Rich, Rugged Rancher

He lifted his eyes to her face, his mouth dry. Yep, she had a rocking body but her face was 100 percent gorgeous. A stubborn chin, a mouth made for kissing, high cheekbones and merry, mischievous, naughty eyes—deep brown—framed by long, long lashes and a cocky pair of eyebrows.

A straw Stetson covered her head.

She might be pint-sized but Clint just knew every inch of her was trouble

He jerked his head sharply. “Move.”

She cocked her head and sent him a slow smile. “No.”

Okay, admittedly he hadn’t had a lot of interaction with people lately but when he used his don’t-mess-with-me voice, people generally hustled. “What?”

“Say please.”

Clint stared at her, not sure he’d heard her correctly. Shaking his head, he tried again. “Lady, move.”

The smile grew sweeter. And deadlier. “No.”

What the everlasting…

“Have you heard of the phrases please and thank you?” she asked, cocking her head.

She was lecturing him on manners? She’d dinged his truck, probably putting back his restoration by months and months, had barely apologized herself and then had the balls to throw his manners in his face?

Red haze descending again, he didn’t trust himself to speak so Clint took the next easiest option. Stepping up to the car, he swiftly slid one arm under her knees, the other around her slim back and swung her off her perch.

But instead of placing her feet on the ground, he held her to his chest, fighting the wave of lust running through him. There was something about the soft, fragrant give of a woman, the curve of her hip beneath his fingers, the softness of her breast pushing into his chest. Her minty breath, the surprise in those deep dark eyes.

Soft, sexy lips he desperately wanted to taste…

God, he needed sex. It had been a while…another thing that changed when he lost his leg. He hated pity, from others and loathed a woe-is-me attitude but experience had taught him that normal women, women who weren’t loons and gold diggers, weren’t crazy about one one-legged guys with too many scars to count. His girlfriend sure as hell hadn’t.

“So, this is comfortable,” she purred, looking as relaxed as if she was stretched out on a lounger by a sparkling pool, margarita in her hand.

Did anything faze her?

Wanting to find out, Clint loosened his grip on her and she fell a few inches before he caught her again. Instead of squealing she just tightened her arms around his neck and those eyes, the color of his favorite dark chocolate, met his. “You wouldn’t drop me.”

“Watch me.” Knowing there was a half decimated, now loosely packed hay bale behind him, he whipped her around and released her. Her face reflected her horror and anger as she braced to hit the hard ground. When her pretty butt landed on the hay, her eyes widened and her comical what-just-happened expression almost made him smile.

But he didn’t. Because smiling wasn’t something he did anymore.

Pulling his eyes off his faux cowgirl, he hopped into the convertible, cranked the engine and released the brake. Slapping the car into Reverse, he pulled away from his truck and stared down at the dashboard, noticing the flashing warning lights. Water, oil, temperature were all going nuts. Yep, she wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon.

Not his problem…

Clint cut the engine and exited the car. Ignoring the tiny woman who was trying to extract herself from the inside of the hay bale, he walked over to his truck and slapped his hand on his hip. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. The tailgate was damaged but he was pretty sure he could find another. The lights were broken but he knew a guy who had spares. It would cost him but he could afford to pay for the damage.

Actually, he should just get the peanut to pay. Judging by the rocking diamond ring on her right hand and the fat diamond studs she wore in her ears, she could afford to pay the bill out of pocket rather than forcing him to haggle with an insurance agency.

He tossed a look over his shoulder at her. “I expect you to pay for the repairs. Twenty grand should cover it.” Twenty thousand was ten times more than he needed but he figured she should pay for inconveniencing him. “I don’t want to wait for the insurance company, so you can pay me and fight with them.”

Her head jerked up and she pushed up the brim of her cowboy hat to glare at him. “What?”

“I want twenty K. Preferably in cash.”

Those eyes hardened. “Are you off your meds? I’m not paying you twenty grand! You could buy a new truck for less than that.”

Sure, but could he buy a 1972 Chevy pickup with an original, hardly used engine, original seats and fixtures? Not damn likely.

“You can find me at Rockwell Ranch. Don’t make me come looking for you,” Clint warned her as he walked around the hood of his truck to the driver’s door. He climbed in, grabbing the steering wheel and pulling himself up, his upper body strength compensating for his missing limb. Slamming the door closed, he rested his arm on the window, surprised to see she was still glaring at him, utterly unintimidated.

Now that was a surprise because Clint knew his hard face, gruff voice and taciturn attitude scared most people off.

Instead of being frightened, she stomped over to him, pieces of hay stuck in her braid. Intrigued to see what she would do, or say, he held her hot gaze.

“You need a lesson in manners.”

“Probably. I also need sex. Are you offering that too?”

Instead of blushing or throwing her hands up in the air, insulted, she narrowed her eyes. “In your dreams, cowboy. Who do you think—”

“Who are you?” he interrupted her, purely to be ornery.

“Fee… Seraphina Martinez.”

Fee suited her. Seraphina didn’t.

And that mouth. It was sassy and sensuous and made for sex. Talking? Not so much.

“Bring the money to my ranch—don’t make me come looking for you,” Clint told her, thinking he’d better leave before he did something stupid, like using his own mouth to cut off the tirade that was, obviously, coming.

Shit, he was losing it.

“I’m ten miles down the road. You’ll see the gates.” Clint cranked the engine and placed his hand on the gear stick. He tapped his Stetson with two fingers.

“Ma’am,” he said, purely to irritate her.

Annoyance and frustration jumped into her eyes. “Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me! I will get you to learn some manners.”

Hell, if she was under him, naked, he’d learn anything she wanted him to. Enough now, Rock, drive off.

“Honey, I don’t do people so I don’t do manners. I just need my twenty K.”

“When pigs fly,” Fee muttered, her hands on those curvy hips. Clint looked at her mouth again and fought the urge to leave the car, haul her into his arms and taste it. To inhale her sweet scent and pull her into his—he looked down—rock-hard erection.

Over the roar of his engine, he heard one of the women shout across to the fake cowgirl. “Is he going to be your next project, Fee?”

Fee looked at him and her smile chilled him to his core. “You know what? I rather think he is.”

What the hell did she mean by that?

Time to go.

Clint slammed his pickup into Reverse, conscious that all the New Yorkers were still staring at him. But he only wanted to see the brunette with the smart mouth and tempting curves in his rearview mirror. She was sexy as hell and, because he wasn’t a total idiot, he’d noticed her attraction to him.

Clint barreled down the driveway and tossed his Stetson onto the empty seat next to him. He’d seen her checking him out and suspected she liked what she’d seen, up to a point. He’d worked hella hard to build his core, chest and back muscles. Women liked his top half but, these days, his bottom half caused him problems.

Hell, both the women—his mom and his girlfriend—he’d ever loved had been unable to come to terms with his disability…

The memories rolled back and Clint forced himself to face them. On returning from Afghanistan, he’d spent a couple of months in hospital recovering after his amputation and when he got back to the ranch, he’d spent a few more months in bed, sleeping and smoking and drinking.

Carla, his long-time girlfriend, had immediately moved in to take care of him and she’d run around, waiting on him hand and foot. It didn’t matter to her that he could afford to hire teams of nurses, doctors and physiotherapists. Family money, lots and lots of money, gave him access to the best health care on the planet but Carla only allowed the bare minimum of people to have access to him.

She’d insisted on fussing over him herself, coddling and mothering him. But, as his depression lifted, he realized that he didn’t like the flabby, bloated, unhealthy man he saw in the mirror. He’d always been a fitness fanatic and because he was sick of feeling sick and miserable, he turned two rooms of his ranch house into a state-of-the-art gym.

As he got fitter, and more adept with his prosthetic, he became more independent and Carla had mentally, and physically, retreated. And when his sex drive finally returned, she’d retreated some more. When he’d finally convinced her that he was well enough, strong enough, for sex and taken his prosthetic off, she bolted.

Never to be seen again.

Thanks to his frequent absences due to his career in the military, they’d drifted apart and his accident pulled them back together again. She adored his dependence on her, loved being so very needed and had he stayed that way, she might’ve stuck around. But being weak wasn’t something Clint did. Weakness wasn’t part of his DNA.

His sex life didn’t improve after she left. He’d tried a couple of one-night stands and neither were successful. One woman left when she saw his leg, another, the next morning, acted like she’d done him the biggest favor by sleeping with him and Clint decided that climaxes with strangers weren’t worth the humiliation.

It had been two years since he got laid and, yeah, he missed sex. And when he met someone he was instantly, ridiculously attracted to, as he’d been to that brunette back there, he missed it more than ever.

But sex was just sex; he wouldn’t die from not getting any.

He didn’t think.

Clint felt his phone vibrating in the back pocket of his jeans and lifted his butt cheek to pull it out. Glancing down at the screen, he saw the Dallas area code and recognized the number as one of his mother’s.

The mother he no longer spoke to.

Clint briefly wondered why she, or more likely her PA or another lackey, was calling. It had been years since they’d last spoken but he didn’t answer the call. He had nothing to say to his mom. Not anymore…

Mila had blown into the hospital to visit with him before his operation and he’d been cynically surprised by her show of support as she’d never been an attentive, involved mother.

Back in his room after the operation that took his leg, he’d hadn’t felt strong enough to deal with his intense news-anchor mother and he’d pretended to still be under the anesthetic, hoping she’d go away. He’d just wanted the world to leave him alone but his hearing hadn’t disappeared along with his leg and Mila’s softly spoken words drifted over to him.

So, I’m here, he’s still out so what now?

I’ve arranged for the press to photograph you leaving the hospital after visiting your war-hero son. Clint had recognized the voice as Greg’s, Mila’s business manager, whom he’d met a few times over the years. He was, so Mila said, the power behind Mila’s rise to being one of the most famous, powerful and respected women in Dallas.

So, try to look worried, distressed. And proud.

I’m going to have to act my ass off, Mila had moaned. He’s, like…repulsive.

Jesus, Mila, he’s your son, Greg had said, sounding, to his credit, horrified.

I like pretty and I like perfect. He’s never been perfect but before he went off to play at war, he was at least pretty, Mila had retorted. Thank God he has that girlfriend because I’m certainly not prepared to be his nurse.

Wow. Her words laid down just another hot layer of pain.

With her words bouncing off his brain, Clint had slipped into sleep and a six-month depression. Carla and his mother were the reasons he’d worked his butt off to become, as much as possible, the person he was before the surgery. He never wanted to be dependent on anyone ever again, not for help, sex or even company. Carla had wanted to help him too much, his mother not at all, but Clint was happy to be shot of them both.

All he wanted was for the few people he chose to interact with to see past his injury to the man he was. And he couldn’t do that if he flaunted his prosthetic so he never, ever allowed anyone to see his bionic leg.

And if giving up sex was the price he paid for his independence then he’d happily live with the lack of below-the-belt action. Nothing was more important to him than his independence. And his pride.

But some days, like today, a woman came along who made him wonder, who made him burn. But he was nothing if not single-minded, and like the others he’d felt a fleeting attraction to, he wouldn’t act on it.

No woman was ever worth the hassle.

Two

Fee slid into a booth in Royal’s diner and nodded her appreciation. Every time she walked through the doors, she had the same thought: that this was what a diner should look like: 1950s-style decor, red fake-leather booths, black-and-white checkerboard linoleum floor and the suggestion that gossip flowed through here like a river.

She rather liked Royal, Texas. It was, obviously, everything New York City wasn’t—a slow-paced small town with space to breathe.

From being yanked from town to town with her parents, Fee had honed the ability to immediately discern whether a town would, temporarily, suit her or not. She’d hated Honolulu—weird, right?—and loved Pensacola, tolerated Tacoma and loved Charleston. But something about Royal called to her; she felt at ease here.

She would never belong anywhere—Manhattan was where she’d chosen to work and socialize but it still wasn’t home, she didn’t think any place would be—but Royal was intriguing.

Strange that this small town with its wide, clean streets and eclectic mix of people and shops was where she felt more relaxed than she had in a long, long time.

Fee grinned. If she kept on this mental train, soon she would be thinking she could live on a ranch and raise cows. She snorted and looked down at her manicured fingers and soft hands. This from a girl who believed meat came from the supermarket and eggs from cardboard cartons?

Now, crotchety Clint Rockwell looked like he was born to ride the range. The man was one sexy cowboy. Pity he had the personality of a rabid raccoon. Fee put her hand on the box lying on the table and grinned.

Twenty thousand to fix a heap of rust? Ok, that wasn’t fair, it was vintage truck and probably rare but the repair, from her research, wouldn’t cost that much! She knew she was being hustled; she wasn’t the village idiot.

Well, she might be a reality TV star but she was a pragmatic reality TV star and she didn’t hand out money like it was M&M’s.

If he hadn’t been such a snot she might’ve tossed in a few extra grand to compensate him for the inconvenience but the guy had taken jerk to a whole new level…

He needed to be brought down a peg or six.

Fee heard the door to the diner swing open and watched as Lulu threaded her way through the tables to fall into the seat opposite her. Like her, Lulu had also dressed down in jeans. In her case, they were topped with a simple white, thigh-length jersey, a brightly colored scarf in a complicated knot around her neck. Lu slapped a paper folder on the table between them and frowned at the board game Fee had purchased from the toy shop down the road. It was a game to teach kids about money and, importantly, the notes inside looked remarkably real.

“I’m sure we can find something to do in Royal that doesn’t include board games,” Lulu stated.

Fee grinned. “I’m not playing with you. I’m going to play with someone else.”

“You’re going to pay him in toy money?” Lulu caught on instantly. That was one of the many reasons they were best friends. “Oh, clever.”

Fee put her hands together as if to pray and bowed her head. “Thank you. Did the Secret Lives researcher dig up any information on Clint Rockwell?” she demanded, pulling the folder to her. “I mean, I don’t think he’s one of Royal’s leading lights—not with a personality like his—but maybe he made the papers because he did something stupid. I can see him busting up a bar or racking up speeding tickets, maybe breaking and entering…”

“You have a hell of an imagination,” Lulu commented, thanking the waitress when she offered coffee.

Fee was certain that Clint Rockwell was not the boy next door, not someone who was part of the Chamber of Commerce or a member of the illustrious Texas Cattleman’s Club.

He was an outsider, a loner, someone who didn’t do group events. Someone mysterious, possibly dangerous…

Fee flipped open the folder and looked down to see a photograph of Rockwell looking very un-farmy. In this photograph, his short dark-blond hair was covered by a tan beret immediately identifying him as an army ranger. He wore a dark blue dress uniform with about a million medals on his chest, including a Purple Heart.

Well, she’d gotten one thing right—as part of that elite regiment, he was definitely dangerous.

Fee was about to move the photograph to the side when she heard the waitress sigh. Fee looked up to find the young girl’s eyes firmly on the photograph. Fee couldn’t blame her for taking a moment. Rockwell, looking like Captain America in his dress blues, was definitely sigh worthy.

“It’s so sad.”

Fee exchanged a look with Lulu and frowned. “What’s so sad?” Lulu asked the waitress, whose name tag stated she was Julie.

Julie gestured to the photograph with her coffee carafe. “Clint Rockwell. Poor guy.”

Ooh, gossip. Fee leaned back, her full attention on the waitress. “Why? What happened to him?”

“He’s a Rockwell, so obviously there’s no shortage of cash. Like his daddy, his granddaddy and his granddaddy before him, Clint is an oilman and a rancher. But he leases his oil fields and occupies himself with his ranch. And with coordinating Royal’s volunteer fire department.”

Fee’s head spun with all the information. She held up a hand. “He’s a fireman too?”

“Apparently, he did some firefighting course in California before he enlisted.” Julie pulled her eyebrows together, looking a little confused. “Where was I? Right, his daddy died when he was young, really young, and he and his mama don’t talk.”

Yeah, that was sad. Her parents might have hauled her from pillar to post and back to pillar but they were now settled in Florida and she saw them occasionally. In fact, she was heading there shortly to spend Christmas with them. They weren’t super close but she knew she was loved, in an abstract kind of way.

“The Rockwells are a Royal institution, a founding family and really rich.”

“How rich?” Fee asked, as direct as always.

“Mega,” Julie replied.

And he was stiffing her for twenty grand? The bastard!

“What else can you tell me about him?” Fee asked, her temper bubbling.

“He lost his leg in a helicopter crash. That’s how he earned his Purple Heart. His leg was mangled. His whole unit was seriously injured. Apparently, the helicopter crashed in an enemy-controlled area and he, and another guy, held off the bad guys until reinforcements arrived. Half of his unit survived, but Clint lost his leg.”

Fee frowned at Julie, not understanding. “He lost his leg?” She’d noticed he walked with a slight limp but never suspected he wore a prosthetic.

Julie nodded. “Yeah. That’s why he left the army.” Julie shrugged. “Ever since he got back, he’s become a bit of a recluse and doesn’t have much to do with Royal residents, except for the volunteer firefighters. And he never, ever talks about his tours, his regiment or his injury. Like, ever.”

Someone called Julie and she sent them an apologetic smile. “Sorry, got to go.”

Fee transferred her gaze to Lulu, who looked equally disbelieving. “He’s disabled?”

“He looked plenty abled,” Fee replied. “I would never have thought…”

“Holy crap.” Lulu rested her hand on her heart. “Hot, brave and sexy—I think I might be a little in love with him.”

Fee felt a surge of jealousy and did an internal eye roll. What was wrong with her? Flipping the folder closed—why had they sent the researcher to the local library when the source of good information could be pumped for details over coffee?—Fee stared out of the window and watched the activity on the street outside.

Did this information change anything? She was as much a sucker for a wounded war hero as the next person and she had a million questions. Why was he a loner? How had he managed to master his prosthetic leg to be able to ride as he did? Why was he holding her up for twenty grand if he was loaded? But mostly, she just needed to figure out whether this changed her plans.

If he hadn’t lost his leg, she wouldn’t have hesitated to confront him and toss the fake money in his face. But should this revelation really hold her back? Her thinking she should go easy on him because he’d lost a leg was insulting in the extreme. He’d already proven he could more than handle her, and lost leg or not, the guy needed to learn some manners.

“You’re still going to confront him,” Lulu stated, sounding resigned.

“Damn straight I am.”

“He’s pretty intimidating, Fee,” Lulu said, concern in her voice. “I’m not sure whether you should go out to his ranch alone.”

Fee instinctively shook her head. “He’s not going to hurt me, Lu. Oh, his tongue might raise some blisters, but he’d never raise a hand to me.”

“How do you know?”

Fee lifted both shoulders and ran her hand through her hair. “I have a strong gut feeling about him. He’s not dangerous…sad, confused, bitter, sure. But he won’t hurt me.”

Lulu sighed. “And you see his lack of manners and his rudeness as a challenge.”

“Sure. Someone needs to set him straight. I’m sorry he lost a leg but it doesn’t give him the right to act like an ass.”

Lulu pinned her to her seat with hard eyes. “Oh, I know you, Seraphina Martinez—and I know what this is really about. Yes, bad manners and rudeness annoy you, but you also see him as a challenge. You want to know if you can be the one who can break through to him, make him more sociable.”

Fee avoided eye contact, waiting for Lulu to drop the topic. But her friend wasn’t done.

“I don’t think he’s going to like being one of your projects, Fee,” Lulu told her, worry coating every word. “He’s not going to bend under the force of your personality and if he wanted friends, he would make his own. You don’t need to rescue every stray who comes across your path, Seraphina.”

Lulu’s use of her full name was a solid clue to her seriousness. Fee wrinkled her nose. “Do I really do that?”

“You know you do! You have the strongest rescue gene of anyone I know! He’s a veteran, you have a soft spot for soldiers because you grew up on an army base. Add hero and wounded to the mix and you want to wrap him up in a blanket and coddle him.”

“I’d rather unwrap him and do him,” Fee admitted. She pulled a face and forced the words out. “I’m crazy attracted to him, Lu.”

“Any woman, and more than a few guys, would be,” Lulu replied. “And that’s okay. Although you’re not big on one-night stands or brief flings, if you want to sleep with him, do. But when he puts his clothes back on, don’t try to fix him, Fee. Respect his right to be alone, to choose how he interacts with the world. From the sound of it, he’s gone through hell and back. If he wants to be left alone, he’s earned the right.” Lulu gripped her hand and continued. “Fixing him might make you feel better but it’s not about you, it’s about him.”