Chapter Three

It crossed her mind to blow off the hayride, but Porsche, Amy, and especially Sidney were insistent that she come along. And she was glad she did. If for no other reason than to distract her from her dismal thoughts.

As Hanna stepped off the porch, the sunshine kissed her face and a lovely breeze skated by. All of a sudden, the day seemed more beautiful and a hayride with her friends sounded like fun. And maybe, just maybe, this weekend away, even at a stripper ranch, seemed like a good idea. And not just because the yard was filled with partially dressed and hunky men milling around a flatbed decked in hay bales and hooked up to a tractor.

“Hello, beautiful,” one of the men said. He had perfect features and cut abs framed by his unbuttoned “cowboy” shirt. Something bulged in his crotch and Hanna was certain she knew what it was.

Socks.

She shot him a grin because he was handsome and it was the polite thing to do, and the socks amused her, but she should not have done so, because the small gesture encouraged the hottie and his brethren to circle around and commence intense flirtations. From their coos and giggles, her friends didn’t mind the attention, but Hanna had never liked feeling boxed in. She eased her way out of the crowd.

And as easily as that, she found herself on the outside again, looking in.

Damn. She hated when that happened. But it happened a lot.

She should be used to it by now, but she wasn’t.

She was tired of feeling so alone.

And even as the thought, the regret, the roil of frustration danced in her brain, she glanced toward the barn and he stepped into view, making his way toward the drive. Her focus narrowed in on the vision of him as he approached, nearly slow-motion style, although that was probably just her imagination.

Lordy. He was gorgeous. His long limbs moved with a sure synchronicity, a lyric poetry. His boots kicked up small clouds of dust that drew her eye, but then it skimmed upward, over his muscular thighs tightly wrapped in denim, to his chest swathed in flannel, to the curl of hair escaping from his Stetson. As he approached he tugged on his gloves—leather—and Hanna’s mouth went dry.

Everything about him called to her—but those work gloves were the icing on the cake. She’d always had a thing for gloves, but it had never hit her as hard as it did now.

A shiver of excitement wound with trepidation danced through her. There was no reason for her to be afraid of this man, except for the way he made her feel. But maybe that was reason enough. He made her feel like a young girl come face-to-face with her first crush.

“Holy God,” Amy whispered. “Now, there’s a man.”

Hanna tried not to glare at her when she realized her friend was gaping at him.

Amy leaned closer and peered at the magnificent hunk of man through squinted eyes. “He’s not even naked and he’s hot,” she whispered.

Sidney folded her arms and shot them all a smirk. “Some men don’t need to strip to be mega hot.” And then, to Hanna’s horror, her sister flounced over, hooked her arm in his and batted her lashes. “Well, hey there,” she purred. “What do you say you sit with us?”

Oh hell. Something bitter crawled up Hanna’s throat. Not because her sister was ostensibly condemning her to an afternoon up close and personal with the man of her dreams . . . but because when Sidney looked at a man like that, she wanted him. And what Sidney wanted, she usually got.

Never before had Hanna felt such . . . envy of her sister. How she wished she were the kind of woman who could just reach out and take what she wanted. But she wasn’t.

Her dismal mood was shattered when, before responding, he turned to look at her with a question in his eye. She couldn’t imagine what that question might be, but before she had a chance to wade through the possibilities, she nodded.

She probably imagined the hint of a smile on his perfect lips, but she hardly cared. Because he tipped back his hat with a leather-clad finger and said, oh-so-solemnly, “It would be my honor to escort you ladies tonight.” And then he put out his arm. To her.

She probably only stared at it for a moment or so before she took it, but it felt like an eternity. But then, when she touched him, when her fingers connected with the soft flannel shirt and his own personal heat, she nearly moaned.

Perhaps that was why she didn’t like frolicking with random men, didn’t like casual physical contact. Because of the impact to her soul. Because it hit her so hard. Maybe she was supersensitive to it.

Or maybe it was just him.

She was barely touching him, yet his presence, his heat, his scent enfolded her.

Something about it, something about him, hit her deep in her core. A wave of need, unlike any piddling desires she’d ever felt before, swamped her.

She stumbled a little as they made their way to the hay-flecked trailers, but he caught her. With his gloved hand. She stared at it for a moment, swallowing her drool, and then glanced up at his face. Their gazes locked and she found herself sinking into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Careful, now.” A sultry whisper. Or simply a whisper, but it had a sultry effect.

She swallowed heavily and nodded, but couldn’t seem to rip her attention away.

It was thrilling that it seemed he could not either.

When they bumped into the trailer—because neither was paying attention to where they were going—they both chuckled. Something about it, that shared humor, warmed the energy between them. Melted the ice princess a tad. Enough at least for her to shoot him a playful grin as he helped her mount the stairs. That he returned it warmed her even more.

Gentleman that he was, he helped the other women climb up onto the trailer, skillfully deflecting any wandering hands. It was clear he was a different breed from the other men on the hayride—many of whom just hopped up and snagged a preferred spot for themselves—but to most of the women attending this party, a man was just a man.

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

When he climbed up onto the trailer and glanced around for a seat, Sidney waved at him. “Here!” she called, scooting over and making a space between herself and Hanna. It was hardly enough space for his muscled bulk, so Hanna scooted over as well.

Her heart thrummed as he made his way to her, ignoring many other calls, and squeezed in between Hanna and Sidney.

Sidney leaned forward and peered around his chest, waggling her brows. Hanna had to ignore her. Her brain couldn’t deal with her sister’s shenanigans and the incredible sensation of being pressed against his side from thigh to chest.

The tractor started up and lurched forward, tugging the trailers behind. The sharp movement threw her hard against him and because she was trying to keep her arm between them, she practically gored him with her elbow.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

He chuckled and lifted his arm and—to her horror and delight—wrapped it around her shoulder. “No worries,” he said with a smile. And again, she found herself drowning in his bluer-than-blue eyes. His lashes were long, she had the presence of mind to notice. Far longer than should be legal.

And he had dents in his cheeks that dimpled when he smiled. And a spattering of scruff on his chin.

Was there anything about him that wasn’t perfect?

The trailer jerked again and this time, when she nudged him it wasn’t with her elbow. It was with her breast.

Such glory washed through her at the simple, inelegant touch. Her gaze whipped to his face, to see if he’d noticed, and she found his attention on her, and scorching. A muscle in his cheek pulsed, as though he was gritting his teeth. His fingers closed on her shoulder. Breath hissed from between his lips.

She swallowed. “Sorry.” A whisper.

His nostrils flared and he forced a smile. “Oh no, sweet thing,” he murmured. “Don’t be sorry.”

After that, they sat in silence, wrapped in their thoughts, and perhaps each other, as the tractor rumbled along giving the partygoers a tour of the ranch that would be their home for the weekend. Though the men and women around them created a hullabaloo of laughter, dares, and chatter, Hanna barely noticed anything. With each movement of the trailer, she rubbed against him, or he rubbed against her.

Occasionally, their gazes would meet and cling, but then she’d be the one to look away.

Other women, engaged in the excitement of a hayride with hotties, tried to talk to him, to flirt and banter, but when he issued nothing more than polite and reserved replies, they turned their attention to the other hunks on the trailer—which was just fine with Hanna.

Before long, several of the strippers had been encouraged to bare their chests. Even though they were on a moving vehicle, a few of them even deigned to dance. They all seemed inclined to flirt with everyone—Porsche explained that they were all vying for the women’s votes in the Manflesh Auction later that night—but her man? He didn’t seem to be interested in anyone . . . but her.

They seemed to be rapt, in a world of their own, despite the fact that they were surrounded by raunchy strippers and raunchier women. And though they barely shared a word, they shared . . . something. And it was pleasant and warm.

She wanted to steep in it forever.

***

Logan had seen Cody’s ranch before. A hundred times.

He’d intended to skip the hayride . . . until he’d seen her with her friends in the yard. He’d had to step out of the barn—where he’d set up camp in the tack room in the back. He’d had to join the fray.

And now here he was, sitting next to her. This was his chance to connect with her. Talk to her.

A pity he had no idea what to say.

In high school he hadn’t been particularly shy, except around her. And, as a co-owner of a growing business in Dallas, he was rarely ever lost for words.

But here, now, he was barely able to manage a word, much less a conversation.

Still, somehow, their silence was comfortable, comforting even, as the ridiculous tractor chugged along the trail past the shop and the bunkhouse, and into the woods toward the lake.

As teens, he, Cody, and Cade had had more than one clandestine beer fest on the shores of that lake. There was a pavilion there now, with a full bar and an outdoor movie screen. No doubt some of the weekend’s activities would take place here.

The tractor continued through the woods to the field where Logan used to bale hay. As they continued along the border of the property, making a wide loop, he couldn’t help but notice a couple places the fence needed patching. He made a mental note to mention them to Cody, but he doubted his friend would pay any mind.

Cody had made the shift, it seemed, from a full-blooded rancher to a purveyor of parties.

He tried not to snort at the thought. Even though Logan had a business that took a great deal of his time, he also owned a ranch—a working ranch. With cattle and everything. Granted, his hands did most of the day-to-day work, and he had a foreman to oversee it all. But it was a working ranch.

The thought of turning it into a B&B, much less bringing in strippers on the weekend, was ludicrous.

But he couldn’t blame Cody for doing it. He’d saved the ranch from foreclosure. And a man did what he had to do to protect what was his.

The tractor took a corner and the trailer lurched and Hanna bumped into him again. He could tell she was trying to keep her distance, but there wasn’t much room between them. And he certainly didn’t mind when they touched.

Something had happened to her since high school. She’d changed. He could see it in her reserved demeanor, in the tight muscles of her face, in the shadows of her eyes. He wasn’t sure what it was, but some of her sparkle had left her. It gored him deep in his soul; he would give anything to see that carefree smile she’d once flashed so willingly.

He could also tell she wasn’t comfortable on the trailer. Whether it was the wild bacchanal rising on the air, the movement of the vehicles, or his presence at her side, he wasn’t sure. But he certainly hoped it was not the latter.

Just being next to her made him hard. Made that hungry beast inside him lift its head and roar. It had been too long since he’d seen her. His starved soul soaked her in the way a parched desert drinks in a summer rain.

Visions of what he’d like to do to her danced in his head, but he forced them away. He knew Hanna Stevens. Prim. Proper. Perfect. Prom queen. A woman like that would never let him take her the way he wanted—hard, hot, and fast. Down and dirty. Never.

She was a good girl. Always had been. As uptight and vanilla as they came.

It was a damn shame.

Still, he wanted her with a raw need, like a wildfire whipping through his soul.

Oh man. He should have left. He should have just packed up his shit and tossed it in the back of his truck and torn out of there like a spooked filly. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

The opportunity of seeing her again this weekend, even if from afar, even within the parameters he knew she required, was too tempting. He’d been in love with Hanna Stevens all through high school. Fantasized about her nearly every night. All night.

It was annoying, though, the way she made him feel. Even now.

He was hardly that shy, skinny, stuttering kid he’d been in high school, the kid from the wrong side of the tracks who was too dumb to amount to anything much and too weak to hold his own in a fight. He’d worked hard to change that. To become a better man. A man he and his family could be proud of. No, he was a long way from being that kid . . . but just one glance at her and it all came back.

She’d been a cheerleader, the daughter of one of the richest, most powerful men in town. He’d been the son of a dirt-poor farmer’s widow. A high school nobody. She’d never so much as glanced at him. Well, except that one time. And even then, he doubted she’d really seen him. The only words he’d ever spoken to her back then had been lame.

“Are you all right?”

She hadn’t been, and he’d known it, but he’d asked anyway and she’d nodded. But she hadn’t been.

They lurched again and she fell against his side. He closed his arm around her. “Are you all right?” he whispered before he could stop himself. He held back a flinch when he recognized the irony, the familiarity of the words.

She looked up at him. Their gazes locked. Something sizzled. “I’m fine,” she said.

Though he knew it was a lie—again—he nodded. He didn’t loosen his hold and she didn’t move away.

It was a damn shame they took the final turn and made their way back to the barnyard. She was so warm there, so soft, so precious, leaning against him, he hated to let her go. It gratified him that she didn’t seem to want to leave either. As the others stood and filed off the trailer, they remained seated.

A trickle of panic settled in his gut as the trailer emptied. Soon she would stand. Soon they would part. Though it was such a tiny thing, hardly a final farewell, something in his soul howled at the prospect. He couldn’t ignore the urge to speak in that moment. Though why those words passed his lips was a mystery.

Oh, not that he said the words so much as the fact he had the courage to say them.

Maybe the desire to keep her close, some ebullient hope, overrode any sense of propriety.

“I’m staying in the barn,” he said in a low rumble as he helped her to her feet.

She blinked at him. “I . . . beg your pardon?”

“I’m staying in the barn. In the tack room. If you . . . you know . . . want to come see me.”

He nearly flinched as the words came out. How stupid. How lame. But she didn’t laugh at him, or sneer. Didn’t slap his face. She merely stared at him for a moment and then nodded.

He was poleaxed by the possibility that she might be considering stopping by. This afternoon? Tonight?

He couldn’t deny a flare of excitement at the thought.

As ridiculous as it was.

***

I’m staying in the barn. In the tack room. If you . . . you know . . . want to come see me.

Holy God. What had he meant?

Had that been an invitation?

It had seemed like one.

A skitter of excitement and trepidation spiraled through Hanna. On the one hand, the thought of them together in the way he probably meant made her knees turn to jelly. On the other, she really wasn’t the kind of woman to meet a man in a barn for a—what? Tryst? Passionate affair? Conversation?

The more she thought about it, the more her mind spun. The more she feared she might become detached from the rigid moorings of her life and surrender to this scalding temptation.

Or, at the very least, she feared she wanted to.

Desperately.

“Well?” Sidney took Hanna’s arm and tugged her back toward the ranch house, though Hanna’s gaze was locked on Logan as he made his way back to the barn. He even looked good walking away.

But then he tossed a glance over his shoulder and tugged on his hat, sending her a smile.

Oh lord. He looked even better like that.

Hell, he just plain looked good.

“Hello? Earth to Hanna.”

“Huh? What?” With great effort, she forced her attention onto her sister. It was annoying that Sidney was grinning smugly.

“What did you think?”

“Of the hayride? It was . . . fine.”

“Not the ride, silly. Him.”

Her heart thumped. “Him?”

“Yeah.” Sidney jabbed a thumb at the barn. “The Silent One.”

Hanna blinked. “The . . . what?”

Amy leaned in and chuckled. “Did you see the way he was looking at her?”

“At who?” Hanna asked.

There was no call for Sidney to smack the back of her head. “You, goofy. He was looking at you.”

“He was sitting next to me.”

“Right.” Amy giggled. She turned to Sidney. “Did you see how close he was sitting?”

“I did,” Porsche chortled. She waggled her brows. “I think he wants you.”

Something hot and liquid sluiced through Hanna’s veins. He wanted her? A shudder racked her.

“It’s a pity you’re engaged. That’s all I have to say.”

Hanna whipped around and stared at her sister. “What?”

Sidney shrugged. “He’s cute. He likes you.”

“He does not like me.”

“He didn’t talk to any of us,” Amy felt compelled to mention. “Not once through the whole ride.”

Porsche tapped her lip and glanced toward the barn. “He looks kind of familiar to me. I wonder if he lives in Dallas.”

Sidney glowered at her. No doubt she wanted him for herself and Porsche was stepping on toes.

But, honestly, the thought of anyone else wanting him made acid churn in Hanna’s belly.

Though she didn’t know why. She had no right to be jealous.

If that was even what it was.

It probably wasn’t.

Hell, he’d barely even spoken to her.

“I’m staying in the barn. In the tack room. If you . . . you know . . . want to come see me.”

“There are plenty of cute men here,” Hanna said, although she did not know why. None of them held a candle to him. Hell, none of them held a lighter to him.

“True,” Sidney said briskly tugging her up the porch steps and into the grand foyer. “And we have the whole weekend to play. What did Cody say was tonight?” she asked, although Hanna was certain she knew the agenda by heart.

Porsche pulled a rumpled schedule from her pocket. “The Hunky Hoedown,” she said. “Now, that should be fun. We should go get ready.”

“Ready?” Hanna blinked. “It’s not till tonight.”

“I know. But we need to pregame.” Porsche caught Hanna’s arm and tugged her toward the ranch house.

“Pregame?” Hanna made a face. “What are we, in the twelfth grade?”

“This weekend we are.” Porsche winked. “I think I mentioned tequila?”

“Excellent!” Sidney crowed and Hanna tried not to grimace. Really, tequila was the last thing she needed.

She wasn’t much of a drinker to begin with, preferring froufrou drinks with plenty of mixer, and with this crowd, tequila tended to come in shot glasses.

The others, however, were enthusiastic and they all tromped up to Hanna’s room, though Porsche made a pit stop in her own room for a bottle of Cuervo. As they waited for her to return, there was chatter about the hayride and the plans for the weekend, but all Hanna could think of was those eyes, peering at her over his shoulder, the tentative quirk of his lips and a whispered invitation.

I’m staying in the barn. In the tack room. If you . . . you know . . . want to come see me.

She couldn’t rein in her imagination as visions of what he could have meant, what he had intended, danced through her mind.

Porsche poked her head into the room and waggled a bottle. “Here we go. Tequila.”

“Ta-kill-ya,” Sidney chortled, and set the glasses on the top of the dresser. “Pour out the shots. Let’s toast to a wild and wicked weekend with hot and steamy hunks . . .” She fluttered her lashes at Hanna. “You know. Hunks who aren’t sticks.”

Hanna poked her tongue out at her sister at the jab at Zack, but it was a playful gesture. She shook her head as Porsche pressed a shot glass into her hand. “I’m not drinking,” she said.

“I’ll have hers,” Amy offered. Amy was generous like that.

“Come on,” Sidney bleated. “Loosen up. It’s s’posed ta be a wild and wicked weekend. How can you be wild and wicked all buttoned up like that?” She waved in the general vicinity of Hanna’s blouse which was, in fact, buttoned up.

“I’m not one of the strippers,” she felt compelled to remind her sister. “I plan to stay buttoned up.”

Amy sidled up to her and said, in something of a wheedling voice, “Come on, Hanna. You know you want to. This is your last crazy fling as an unmarried woman.”

Hanna stifled a laugh. Her last fling? She’d barely had one.

“Soon you’ll be married and—I’m just spitballin’ here,” Amy said with a grin. “But I’m guessing your prim and polite groom won’t approve of you going to strip shows when you’re married.”

Yeah. Probably not.

She thought about Zack’s expression when she’d told him where they were spending this weekend.

Definitely not.

This was it, she realized. Her one last gasp before she became Mrs. Zack Pucey.

Hanna took the glass and tipped it back, but only because the thought of tying herself to Zack—to anyone—sent a dark panic coiling in her belly. She hoped the tequila would kill it.

She grimaced at the taste of the raw liquor, but liked the burn and the warmth spreading through her veins.

The others tossed back theirs as well, with gusty gasps as the fiery brew blazed down their gullets. Amy refilled the glasses, but Hanna held up a hand. “One is enough for me,” she said.

Porsche eyed her glass. “Well, if she’s not going to drink it, I think I should have it.”

“Why would you get it?” Sidney asked.

“Because I am her best friend.”

“Well, I’m her sister.”

“Ladies. Ladies.” Amy, as always, stepped in as the voice of reason. “I’ll drink it.”

“No.” Hanna’s sharp reply seemed to surprise them all. It certainly surprised her. She had no idea from where the change of heart had come. Certainly not the vision of an eternity as Mrs. Zack Pucey. “I’ll drink it.” She picked up her drink, knocking it back with a quick toss. It burned all the way down, precipitating a coughing fit. Sidney slapped her on the back none too gently until it waned, although the slapping did not help in the least.

“Well, now we’re talking,” Amy said in a gust.

Hanna wasn’t a fan of tequila, and probably never would be, but she had to admit, the first drink had sent a warm rivulet coursing through her veins and the second turned it into a rushing river. She liked the fuzziness too, the way it softened the corners on the box that constrained her.

Part of her knew drinking shots of tequila was no solution. It couldn’t fix anything, but it was nice to have a break from her worries, muddled and sodden though it was.

But, to be honest, one thing wasn’t muddled in the least.

That vision. In her head. That smile. That glint in his eye.

The more she thought on it, the more convinced she became that those whispered words had been an invitation.

Would it be so wrong to find out for sure? What did she risk but the humiliation of having been wrong? And what was tequila good for if not muffling humiliation?

A sudden resolution swamped her.

She turned in a rush and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Sidney called.

Hanna paused and shot them all a cheery smile. They stared at her like curious meerkats on the savannah. “I’m just going for a walk. I’ll be back.” She glanced at the bottle on the dresser. “Be sure to leave some for me,” she said.

“Ahh!” Amy crowed. “That’s my girl. Have fun.”

She would. At least, she hoped she would.

She didn’t know this guy from Adam. He could shoot her down in a heartbeat. She stiffened her spine as she made her way down the stairs and through the deserted foyer of Cody’s ranch house. She had to give it a shot. She had to try.

She desperately wanted to know what she was missing—before she sank into marriage.

And she had to work fast.

Before the alcohol wore off.