by Susan Stoker
Chapter Two
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Laine parked next to a large, black pickup truck and turned off her engine. Gazing at the house with her realtor hat on, she was impressed. It was big, two stories with a huge wraparound porch. She didn’t know what it was about porches, but they seemed to make a house cozier and homier. She thought the house was probably at least three thousand square feet, maybe more if it went back farther than she could see from the front.
It was painted a steel-blue color, which stood out among the plains surrounding it. There was a large red barn off to the left and fences as far as she could see. A few horses grazed on the land around both the barn and the house. Overall, it looked idyllic, and Laine could almost imagine little kids running around while their mother sat on the porch swing watching them play.
She shook her head. At thirty-seven, she was too old to have mommy regrets. It wasn’t that she couldn’t have kids, she knew women were able to have them later and later nowadays, but she was at a point in her life where kids weren’t high on her priority list anymore. It was interesting, however, that with all the houses she’d shown and sold over the years, none had made her think about what she might be missing in her life more than this one.
A knock on the window next to her head made her screech and duck to the right in fright.
Jack. The photographer was standing next to her car, grinning like a maniac. Laine put a hand to her chest and willed her heart to slow. Criminy, he’d scared her.
She opened the door and stepped out, smacking the large man on the shoulder as she stood next to him. “Not cool, Jack.”
“Couldn’t resist. You were sitting in your car like a zombie.”
“Maybe I was thinking.”
“Yeah, well, think on someone else’s time. I need to get this done so I can go and take pictures of a Quinceañera.”
“Have you seen Wes yet?” Laine asked, pocketing her keys. She’d dressed for comfort today, as she did most days, in a pair of well-worn jeans and her old brown cowboy boots. They were scuffed and not that pretty looking, but they were comfortable. She’d learned after her first trip to a ranch, years ago, that sandals or sneakers weren’t the best footwear for the uneven ground of a working farm in Texas.
“Not yet, but one of his employees said he was in the barn and that he was expecting me.”
“Let’s get this over with, yeah?” Laine asked, already walking toward the large open doors to the spacious building. “Do you have a plan?”
“Not yet. I want to see what the inside of this monstrosity looks like . . . see if there’s a decent place to take some shots. The light is good this morning, but if it’s too dark inside, I’ll need to find a more appropriate place outdoors instead.”
“How many other cowboy shots have you done for the calendar?” Laine questioned as she matched the photographer’s stride.
“Actually, none, they were all more law-enforcement based. The other guys and Hayden aren’t exactly the cowboy types. That’s why I’m excited about this one. Mackenzie told me this guy’s the real deal. I’m thinking if I can get what I want, it might be a good cover picture. We do live in Texas, after all.”
Laine didn’t respond, withholding judgement. She’d known a lot of men in her life who wanted others to think they were stereotypical Texan cowboys, but she could count on one hand the number who she’d actually classify that way. Wearing boots and a Stetson did not make a man a cowboy.
They stopped inside the sliding doors of the barn and waited for their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. After a few seconds, when she could see clearly, Laine almost gasped at the sight that met them, but managed to refrain.
There were several stalls on either side of the space; most were empty, except for two. There was an obviously pregnant mare in one and a younger colt in another. The loft over their heads held hay bales stacked and ready for the colder months, and on the entire back wall hung various leather tack for the horses and other ranching tools.
But it was the man, who hadn’t sensed their presence yet, who stole her breath. He was shirtless, and his jeans rode low on his hips, highlighting his flat, muscular stomach. He was tall, probably a few inches taller than her five-nine, and he wasn’t a young guy either . . . which actually relieved Laine. She would’ve felt uncomfortable if she’d been attracted to someone in his twenties. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, but she’d always preferred older men.
His profile was to them as he shoveled manure out of one of the stalls. The muscles in his back and side rolled and stretched as he scooped the waste out of the hay on the floor and into a wheelbarrow next to him. His biceps flexed as he turned back to the empty stall and continued with his chore.
Laine could’ve stood there all day doing nothing but watching this amazingly beautiful, rugged man work, but Jack was seemingly not as gobsmacked as she was, because he cleared his throat loudly and asked, “Westin King?”
The man at the other end of the barn lifted his head and nodded in greeting when he saw the two of them standing at the door. He rested the shovel against the wall and headed toward them. He grabbed a rag hanging off the rail of another stall and used it to wipe his hands as he walked.
Laine felt as if she was stuck to the floor. He’d obviously been in the barn working for a while, because even though it wasn’t exactly hot yet, his chest was covered with a sheen of sweat. He had dark hair, and some strands were stuck to his forehead, and the hair on his neck was wet as well. With the way his jeans fit, Laine could clearly see the mysterious and sexy-as-hell V-muscles that she’d only seen a couple times in her life. Laine had no idea what they were really called, but whatever they were, this man’s were highly defined and pointing toward the Promised Land.
His abs were equally as impressive and she could see a clear six-pack that flexed as he came toward her and Jack. Her eyes roamed down his legs, over his well-worn and dirty jeans to the tips of his brown, well-used boots.
“My eyes are up here,” he drawled, clearly amused at her intense perusal of his body.
Laine knew she was blushing, and immediately looked up into his face. His eyes were a dark brown, the color of the mahogany desk she had at home, and he had laugh lines around them. His lips were full and pink and currently pulled up into a smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Which would be extremely embarrassing, since she’d undressed him and had her way with him in her mind during the few seconds it’d taken for him to get to them.
Thank God Jack was there to run interference before she asked the sexy cowboy to turn around so she could check out his ass.
“Jack Hendershot. It’s great to meet you.” He held out his hand and the men greeted each other.
“Wes King. Likewise.” Then he turned to Laine. “You don’t look like any photographer’s assistant I’ve ever seen. Mackenzie?”
She shook her head. “Oh no, I’m Laine, spelled l-a-i-n-e. No y at the end. Laine Parker. Mackenzie is my best friend. She couldn’t make it today. I was only coming to keep her company, but then she bailed on me and begged me to still come so you wouldn’t feel weird about being half naked with Jack.”
Laine froze and forced herself to stop talking. Oh my God. She sounded exactly like Mack. She’d obviously picked up some of the other woman’s habit of vomiting out whatever she was thinking when she was nervous. She put her chin down and a hand on her forehead, refusing to look at the man who’d scrambled her brains. She’d never been so embarrassed in all her life.
Wes chuckled, and Laine couldn’t help but notice his laugh was just as sexy as the rest of him. “I have to be honest and say I’m extremely glad you aren’t Mack.”
“You are?” Laine looked at Wes.
He nodded. “Yup. ’Cos I know Mackenzie is taken. It’s good to meet you, Laine Parker.”
Laine stared at his outstretched hand for a beat, trying to process what he’d just said. He was glad she wasn’t Mack because she was taken? Did that mean he had the same immediate
attraction to her that she’d had to him? She held out her hand automatically and inwardly groaned at the feel of his calloused hand against her smooth one. Jesus, even his hands were sexy.
Jack nudged her with his shoulder, almost knocking her over, before saying to Wes, “I think this’ll work just fine. Do you have any objections to me setting up in here? I need to get my stuff from the car, but it’ll just be a few lights to make sure the photos aren’t too dark and a reflector disc. I think if we use one of the stalls, it’ll be a great backdrop. Maybe afterward we can go outside and find one more location as well, just in case.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks, I’ll be right back.”
Laine’s head whipped up and she was going to offer to help, so as not to be left alone with this man who made her feel way too much, but Jack was already out the door and headed to his car. She looked at Wes and stuffed both hands in her back pockets to try to prevent herself from doing something crazy, like running her palms up and down his glistening chest.
“So . . . you’re a cowboy.” She mentally smacked herself in the forehead. She was such a dork.
“Yup, among other things. You want to meet Star?”
Assuming he meant the pregnant mare, Laine nodded, thankful he wasn’t going to bring up her inappropriate behavior, and that he was keeping whatever it was between them at a low simmer. She shouldn’t have been surprised though, not really. This man was a Texas Ranger . . . not a twenty-two-year-old kid straight out of college. He was far too suave to say or do something either demeaning or juvenile.
Wes stood back with an arm out, obviously telling her to precede him. Not wanting to seem rude, Laine headed for the stall, all the while conscious that Wes was behind her. Was he looking at her ass? No. He wouldn’t do that . . . would he? She looked back at him. Yup, he was totally checking out her butt.
The thought made her stumble and she would’ve fallen face first into the hay and dirt at her feet if Wes hadn’t caught her elbow.
“Careful.”
“Sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Grateful he refrained from commenting further on her clumsiness, she arrived at the gate to Star’s stall. Wes leaned up against the door and gestured for Laine to step up on the bottom rung so she could reach over the rails.
“How much longer does she have?” Laine asked, reaching out a hand to pet the beautiful chestnut-brown horse who eagerly came to the door of her stall to greet them.
“Anywhere from a month to a month and a half.”
“That much? She looks huge.”
“Yeah, but it’s actually normal for a horse her size. Here, give her this.” Wes held out a carrot he’d grabbed from a bucket behind him. “She’ll be your friend for life. She’s addicted to them.”
Laine held out her hand and took the vegetable from Wes. She held it out to the mare and laughed as Star’s horsey lips brushed against her palm when she took it from her. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
Laine looked over at Wes. He wasn’t looking at the horse, but at her. She immediately felt as if she was fourteen again and Timmy James had told her he thought she was the prettiest girl in school.
“I’m thinking the last stall will work.”
Jack’s words broke through the spell weaving itself between Wes and Laine. She laughed nervously and stepped off the rail, brushing her palms against her jeans. “What can I do to help?” she asked Jack, hoping he had something for her to do that wouldn’t entail her drooling over the man in front of her.
“Here, take this,” Jack told her, handing her a silver reflector panel. “It’ll only take me about five minutes to set up over here.”
Laine grabbed the large, spherical reflector panel that looked like an oversize sun screen people used in their cars. She wandered over to the last stall, watching Jack as if it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen.
She was completely tongue-tied and had no idea what to say to Wes. She’d been attracted to men before, but not like this. There was something about him that made her lady parts sit up and take notice.
The only thing that made her feel less guilty about the entire situation was that it seemed as though Wes was feeling some of the same things she was. Every time she glanced at him, he was watching her. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and apparently, it was a mutual thing.
Finally, Jack was ready.
“Okay, chicks dig the hat and rope thing, so I’m thinking that’s the route we should go. Do you have a preference for if your face is shown in the picture or not?”
“Is that an option?” Wes asked seriously.
Jack shrugged. “Sure. I mean, I don’t think any of the other guys cared if their faces were seen or not. The FBI guy said he wasn’t going to be doing any more undercover gigs, and the others thought it might be good for their dating life or the image of their respective departments. But it’s up to you.”
“What do you think?” Wes asked Laine.
“Me?” The word came out as a squeak.
“Yeah, you. What do you find sexier? A faceless cowboy or one where you can see his eyes along with the rest of his body?”
“Um . . . well, it depends.”
“On?”
Laine didn’t really want to get into it, but both Wes and Jack were looking at her in expectation.
“On whether or not I was married or dating.”
“Go on,” Wes encouraged when she didn’t elaborate.
“I don’t know why it makes a difference, but if you must know . . . if I was with someone, I think I’d prefer to not see a model’s face. It would allow me to put my own guy’s face onto the model . . . so when I fantasized, I’d see the man I loved instead of a stranger.”
“And if you were dating the model? Would you prefer single women who bought the calendar to fantasize about a random body or your boyfriend?”
Holy. Crap. Laine couldn’t take her eyes away from the hot-as-all-get-out man in front of her. Was he serious? She wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t help but be honest with him. “If I was dating someone and they were having their picture taken for a sexy publication that I knew horny women of all ages were going to buy to drool over . . . I’d prefer his face to be hidden so he’d be anonymous. They could enjoy his body, but I’d want his face to be all mine.”
Wes didn’t respond to her, but turned to Jack and said nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t rocking her world, “Faceless.”
Jack grinned, but stayed professional. “No problem. Go ahead and pick up the rope that’s hanging over there on the wall. We’ll start with that looped over your shoulder. Do you have a Stetson in here? We’ll definitely need that, especially since we’re going the anonymous route.”
Laine didn’t say another word, but watched silently as Wes followed Jack’s instructions, strode to the nearby wall and picked up the rope. She felt the goosebumps pop up on her arms as she thought about Wes’s words. Unfortunately, she could feel her nipples harden in response as well. Her body was standing up and taking notice of the sexy-as-hell cowboy in front of her.
The next forty minutes were excruciating for Laine. She hadn’t realized how difficult posing for pictures could be. She figured the model just stood around for a bit and that was it. But Jack was a tough taskmaster. He asked Wes to pose in all sorts of positions, most with his head tilted down, shielded by the wide brim of his cowboy hat.
It was the flexing, and the sight of his perspiring chest that made Laine shift where she stood. He was so amazingly sexy, she had a feeling if she was alone with Wes, she wouldn’t have been able to control herself . . . and that wasn’t like her at all.
What also wasn’t like her was thinking about what the cowboy could do with the rope he posed with. She’d never been into bondage, but thinking about Wes lassoing her and tying her hands to one of the stalls as he bent her over and took her from behind, made her face flush with arousal.
Finally, Jack was satisfied with the picture
s he’d gotten inside the barn. They moved outside, where the photographer decided that if Wes leaned against the fence, with the barn and horses grazing in the pasture in the background, it was perfect for a possible cover shot for the calendar. While he set up his cameras again, Wes ambled over to Laine.
“So . . . you’re friends with Mackenzie, who is Dax’s girlfriend. What else?”
“What else, what?”
“I want to know more about you. How old you are, what you do for a living, favorite color, if you’ll go out with me next weekend.”
Laine bit her lip and looked up at the man next to her. He wasn’t that much taller than her, probably four or five inches. His eyes were pinned to hers; he wasn’t distracted by anything going on around them, which was heady. She was used to men—and women, for that matter—being distracted by their phones, other people, the houses they were looking at . . . all sorts of things, so being the recipient of all of Wes’s male attention was a bit disconcerting.
“You’re awfully forward,” Laine said, crossing her arms over her ribcage, trying to act like she wasn’t dying to jump in his arms, hook her legs around his waist, and kiss his luscious lips.
One side of those lips quirked up. “I’m no more forward than you, Ms. Parker. You were undressing me with your eyes the entire time I was posing back there . . . and I can tell you, if we were alone right now, you’d find out how appreciative I am of your eyes on me.”
“Uh . . .” Laine was tongue-tied and had no idea how to respond.
“Just tell me you aren’t attached,” he demanded.
The hell with it. Laine was attracted to him and it seemed as if Wes was attracted right back. Why was she even trying to play coy? “I’m not attached. Thirty-seven—although you’re not supposed to ask a woman how old she is—I’m a realtor, purple, and yes.”
Her opinion of Wes rose when he followed the conversation easily. “I’m forty-two, you know what I do for a living, I don’t have a favorite color, but I’m thinking I’m becoming partial to purple as well . . .” He nodded pointedly at the lilac blouse she was wearing.
