a hurry. How soft would they be? Sure as hell a lot softer than his.
They weren’t painted pink, though—she wore no polish. And no rings.
They bumped along in silence until the house came into view.
She issued a feminine sigh of appreciation. “That’s your house?”
“Yes.” His jeans were damn tight too all of a sudden.
He’d always been proud of the home Pa had built for his family. Two stories with a wide porch running the whole length. It was set against a backdrop of field and sky, looking like a postcard. “I never would have been able to find it if I’d been walking.”
He gave a short laugh. “Probably not if you’d kept to the main road. Ain’t much along that road but animals.”
“I figured that out.”
The driveway had a fresh load of gravel on it, so it wasn’t as bumpy as usual. Eventually the main drive would branch into five others. They just needed the wedding rings.
Prince, their old sheep hound, came barreling out of one of the barns and raced alongside the truck. Charlotte leaned out the window, laughing at his antics.
“That’s Prince. You’d never know he’s thirteen. Walks the ranch every day and runs like the wind. We think it keeps him going.”
“Makes sense.”
He glanced at her. She was sleeker than the girls he’d gone out with before. From her hair to her polished toes, she oozed city. But he liked the way she said that. Maybe she had some country girl in her, after all.
As he parked the truck, she started to open her door, but he was there to give her a hand out. She looked up at him in surprise, and he tipped his hat. “My momma taught me manners.” Manners that wouldn’t go far if he didn’t step away, fast.
“So I see. Thank you.” She accepted his hand, and the minute his fingers brushed her skin, heat rocketed through his system. Silky smooth, and she smelled of berries. He wanted her to rub against him.
Prince circled close and woofed.
Hank turned. “It’s all right, boy. Come meet Charlotte.” His legs felt a little wobbly-like. The sensation had nothing to do with the swelling in his jeans—something about the moment made Hank think of what it would be like to bring his bride home.
If he ever found one. He still wasn’t sorry he was missing the wife hunt, though. Finding a curvy woman along the road was more action than he’d had in months. Even if nothing happened, he’d probably have a better story to tell than his brothers.
Prince sniffed her outstretched hand then nudged her fingers. Hank couldn’t blame the dog a bit. He wanted those soft hands all over him too. He shook himself.
“He wants petted, but once you start, be prepared to spend some time on that task. I’ll get your suitcase.”
The walk to the front door raised more visions in him. It might be his overactive imagination and the desire to own that parcel of land, but he wanted to hold her hand. Then crowd into the porch swing with her and talk until the roosters crowed.
If he got lucky, he’d get a taste of her plump lips.
Damn, where were his manners? He wasn’t raised to think of ladies this way. But after so much time alone, he felt like a fox circling a tender, juicy chicken.
He opened the front door. “Momma, I’m home!” He stepped aside for Charlotte to enter. When she glanced at him, he brushed his fingers over his brim as he’d been taught.
“Your plate’s in the oven, keepin’ warm! I’m just watching Jeopardy with your father.”
Amusement stretched Charlotte’s beautiful lips, drawing Hank’s attention to them. Need barreled through him like a bucking bull, and his inner rodeo clown had no control over the wild beast.
“Do we have two plates? I brought someone,” he called, counting the seconds until his mother jumped out of her recliner and hurried into the mudroom.
Five, four, three…
Momma came around the corner, shock written on her features. She covered her chest with a hand reddened from hard work. “Why, Hank, who’s your visitor?”