Shops with hand-painted signs are lined up, each looking so pristine I wonder if they re-paint the entire town every year. People stroll the street without the normal rush I see from New Yorkers trying to catch the next train or hurrying to grab a taxi. Every person I pass stares after my car for so long I begin to wonder if something is wrong, but then it occurs to me that there are so few people living here, they probably recognize me as an outsider just from my car.
I pull up beside K.C.’s General Store and step out, flashing an awkward smile to an elderly couple that waves to me as they pass by. I’ve got a room booked at a bed and breakfast nearby, but my rumbling stomach and a hefty dose of curiosity prompt me to check out the store.
I breathe in deeply and close my eyes, letting it all sink in. My big chance. If I land this match for my client, she’s going to pay us enough money to set us up for years. I could expand the business with new employees, a real office, new technology, maybe even a second chair for my office that isn’t made out of cardboard.
I open my eyes because my little mental pep talk only succeeded in making me feel nauseous.
Thankfully the scenery here is beautiful enough to take my mind off everything. The mountains are so far in the distance they’re as blue as waves. The air has a crisp, cleanness that makes me want to suck in as much as I can hold and never let it go. It even sounds peaceful here, like a blanket of quiet hangs over everything, muting even the occasional car engine to little more than a soft hum.
I never thought of myself as a small town kind of woman, but Wade’s Creek is already making a pretty good case for a more laid-back lifestyle. Then again, I’m sure actually living here instead of visiting couldn't possibly be as ideal as everyone is making it look right now.
It takes me a second to realize a shadow has fallen over me. I turn and nearly fall back when I see the mountain of a man standing in front of me. Broad shoulders, lean legs, and a plaid button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal the most to-die-for forearms I’ve ever seen. My eyes climb and climb for what seems like ages before I find the stranger’s face--which somehow puts the rest of his body to shame, if that’s even possible. He has a jawline that makes me want to swoon, thick dark hair, and blue eyes with just a hint of laughter in them.
The man pulls off his cowboy hat and dips his head to me just a fraction, still showing me that cocky half-smile. “Did I startle you, darlin’?” he asks.
Darlin’? I have half a mind to tell him off for assuming he can just walk up and start calling me pet names, but the butterflies and chills that run through me quickly drown out my protests. You’re a matchmaker for God’s sake, Mila. Don’t act so starstruck. Do what you’d tell your clients to do.
“No,” I say, searching for a way to avoid looking like a lovestruck puppy. “But you are in my way, if you don’t mind,” I say, moving past him and toward the entrance of the general store.
My heart is pounding so hard in my chest I’m afraid he’ll hear it. Once I’m inside, I have to remind myself to breathe before I pass out. My God. When things went south with my last ex, I swore I was done with men. And one look at this small-town cowboy already has my years of bitterness flying out the window?
“Get a grip,” I mutter to myself. Just don’t think about getting a grip of those biceps. Annnd it’s too late. I close my eyes, trying to suppress the spreading heat that’s slowly creeping down from my belly and threatening to make me use something other than my brain to do my thinking.
“Funny,” says the cowboy’s familiar voice. “You didn’t look like you were in a hurry when you were closing your eyes and sniffing the air.”
I feel my cheeks redden. “Do you always stare at strangers when their eyes are closed?”
“If they’re pretty enough.”
My throat suddenly feels dry, and I’m unable to shake the feeling that I’m one step behind him, playing catch up. What would I tell a client to do? I’ve made a career out of walking clients through situations just like this, yet now I feel like I can hardly string two words together without stuttering.
“You think I’m pretty?” I blurt. It’s all I can do not to smack my own head in frustration.
He steps so close I can smell his masculine cologne and see the little flecks of gray in his blue eyes. “No. I think you’re fucking gorgeous. And I think you should take your gorgeous ass back to the city where it belongs. We don’t need you here.”
My head pulls back in shock. I frown after him, mouth opening and shutting wordlessly as he moves past me with that same, cocky surety to his steps and without even a hint of the anger his words imply.
“Do you have a name? Or should I just call you asshole.”
He only half turns as he grabs a huge bag of animal feed. “Might as well just call me Country. We’re all the same to you city people anyway, right?”
“I’m a reporter, you know,” I blurt, hating that I’m using Amy’s little lie to give myself leverage with this guy.
He nods to the clerk, hoisting the bag over his shoulder and heading to the door, where he sets his hat back on his head and squints back at me. “Yeah? Well I can give you something to write about, but I doubt they’d let you put it in the paper.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I say, even though my heart is pounding from his implication.
“I’ve been told,” he says with a grin. “See for yourself though. 514 Terry Road. I’ll give you something to remember the country by before you head back to the big city.”
I shake my head, glaring after him as he lets the door slam on his way out. Somehow I can’t help feeling like even the little bell that jingles by the hinge is mocking me too. I squeeze my fists at my side. “What kind of town is this?” I ask the man behind the counter.
“Don’t pay him no mind, miss. He’s going through somethin’ wicked right now. Best you just steer clear of ‘em.”
“He’s a brute,” I say. “I don’t know what kind of ‘somethin’ wicked’ would excuse that.”
“His old man just passed two months ago, for starters,” says the clerk with a shrug. “That, and he’s got a little brother who has been trying to get his paws on the family ranch since the minute their dad passed.”
“Why does his little brother want the ranch?”
“Big oil companies been comin’ out here for years trying to buy the land and suck all the oil out of it. Said they’d pay him millions and millions of dollars, but he won’t budge.”
I frown. “Couldn’t he just build a new ranch with the money and pocket the rest?”
“He’s not like that,” says the clerk. “Always been a man who keeps his nose to the dirt and works his ass off. Doubt he’d even sell you a floorboard out of that place if you wrote him a check for a million dollars right now.”
I blow an annoyed breath out of my nose. “Well, the man you’re describing and the one I just met seem like two different people.”
“Like I said,” the clerk says. “He’s going through a rough patch. Give him a little time to cope and he’ll come around.”
“Well, I should get going,” I say. “Stories to write,” I add with a nervous laugh. Somehow the crackers I wanted to buy for a snack don’t seem as important, so I make a quick and painful exit.
Outside, I shake my head when a stupid, dangerous thought starts to form. Don’t you do it, Mila. Don’t you even think about it.
I have a job to do, and even if Country, as he stupidly calls himself, presents an undeniable temptation, I’m not the kind of person to give into that kind of thing.
Then again, I haven’t really felt anything resembling attraction to a guy in what seems like forever. Being a matchmaker has its drawbacks, I guess. Spend enough time breaking down the science of a relationship and every guy ends up seeming too simple. But Country? He’s different, and I have to admit I’m intrigued.
Intrigued, yes. Going to do anything about it? No.
And it’s precisely at that moment a car engine rumbles by, tires
splashing up cold, dirty water all over me.
I watch after the blue truck and see Country’s eyes in the rearview. I ball my fists, wishing I had something to throw--or better yet, a rocket launcher. He sticks his tanned arm out the window and has the nerve to give me a casual little wave as he drives off, not even bothering to stop.
514 Terry Road? You’re about to wish you hadn’t told me your address, asshole.
2
Lucas
I strip off my shirt, using it to wipe away the sweat that already beads from my forehead, and toss it to the grass beside me. Fucking city girl.
With a growl of annoyance, I hoist the fifty pound fence post over my head and slam it into the hole I dug, twisting it hard to make sure it sticks. The last thing I need in my life right now is some woman, let alone a city girl. I look over my shoulder, toward the setting sun and my ranch. It’s what I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. I just didn’t want to get it like this.
Flirting with her was a bad idea, but I honestly couldn’t help myself. I may want people like her to stop gawking around our small town like it’s some kind of tourist attraction, but I also want to know what it would feel like to grip her hair and hips in my big hands. Hell, right now a little human contact would be welcome. Aside from running into town for the basics or grabbing a bite at my usual spot, I’ve cut myself off from everything lately.
I snatch up another fence post from the ground and slam it into the next hole, grunting with the effort. If I close my eyes too long, I still see how the red and blue lights looked coming through my window that night. I can still feel the crushing certainty I had back then--that it was dad. Something had happened.
I’m about to grab the next fence post when movement draws my eye. There’s a little red Corolla driving straight through my pastures. The fucking woman drove around the main gate and let herself in one of the grazing fields? My fingers dig into my palms and I stand with the sun beating down on my bare shoulders and back, burning into me with a heat that only fuels my building anger.
I don’t need to wait to know who it is. It’s the city girl. And she’s barking up the wrong tree. I don’t give a shit if she’s gorgeous. She’s driving her car straight through my pastures, and I’m not going to let that slide.
She stops the car a few dozen yards from me, at least having the good sense to park before she drives any closer and scares the cattle grazing nearby.
She steps out, tight jeans, long legs, and a pair of the most distractingly perfect tits I’ve ever laid eyes on. She’s also splashed from thigh to shoulder with a dark brown stain of muddy water. I should probably feel bad for that, but it’s not like I was trying to get her dirty. She should thank me anyway. She looks a little more like she belongs around here now.
I look past her to the ugly tire tracks her off-roading left across my property. From the expression on her face, I know I’m about to get an earful. Too damn bad I left my earplugs with the tractor.
She’s advancing toward me, fists balled at her sides and mouth compressed into a tight, angry little line. I plant my elbow on the nearest fence post and wait. Let her come to me if she thinks what she has to say is so goddamn important.
“I don’t know who you--” she starts, but her words cut short when she steps in one of the holes I dug for a fence post. She drops to the ground immediately, ankle twisting badly as she goes down.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing off the fence post and hurrying to help her.
She squeezes her eyes shut and grips her ankle, sucking in a long, pained breath, but to her credit she doesn’t whine or cry.
I help her free her foot and then offer a hand. “Can you stand?” I ask.
“I’ll be fine,” she says, pushing up to stand and immediately sinking back down to her ass when she tries to put weight on the foot. “In a few minutes,” she adds with an annoyed glance my way. “Would you put a shirt on or something?” she snaps.
“Let me get this straight,” I say, stepping back to lean on the fence post again. I adjust my hat to shade my eyes and can’t help smirking just a little at how this is playing out. “You drive your little beater onto my property, tear up my grass, scare the girls--”
“The girls?” she asks incredulously. Then she notices the cows that have been slowly advancing on her since she got out of her car and jolts with surprise. “Do they bite?” she asks quickly.
I realize with growing amusement that she’s afraid of them. “Depends,” I say. “What’d you have for lunch?”
“What?” she asks, squinting up at me, still clutching her twisted ankle.
I do feel a little guilty messing with her because of her ankle, but I figure she won’t let me help her yet anyway, so I might as well entertain myself. “It’s just that they don’t usually bite,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. “Unless you had hamburger for lunch.”
She shakes her head when she realizes I’ve been teasing her, then folds her arms over her knees, looking dejectedly at her ankle. “I must look like the world’s biggest idiot right now.”
I sigh. Obnoxious city girl or not, she’s cute as hell, and seeing her look so down on herself kills my urge to tease her real fast. “C’mon,” I say, moving over to her and kneeling. I hook one arm under her legs and another behind her neck, lifting her easily. To my surprise, she doesn’t fight me off. “I’ve got something cold we can put on that ankle inside. And don’t worry, the girls probably won’t mess with your car.”
“Unless there are hamburgers in it?” she asks. The smile she pulls is so small I almost miss it.
Despite my irritation with her, I can’t help grinning just a little. “Unless there are hamburgers in it. Yeah.”
I have to carry her nearly half a mile to the house, and she spends every second of the trip in sulky silence.
Once inside, I lay her down gently on the couch.
“Nice place,” she says. “It’s huge.”
I make a small grunt of acknowledgment while I rummage through the fridge for something cold for her ankle. “Truth is I only use the bedroom and the kitchen. My old man built this place a long time ago.”
I see the questioning look on her face and answer the question she’s apparently unwilling to ask.
“Yeah, he died. Couple months ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, looking down. “I wasn’t going to ask. I was just--”
“Don’t be. Way I see it, if you’re afraid to talk about the dead, you’re just killing their memory even faster. The more you talk about them, the longer they stick around.” My throat feels tight when I think back to that night, but I push that down, letting the familiar burn of anger sear it from my mind. “Nobody wants to be forgotten,” I add a little more quietly.
“I didn’t take you for such a thoughtful man,” she says.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Because I don’t wear a suit and tie to work? Or is it because I don’t live in a concrete jungle?”
She takes her time choosing her words. “It’s because you have a certain… Well, you have a way about you.”
“You think I’m an asshole?” I ask, trying not to let the grin I feel tugging at the corners of my mouth come, just so I can watch her squirm a little more.
She gulps. “I would’ve said that before you helped me in here. Maybe I’ll downgrade you from asshole to… abrasive.”
“Abrasive,” I say, testing the word out. “I see. So you’re saying I create friction? You know, in the right hands, friction can be a beautiful thing.”
Her cheeks stain red. “I meant in a strictly figurative sense.”
I grab a ribeye I have thawing for dinner and slap it across her ankle.
She raises her eyebrows at me.“Did you just slap me with your meat?”
I smirk. “Hey, if that’s what you’re into, we could work something out.”
She bites her lip, watching me as I stand over her.
“Just leave it there fifteen minutes,” I say, nodding to the meat. �
��Worst part of a turned ankle is the swelling. Keep that down and you’ll be ready to prance around in your city slicker high heels and go shopping in no time.”
Her eyebrows draw down. “Yeah, I’ll go back to shopping and you can go back to squeezing cow nipples and shoveling crap.”
A surprised chuckle escapes me. “Squeezing cow nipples? You know they’re called udders, right?”
“And you know nobody says city slicker anymore except cliché cowboys from the old westerns my dad used to watch? For someone who’s actually intelligent, you’re really good at sounding stupid when you want to.”
I shake my head, moving into my bedroom to grab a blue button-down and putting it on. I don’t even know this fucking girl’s name, and here I am playing games with her. I know if I really wanted nothing to do with her, I’d be giving her the cold shoulder, not flirting. Knowing that just pisses me off even more, though. I should be mourning my dad. I shouldn’t be thinking about anything except getting the property back in shape and making sure I take care of the business like the old man would’ve wanted. I’ve got work to do and I don’t have time for some pretty city girl.
“Thank you,” she says with a touch of exasperation when I come back out from my room.
“It’s fine, but I want the steak back when you’re done. That’s my dinner.”
She looks confused for a second, then slightly disgusted, but nods her head after a suspicious pause. “Right. Well thanks for letting me use your meat.” Mila winces. “For letting me borrow your dinner, I mean.”
I barely hold back my laughter, but I keep a straight face because she’s too fucking adorable when she’s nervous, and I don’t want to let her off the hook yet. I’m enjoying this way more than I should.
I move into the kitchen and start rummaging through the fridge. My stomach is practically howling, and there are a couple sandwiches I made yesterday calling my name. “Hungry?” I call over my shoulder.
“Do you have any food that won’t bleed all over me?” she asks.
Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle Page 95
