Rich, Rugged Rancher

Lu’s words smacked her in the chest. She stared down at the folder, her breath a little ragged. She did like the feeling of accomplishment she got when she managed to solve someone else’s problems. Sometimes it felt like she was filling in pieces of herself. But Lu was right, this wasn’t a makeover, or a blind date, or a rescued horse. This was a man of pride, honor and discipline who’d served his country with distinction. He’d trained hard, sacrificed much, seen and experienced situations no one should have to see and she had no right to make judgments about his life. Or to presume she knew what was best for him.

Fee pulled in a deep breath and met Lulu’s eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay…what?”

“Okay, I won’t try to fix him, to rescue him from his lonely life,” Fee clarified. “But I am going to confront him about his rudeness and his lack of manners. You can be a hermit without being an ass.”

Lulu slapped her hand against her forehead and groaned. “And are you still going to pay him off with toy money?”

Fee nodded. “Damn right I am.”

“And are you going to sleep with him?”

She couldn’t lie, she was very tempted. Fee lifted one shoulder and both her hands. “He’s tempting, so tempting, and I shouldn’t…”

“But?”

Fee didn’t want to be attracted to him, and as God and Lulu knew, she wasn’t in the habit of falling into bed with guys on a whim—or at all—but she didn’t think she could resist the sexy, sad, rude cowboy. “But if he asks me, I just might.”

Clint hated surprise visitors—he never wanted to be caught without his prosthetic or using crutches—so he’d installed cameras all over the ranch and had them wirelessly connected so they sent an alert to his phone whenever he had company. He grabbed his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, pulled up the screen connecting him to his camera feed and saw another convertible—red, this time—flying up his driveway.

Yep, she was back.

Clint, walking a mare that had colic, whistled and when Darren’s head popped out from a stall, he jerked his head. “Can you carry on walking Belle for me?”

Darren’s eyes widened with concern. “LT, I have no experience with horses and this one is, so I hear, one of your best.”

Clint smiled at the familiar nickname for lieutenant. “It’s just walking, Darren, and we’re civilians now—you can call me Clint. If you run into trouble with her or you think something is wrong, just yell for Brad. He’ll hear you and take over.”

Brad, his foreman, didn’t always agree with his policy of hiring out-of-work veterans instead of experienced hands but Clint insisted that learning to muck out stalls and fix fences didn’t require experience. The ranch needed people who wanted to work and there were so many vets needing to find a way to support themselves and their families.

And, as he knew, open skies, fresh air and animals were a great way to deal with the memories of war.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Darren nodded, took the reins and led the horse to the entrance of the stable. Clint broke into a jog, heading for his dirt bike parked just outside. Gunning the accelerator, he headed back to his house, cutting around the back of the stables to arrive at the main house at the same time she did.

They both cut their engines at the same time and Clint rested his forearms on the handlebars of his bike, watching her from behind his dark glasses and the brim of his Stetson. The sun was starting to dip and he could probably ditch both but they provided a shield he badly needed…

He couldn’t let her know how attracted he was to her, how he wanted nothing more than to take her inside and get her naked and horizontal.

Actually, he just needed her naked because vertical worked too.

Clint watched as she shoved an expensive pair of designer shades into her hair, the arms raking her loose curls off her face. She wore less makeup today than she had yesterday. Her lips were a pale pink instead of bright red and her outfit consisted of a cranberry-colored jersey that worked well with her creamy skin and those brilliant dark eyes.

God, she was hot. He couldn’t invite her into the house: first, because his crutches were leaning against the wall in the hallway—he’d put on his leg while sitting on the bench in the hallway early this morning—and second because he wasn’t sure he could resist her.

Fee opened the door of the rental and climbed out, shapely legs in tight blue jeans tucked into low-heeled, knee-high boots. The jersey clung to her breasts and curves of her hips and Clint felt all the moisture leave his mouth.

He’d stormed houses filled with terrorists in Afghanistan, had faced down a Somalian warlord and protected his guys while they waited for an evac after the crash but he’d never experienced such a dry mouth.

But this woman, with her black-brown hair and expressive eyes, managed to achieve what a dozen treacherous situations hadn’t…

And that scared the crap out of him, which added another layer to his grouch.

“Have you got my money?” he demanded, staying where he was.

“Hello, Fee, how are you? Did you find the place okay?” Fee singsonged, calling attention yet again to his lack of manners.

Tough. He didn’t have the time and energy to play nice; he just wanted her to be gone before he made a stupid suggestion like, “Let’s go to bed.”

Because that was a disaster waiting to happen. He’d have to explain he was missing a limb and then, if she didn’t rabbit, he’d have to wait and see if she could deal with his stump and scars.

Such fun…

Nope, it was a game he was better off not playing.

“You’re wasting my time, Martinez,” Clint warned, dismounting the bike and pocketing the keys. He waited for her at the bottom of the stairs leading up to his wraparound porch and the front door. He wouldn’t invite her inside but they could, at least, get out of the sun.

Instead of following him, Fee placed her hands on her hips and tipped her head back to look at the house he still thought of as his Grandpa’s—the place where he’d visited the family patriarch every summer from the time of his dad’s death when Clint was five until he turned eighteen and enlisted.

At the time he hadn’t cared where the army sent him, as long as it kept him away from his mother’s hounding to study law or something equally boring. He couldn’t have known that shortly after he enlisted, his beloved grandpa would die, and Clint would become the fifth Rockwell to own the land.

Grandpa Rockwell always said that he didn’t want the land to be a burden, to be a noose around his neck. He’d been the biggest supporter of his military career so Clint hadn’t felt the need to rush home when he died, comfortable to place the ranch in Brad’s capable hands until his return.

He’d always preferred the ranching side of his inheritance so he’d leased his oil fields. Years later, he was still happy for someone else to deal with that side of the business.

“I like your house,” Fee said, and he frowned at the note of surprise in her voice. “It’s big, obviously, like everything else in Texas, but it’s not ostentatious. I don’t do ostentatious.”

“Says the girl driving another fast, expensive convertible,” he drawled.

Fee looked back at the car and her husky laughter surprised him. “Touché. But I’m a real gearhead and I don’t get to drive as often as I’d like to.”

“I’m sure all the residents of New York City are eternally grateful for that fact, because you have a lead foot,” Clint said. “And how did you charm the rental company into trusting you with another fast car after your crash yesterday?”

“I apologized sincerely and asked them nicely,” Fee retorted, her eyes flashing with irritation.

“You didn’t apologize to me,” Clint pointed out.

“I tried to! But then you started barking orders and tossing me into hay bales!”

Clint lifted his index finger. “One. One hay bale.”

Fee rolled her eyes. “Whatever… Anyway, you should try this thing called charm or, this is a radical idea so beware, a smile. Oh, your face might crack but I think you’ll survive the experience.”

Clint felt the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement. He loved her sassy mouth and now rather liked the fact that he didn’t intimidate her. He walked up onto the porch and gestured to a cluster of outdoor furniture to the left of the door.

“Take a seat.”

Fee’s winged eyebrows shot up. “Ooh, manners. There’s hope for you yet.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Clint replied, putting his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. He watched as she sat on the arm of one wicker chair, casually draping one gorgeous leg over the other and tucking her foot behind her calf. Such a female, sexy movement, full of grace and charm.

Clint waited her out, knowing silence was usually a good way to hurry the conversation along by forcing the other person to talk. But Fee confounded him again by ignoring his scowl and silence, seemingly content to watch the mares frolicking in the paddock closest to the house.

Why couldn’t this woman do what he expected her to?

Clint rocked on his heels, his eyes constantly dropping to her lips, wondering whether she tasted as spicy as she sounded. He eventually broke their silence. “Why are you here, Seraphina?”

Fee flashed a smile and leaned down to tuck her hand into her very large leather bag—big enough to carry a change of clothes, a bag of groceries and a saddle or two—and pulled out a couple of rolls of cash. He saw a fifty-dollar bill under the rubber band of one and a hundred-dollar bill around the other. He sucked in his breath.

He’d been annoyed yesterday and tossed out twenty thousand as a figure, hoping to annoy her. But, judging by the cash she’d brought along, she’d taken him seriously.

He couldn’t take her money, not now and not ever.

Clint was about to tell her to put it away when he noticed the rolls seemed irregular, that not all the edges of the bills lined up. If he hadn’t been so distracted by her, he would’ve immediately noticed that something was wrong with the roll, that her sweet, innocent expression was as fake as hell.

Oh, hell no, she wouldn’t dare…

He held out his hand and instead of handing the first one over, she threw it at his chest. He caught the first one, then the second and tucked it under his arm, snapping the rubber band off the first.

Yep, as he thought. A real note covering fake money. Toy money…

Clint felt a bubble of laughter rise within him, tried to swallow it and failed. When his husky-from-lack-of-use chuckle filled the space between them, he was as surprised as Fee.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed…

He heard Fee’s smothered laugh, a cross between a hiccup and a giggle. And because he wanted to taste his laughter on her lips, because he wanted to taste her, Clint moved quickly and, after placing his hands on either side of the arm of the chair, bent down and kissed her.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.

Because, as their lips touched, as her mouth opened and her fingers came up to touch the scruff on his jaw, he knew he’d never be satisfied with just one kiss…

He wanted more. Much, much more.

He was a grouch and a grump, curmudgeonly and contrary, but hellfire, the man could kiss. Fee found herself surging to her feet, her arms looping around his neck, her breasts pushing into his chest. She felt his big hand on the top of her butt, pulling her into a very thick, concrete-hard erection, and she whimpered in delight.

He was so big, everywhere. Fee found herself on her tiptoes, straining to align their mouths, knowing they’d both have cricks in their necks at the end of this make-out session. Clint solved the problem by placing his hands on her hips and boosting her up against his body, holding her weight with ease. What else was a girl to do but wind her legs around his trim waist, hook them behind his back and slide her most sensitive spot over his impressive bulge?

Fee heard Clint’s moan of appreciation and then his hand encircled the top of her leg, his fingers on the inside of her thigh, and Fee wished he had his hands on her naked flesh, that she could feel his clever mouth sucking her nipples, maybe even going lower.

His mouth, as she was coming to learn, was a weapon of mass temptation. Fee knew that if he asked, she’d eagerly follow him into his house and down the hallway to his bedroom, or whether he decided to stop. She would take whatever he’d give her, grateful to be the recipient of the profound pleasure he managed to pull to the surface.

They didn’t need to talk, their bodies were better at communicating than they were. Fee felt Clint take a step and she felt the hard coolness of wood through her jeans, dimly realizing he’d planted her on the wide sill of a window.

He lifted his hands to hold her face, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones as he feathered kisses across her eyelids, down her temple. Fee closed her eyes, enjoying the moment of tenderness. Then Clint covered her right breast with his hand, and her nipple tightened, rising against the fabric of her sweater to press into his palm. Clint jerked his head back, looked at her with stormy eyes and muttered a quiet obscenity.

“Why aren’t you pushing me away?” he hoarsely demanded.

“Why would I, since you kiss like a dream?” Fee responded, her voice just this side of breathy. Hearing his sharp intake of air, Fee decided to rock his boat a little more. “You are abrupt and annoying but, God, you know how to touch me.”

Clint ran his knuckles up her ribcage and across her nipple. “Like this?” His fingers burrowed under her sweater and landed on her bare skin.

“Exactly like that,” Fee murmured. Then Clint pulled down the lacy cup of her bra and pulled her nipple with his fingers. Fee couldn’t help crying out.

Fee put her hand behind his head and shook her head. “No, don’t stop! Do it again.”

Clint’s repeated the action and Fee arched her back, dropped her leg and banged her heel against the back of his lower thigh, just above his knee. Instead of bone and sinew, the heel of her boot bounced off metal hidden behind the fabric of his jeans.

Clint reacted like he’d been scorched. Leaping backward, he put a healthy amount of distance between them. He stared down at the floor as Fee tried to make sense of why he stopped.

The answer came to her on a quiet whisper: she’d kicked his prosthetic leg.

Well, okay then. No big deal…

“Come back here and kiss me, Rockwell,” Fee suggested, wanting, no, needing his mouth on hers. She wasn’t done with him, not yet.

Clint had frozen, his big arms folded across his chest, his face a blank mask. She didn’t like the lack of emotion in his eyes, in his expression. She could handle pissed off and irritated, turned on and taciturn, but she didn’t like this cyborg standing in front of her, acting like she was a fly he was getting ready to swat.

“I think it’s time you went home,” Clint said, in the blandest of bland tones. “You can take your gag money with you and start arrangements to pay me the twenty thousand we agreed upon.”

They were back to this, really? “That number is just something you pulled out of your ass to piss me off, we both know it’s stupidly excessive. As for leaving…”

Fee jumped down from the windowsill and walked up to Clint until her breasts brushed against his arms. She saw the flare of heat in his eyes and knew he was nowhere near as unaffected as he was pretending to be.

Good to know.

“I don’t like mixed signals, Rockwell. You can’t devour me one minute and ask me to leave the next.”

“On my spread, I can do anything I damn well like,” Clint muttered.

Fee cocked her head at his statement. “Now you’re just sounding petulant. It’s not a good look on you, Rockwell.”

Clint rubbed his hand over his face. “Will you just go? Please?”

“No, not until we talk about why you jumped away from me like you were hit by a bolt of lightning.”

Annoyance and frustration jumped into Clint’s eyes and Fee didn’t mind. She could deal with those emotions. She far preferred anger to his impassivity. “Let’s break it down, shall we?” she continued.

“Let’s not.”

Fee ignored him. “You touched my boob and I banged the back of my heel against your prosthetic leg. Now, because I know that couldn’t hurt you, there has to be another reason why you’re overreacting.”

Clint handed her a hard stare, his eyes reflecting confusion and more than a little fear. At what? What was the real problem here?

“You know I have a prosthetic leg.”

Yes, she did. It was the least important thing she’d discovered about him. “I also know you are a billionaire, you were some sort of super soldier and now you are a semi-recluse, much to the dismay of the Royal residents, who’ve placed you somewhere between God and Friday-night football.”

Finally, a hint of amusement touched his lips. “That’s a huge exaggeration since I have little to do with them.”

“Trust me, ten minutes dealing with your sarcasm and general orneriness would have them reevaluating your wonderfulness,” Fee said, her tone tart. She slapped her hands on her hips. “But we’re getting distracted from the point of this conversation.”

Clint looked past her at something beyond her shoulder. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Damn straight. “No.”

“I lost my left leg above my knee. When you kicked it, I realized I should stop this, now.”

“Why?”

“To save both of us the embarrassment of you running out of here squealing when you see me, and it, fully exposed. It’s not a pretty sight.” Clint’s smile was hard and his eyes glittered with pain-laced fury. “I don’t need your sympathy or your pity. I just need sex.”

Fee felt anger boil inside of her. She was angry at the people who had so obviously hurt him by making him feel less than, and angry at him for projecting those people’s feelings onto her. Yes, she was a reality TV star but she wasn’t shallow, dammit.

To make her point, Fee gathered a handful of Clint’s T-shirt in her fist. She knew with a quick twist he could be free of her grasp, he did have a hundred pounds of muscle on her, but she was trying to make a point here.

“You just keep pissing me off, Rockwell. It’s quite a talent,” Fee murmured.

“Just get to the point, Seraphina. I’ve got work to do.”

Fee pulled him over to the steps and pushed him down two of them so they were eye to eye, face to face. “That’s better. Now, listen up because I’m only going to say this once…”

“Man, you’re bossy.”

“If I were a man, you’d call my behavior assertiveness,” Fee quipped back.

“If you were a man, I would’ve had you in a headlock by now.”

Fair point, Fee thought.

“And I certainly wouldn’t have kissed you and we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Clint continued.

Fee waved his words away. “I’m not going to get into an argument about semantics with you, Rockwell. Not right now anyway.” Fee was surprised that Clint—a taciturn, will-only-use-one-word-when-three-are-needed man—was even arguing with her.

Fee placed her hands on either side of his face and rested her thumbs against his mouth. “Be. Quiet.”

“Nothing makes me angrier than when someone who doesn’t know me compares me to someone else,” Fee told him, keeping her voice low but intense. “I’m lots of things—I have a hundred faults—but I am, one hundred percent, my own person. That means I make up my own mind and I get very pissed when people assume they know what’s inside my head.”

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