Rancher In Her Bed

She went on to explain how her parents had found her as a toddler, abandoned on a highway outside Laredo. They’d raised her as their own but had always been cagey about the circumstances of her arrival into their lives and what steps they’d taken—if any—to find her real parents.

“They were kind to me, but something always felt off about it.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that looked more pained than casual. “Anyway, your mentioning Vincent Hamm’s possible decision to leave everything behind made me think of my hometown. I wonder what my friends and parents thought happened to me after I took off.”

“I don’t know, but I’m sorry you went through that.” He wondered what had made this driven, fierce woman decide to turn her back on the people who raised her. There was probably more to that story, and he was curious, but he refused to pry when he was only just starting to know her. “I wish you could meet my sister, Maya. My father adopted her when she was a baby, and as far as I know, he’s never told anyone how she came into his life.”

“Seriously? How old is she?” Frankie steadied herself as the truck bounced over a pothole near the turnoff for the main house.

“She’s eighteen and away at college. My dad was supposed to tell her the whole story once she reached adulthood, and Maya is more than a little upset he hasn’t done that yet.”

Xander clicked on his high beams as the truck reached the wooden archway bearing the Currin Ranch sign.

“I hate secrets.” The passion behind her words was obvious.

“That makes two of us.” He’d had his own issues with secrets and surprises, and he sure as hell didn’t plan to tread down that path again. He steered past the bunkhouse where a lot of the younger guys slept and headed toward the cabins. “But I’m guessing my dad has good reasons for keeping his. Maybe your parents are trying to protect you somehow.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, thanks for the ride home.”

She was tugging at her seat belt before he even had the truck parked. Because she wanted to escape his company? Or was she trying to ignore the same spark that kept drawing his gaze over her way?

“You don’t have to thank me. I know this wasn’t the ending you wanted for your evening.” He switched off the truck to walk her to her door.

“It’s fine,” she rushed to say, already opening the truck door. “I can see myself inside.”

He reached across the cab to put a hand on her forearm. “Frankie, wait.”

Touching her had been a mistake—he knew it as soon as soon as his fingers landed on her sleeve. They wanted to linger there, to glide up her arm and around her shoulder to draw her closer. But he could hardly yank his hand back like he’d gotten scalded without revealing just how damned much she affected him.

So he let his fingers rest lightly where they were.

“I was hard on you tonight. Let me at least walk you to your door so I can tell myself I made an attempt to be a gentleman.”

“You’re my boss, not a gentleman,” she argued, then frowned. “That came out wrong. What I mean is—”

“But as you pointed out earlier, we’re not on the clock tonight.” His fingers grazed her bare skin on the underside of her wrist, a surprisingly tender spot where he could feel her pulse thrum fast.

Her green eyes were wide in the glow of the dome light.

“Right.” Her voice was all rasp and no substance. She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

He slid his hand away and stepped out of the truck, walking around to her side.

He reached up to help her down, but she hopped out on her own. Wary of his touch? Or stubbornly proud?

Maybe a little of both. She was an intriguing woman.

“Thank you.” She chewed her lower lip and peered up at him in the moonlight. “What time will I see you tomorrow?”

His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, his own suddenly dry as dust.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” He was already questioning the wisdom of this bargain he’d made with her.

If she was affecting him this much now, what would it be like tomorrow night when they had a whole evening together? Already, the memory of the feel of her made his hands itch to touch her again. He hadn’t thought this through well at all.

She nodded, her dark braid sliding down her shoulder. “And just so I’m clear, will we be off the clock tomorrow, too?”

Was she flirting with him? Or was he reading too much into it because he wanted her?

The tension of holding himself back was quickly knotting his shoulders, and they’d been together less than an hour.

“I’m going to let you make that call. You can tell me how much of the evening you want to be business and how much should be—” he couldn’t think of any way to say it that didn’t sound like a come-on “—pleasure.”

She must have heard it, too, because her lips parted in soft surprise.

“Good night, Frankie.” He was already imagining her in an evening gown and liking what he saw.

He played a dangerous game letting his thoughts wander there, but he’d be damned if he could stop himself.

And with a silent nod, she pivoted on her boot heel and disappeared inside her cabin.

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