6-Pack Wrangler (Six-Pack Cowboys Book 2)

by Em Petrova

  He might have heard something about her.

  She waited, fingers digging into the wood of the barn doorway.

  “Gusto okay?” he asked as he neared.

  “Yes, the swelling’s gone down some.”

  He gave a nod. “Good. What have you been doing?”

  She stepped aside to allow him to see the clean barn floor and to peek inside at the shining tack.

  His hazel eyes held a hint of hesitation along with approval. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “You said as much, but I can’t just sit still.”

  “I know the feeling.” The corner of his lips twitched. Not quite a smile but it was far from the straight face of the man she’d met just that morning.

  Lord, had it only been yesterday that she’d run from her own surprise wedding? It seemed like a month had passed.

  “I was just about to have a water break. Care to join me?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll take a glass and some pain pills.”

  She looked down at his foot. “Come on. You need that foot up and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “You mothering me?” Now the smile did emerge, like spring peeping out from under the snow and gray skies of winter. It reached up the sides of his face by way of smile lines to envelope the creases of his eyes.

  The way that smile made her feel wasn’t at all maternal but something very, very different.

  As they made their way to the house again, Aria wished her mind would linger over the beauty of the mountains, the songbirds in nearby trees—anything but how Wheeler’s smile made her feel more restless than she cared to admit.

  She held the door open for him, and he went straight to the fridge.

  “You don’t drink the well water?” she asked.

  “Well’s only for backup. Mostly I run off a spring coming down from the mountain. It’s good water, but King dropped off a case for me last time he stopped by.”

  She blinked at the name. It was familiar—and unlikely there were two men with the same name in the vicinity.

  Wheeler handed her a water, and she took it with a quiet word of thanks.

  “Speaking of King… I just heard some things from him.”

  “Who is King?” she managed, heart in her throat.

  “I help him out on his cattle ranch, mostly with the horses now, as they’re my skill set.”

  Oh God, it was the same King. The main actor of Redemption Falls, Bellarose’s hubby.

  He would definitely hear about what she’d done.

  Wheeler stared at her. She met his gaze and slanted it away.

  “He told me about an actor who ran away from her wedding.”

  Her mouth dried out.

  “Maybe it’s best if you start talkin’.”

  She gulped her water, and it went down the wrong tube. She coughed and water sprayed all over Wheeler’s shirt and speckled his gray sweats, leaving dark spots. Abhorred, she continued to hack until she cleared her airway. Wheeler moved forward to smack her on the back.

  He stepped toward her so quickly that his crutch hit the floor, and he had to brace a hand on the counter to keep from falling into her.

  She sputtered to a stop, aware of how he hovered over her, so close.

  “Let me get your crutch,” she wheezed.

  “I got it.” Balancing on one foot, he crouched and grabbed the crutch, making it obvious that he’d done this same thing several times in the days since breaking his foot.

  Once he had the crutch under him, he hobbled to the table. Aria continued to lean on the counter for support, wanting to run away—again.

  He looked at her unwaveringly.

  “It’s me,” she whispered.

  “You’re the runaway bride.”

  “I told you I was from the start.”

  “But not the part about the TV show. Why not?”

  “You didn’t recognize me, and I felt more at ease for it. It’s bad enough that I ran, and more so that I ended up in a stranger’s barn and now I’m mooching off his hospitality.”

  He grunted. “If mooching means caring for my stock and mucking out my stalls, tidying my barn and polishing my tack, then I’m good with being used.”

  An unexpected giggle escaped her.

  Using the crutch, he nudged the chair leg, pushing it out from the table and inviting her to sit.

  She did, folding her hands on the tabletop and trying to figure out how to explain or if she needed to at all.

  Wheeler expected it of her. And maybe it would be a sort of release to spill the entire story?

  “It’s the horses I love the most,” she began.

  He raised a dark brow.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I’m a Montana girl. Raised on a horse ranch and from a young age, my dad had me working with the stock, training them. We sold reining horses for competition.”

  “Good business.”

  The reining horses were ranch-type horses trained on their athletic abilities and competed within an arena. Many brought in a solid income if they were brought up right.

  “Yes. But it was the competition I really wanted.” She continued on, telling him of how she’d gotten onto the show but behind the scenes, and finally landing the acting gig. The money was good, the job not very demanding and she still got to be around horses.

  “I met Jason at a mutual friend’s party, and he called me right away.”

  “Jason?”

  “Lee.” She watched his face for recognition.

  His eyes popped. “The action flick guy?”

  Biting into her lower lip, she nodded. Her knuckles were nearly white from squeezing her fingers together.

  “You ran out on the action flick guy?” His voice was laced with incredulousness.

  Again, she nodded.

  He let out a low whistle and sat back, looking at her.

  She unclasped her hands and spread them. “Do you think I was wrong?”

  “Honey, I don’t know you, so how can I say? In my eyes, you must have run for a reason. Otherwise, wouldn’t you have married the guy?”

  “Yes,” she said at once.

  “Why did you say yes to his proposal in the first place?”

  “I didn’t exactly. It was just sort of… assumed on his part.”

  “But you didn’t set him right.”

  “No. I was hoping things cooled down while I was here in Washington and then I’d find the words to say.”

  “So now what?”

  She gave a light shake of her head. “I don’t know. I can’t hide forever, I know that.”

  “No.”

  “While I worked today, I thought of how to go back and talk to him. I can’t really come up with anything yet.”

  “I understand how that would be hard. I avoid conflict any way I can, so I’m no good for advice.”

  “Well, don’t we make a pair?” Her blurted statement had her face heating and him glancing away. Linking them in any way was a strange notion, and obviously one that neither wanted to think about.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you from the start who I am.”

  He searched her eyes and then pushed to a stand. “Have you eaten since breakfast?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll make us something.”

  “No, I’m making it while you put that foot up.” She pointed to the living room with a solemn expression she’d gotten from her mother and was told she was relatively good at executing.

  With a chuckle, he shook his head. “Fine.”

  “Uhh… what should I make?”

  “Some frozen pizzas left or if you get ambitious, steaks.”

  Her stomach grumbled. “Could we have the steaks for dinner?”

  His lips twisted up at one corner. “Knock yourself out, honey.”

  After she started a pizza in the oven and laid out steaks to thaw, she put away the dry dishes, rooting around in his cupboards to find all their homes. When the timer dinged that the pizza was finished, she removed it
using some ancient potholders. There wasn’t a pizza wheel that she could locate, so she used a pair of scissors from the knife block.

  He came in as she was cutting.

  “What are you using—kitchen scissors?”

  She half turned from the range. “Yes. Haven’t you ever used them?”

  “Only to cut a bit of twine or something, and never pizza. Seems like it’s working.”

  She nodded. “My mom uses them to cut frozen pizzas. I didn’t invent the technique.”

  She placed the pizza slices on two plates. “Why don’t you go back into the living room to prop that foot and we’ll eat in there?”

  He groaned. “Again with the foot. Fine.”

  She followed him carrying both plates and grinning. He settled in a chair and she set the plates on the coffee table, a scarred, chunky oak that had seen better days but might be improved with a refinishing job. Then she returned to the kitchen for more drinks.

  When they were each halfway through their slices, she spoke up. “You know Bellarose I’m assuming.”

  “Stood up for their wedding.” He swiped his tongue over his lip, gathering sauce.

  Aria’s body seemed to dial up some internal thermometer, heating her insides.

  “King’s one of my best friends. Every day I work on his ranch, I come home and feel I’ve failed with my own place.”

  She lowered her slice to her plate, staring at him. “Your dream is to have more than a few horses?”

  He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Dunno. I enjoy working with them but haven’t given a lot of thought to more. Is that lazy of me?”

  “Not if what you’re doing makes you happy.”

  He set down his own slice, leaning forward on his seat and piercing her in his gaze. “What makes you happy?”

  She eyed him. “Not getting married?”

  They burst out laughing.

  * * * * *

  Aria hovered over Wheeler. She was staring at his foot, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from her hair, the way it fell in a wave across her shoulder. The ends reached for her perky breasts.

  Annnd just like that, I’m hard.

  He stirred inside his sweats, his cock stretching an inch the longer she stood there looking at his foot.

  “Does it hurt you?” she asked.

  “Not much.” He was lying—it throbbed like a bitch.

  She must have heard something in his voice, because she focused on his face. “No wonder you’re in pain. You were on it too much today.”

  “It’s just a foot.”

  “Is that what you say about your horse?”

  She grabbed a cushion that was rather flat from years of use and gently slipped a hand under his calf.

  He gritted his teeth. It’d been far too long since he’d experienced a woman’s soft touch, and the warmth of her fingers permeated the cloth of his sweats. She lifted his leg and placed the cushion on the footstool, and then lowered his foot to it.

  She giggled. “Didn’t do much, did it?”

  “Those pillows are circa ’87 by my guess. The fluff’s out of them.”

  She giggled again. “Do you have an extra bed pillow to use?”

  “Sure. I’ll grab one.” He moved to stand, but she waved him back and was off before he could call her back. As he listened to her retreating footsteps, he pictured her—how her body moved with each step and the way her hair swung on her back.

  He closed his eyes briefly on the memory of how her breasts bounced lightly, and he battled with his growing erection, which he couldn’t hide if he kept thinking this way. He’d just about mastered his mind when he it occurred to him Aria was in his bedroom.

  His cock popped to full mast, and he shoved it down, tucking it the best he could so he wasn’t tenting his sweats again. If she was still here in the morning, he’d find an old pair of jeans and slit the leg to get his cast through it.

  When she returned carrying one of his plump bed pillows, he caught a faint flush to her cheeks.

  “You have a washer and dryer? You have a lot of dirty laundry.”

  “Oh.” So that was why she was blushing—his wadded up laundry that had mostly missed the basket the past few days was probably offensive to a sweet woman who didn’t even do her own menial chores.

  “Yeah, through the kitchen there’s a mud porch and the facilities are out there.”

  “I’ll get a load started in a minute.” She bent over him again, and God, he had to restrain himself from curling his fingers around her arm and reeling her in. He hadn’t felt such a balls-out chemical lust as he had right this minute with Aria. Until now he’d always wondered how one-night stands happened.

  Now he knew.

  She grabbed his leg again sooner than he realized he should lift it himself, and she plumped the cushion before gently placing his foot down.

  “That’s a little better.” She turned brown eyes on him. But they weren’t just brown. They reminded him of a horse’s coat in the sunshine, rippling as it moved with shades of chestnut and chocolate and hints of copper.

  “It’s fine,” he managed gruffly.

  “Do you need something before I start on the laundry?”

  “You don’t need to do that. I can manage it fine.”

  “I have no doubt you’d rig up some way of hauling baskets to the laundry room. Maybe with a rope and harness system?” She grinned down at him. “But there’s no reason for you to do it if I can help.”

  “But why are you helping? I’m nothing to you.”

  She gaped at him a moment. “It’s true we’re strangers. But I’d help a stranger along the road who needed assistance, and I’d say by now, you’re working into acquaintance territory.”

  Her words shouldn’t touch him, but they did, heating him smack in the center of his chest. “As long as you don’t feel beholden because you slept in my barn.”

  “Okay, I won’t. I’ll think of it as a gift to you.”

  His brow shot up.

  A teasing light came to her eyes. “It’s not every day that I gift someone with my presence and sleep in their barn stall.”

  His lips quirked at one corner. “You can have the couch tonight if you do real a real nice folding job.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Thanks.” She started to move away.

  “But Aria.” He snagged her wrist before she could take a step.

  She stared down at his fingers on her skin, and damn if he wasn’t on fire for her all over again. So delicate, feminine… fragile. She could be injured by one of his big quarter horses so easily.

  Their gazes collided and held. Under his fingertip, her pulse hammered against the soft skin.

  “You’re missing and you have to tell someone soon where you’re at.”

  “You didn’t tell King, did you?” Amazement slid across her eyes.

  He shook his head. “Isn’t my secret to tell. But you’ve gotta put their minds at ease. There are people who care about you.”

  Biting her lip, she nodded. “You’re right. But maybe I won’t tell them where I’m at, just that I’m all right. If I could only stay a few more days…”

  Christ, he’d never live through several days with this woman in his house, mothering him over his foot and helping out with everything from dishes, laundry and cooking to polishing tack.

  How could he turn away from the silent plea in her big brown eyes?

  “Stay,” he heard himself grate out.

  Her eyes widened.

  “But use the phone to call someone, okay?” Realizing he still held her by the wrist, he gave a mental command for his fingers to uncurl and release her.

  She stepped back. “I have my cell on me but—”

  “No service,” he finished. “Only if you get out to the end of the road. There you can get a bar if skies are clear. But I’ve got a landline for that reason.”

  “And no internet.”

  He chuckled. “What would a man like me do with internet?”

  “Look up ways to be mor
e stubborn about getting help after breaking your foot?”

  Her sassy remark yanked a laugh from deep inside him, and it shoved free like an unbroken horse through a gate. She smiled in response, and he wondered how he’d ever lived alone before finding her this morning.

  Acquaintances, hell. Did people want to strip their acquaintances, peel off their clothes and kiss every inch of their skin?

  To cover his mind’s wanderings, he adjusted his foot atop the pillow. “Thank you, Aria. But you’re wrong about me looking up ways to be more stubborn. I come by that honest.”

  She braced a hand on the arm of his chair and leaned down close, so close that he could palm the back of her head and pull her in for a kiss. Her eyes were bright, her gaze direct as she said, “I’m stubborn too. Let’s see who gets their way.”

  Then she straightened and sashayed from the room to collect his laundry.

  He watched her go, hard as stone and aching in more places than his foot.

  Chapter Four

  The morning dew was just burning off, rising from the ground in wisps of fog, making Aria think of fairies. As a little girl, she used to love looking out of her bedroom window at the same thing in her own fields and dreaming of what worlds could live in the tall grasses under the cloak of the fog.

  Sprites and fairies for sure, but also an entire peeper frog clan who fought for their territory against the otherworldly beings.

  She smiled at the pretend play of the child she’d been. Dreaming wasn’t only something for the young, though—it was for all ages. Her dreams had just changed.

  She just wasn’t entirely sure what they were at the moment. She wasn’t a woman to do a job halfway, so returning to the set of Redemption Falls was her first goal.

  Right after talking to Jason.

  She fisted her hand and tapped it against her lips. Each time she tried to come up with words to explain, her mind blanked. It might as well be that white fog rising from the grass.

  Maybe it was years of going along with things that was making her so indecisive now. But she couldn’t remain this way for long. After all, she’d made the choice to run from her wedding and that came with consequences—like cleaning up her mess.

  How easy it was to throw herself into work she enjoyed, something she could do with her eyes closed. Was it horrible to want mindless tasks for a while? To float along and let life unravel?