In an Army Ranger's Arms

by Donna Michaels

  This was bad. Very bad.

  She drew in a long breath, her heart not wanting to believe what her mind already knew to be true. Her grandfather did it again. This was another lesson. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  Always double-check the books. Keep an eye on the account. Never take anything for granted.

  She failed all three.

  Idiot.

  Jovy opened her eyes and shook her head. “You never paid the rent, did you?”

  “No. Just the security deposit to get you the key,” he replied, followed by a beat of silence. “This conversation is one you probably should’ve initiated before you left.”

  And there was her lesson. “You’re right.”

  Shoot. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Her dream was on the line. Breaking her deathbed promise to her father was on the line. All because the damn landlord had thrown a curveball by insisting she arrive early. There was a checklist to starting up a business, and rushing through that list had knocked her off her game.

  “I have to put you on hold a second, dear.”

  Wallowing in self-disgust, Jovy nodded as if her grandfather could see, and because he couldn’t, she stomped her foot. Twice. Then another two.

  She was an idiot. A stupid, dumb idiot. No. A stupid, dumb jackass.

  Like her landlord.

  It was all S.B. Mitchum’s fault.

  Normally, she did everything herself, but because time was of the essence, she’d taken her grandfather up on his offer to help, signed the lease he handed her, and allowed him to take charge of paying the deposit and first week’s rent while she’d scrambled to obtain all her permits and hire a food service manager/cook. This left little time to pack a bag and make arrangements with a friend to send her appropriate clothing, as well as feed her cat and water her plants while she was away.

  All right. She closed her eyes and nodded. Technically, it wasn’t Stone’s fault. Running a business was all about dealing with the unexpected, adapting, finding solutions, and moving forward. She opened her eyes as a comforting thought occurred.

  Had her grandfather played the same trick on her cousin?

  While Jovy had been sent to Texas to sell gluten-free, vegan food to cowboys, her cousin, Ross Larson III, headed to Hawaii to sell snowmobiles. Both were seemingly impossible tasks, but a savvy businessperson could sell anything. And that was the point of the test. Whoever had the best business portfolio after four short weeks would be named the new CEO of Larson Industries, and her grandfather would retire, keeping a seat on the board of the multimillion-dollar pet food distributor.

  With their bank accounts frozen, they both had to work and live off their initial start-up and what they made. Considering she didn’t quite have enough in her account to pay all four weeks of rent, Jovy was prepared to drink water and eat lettuce for the month if need be. She’d do whatever it took.

  Which didn’t seem like an issue…until now. Extremely grateful to have found a place that had already been a small restaurant and remained set up as such—and would rent to her on a weekly basis—she was trying not to freak the hell out. Her permits were in the window, final inspection and newspaper ads set up for next week, and she’d even met with her cook earlier that morning. Her checklist was complete. Too bad she was nearly late with her first payment and in jeopardy of losing her lease, which in turn would take her out of the running for CEO.

  “Okay, I’m back.” Her grandfather’s voice came on the line. “I just got off the phone with the courier. I’m having him bring the rent money to you that you gave me to make the payment.”

  Relief eased the stiffness from her shoulders. “Thank you.” At least she didn’t have to dig into what little was left of her start-up money, which she couldn’t access today, anyway.

  “He said he’d be there in an hour. I gave him your phone number. He’s going to call when he gets there.”

  An hour?

  She glanced at the clock. Three forty-six. Damn. Her heart beat heavy in her chest. An hour would be too late. She could only hope the courier would get there sooner.

  “All right. Thanks, Grandpa.” She wanted to be mad at him for letting her think he’d made the payment, but she knew it was part of his test. It was her own fault. She was no better at covering her ass than her too-short shorts. “I hope he gets here in time.”

  “Me, too, sweetheart. If it’s any conciliation, I still haven’t heard from your cousin, and his rent was due today, too.”

  A little spark of hope brightened her mood. Maybe Ross’s landlord wouldn’t contact him until his rent was overdue. Then she’d win automatically and could get the hell out of Dust Bowl, Texas, with its crazy rampaging cows and sexy cowboy landlords who were as unfriendly as their name.

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” She hung up and shoved the phone in her pocket.

  She’d rather not explain to S.B. Mitchum about the contest and her grandfather’s lesson, but with luck, she’d have the cash to pay on time and none of it would matter. Her gaze moved back to the pink-and-green coffee cup–shaped clock. It was going to take a miracle.

  Or some sweet-talking.

  One thing was certain, at the very least, she owed the cowboy an apology. The irate cowboy she’d called jackass. To his face.

  Her sigh echoed around the empty room. Maybe she could distract him with questions about the town and its citizens. After all, she did need to know some particulars in order to convince a bunch of steak lovers to eat at her meatless café.

  Remembering his cold expression and the rigid set of his incredible shoulders as he strode away, she shivered and rubbed her bare arms. He wasn’t going to graciously accept her apology. Nope. Not thanks to her smart mouth. But she’d make damn sure he accepted her money, no matter how late it arrived. She had no choice. Losing this challenge was not an option. Especially over a slightly late payment. No way. Not going to happen. Not if she could help it.

  After locking the shop door, she headed upstairs to freshen up in the one-bedroom apartment included in the lease. In all fairness, she’d gotten a good deal. A great deal. The apartment was modern and comfortable, and the shop was not only spacious and bright with new light fixtures and a decent floor, it came with a cash register, counter, oven, stove, industrial sink, and refrigerator, considerably cutting down on her startup costs. She only had to spring for dishes and utensils, and tables and chairs, all of which she’d already ordered from a discount wholesaler online. Delivery was set for early next week, which gave her just enough time to slap a fresh coat of paint on the ugly yellow walls and pass final inspection.

  At least S.B. Mitchum had okayed the light blue paint choice in one of his emails.

  With determination straightening her spine, she entered her apartment and strode through the open floor plan to the bathroom to wash her face and hands. She needed to be calm, cool, and collected for this meeting. Diplomacy was required.

  As she reapplied her body mist, Jovy recalled the feel of warm, deliciously callused hands skimming over her skin. Why did her sexy rescuer have to be her pain-in-the-ass landlord? Why couldn’t he have been a simple rancher in town to buy feed or rope or whatever cowboys bought? A guy she could get to know and explore the unexpected attraction that had zinged between them?

  She stilled. What was wrong with her? Landlord or not, she had no time for a relationship. What she had was four weeks to work her ass off and win the right to run Larson Industries. Nowhere in her agenda was there time for a liaison, no matter how damn tempting. Besides, she’d already been down the handsome, hard-bodied road. All it had gotten her was a Dear Jane letter and a broken heart when her ex had deployed and fallen for a female soldier overseas.

  Jovy had been crushed, but she’d persevered. Never again would she give a man the power to hurt her. Texas was essential to her future. Her business future. Not her heart. She replaced the lid with a snap and set the mist on the counter. Her body was just going to have to forget about the cow
boy and his freaking amazing hands.

  She had a promise to keep to her father, and by God, she’d keep it. No matter what, Jovy was going to make a sincere admission of guilt, and get Mr. S.B. Mitchum to accept a check until her cash arrived.

  Chapter Three

  Stone tied Galahad to a post at the side of the bar and strode between his brother’s red pickup and Cord’s blue one on his way to the entrance. Not one ounce of anxiety prickled his spine like earlier as he yanked the door open and marched inside. He was too damn irritated to feel anything but the need to let off steam.

  Since that Jovy woman had called him a jackass and accused him of lying, anger had settled deep in his gut, possessed his thoughts, and wouldn’t let go. Which was weird. He normally never let shit like that bother him.

  “Hey, Stone, over here.”

  When his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he spotted his brother waving from a nearby table where he sat drinking with Cord and Vince. Together, the four of them represented what was left of their former Ranger rifle squad, having lost one man in combat and almost losing another on the home front, while the remaining two were still on active duty and now part of another team.

  Life goes on. The world kept turning, and new hassles occurred…with a killer set of legs. Grumbling under his breath, he marched toward the guys, aggravation ruling his stride. Who the hell did the Yankee think she was, calling him a liar?

  A liar. Hell, he didn’t have one damn dishonest bone in his body. The men from his fire team had nicknamed him Straight Shooter, and not just for his marksmanship. He didn’t lie. Ever.

  “Glad to see you made it, bro.” Brick kicked a chair out for him while Vince poured a beer.

  He dropped into the chair, reached for the mug, and sucked down the brew without coming up for air. Damn northerner. She was rude. With full, tempting lips. No. They were mean. Mean lips he’d nearly silenced with a kiss. Thankfully, he’d come to his senses. He wasn’t a Neanderthal. He didn’t force himself on women. They tended to pursue him.

  Still, the urge to quiet the infuriating woman had been almost as strong as the urge to taste her. Shit. He set his mug down with a thump, the unwanted thoughts running through his head without mercy. That would’ve been a mistake. No doubt a delicious one. Several curses rumbled up his throat, aimed at his stupidity. He didn’t need this crap right now. Didn’t need his body to respond to that woman. Didn’t need…

  He stiffened and glanced up, noting three identical raised brows.

  “What?” His tone resembled a growl, but he didn’t care. The last thing he needed was a Ranger inquisition. He’d been a part of it with the team many times while on active duty. He had no desire to be on the receiving end. It was best to halt that mission before it got off the damn ground.

  “What crawled up your ass?” Cordell Brannigan cocked his head and stared at him through green eyes full of Irish concern. Ever since they lost their buddy Drew in combat, Cord’s lopsided grin rarely made an appearance. Days could pass before there was a sighting.

  Today was day thirteen.

  “Yeah, Stone.” Vince Acardi, the only one at the table not originally from Texas, leaned forward and frowned, his dark gaze missing nothing. “For months, we’ve been trying to get you to join us for a beer, and now you walk in and toss one back like it’s about to evaporate. What gives?”

  “I bet I know.” His brother smirked. “She’s pretty, isn’t she? And now your body is overruling your mind.”

  Stone ignored all of them, especially his brother, not because the asshole was right, but because…ah hell…yeah, Brick was right. Dammit. Stone reached for the pitcher to pour himself another round, but there was barely enough to fill half his mug.

  The day just got better and better.

  “Who?” Vince glanced from him to Brick and back. “Who’s pretty?”

  “No one,” he grumbled.

  She was just a woman. A tenant. One who was only going to be around for four weeks. One measly month. His gaze sought the glowing red numbers on the digital clock above the corner jukebox. Make that thirty minutes, if luck was on his side.

  “The new girl renting the old café,” Cord answered, amusement actually appearing in his gaze. “I’ve seen her. She’s hot. And you seemed to be doing all right, Stone, judging by the way the two of you were rolling around in front of her shop while your girlfriend watched.”

  Shit.

  Vince choked on his drink while Brick leaned forward, gaze alight with interest.

  “Oh, do tell, little brother.”

  “Nothing to tell.”

  The edges of Cord’s mouth actually lifted. Lucky number thirteen. “That’s not what it looked like to me when I pulled in here. Especially with your hand on her ass.”

  Ah hell. Stone’s stomach knotted. Figures the damn guy had been around for that part. Now he did have to talk about it.

  “That wasn’t intentional.” At least, not then. “I was heading there to collect the rent when Lula Belle came charging forward, knocking the woman off the ladder. I couldn’t let her crash through the window, so I caught her.”

  Brick nodded. “By the ass.”

  Grumbling a curse, he reached for his mug. “I don’t know why I bother.”

  All three men straightened, gazing at something over his shoulder. Good. At least they shut up. Hopefully it was a bunch of women who would keep the guys occupied for the rest of the damn night.

  “I think I know why you bothered,” Vince muttered.

  Before he could ask his slack-jawed buddy what he’d meant, awareness skittered down Stone’s spine.

  “Just the man I was looking for.”

  He stiffened, mug raised midair. The sultry voice confirmed what his body already told him. Jovy was near.

  She leaned over him to place something on the table, brushing his shoulder with the side of her chest. “Is this okay?”

  Hell yeah. Better than okay. It was fantastic.

  He gave himself a mental shake. No. It was bad. He’d sworn off women. Why the hell was she so close? It took every ounce of control not to turn his face into her breast. He knew from his earlier inspection that she was 100 percent homegrown. Her soft curves were real and knocking him off balance.

  Why didn’t she move away?

  The infuriating woman was leaving him no choice. He waited a few more seconds, and when she still made no sign to move, he turned into her. She stepped back. But not before his face brushed some serious curves, and he got an eyeful of mouthwatering cleavage.

  Realizing she was waiting for an answer, he cleared his throat and glanced at the slip of paper she’d set on the table. “It’s a check.”

  “Wow. Cute and sharp.”

  Cord’s grin appeared outright, while his brother and Vince laughed. Assholes.

  He cocked his head and met her gaze. “How do I know this won’t bounce?”

  “It won’t. I promise. Watch.” She grabbed the check and dropped it on the floor where it slid under the toe of his boot. “See? It didn’t bounce.”

  The two chuckleheads laughed harder.

  Stone bristled. “Very funny, Ms. Larson.” He bent down to retrieve the check and held it out to her. “This won’t do. I want cash or a cashier’s check.”

  He knew he sounded like a hard-ass, but he just couldn’t take a chance on the newcomer stiffing him or wait for her check to clear. Too many men were counting on him.

  She set her hands on her hips, drawing his attention to the curve of her waist and a pair of assets he was trying desperately to ignore. “Fine. Then take me somewhere I can cash it.”

  He snorted. “Where do you propose I do that?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’m not from around here. You are.”

  Damn woman was pushing it.

  She must’ve known, because she sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier.”

  “Oh?” He hadn’t expected an apology. Setting the check on the table, he sat back in his chair and
tipped his head. “For calling me a jackass?”

  “No.” She smiled. “You have kinda been a bit of a jerk.”

  Unbelievable.

  Snickers reverberated from the peanut gallery.

  Her gaze turned contrite, deepening the green in her beautiful hazel eyes. “I’m apologizing for calling you a liar. You were right. I talked to my grandfather. He told me he only paid the security deposit. I’m sorry. I was under the impression he’d also paid the first rent installment.”

  An unexpected battle raged inside Stone’s head as well as his body. The damn woman stood too close. Her light flowery scent was making him nuts. Clouding his mind. And those awe-inspiring, mile-long bare legs were too damn close for him to hold on to his dwindling control.

  He probably shouldn’t have sucked down that beer so damn fast.

  “And actually, I don’t think you need to take me anywhere. The cash is on its way as we speak.” She fished in her barely-there shorts, zapping his brain cells, causing his zipper to cut into his second erection in nine months—both within the last hour. Both because of her. She drew out her cell phone and set it on the table by his empty mug. “The courier is supposed to call when he gets here. I’m hoping you’ll hold on to the check until then.”

  “Of course he will.” Brick finally decided to make his move. “And if he doesn’t I will.”

  Her gaze shifted to take in the other guys, who all rose to their feet. She glanced at his brother. “I-I’m not sure I understand. You are?”

  “Brick Mitchum. The jackass’s older brother, and the B in the S.B. Mitchum on your lease.”

  At that news, her lips curved into a wide smile that lit up the whole damn bar. “Thank you, Brick Mitchum. So nice to meet you. I’m Jovy Larson.”

  As the two shook hands, Stone’s chest tightened with some unknown emotion. Probably anger, because now he was stuck dealing with the aggravating, tempting woman. Although his bank account could really use her money. He just hoped the next four damn weeks weren’t going to be as long as her soft, supple legs.

  …

  Could her luck have finally changed? Jovy was grateful jackass had a sibling, and he wasn’t miserable.