The Cowboy And The Ceo. Christine Wenger
was the wilderness.
Something fluttered. And then again. Whatever it was, it was in her room.
Holding her breath, she flicked on the light and picked up her purse for protection.
A black bird flew by.
No. A bat!
She screamed. It flew by her face. She screamed again. Then again for good measure.
She sprang out of bed and tried to remember what she knew about bats.
Absolutely nothing.
She swung at the thing with her purse, ducking and dodging. The bat flew into the living room. On shaky legs, she turned on every light that she could find.
She screamed and swung again as it flew by her. She heard a series of knocks at the door—or perhaps it was her heart pounding against her chest.
“Susan? It’s Clint. Susan, are you all right?”
What a stupid question. “No, I’m not all right. There’s a bat in here!”
The door rattled. “I can’t get in.”
On wobbly legs, she managed to run over and unlock the door so Clint could squeeze in.
“Where is it?”
“Over by the fireplace.”
Clint squinted. “That little thing?”
“It’s a bat! Do something!”
“I will.”
He moved her away from the door. The bat flew out. He closed the door. “Gone.”
Her head became a little woozy and she couldn’t stop herself from swaying forward.
Then the shock of something cold and wet splashed on her face brought her around.
She gasped. “W-what are you doing?”
“There was a glass of water on the table, and I—”
“I know what you did, but that was wine.”
Clint grinned. His eyes didn’t move to meet hers, but were riveted to her chest.
She looked down. The wine had made the fabric of the white T-shirt cling to her breasts.
She rolled her eyes and plucked the material away from her body.
“Thank you for getting rid of the bat. Good night.”
She stood up to reach for a blanket, but her knees wouldn’t hold her yet. Just before they gave out completely, Clint caught her.
She let him hold her, enjoying how his hands roamed over her back and how warm his chest felt against her wet breasts. How his hard body felt against her.
Suddenly nervous, she stepped back, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself. Disappointment dimmed his eyes.
“How did you happen to be here?” she asked.
“I walked Mrs. D home and was just going back to my trailer when I heard you scream. Actually, I think they heard you up in Canada.”
She laughed. “Thanks, Clint. I’m glad you were here. I’ll be okay now.”
“Do you want me to stay with you? I’ll take the couch.”
Actually, she did want him to stay, but she just couldn’t deal with knowing that Clint was in her cabin. She’d never sleep.
“No, thanks. I’m just going to sleep with all the lights on. It’ll make it feel more like home.”
He grinned. “Suit yourself.”
He walked to the door, opened it, locked it again, and the cowboy disappeared into the dark Wyoming night.
The next morning, Susan awoke with the sun shining through the lace curtains. She swore she could see her breath in the frigid cabin.
She pulled the quilt off the bed and wrapped it around herself. Then she searched the bedroom for a thermostat so she could turn up the heat, but there was none to be found.
From habit, she slipped on her watch and checked the time. Eight o’clock. She hadn’t slept this long in years. If she’d been home, she would have already put in about two hours at work.
She’d slept so soundly. Maybe there was something to this “clean mountain air” thing after all.
She tightened the comforter around herself, yanked on her fuzzy pink socks and walked into the living room.
She found the thermostat next to the fireplace, set it at seventy degrees and sat on the sofa, tucking her feet under her to warm them. It felt like December in New York instead of July in Wyoming.
She looked out the window in front of her and saw a kid go by on a horse. He had braces on both legs, and he was grinning and looking around as he rode, like a king surveying his realm. A cowboy walked beside the big horse, and her heart did a funny leap in her chest, thinking of Clint.
Control yourself, Susan.
She heard footsteps on the porch and soon heard a knock on her door.
“It’s Clint.”
In spite of trying to be in control, she felt her heart do a funny leap anyway. “Come in,” she said. She knew he had a key.
The door opened, flooding the room in sunlight. She squinted at Clint.
“It’s colder in here than it is outside. Why didn’t you open the windows?”
“I never thought of that. That’s not the usual way it works.”
“That’s the way it works around here.”
He walked around the cottage and opened the windows. Sunlight and warmth filled the room. She loosened the comforter. He was right. It was warmer outside.
Clint sat opposite her on a big leather chair and propped an ankle on his knee. “How’d you sleep after the bat?”
“Like a rock. I put the covers over my head and didn’t move a muscle.”
“Did you forget that we have a breakfast date?”
He studied her with a grin, and she knew she must look a sight. How come he looked so good in the morning? Judging by the crease marks on his long-sleeved pink shirt, it looked like he’d just taken it out of a package. His jeans were dark denim and also looked new, and he sported a belt buckle the size of a saucer.
He looked bright and chipper, and she felt as if she’d been run over by a double-decker tour bus. Life just wasn’t fair.
“And don’t forget your riding lesson,” he said. “I only have one day to make a cowgirl out of you.”
She hadn’t forgotten, but hoped he had.
“Let’s get moving—we’ve got a long day.”
What happened to the check-his-pulse, laid-back cowboy from yesterday?
“Is there coffee in the dining hall?” she asked.
“Buckets of it.”
“I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” she said, springing up from the couch and running to the shower.
She figured she’d just get some coffee to go and maybe a bagel with cream cheese. Her stomach was jittery enough from the bat last night and now she had to get up on a horse and try to ride? It’d been ears since she’d been on horseback.
When she was ready, Clint opened the door for her and she stepped out into the bright sun. Halfway down the path and aiming for the biggest building, she heard a shrill whistle.
Looking around she realized that Clint hadn’t budged from the porch of her cottage. “Something wrong?” she asked.
“I