In an Army Ranger's Arms

by Donna Michaels

  …

  When Jovy Larson’s grandfather had sent her to the middle of cattle country USA to open a gluten-free, vegan café in a contest to test her business skills against her cousin, she knew she would have to deal with some tough, and often unexpected, situations. Becoming a hit-and-moo victim of a rampaging cow had never made the list. Bovines weren’t exactly a common fixture in the City of Brotherly Love, despite the fact that Pennsylvania was one of the top five U.S. dairy farm states with over eight thousand farms. She’d never seen one up close. The clanging of the bell grew louder.

  That was about to change. And fast. Mad-cow-charging fast.

  With a startled gasp, she tried to scramble down the ladder, but it teetered under her feet and her hands ended up windmilling instead. Jovy’s last thought as she flew backward toward the large plate-glass storefront window was if she didn’t die, her cranky landlord was going to kill her.

  Fully expecting to smash through the glass, she was shocked to hear a deep, sexy, panty-melting baritone claim, “I’ve got you,” a second before a tall cowboy appeared out of thin air to catch her with his rock-hard body. Two strong, muscular arms clamped around her before the momentum knocked them both to the ground.

  Her mind was processing the fact that she was uncut and still alive, sprawled over the sexiest man she’d ever seen, when the stranger rolled them over to shield her from the falling ladder. The impact vibrated through his stiff frame.

  Holy cow. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Warm breath rushed over her neck and shoulders as he drew back to stare down at her. During the tussle, his hat fell off to reveal short black hair that didn’t quite reach his collar. “What about you? Are you all right?” Gray eyes, the color of a child’s prized marble, blinked at her in a worried frown.

  Increasingly aware that she was now underneath the tall, sexy stranger, whose big, warm, firm hand was cupping her ass—and she liked it—Jovy cleared her throat. “Define ‘all right.’”

  “Are you hurt?” He removed his palm from inside her shorts, the warm, tingling feeling dissipated along with his touch, until he shoved the ladder aside, sat up, and began to run both hands efficiently over the rest of her body.

  Her sorely neglected body. A body doing an all hail Mr. Gray Eyes tremor. Lord have mercy, her good parts hadn’t been in contact with a male like this in over a year. Not since…

  “Hey, miss? Answer me. Are you hurt?”

  Hurt? She stifled a hysterical giggle. “No.”

  Aroused? Oh, yeah. Big-time. And completely embarrassed by her reaction to the total stranger. She could explain away the tremors racking her body as shock, but not the beaded nipples plainly visible through her bra and tank top.

  If he noticed them, he didn’t let on as his hands skimmed over her chest, neck, and shoulders.

  She gritted her teeth, enjoying the scrape of his callus-roughened hands on her skin, doing her damnedest not to embarrass herself further by moaning.

  Dumb body.

  “You feel okay to me.”

  Sitting up, she snickered. “Thanks, but…shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?” The stupid words were out of her mouth before she had the chance to swallow them down.

  He stilled and met her gaze for a beat, then his head tipped back and a bark of laughter echoed down the covered walkway. The deep, sexy sound did nothing to lessen her arousal, but the sight of the cow, pushing her way past the fallen ladder to moo in his startled face, sparked her amusement.

  Jovy giggled. “Looks like you have yourself an admirer there, cowboy.”

  “Nah.” He shrugged, lifting a hand to stroke the cow’s neck. “Lula Belle is just a little overzealous.”

  And bold, or maybe not. Jovy didn’t possess a wealth of bovine knowledge. But she did know it was plumb dangerous for livestock to be roaming free in town. “You should probably keep your cow at home.”

  A smile tugged his mouth. “She’s not my cow.”

  At this, Lula Belle bent down to lick his face.

  Jovy quirked a brow. “Does the cow know that?”

  Amusement danced in the stranger’s eyes, and the smile that had threatened claimed a set of kissable lips she had the sudden urge to taste. Her heart rolled in her chest. Dammit. He needed to stop doing that or she was never going to catch her breath. An instant later, his gaze dropped to her mouth, and what little air was left in Jovy’s lungs took a hike, leaving her with a racing pulse and fluttering stomach. No man had ever affected her this way, especially a stranger. But at the moment, she didn’t care. An odd, new, tangible current coursed between them.

  If the heat entering his gaze was any indication, the stranger felt it, too. Good. She’d hate to be the only one stuck in this crazy-ass haze. The good-looking Texan was hard. Deliciously hard. And dead sexy. Heaven help her, it took all of Jovy’s willpower to fight the impulse to press him onto his back and check his body for injuries…with slow and very thorough precision. That would be foolish. So damn foolish. Need trembled through her like a rampaging cow, but she continued to resist. The urges were so far out of her character she remained stunned.

  And completely at his mercy. All the cowboy had to do was make a move, one little move, and she would lean forward and accidentally catch his lips with her mouth.

  “Is everyone all right?” An older man approached, rope dangling from his hand…on a tractor?

  She wasn’t in Pennsylvania anymore.

  He was a welcome interruption. Her heated, sensitized, need-filled body wholeheartedly disagreed.

  The cowboy blinked the desire from his eyes before he turned his attention to the newcomer. “Yeah.” He gently pushed the cow back so he could stand. “We’re okay, Skeeter.”

  Skeeter? There was a name she didn’t hear every day, but it fit the senior citizen’s friendly, weathered face. Her sexy rescuer turned and held a hand out to help her up, but before she could grab on, Lula Belle rushed forward to shove between them.

  “Possessive much?” She scooted backward on her butt.

  Skeeter chuckled and passed the rope to the cowboy, who quickly fashioned a loop and harnessed the cow. “Don’t mind Lula Belle. The old gal is sweet on Stone.”

  She smirked. “Never would’ve guessed.”

  Nor would she have guessed the cowboy’s name was Stone. Although whether it was his first, last, or nickname, it was 100 percent fitting, considering the rock-hard body that had just covered hers on the sidewalk.

  Still chuckling, the older man held out his hand, and this time, the cow didn’t interfere as he helped Jovy to her feet.

  “Thank you, Skeeter. I’m Jovy.”

  “Welcome to Texas, Jovy.” He smiled and released her hand.

  She glanced up and down the street. “Are there any other rampaging cows or livestock I need to worry about?”

  “Not unless you count cowboys as livestock.” He winked, then grabbed the rope from Stone. “Come on, Lula Belle. Let’s get you home. I bet Mr. Rawlins isn’t even aware you’re gone.” With a nod and a few hard tugs on the harness, Skeeter led the protesting cow away.

  She was definitely not in Pennsylvania anymore.

  Jovy turned, intending to thank the stranger for saving her, but he was busy affixing her dangling sign to the hooks above the door. Without the use of the ladder.

  Jeez. Just how tall was the guy?

  “Small” was not a word used to describe Jovy’s five-foot-nine-inch frame. Tall. Sturdy. Curvy. Heck, despite her dark hair, she’d even been nicknamed Marilyn by several guys back in her college days. But tiny, delicate, and small were all antonyms.

  Until now. Compared to this man. He had almost a good half a foot on her, with broad shoulders and muscles bulging under the rolled-up sleeves of his denim shirt. The lean Texan made her feel delicate…and feminine. Not an easy feat.

  He finished hanging the sign, stepped back, and frowned. “V-Spot Café?”

  For a small, stupid moment her mind heard G-spot and her body respond
ed with another damn tremor. Bet he knew where a woman’s…

  Stiffening, she gave her head a small shake to get her mind back on track before thrusting out her hand. “Thank you for catching me.”

  Warm and strong, his fingers curled around hers and tiny tingles of heat skittered up her arm. She glanced from their hands to his bewildered gaze.

  That was new.

  He cleared his throat and released her. “It was nothing.”

  Unsure if he was referring to his heroic act or the current flowing between, she pushed both thoughts aside. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t staying in Texas any longer than necessary. This crazy, weird attraction was best ignored.

  “Well, I appreciate what you did. Thanks for your help.” She glanced at the shop and shuddered. “Man, my jackass of a landlord would’ve had a cow if that window had smashed. I’m sure he never would’ve believed the cause. Heck, I’m beginning to wonder if he’s even real. He won’t give me a phone number. I have to do all my dealing with him through emails. He even made me come down here a few days early or he threatened to give the place to someone else. Talk about difficult. And strange.” She turned back to face him, noting that the amusement had disappeared from his eyes. “Oh, wow. I take it by your sour expression you’ve had dealings with S.B. Mitchum, too. I bet the S stands for ‘stubborn.’ Or maybe it stands for ‘strange.’”

  Again, she was alone in her merriment. The cowboy didn’t crack a smile. Nothing. Zilch. In fact, his expression turned as hard as stone. Ah, crap. This was a small town. He probably knew the guy. She sighed. Great. Now she had to backpedal.

  “Well, we’ve all been called stubborn and strange. Even me.” She shrugged. “Speaking of called…we haven’t been officially introduced. I’m Jovy Larson. And you are…?”

  His chin rose a tick, and he leveled her with a cold gray gaze. “Stone Mitchum. Your jackass of a landlord.”

  Chapter Two

  Jovy’s heart fell to her knees. Seriously? Why was she always visited by the bad luck fairy? Her luck sucked. What where the chances that the helpful, attractive cowboy was her miserable landlord?

  Good…considering the town had such a small population.

  Idiot.

  As her face heated and her mind struggled for something to say, the stone-faced Stone swiped his hat from the sidewalk, then straightened and jammed it on his head.

  “Not so catty now, are you Ms. Larson?”

  “Catty?” She frowned. “I wasn’t catty. I was truthful.”

  Anger darkened his handsome features. A clear warning she should shut up. Too bad she never heeded warnings.

  She lifted her chin. “Look, I’m sorry. It was rude of me to call you a jackass, but, well, you have been nothing but miserable to me in your emails, and very unfair making me rush to get here and start early. I had to leave with just a handful of clothes and my laptop. I’m from Philly. It’s not ninety freaking degrees in early April in Philly. I had to cut a pair of jeans just so I didn’t roast to death here.”

  Her favorite pair. And because she was in a hurry this morning, she cut them crooked, then had to recut to straighten them out. Now they were too short, but it was either air her goods or roast. All it took was a half hour in the Texas furnace to make up her mind. She chose air.

  His gaze dropped to her legs, lingering a moment before returning to her face, a spark of heat visible in his tight expression. At least he was human.

  So was she. Arousal flared low in her belly. Stupid body.

  “Very sorry you were inconvenienced, Ms. Larson,” he drawled. “But it’s not my problem. If you want to rent this space—”

  “I do,” she rushed to say.

  Jesus, she couldn’t afford to give the place up. Her grandfather had handpicked it. Last thing she needed was to lose the challenge because the cowboy didn’t know how to keep a record of his business transitions.

  He folded his arms across his chest and glared. “Then I need the first week’s rent you promised. Now.”

  Seriously?

  Unable to hold on to her temper, she stepped right up to him, the front of her sneakers pressing into the tips of his boots. “My grandfather already paid you.”

  “He paid the security deposit. That’s why I allowed the Realtor to give you the key. He did not pay the first week’s rent.” Big and tall, the cowboy leaned closer, and the scent of heated male, mixed with his spicy aftershave, caused a fluttering in her chest. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  She inhaled a sharp breath. Damn, he smelled good. It wasn’t fair. She gave herself a mental shake. “Are you calling my grandfather a liar?”

  “If he told you he paid me, then yes, I am,” he replied, his tone calm and collected.

  Her grandfather was a righteous and just man. Fair to a fault. Anger rushed through Jovy’s veins so fast, her vision fogged. His word was bankable and law. Everyone at Larson Industries knew that fact. Ross Larson Sr. forgot more about running a business than this cowboy could ever conceive of learning. The lessons he’d taught her over the years were invaluable. She was still learning. Heck, he was still teaching.

  Stone’s gaze shifted to her mouth, and his hands lifted toward her arms. For a split second, she got the impression he was going to haul her close and kiss her senseless.

  Too late. She was already senseless. Why else would her body be completely on board with that asinine move? Even going so far as to sway closer.

  At the last second, he dropped his hands and stepped back. “I suggest you call him and straighten things out. I’ll be at the Beer and Steer until four thirty.”

  She glanced through the window of her shop at the coffee cup–shaped clock on the wall leftover from the previous tenant and gasped. “But that’s less than an hour from now.” It was Saturday. If there was some mistake with the check, the only bank in town was closed, and she highly doubted there were any Western Union counters nearby. “How do you expect me to get you cash today?”

  “Not my problem,” he replied.

  Jerk.

  “You’re really starting to live up to that nickname I gave you.” Rudeness wasn’t very smart, but she didn’t care. He sucked the optimistic nature from her being. She was pissed. And turned on. And pissed she was turned on.

  “You can insult me all you want, but the clock is still ticking.” With that, he pivoted around and strode away, his cowboy boots clapping down the plank sidewalk in unison with the pounding in her head.

  She stared at his retreating form, her mouth open to…what? Sling more insults? Try to reason with him? The man had already proved to be unreasonable, and insulting him was childish and stupid.

  Why did he have to be so damn hot?

  Her gaze took in the play of muscles rippling across his back under the shirt stretched over sinfully broad shoulders. A narrow waist and lean hips gave way to a great-looking tight butt hugged by a lucky pair of jeans. The guy had made a hell of an entrance, but she had to admit, his exit was equally amazing.

  Too bad he had the personality of a rock.

  A foreign emotion, akin to remorse, knotted her stomach, making her wish for a do-over. But then common sense kicked in. Why bother? She wasn’t staying. She was going to win the right to run the family company and keep the promise she’d made to her dad when he lay dying of prostate cancer ten years ago.

  Jovy could still see the fierce pride and immense relief that had momentarily chased the pain from her father’s features when she told him she’d been accepted as a business major at Temple that fall, and promised to follow her dream—to take over Larson Industries. She wasn’t about to slip up and let her father down now. Not when she was so damn close to bringing her promise to fruition.

  Once the cowboy landlord disappeared around the corner, she turned her attention to the fallen ladder and was struggling to carry it inside when he reappeared on a beautiful horse he rode down the street.

  Again, not something she saw every day. At least, not in Philly. A blatant reminder she
wasn’t back east. She was in Texas. On her own. Her one chance to prove herself.

  And she was blowing it. Big-time.

  With a grumble, she stowed the ladder in the supply closet and pushed aside her discontent. Anger solved nothing. She headed to the counter in the center of the shop to grab her phone. The cowboy was right. She needed to talk with her grandfather and get the mess straightened out. A smile tugged her lips. She couldn’t wait to shove a copy of the receipt in the grumpy landlord’s face. Her grandfather would have a receipt. No doubt about it. He never made a money transaction without requesting one. Heck, the consummate businessman even demanded one when he bought a hot dog at a Phillies game.

  She snatched her phone from where it sat on the counter next to a pile of brightly colored napkins and hit speed dial. Adrenaline rushed through her body at the prospect of marching into the Beer and Steer to hear the handsome jerk apologize. Jovy wasn’t one to gloat, but she didn’t appreciate the man insulting her grandfather.

  “Hello, Jovy.” Ross Larson Sr. answered on the first ring. “How’s Texas?”

  “Hot.” And not just the weather.

  He chuckled, and she could clearly see his head of thick silver hair and a jovial smile crinkle his bright blue eyes, still sharp at the age of seventy-three. “Well, it is farther south than here.”

  “True.” She leaned her hip against a display counter the previous tenant had left and began to sort the cloth napkins according to color, thrilled to be able to repurpose a lot of things in the old restaurant. A time and money saver. “Listen, I’m calling to see if you can send me a copy of the receipt you received when you paid the security deposit and first week’s rent on this place you picked out.”

  “Sorry, hon. I can’t do that.”

  She stilled, along with her pulse. “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  Jovy’s heart dropped into her knotted stomach. If Ross Larson Sr. didn’t have a receipt, he had a damn good reason.