A Cowboy Comes A Courting. Christine Scott
“The road’s a nightmare. I have no idea when it was last paved.”
“Paved?” He chuckled, glancing outside at the cloud of dust the little car was kicking up. “You have been living in the city too long.”
Her scowl deepened. “Tyler, for someone who’s being granted a huge favor, you aren’t acting very grateful.”
“Oh, I’m grateful, Skye.” He shifted his bruised tailbone against the vinyl seat, wishing the aging vehicle had more legroom. Wishing he wasn’t forced to sit so close to Skye, so that every time he breathed he inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume. “It isn’t every day I’m squeezed into a tin can-size car with a set of broken ribs, a bum wrist and an aching back. Don’t worry, though, I get thrown by bulls on a regular basis. I’m used to pain.”
“You wanted more room? Too bad I left the Mercedes up north,” she said, snapping her fingers, taking his complaints in stride. “Next time I come home to Texas, I’ll be sure to bring it along.”
He glanced at her sharply, ignoring her sarcasm. “Plan on leaving again soon?”
She took her eyes off the dirt road long enough to look at him in surprise. “This visit’s only for the summer. I haven’t moved back to Texas for good. Ralph’s job is in Boston—”
“Ralph,” Tyler interrupted, uncertain why he felt a sudden flash of irritation. “That’s the fiancé, right?”
“Right,” she said, her brow crinkling into a frown. “He’s a professor. Jobs aren’t easy to get in the academic field. He has to go where he’s wanted”
“I suppose there’s not much call for medieval history in Texas,” he drawled.
If she noticed the mockery in his tone, she didn’t mention it. Instead, she reached a hand to the dashboard and flipped on the windshield wipers, doing her best to clear off the worst of the film of dust that had settled across the window. He noticed the slender fingers on her left hand were ringless.
“So, Ralph’s not big on tradition, eh?”
She looked at him again, this time in confusion.
He pointed to her ringless hand. “No diamond.”
A tinge of color settled across her cheeks. “Well, the engagement’s not exactly official. It’s still in the planning stage.”
“Planning stage?”
“We’re working on the details, ironing out a few of the kinks.”
“Kind of like a business deal, hmm?”
She squirmed in her seat and Tyler realized he was enjoying her discomfort way too much.
“There’s nothing wrong with approaching marriage in a logical, sensible manner,” she said. “The divorce rate in this country is way too high. If more people took the time to think things through, rather than act on emotion and impulse, the courts wouldn’t be half as busy dealing with failed marriages.”
“Then again,” Tyler said, watching her closely, “if more people didn’t bother with a wedding in the first place, there wouldn’t be a need for divorce court.”
A strained silence filled the car. All that he heard was the thumping of the wipers against the windshield and the pounding of his own heart.
“So you don’t believe in marriage,” she said finally, her tone flat.
“Not for this cowboy,” he said, grabbing for a handhold as the car bumped unheedingly across a gaping pothole. Unfortunately, he reached with his sore hand, causing his wrist to pulsate with pain. He bit back a curse. “For Pete’s sake, Skye. Slow down. Are you trying to kill me, or what? I don’t remember the ranch being this far out of town. It feels like we’ve been driving forever.”
“Be patient, Tyler. We’re almost there.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen a house in ages,” he groused.
She shrugged, frowning. “So it’s a little isolated.”
“A little isolated? This place is practically deserted. Don’t you get lonely out here?”
“What is this? An inquisition?” Her frown deepened. “I like being by myself, don’t you?”
“Well, sure. But I don’t mind giving a few friends the chance to drop by once in a while, either,” he said, knowing he didn’t give a dang about the isolation. It was the thought of him and Skye alone, with no one else in sight, that had him on edge.
“I saw plenty of people when I was at school up north. It’s nice to get away from the stress when I’m home.” With a relieved expression, she said, “Speaking of which...here we are, home sweet home.”
“Home sweet home” was a faded white clapboard, one-and-a-half-story house. A dismal little building with blue shutters that were weathered and peeling in places. The grounds had a minimal amount of shrubbery and landscaping, giving it a barren appearance. What little grass and bushes there were lay wilting, gasping for water in the hot Texas sun.
“It’s...um...nice,” he said politely.
“It could be,” she said, making him wonder if she’d become a mind reader while attending college. Ignoring his curious gaze, she continued, “Gus doesn’t have the heart to sell the family homeplace. But he doesn’t have the desire to give it the attention it really needs, either.” She raised a brow, glancing at him. “How about you, Tyler. Interested in becoming a rancher?”
“Who, me?” Tyler looked at her, uncertain how much Gus had told her about his injuries. He lifted his wrapped and sore wrist, wincing at the needles of pain. “This is only a temporary setback. I’ll be on my feet and back on the rodeo circuit in no time.”
“Of course you will,” she said, revealing nothing but sincerity in her tone. Her eyes focused straight ahead, however, her gaze trained on the narrow lane leading to the house, making him wonder why she didn’t want to face him.
Tyler blew out a pent-up breath. The pain was affecting his judgment. He was becoming paranoid, looking for trouble where there wasn’t any to be found. Skye was being supportive, helping him out when he was in need. He had no right to question her motives.
Skye jerked the little car to a stop, parking as close to the front door as possible. Once the dust settled, she opened the car door and stepped outside. With a catlike grace, she stretched her arms above her head, causing her T-shirt to ride up an inch or two, revealing her smooth, flat tummy.
“Goodness.” She sighed “It feels great to stretch my legs.”
Pushing aside the erotic thoughts her svelte figure conjured up, Tyler took his time joining her. His raging hormones would have to wait, he told himself. He had a more pressing problem to handle. Earlier at the hospital, with the help of an orderly and a wheelchair, Skye had gotten him into this tiny car of hers. He wasn’t sure how she expected to get him out.
Opening the car door seemed to use up all of his energy. Breathing deeply, bracing himself, he swung one leg, then the other onto the ground outside. Then he waited, closing his eyes and clenching his muscles against the rippling tide of pain that washed over his body.
“Let me help,” Skye said, her voice close.
He opened his eyes and found her standing before him, her cheeks flushed from the heat, her skin moist with perspiration, her dark hair curling about her face from the humidity. She couldn’t be more than five foot three, probably weighed a hundred pounds, soaking wet. How she thought she could lift a hundred and eighty pounds of solid male was beyond him.
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