Wrangling His Virgin

by Jenika Snow

  Like this year. The ranch has turned a profit for the last three quarters and my head guy is taking over more of the day-to-day demands of the business. I finally have a little breathing room to think about the future of the ranch, which is the reason I agreed to come into town to meet the bank manager today. He’s been on my case for months about investing the extra funds sitting in my account so I can earn some interest.

  I guess I owe him for hounding me to pay him a visit in the middle of the day instead of herding cattle on the range, dealing with suppliers over email, or negotiating with buyers on the phone.

  And now I’m here. My eyes are on Lila Clark for the first time in all these years.

  She’s back.

  It must be her first day in town since she left. I would know. News travels fast in these parts. Our high school friends would be sure to fill me in if I weren’t witnessing her return for myself.

  Her timing couldn’t be better. My mind is clear. My ranch is no longer a source of constant backbreaking work or worry. I’m not as broken up about the fact that my parents are gone. And my questions are all back, waiting to be answered by the one person who can give me an explanation.

  I stride toward the parked Chevy Cruze as she sits in the driver seat. Her eyes are glued to her phone, her fingers tapping away on the tiny keyboard at the bottom of the screen. The woman of my dreams hasn’t caught a glimpse of me yet, but she will.

  Because one thing’s for sure.

  I won’t let Lila Clark slip away from me again.

  Not without a fight.

  Chapter 3

  Lila

  Technology and I are not friends. I’m trying to bring up an old email on my phone, one that has banking information on it, that I need today in order to open this account, but it is being a bitch and I can’t find it. I am seconds away from cursing and tossing the cell phone out the window. I close my eyes and rest my head back on the seat. For long seconds all I do is breathe in and out, telling myself not to get frustrated, not to sweat the seemingly small stuff. But since moving back to Hartford it has just been one thing after another, as if the universe is telling me something, shouting at me that I’m not welcome. First the bank didn’t have a record of the information I sent them, which is why I am trying to pull up the email. Then I had issues with the house I planned on renting. Not to mention I am having car trouble, which tells me I probably won’t be able to make this chunk of metal last another year, not unless I want to fork over a lot of money to put into it.

  It is just one thing after another and I am starting to think maybe it was a bad idea coming back here.

  But on the heels of that thought I can’t help but picture Logan. I always do when I think about Hartford. Even all these years later there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I didn’t think about him. Hell, many times I have been so close to calling him, had the phone in my hand, his number punched in, and my finger hovering over the send button. But each time I talked myself out of it, told myself it would only cause more issues in the long run. I wonder when I’ll see him, how that interaction will go. I have no doubts it’ll be awkward and uncomfortable, but that is from my own doing. I’m the one who screwed everything up, ran from the only person who knew me better than I knew myself. I was frightened and heartbroken, and instead of talking it out with him, telling him how I felt, what I wanted, I just pushed him away and left without so much as a goodbye.

  I am a coward.

  I lift my hand and rub my eyes, exhaling deeply. Even if I don’t want to run into Logan, Hartford is a small town and it is inevitable that our paths will cross. Besides, people talk, running their mouths because they have nothing better to do. The gossip will get to him before too long. I can’t lie and say that I’m not scared and anxious to see him again. But I don’t want to see the look of hurt and judgment in his eyes, the questions he might throw at me about why I left so suddenly, why I stayed away and didn’t keep in contact. Because truthfully, I don’t know if I can be honest with him. I don’t know if I can admit that I love him, that I’ve always loved him. A tap on my window has me snapping my eyes open and glancing to the side. And then everything in me stills, just stops until I’m not even breathing, until my heart no longer beats in my chest. There, standing on the other side of my door, only a thin barrier of glass and metal separating us, is the one person who consumes my thoughts. Logan. It has been years since I’ve seen him, but those years have been good to him. He’s no longer that young man who was just starting out on his father’s ranch.

  The Logan I am looking at now is big and strong, with golden skin no doubt from working out in the fields day in and day out, with muscles stacked upon muscles, and that smoldering expression that could melt ice in negative temperatures. He’s currently looking at me like he’s seen a ghost. Hell, I probably look the same way.

  For long seconds I just sit there, not moving, unable to even think coherently. He leans down and taps on the window again, a smirk on his face that has my cheeks heating and other parts of my body coming alive. And then my heart starts beating faster. My palms have become sweaty, and beads of perspiration dot the valley between my breasts. I reach over and roll the window down, a breeze slamming into me, which doesn’t help my overheated body in any sense.

  We don’t speak, but I swear I can feel the chemistry bouncing between us. I tell myself it’s one way. It’s always been one way.

  Finally I clear my throat and shift on the seat. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to feel right now. To be honest, it doesn’t feel like five years has passed. I can still see myself as a teenager who steals glances at Logan when he isn’t looking. I feel like I could just start where we left off, that I could pretend like the last five years never passed.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” His voice is deep, serrated, like a knife moving over my body.

  I feel like my eyes are as wide as saucers, and I can still feel the heat on my face; I’m sure it is bright red.

  “You were the last person I thought I’d be seeing.” He gives me a smirk, but I can see this guarded look on his face. I know he’s got questions, ones that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to answer. But I want to. I want to be able to be open and honest with him, to tell him exactly how I feel and why I left. And as I stare into his deep blue eyes, I feel my love for him rise up to the surface, threatening to break free.

  “Yeah, it’s been a long time.” My voice is soft, distant almost.

  “It’s been a real fucking long time, Lila.” He straightens and adjusts his Stetson, the brim blocking out the sun above. It’s a well-worn, well-loved cowboy hat, and I idly wonder if it was his father’s. The swatch of shade moves along his face. He’s got a days’ worth of stubble covering his cheeks and jaw, and I wonder how it would feel if I ran my hand along the scruff. Hell, I want to know how it feels to wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

  Silence stretches on again.

  “I see your mom every now and then, but mainly she keeps to herself.” He rests his forearm on the hood of my car and leans forward. The plaid button-down shirt he’s wearing doesn’t hide his muscular body. His biceps are all but bulging from the material, making me tingle between my thighs. I clench my legs together and try to appear calm and collected when I feel anything but.

  “Yeah, she’s more of a homebody since I left.” I feel my entire body stiffen as I mention that I’ve been gone. He doesn’t say anything and I wonder if he will. Maybe he’ll let it go. Maybe he’ll pretend that I am not a complete asshole and just left our friendship hanging.

  I lick my lips and take him in once more. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, and I can’t help but stare at his hand, with the calluses from working on the ranch all these years, to the few small white scars I see littering his forearms from farm life.

  “You in town for a while, or just passing through, visiting your mom?”

  I swallow. “I actually just moved back. I g
ot a job here after graduating.”

  He nods slowly.

  “You staying with your mom?”

  I shake my head. “No, I am renting a place over on Hemlock Drive.”

  He nods again. “That’s kind of secluded out there.”

  “Yeah, I like it that way.” I smile, but it’s forced.

  More silence ensues.

  “I’d love to catch up, see what you’ve been doing all these years.” He clenches his jaw and I wonder if he was about to bring up me leaving so suddenly. “I would like that, too.”

  He has his hand on the edge of my door, and I can see he’s gripping it tightly; his knuckles are white from the force. There’s a knowing look on his face. He wants to probe but he’s refraining. I am thankful for that.

  “Well, sounds like a plan then.” He smiles, flashing straight white teeth. “How about I give you my number and you can let me know when you’re settled and have some free time?”

  I find myself nodding, not able to actually form a coherent word. I enter his number into my phone, and end up giving him my new cell number. We stay like that for a moment, Logan just staring at me, my heart lodged in my throat. He taps the hood of my car with his hand and grins again.

  “I’ll make sure to hold you to that catching-up date.”

  I exhale slowly at the very mention of a date. I don’t know why I thought I could leave him behind, that I could move on with my life. There is no life without Logan Stewart.

  Chapter 4

  Logan

  Damn, it’s been a long day. I say goodbye to Bill Douglas, my lead hand for the evening, and climb into my Ford F150. He's more than capable of wrapping up. All that's left is to restock the hay shed and he’s got the three ranch hands he pulled away from the cattle barn to lend a hand. The man's a competent, trustworthy, hardworking employee. He started off as one of my dad’s ranch hands close to ten years ago and barely missed a day of work for all that time. But I have to admit that for the past three days, it's been a heck of a lot easier to let him take the lead on these kinds of tasks.

  I'm distracted, mostly because I've got more important things to worry about.

  One thing.

  My mind is on Lila. It's been three days since I saw her outside the bank, and she's all I can think about. She’s been gone for years, but now that I have the means to reach her, going for three whole days without hearing from her is a long, long time. Of course, I’m sure she’s busy settling into her new place, getting ramped up in her new job, catching up with her mother and local friends. But I’m greedy. I want some of that time and attention on me next.

  So, I have questions. A lot of questions that start with the word 'when'. When will I see her again? When are we going to clear the air and talk? When can I take her in my arms and pull her close? When am I finally going to taste her lips and have her completely?

  The sheer idea that she's in town, physically here, well, it's damn near impossible not to picture her. I can't stop wondering about what she might be doing at any given second of every single day. Has she moved into her new place? Does she have friends or family to help her? Has she gone in to work for her first day at her new job yet? Does she like being back in town?

  And when my head hits my pillow at night, knowing she's lying in bed only a few miles from where I am makes my nights damn near unbearable. I want her beside me. To bury my nose in her hair and run my hands over all her curves, lines and hollows. To feel her, skin against skin, our bodies intertwined, our limbs all tangled up.

  I start to regret the fact that I opened my damn mouth and left things open as to when we'll see each other again. Boldly demanding to see her on a specific day might not have been a nice way to kick things off with her, but hell, it beats waiting. I should’ve asked her out, or offered to make her dinner at my place, even if it’s for one of the only two dishes I can cook worth a damn: barbecue steak with grilled potatoes, or barbecue ribs with grilled veggies. Cooking is a skill that evades me, but I can try. For Lila, I’d put some effort into learning. Hell, I’d do pretty much anything for this woman.

  Anything but waiting. That’s one thing I don't believe I can do for much longer.

  Every damn part of me is itching to get next to Lila. Mind, body, and soul.

  And that fact is the reason I alter my driving route home this evening. Instead of turning left from the hay barn at the edge of the ranch, I go right. A three-mile ride on the main road leads me to Hemlock Drive.

  It's probably not a good idea to be here. Showing up without an invitation or even a conversation isn't good manners. It might be bordering on stalking. But the truth is I'm way past being polite. I did that outside the bank, and although it got me her phone number, I'm still waiting. Holding out for answers. Letting more time get between us.

  Well, I tell myself, this is my second chance and I'm not going to squander it by sitting on the sidelines wondering if and when she’ll come to me.

  Hell, no.

  Within a minute I slow down. The crunch of my truck tires rolling over the gravelly sidewalk draws my attention. I'm here, outside the two-story brick and beam starter house I believe Lila's moved into.

  This must be the place. There are only seven homes on this street and I know the townspeople living at six of them. She picked out a house in a nice part of town.

  Mostly couples and young families live here.

  It's quiet this evening, probably because of the time. I imagine people are in the middle of preparing dinner. Some might be sitting down around dinner tables to have a meal and enjoy some quality time catching up on how they spent their day. That used to be me, back when my parents were alive. Gathering together for family meals was a big deal to my mother. Mom would sometimes have to drive out to the cattle hold to remind my dad it was time to eat. She’d come find me in my room or wherever I was working on chores so we could all be together at least for that one time every day.

  I can't remember the last time I had a sit-down meal at my place. The dining room in the homestead I inherited from my parents reminds me too much of them. Being alone in there doesn’t quite feel right. One man, one person, well, it does not make a family.

  Maybe now, with Lila...

  Shutting off the engine, I step outside into the cooler evening air and head up the stone walkway to her front door. Her Chevy isn’t in the driveway, though it’s possible she parked in the garage. She’ll probably be in the middle of unpacking her things, rearranging the furniture to her liking, or adding some pieces to make the décor just right. Lila always had an eye for color.

  She’ll probably be shocked to see me show up like this.

  I catch a glance of the inside of the house through a curtainless bay window. The living room has light cream walls and a bright floral sofa in the middle. Yes, this is Lila’s place, all right. It’s a lot like the home she always wanted. She used to tell me about her dream of cheerful colors greeting her as she walked into her own place, that she wanted her home to be a sanctuary.

  My gaze trails along the long wide hallway leading straight to the back section of the house and lands on Lila. She is seated at one end of a rich red-colored wooden dining table, her hair flowing down past the top of the high-back dining chair made from the same material. Her torso leans forward toward the bowls and trays on the tabletop, and her head turns slightly. From my view of her back, I can tell she’s having a meal. She’s in conversation with someone just out of my narrow line of sight through the window. It could be her mother. Or a friend from town. I raise my hand, still debating whether to knock on the front door or use the doorbell. This may not be a good time for her, after all. It starts to make more and more sense to leave her to her meal and send her a text later. But then the person Lila’s dining with reaches for a salad bowl. Large hands grip one side of the glass and big forearms flex as the person picks up the bowl effortlessly. Then their figure slowly comes into view. A thick red beard. A blond, low haircut. Broad shoulders and muscular pecs showing th
rough a tight T-shirt.

  That is not Lila’s mother.

  I freeze with my hand in a fist just inches from the door. Disbelief, then disappointment, then pure, red-hot anger fills my chest at the sight in front of me. A man I’ve never seen before is having dinner with my Lila.

  Is this guy…Lila’s man?

  Before I can talk myself down, crazy, possessive, jealous thoughts fill my head. The temptation to break down her front door, charge into the room and pound this guy into oblivion is overpowering. He’s not the guy for her. I am. There has to be a mistake. Lila never said anything about being unavailable. She never said she was single either. We barely talked outside the bank, but I felt that spark between us. The same strong connection from years ago was still bouncing back and forth between us three days ago.

  It was.

  Or did I make a huge mistake?

  Unable to make heads or tails of it, I turn around without knocking on her door and storm back to my pickup truck. What I need to do is get out of here before I do something stupid that I can’t undo.

  But somehow, I can’t leave. I make it to my truck, then pivot around and return to Lila’s front door.

  I’m not leaving until she understands that I’ve always been the only man for her.

  Chapter 5

  Lila

  I laugh at something Rowan says. Just looking at him and Marie makes my heart swell, and knowing they are such great friends and support each other so much makes me really happy for their friendship. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them. I went to high school with Marie, and although Logan is the one who was closest with me during those four years, I became close with Marie as well.