Opposing the Cowboy

by Margo Bond Collins

  What had he been saying?

  Oh. Stuff to sell. Right.

  “No. Not really,” he said, then moved back over to stare down at the magazine he had been searching through. He flipped through the pages, finding nothing, and tossed it into the cardboard box he had designated for completed searches.

  There were hundreds of these old magazines. They reminded him of Jenny, a librarian out in West Texas who often helped him track down difficult-to-find information. She was fascinated by print collectibles. She even belonged to some online group—they all helped each other track down stuff like this. The more obscure, the better.

  In fact…

  He fanned out the stack and stared at it. How obscure were these? He didn’t recognize all of the titles, but that really didn’t mean anything. With a shrug, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. Then he pulled up Jenny’s number in his texts, attached the photo, typed, “You interested in anything here?” and hit send.

  Couldn’t hurt, anyway. Maybe someone would get something out of this wild goose chase.

  Since we haven’t found anything about mineral rights, and I scared her off by threatening her ex last night.

  Blowing out a sigh, he picked up the top magazine from the stack in front of him and riffled through the pages, hoping to find some long-forgotten letter. Preferably one that said something like, “I hereby bequeath the mineral rights to…to…”

  To whom?

  Not LeeAnn. She would never allow Natural Shale to drill on her land.

  Who, then?

  Some distant cousin? Maybe someone far away. Maine, maybe. Or Idaho. Someone who didn’t care about the land. Didn’t care if Natural Shale brought in trucks to create makeshift roads crisscrossing LeeAnn’s ranch.

  Someone who didn’t care about the look of misery on her face at the thought of oil riggers crawling all over the land she and Blackie rode every day.

  Oh, dammit all to hell, Hamilton.

  You stupid son of a bitch. You realize there’s no good way for this to end, right?

  He glanced up at her, watching the way the rays of sunlight streaked across her face.

  Because LeeAnn wasn’t the type of woman he could sleep with and then walk away from. Not his usual type at all. He’d known her for only a week, and he already knew that.

  You are in some deep shit.

  “You okay?” LeeAnn asked, and Jonah realized that his hands had stilled—he was no longer flipping through the magazines and dumping them into the box in the same regular rhythm he had maintained for most of the last hour.

  “Fine,” he muttered, picking up another magazine, holding it upside down, and shaking it.

  Good enough, anyway.

  If only he could figure out what to do next.

  “You know,” she said, “these magazines are in really good shape. I wonder if there’s anyone who would be interested in them.”

  He smiled at the similar tack their minds had taken. “Sure,” he said. “There are people out there who would pay good money for some of these old magazines—maybe a lot of money, depending on how rare they are.”

  She cast a slightly dubious look at the dusty pile in front of her. “Like on eBay?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. You know, a lot of what I do is research, tracking down records in county offices and such. But sometimes I have to go back far enough that I end up in libraries. I have a friend who’s a research librarian. If she doesn’t know offhand if they’re worth anything, she could track it down. If you want her to, that is.”

  As if he hadn’t done the same thing.

  “Sure,” she said. “Can’t hurt, right?”

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and bent over her to fan out this stack of magazines, too. As he did, her shoulder brushed against his side. The contact sent an electric shock through him, and he shivered involuntarily.

  He was going to have to get better control of himself—this was supposed to be a job, dammit. No matter how amazing that kiss in the Wagon Wheel had been, she hadn’t really meant it. She hadn’t been kissing him, not really—she had been showing off for that sleazy ex of hers.

  As he snapped a picture of the magazines and tapped out a second quick message to Jenny, he indulged in a brief fantasy of what he’d like to say to the idiot who dumped LeeAnn. But that quickly devolved to a fantasy of what he’d like to do to LeeAnn, so he tamped down his imagination again—and the raging erection that threatened to spring up from it.

  “There,” he said, sending the message and photo out. “I’ll let you know what she says.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “You know, if we’re really going to be methodical about it, we probably should go ahead and dump the stuff that we know for sure is trash—or at least put labels on the boxes.”

  “And some of this probably could go out on an auction site, too. People will buy the most amazing junk.”

  He only barely let himself consider that sorting through the various outbuildings carefully, searching not only for paperwork proving who owned the mineral rights, but for anything at all salable would take more time—time that he could spend getting to know LeeAnn for real.

  …

  That kiss in the diner had been pretty much the most amazing kiss of her life. But LeeAnn was beginning to think that Jonah was regretting it. When he had leaned over her to take the photo, he had accidentally brushed against her shoulder—and had jerked away like she had burned him. Apparently he didn’t want to touch her at all, not even accidentally.

  She shouldn’t feel disappointed at that, but she did.

  And that caress of her cheek in the kitchen?

  It probably didn’t mean anything. He was only saying that he liked kissing.

  So he enjoyed the kiss. So what?

  “I’ll get a marker,” she said, standing up and heading toward the narrow staircase leading down into the rest of the house. “We can go through and label all the boxes we’ve already checked.”

  “Better yet, let’s take a break. I could use a cup of coffee, if you have any.” He wiped his hands down the front of his jeans.

  Wrinkling her nose and shaking her head, she said, “Sorry. I have some great teas, though. I could brew a pot.”

  He shrugged. “As long as it’s got caffeine, I guess.”

  “Green tea does. I’ll make that.” She stood up, then moved through a quick series of stretches, swan diving her torso down so that her nose touched her knees, then up and into a back bend halfway to the floor. When she straightened, she found him watching her intently. Suddenly she felt self-conscious. “Yoga,” she said shortly, by way of explanation.

  “I guessed.” No one ought to be able to put that much amusement into two words.

  “I could teach you some moves,” she offered.

  “Oh, I bet you could.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

  Was he teasing? Or ridiculing her?

  Dammit. She hadn’t felt so awkward in years. Not since she’d been a gawky adolescent, ridiculous and silly. Come to think of it, that might be how he saw her: ridiculous—the type of woman who grabbed a beautiful stranger in public and laid one on him.

  Stop thinking, LeeAnn.

  She led the way down the stairs, aware of his gaze on her from behind, trying to draw in the kind of deep, calming pranayama yoga breaths she practiced every day. For once, though, focusing on breathing didn’t help.

  The familiar ritual of brewing tea helped calm her rattled nerves—filling the kettle, rinsing the teapot, spooning tea leaves into the basket, pouring the boiling water into the pot. By the time Jonah joined her in the kitchen, she felt more like herself, serene and in control. The face she turned to him was smooth and pleasant, the one she had practiced showing the rest of the world since Darrell had left. The face that hid any inner turmoil. If she practiced it long enough, she reasoned, perhaps it would eventually become reality.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing a cup of tea to Jonah. His enormous hand almost entirely engulfe
d the delicate, rose-patterned china. Turning to the table, she pulled out two chairs and sat down in one of them.

  “Let me take you to dinner,” Jonah said abruptly.

  LeeAnn laughed. “Now?”

  “After your class tonight.” He took a tentative sip of the tea, then a longer drink—apparently he liked it.

  In that moment, she couldn’t think of a reason not to go—not unless she wanted to lie. And he was staring at her, waiting for an answer. “Okay,” she blurted.

  She could have sworn the look on his face was satisfied as he swallowed the rest of the tea in one long drink and stood up.

  Wait. I meant no.

  Is this a date? What are you up to?

  “Good,” he said decisively. “Let’s get back to work, then.”

  She gulped down the last of her tea and followed him back upstairs to the attic, scolding herself all the way for not thinking faster.

  If it is a date, it’s a date with the enemy.

  That had to be a bad idea.

  Chapter Fifteen

  LeeAnn waved at the young woman working the front desk and pushed her way out the door. Her evening class hadn’t gone as well as she had hoped it would—she kept finding herself drifting off into thoughts of Jonah, then realizing that she’d left her students in their poses longer than she intended. With any luck, no one had noticed her fractured attention.

  But it beat obsessing over Jonah and the not-a-date dinner they were about to have together. Or about Darrell Stupid Loser Vincent and the scene at the ranch the night before.

  Why had he been there, anyway?

  As she rounded the corner toward the Wagon Wheel, she caught sight of Jonah. He was leaning against the red brick of the building, one boot kicked over the other, staring down at his phone. She paused to watch him in this unguarded moment.

  Superman in jeans and a cowboy hat.

  A shiver ran through her.

  He really is stunning.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she picked up her pace again. “Ready?” she asked as she came alongside him.

  Those dimples flashed, and her knees quivered.

  “Sure.” He pulled the door open for her. “I’ve got some good news, too.”

  A waitress gathered menus and gestured for them to follow her.

  “Good news? About the mineral rights?” Her stomach sank—good news for him meant bad news for her, right?

  “No.” He waved his phone. “It looks like my friend—the librarian—might know of a buyer for some of those old magazines of your gran’s. In fact, she wants us to send her pictures of anything like that that we find.”

  “Seriously? Someone wants that old junk?” Someone other than Gran, anyway.

  “Looks like.” Jonah flipped through the pages of the menu, stopping to read descriptions. “You’re vegetarian, right? Is it going to bother you if I eat meat?”

  “Would it stop you if it did?” She opened her own menu.

  “Yes.” The surprise in his voice caused her to look up at him. “It’s only polite,” he said. “But from the look on your face, I’m guessing that hasn’t been your experience.”

  “Not even remotely.” Shaking her head, she closed the menu again. “But to answer your question, no, it won’t bother me. Vegetarianism is my choice, but I wouldn’t force it on anyone else.”

  “Chicken-fried steak is fine with you?”

  “As long as I don’t have to eat it.” She shrugged. “When I was little, Gran’s land was still a working ranch, cattle and all. I spent time with the cows that ended up on our table.”

  The waitress came over to take their order, and when she left, Jonah picked up the conversation. “Did hanging out with your dinner when it was still on the hoof influence your decision to become a vegetarian?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t think too much about it when I was a kid, but Gran worked with a local slaughterhouse that used more humane methods than some of the big ones.” The waitress returned with their iced tea, and LeeAnn picked up the lemon to squeeze it into the glass.

  “When did it quit being a working ranch?” Jonah asked.

  “Not long after my grandfather died. Gran couldn’t run it on her own anymore.” She could tell he was about to ask another question, but suddenly she was distracted as the diner door swung open and Darrell pushed in, talking over his shoulder to someone behind him.

  “Oh, no,” LeeAnn said, interrupting anything Jonah might have been about to say.

  Following her gaze to the door, he grimaced. “Checking out the man slut at the door?”

  “The very one. And he’s here with his fiancée. I cannot get away from him.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t say anything to him.” She stared earnestly into Jonah’s eyes and reached out to grab one of his hands resting on the table. “I mean it. Not a word.”

  One corner of Jonah’s mouth quirked up. “Okay,” he said, drawing the word out. He dropped his other hand on top of hers. “Easy enough.”

  Cold air rushed over her as Jonah pulled his hand away and stood up.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice came out in a hiss.

  The slow wink Jonah gave her wasn’t reassuring. But he simply moved around and slipped into the booth next to her. The old padding of the seat dipped a little, and Jonah took advantage of her slight lean toward him by dropping an arm around her shoulders and snugging her in tight against him. A zap of electrical heat distracted her for a moment, but didn’t keep her from uttering an incoherent sound of surprise.

  “I need you to do something for me.” He leaned down close enough to her that his breath brushed her cheek when he spoke. “Pretend we’re here on a date, okay?”

  “A date?” His nearness made her almost dizzy.

  “It might convince him to keep his distance.” He paused for a second before continuing, his voice turning dangerous, “That would best for everyone concerned.”

  “Okay.” This time she squeaked. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Yes. Thank you.” That warm, spicy scent surrounded her again, and she surreptitiously tried to breathe it in.

  He smelled unbelievably good.

  “But if I’m going to be your cover every time you see him, I think you should tell me what happened.” His breath stirred the strands that had slipped out of her ponytail, tickling her ear.

  “Later. I don’t want him to hear me.” Leaning forward, she tried to catch a glimpse of Darrell. The bastard.

  “Exactly how much of a date do you think we need this to be?” Jonah’s lips brushing across her earlobe as he whispered startled a gasp out of her—and even better, distracted her from looking for Darrell.

  “Um…maybe we should go.” Accepting Jonah’s suggestion might end up being more than she had bargained for.

  “Or maybe we should show him what he’s missing.” With one smooth motion, Jonah lifted her half into his lap so that her back rested against his broad, strong chest. Brushing her ponytail out of his way, he ran his mouth across the nape of her neck—a light, shivery touch that wiped all other thought from her mind.

  A tremor ran through him as he sat back in the seat, pulling her even closer. He might be pretending to be her date, but LeeAnn could feel the very real evidence of his arousal against her thigh.

  I shouldn’t encourage him.

  He’s only in town because he wants to find a way to allow an oil company to tear up the land I love.

  But it might be worth any trouble later if it gave her jerk ex even a moment of dismay to see her with someone else.

  A wicked smile flashed across her face. “Okay. For show,” she said, then turned in his arms to kiss him.

  …

  When their lips met, Jonah suddenly lost all sense of time. LeeAnn didn’t hold back, throwing her entire body into kissing him, twisting around to better touch her mouth to his—a position he would have claimed was impossible for anyone else. She wiggled back to sit more firmly on his lap, and the sensation of her ass brus
hing against him made his breath catch in his chest.

  Her tongue slipped into his mouth, and he wrapped his hands around her waist, deepening the kiss even further. After a long moment, she pulled away and stared up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

  “Wow,” she murmured.

  He let his body respond for him—even the sound of her voice made his cock jump.

  “Man of Steel,” she whispered, then laughed, as if to herself.

  “Hi, Lee.” The voice came from the other side of the booth, and Jonah looked up from LeeAnn’s face, which had gone perfectly still.

  “Darrell.” He almost wished she would follow it up with one of the expletives she’d been attaching to the man’s name, but she didn’t. Instead, she pressed her back against his chest, like an animal retreating from danger.

  He could feel the rage rising in him again.

  “I see your friend’s here, too.” Darrell Vincent—man slut, Jonah couldn’t help adding—nodded at him.

  LeeAnn’s ex was leaning over their table a little too aggressively for Jonah’s taste, pulling some subtle dominance act designed to intimidate LeeAnn and her companion while Jonah was seated.

  It didn’t take much to figure out the man was a bully, determined to make LeeAnn—and by extension, Jonah—uncomfortable. “Good to see you someplace so…public,” Darrell said.

  Is he truly that stupid? Apparently so.

  Jonah lifted LeeAnn up and gently deposited her on the seat next to him. He swung his legs out of the booth and stood up, forcing Darrell to step back or risk getting kicked.

  “Nice to officially meet you, Darrell,” he said, reaching out to grasp the other’s man hand in a not-quite-crushing grip. He stood at least three inches taller than the other man, and he again used his height to his advantage, moving into Darrell’s space and looming over him.

  Darrell took a step back and disentangled his hand. His new fiancée watched the exchange with cool, disinterested eyes.

  She’s not half the woman LeeAnn is. What’s wrong with this douche?

  Not that it mattered, as long as the douche left LeeAnn alone.

  “Enjoy your dinner,” Jonah said, nodding at Darrell’s companion in a clear dismissal.