By half past nine, Ry was behind the wheel of his truck. Celia was in the passenger seat beside him, her kickass tunes flowing through the truck’s speakers—Mumford and Sons’ “Broken Crown” unless he missed his guess. It hadn’t been easy getting her there, but that was fine by him. Easy would have been boring.
Celia Villarreal was a helluva lot of things, but boring wasn’t one of them.
“The more I think about it, the more I think I’ve made a mistake.”
He glanced at her before returning his attention from Green Rock’s main entrance—an ornate metal arch topping twin pillars faced in slabs of the vivid green malachite that had been mined from the property in the late 1800s. “About?”
“Coming with you.” He felt more than saw her dark gaze brush over him. “Would you really have carried me out of my house if I’d insisted on staying?”
“What do you think?”
“I think that would be kidnapping, so...no. I don’t think you would have actually followed through with the threat.”
“Really.” He slid her another glance as he slowed to make the turn. It was damn difficult not to look at her. Celia was as bright as sunshine in a short yellow dress and well-worn brown cowgirl boots that matched the wide braided brown leather belt at her waist. The noisy bracelets on her wrists made him grin, as did the curls in her hair. She might not have been dressed when he’d shown up, but she’d done her hair and had her makeup and jewelry on, as if she’d already accepted that she was going with him. “It’s nice that you’ve got such a high opinion of me that you think I wouldn’t break a law or two to get what I want. It’s not accurate, but it’s nice.”
There was a beat of silence. “You’re saying you would have carried me out of there if I’d refused to go with you?”
“I’m saying I’m glad it didn’t come to that. And I appreciate that it didn’t take you long to get dressed, either.” He took the time to give her a side-eye. “Maybe next time, you’ll be ready when I say I’m going to pick you up.”
“There isn’t going to be a next time. There was barely a this time, but for some reason I decided to answer the door. I’m already regretting it.”
“No, you’re not. And you’re not going to,” he added, grinning at her feistiness. “I’ve got plans for you today.”
Her expression was hilarious. Leery, with the faintest dash of alarm. “What kind of plans?”
“Now that would be telling.” There was a bounce as they went from smooth blacktop to dirt road, a long brown swath cutting through rolling green land that eventually led to the main house. He didn’t live there; none of his brothers did since that house had been their parents’ personal warzone. But the main house was the best place to start her tour.
He had definite ideas on where he wanted the tour to end.
“In a few weeks we’re hosting a Texas-sized barbecue for Pure Angus’s current clientele, as well as a few prospective ones we’re actively trying to sign.” As they drove past a stand of century-old live oaks that created an arboreal tunnel, he pointed at a construction area alive with activity. “We decided to build a permanent bandstand out where we usually have the tables set up. Green Rock Ranch hosts three to four blowout parties on an annual basis, and since we do it up right with live music and lots of dancing, we figured it was finally time to build someplace that was wired up and elevated for whatever musical talent we bring in.”
She leaned forward, taking it in with an interest that made him smile. “I’ve heard about the parties you and your brothers throw out here. Everyone says they’re over-the-top awesome, like something out of a movie.”
“You’d know that for a fact if you’d ever deigned to show up. You’ve been invited.”
She sat back in her seat and looked away. “Hm.”
“What does hm mean? You were invited to the hayride and petting zoo fundraiser we did for Growing Garden charity in October, as well as our annual Christmas Eve bash. I know you were, because I’m the one who sent you the invitations.”
That brought her attention snapping back to him. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because one, why would you send an invitation to a woman you publicly humiliated? And two, why would you think I would accept an invitation from a man who publicly humiliated me?”
“One, I spanked the hands of a bratty little girl who was misbehaving in public in a dumbass and dangerous way. I can only pray that if I ever have a daughter—who no doubt will be hell on wheels just like her parents—she runs into a man who cares enough about her safety to make sure she never acts in a dumbass and dangerous way again.”
“Caveman,” she muttered, shaking her head. “In case you haven’t heard, corporal punishment went out with the last century. My sympathies to your future daughter or daughters.”
“And two,” he went on, ignoring her, “I had hoped that once you’d received those invitations, you’d pick up on the fact that there are no hard feelings on my part.”
She let out a squeak that could have shattered glass. “Hard feelings...on your part?”
“It’s not every day my ass gets groped like it’s a stress toy.”
“I...you...” For a full five seconds she seemed incapable of remembering how to speak English. Then to his surprise, she deflated with a long sigh, and her expression twisted into a pained grimace. “You’re right.”
“Damn right I’m right.”
“Worse yet, I have no excuse for my gropey behavior.”
“Gropey?” He couldn’t have stopped his snort of laughter if he’d tried. “Is that even a word?”
“You didn’t deserve to be treated with such disrespect, and you obviously wouldn’t have retaliated if I had just kept my stupid hands to myself. Hell, you probably wouldn’t have noticed I was even there, so believe me when I say that you have no idea how sorry I am for treating you that way.”
“Aha.” Slowly he began to smile, and he looked at her for so long it was a wonder he didn’t drive into a tree. “There she is.”
She blinked. “Who?”
“The woman I knew you’d grow to be. And you’re out of your mind if you think I never noticed you.” He pulled up to the main house’s wraparound porch steps. The house itself was a huge, rambling yellow and white Victorian mansion complete with turrets and gingerbread scrollwork. Normally he hated even being in close proximity of it, but at the moment all he could see was Celia. “I noticed you long before that night. I am a man, after all.”
“Trust me, that’s no guarantee,” she muttered, and shadows of what looked like pain sifted through her eyes before she looked away. “When it comes to men, I’m...well. Kind of invisible.”
“You’re out of your mind if you think that’s true.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. I did a number on myself when I got stupid-drunk and groped you. You’re highly regarded in town, so that one disrespectful act made me pretty much the most hated person around.”
“What the hell, Cel,” he muttered, shocked. “Don’t you ever say that, you hear me? You’re not hated by anyone.”
“You don’t know.” The hurt in her low voice lashed out at him until it was all he could feel. “If it weren’t for a couple of dates with a coworker in San Antonio, I’d honestly believe I’d made myself invisible to the entire male population of the world.”
“Wait, back up.” His mood took a hard left, and he turned to scowl at her instead of shutting off the engine. “What coworker? Are you serious about him?”
“What...? No, I actually haven’t seen him socially in months. Not that it’s any of your business,” she added, probably just to bug him.
“It’s my business now, because you’re not invisible to me.” Before she could even think about dodging him, he reached out to curl a hand around the nape of her neck under all that gorgeous hair of hers, and waited until she met his gaze head-on. “You could never be invisible to me. You understand what I’m telling you, Celia?”
“Uh, not really. Ry—”
“I see every part of you, from your knockout black magic eyes, to your hair that I want to bury my damn face in every time I see you, to that sassy mouth that I want to quiet with mine. So don’t tell me about other men, and definitely don’t tell me what my business is. You’re my business, and since I’m a fair man, I’m fine with you making me yours.”
“Make you my...what? My business?” Those soul-swallowing eyes stared at him as if she’d never seen him before, and it made his gut tighten in the sweetest way. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means I want you to get busy about seeing me as I really am.”
“I do.”
“No you don’t, not even close. I’m not one of the Brody brothers that all the townie girls want to fuck so they can brag to their friends they bagged one of us.”
“The last thing I want to do is bag you.”
“And I’m also not the bad guy that you have to avoid like the plague. I’m not your enemy, darlin’. If you give me half a chance, you’ll see that I can be your hero.”
* * *
The house Ry referred to simply as the main house was a gorgeous three-story Victorian, and Celia was properly stunned by the grandeur of the place after going through a thorough tour. It was the oldest structure on a property that spanned over five thousand acres of prime grazing land, with the Nueces River running through the southeast portion of it. The original Brody ancestor planted a semicircle of pecan trees near the homestead, and they’d grown to become a cradle for the main house. As far as she was concerned, the old mansion could have easily been put on the list of historical landmarks, and it amazed her that the business of running a highly profitable ranch happened in that building to this very day.
The main house was separated from the day-to-day work structures, such as the tack room, the birthing barn and feed barn, the bull barn—famously dubbed the Bachelor Pad—the first barn built on the property called the Small Barn, the cupola-topped stable that was home to a dozen or more work horses, and a vast network of corrals. There was also a sizable woodworking and machinists’ shop, a large first aid station that looked to be as functional as any ER room, and a huge metal building Ry simply called the garage, which housed the ranch’s wide variety of rolling stock and heavy motorized equipment.
The work structures were all painted a traditional red with white trim. With the faint black dots that were their famous Black Angus cattle scattered here and there amongst the rolling green fields, Green Rock was the epitome of picture-perfect ranch life.
Or that was the impression Celia got. In all honesty, as Ry took her through a tour of the buildings, she was barely able to absorb it all. She was too overwhelmed. Not by the Brody ranch—which, understandably, would overwhelm anyone.
No.
The one thing that overwhelmed her was the jean-clad, Stetson-wearing, sexy as hell rancher sitting beside her.
As impossible as it was to comprehend, Ryland Brody—second-eldest of the legendary Brody boys and the most devastatingly charismatic man she’d ever known—seemed laser-locked on making a play for her, the oddball social outcast.
The gossips would have a field day if they ever found out.
When she’d crushed on any and all things Brody, she would have been over the moon at this unexpected turn of events. No doubt she would’ve hopped on the phone to brag to everyone she knew that one of the Brody boys, freaking Texas royalty, had taken an interest in her.
But that was then, and this was now.
Now all she could think was this had to be some kind of elaborate joke.
Why would Ry Brody want to make a play for her, when he could have any woman in the world?
“We’ve got a good-sized barbecue pit and smokehouse onsite, which is usually fired up around the clock whenever we’ve got a big blowout coming up.” Behind the wheel of an open-sided all-terrain utility vehicle that looked like a badass golf cart on steroids, Ry nodded to a squat brick structure beyond the pecan trees, the brim of his dark brown cowboy hat shading eyes that seemed even more intensely green in the natural light. “It’s a safe distance from the main house, but it’s still close enough to the outdoor entertainment area for when it’s time to get the main course to the table.”
Grimly she tried to focus on what he was saying, and not how she wanted to take that hat off so she could run her fingers through his dark hair. “Where do you usually set your guests up for these outdoor events?”
“See all that open lawn between the back of the house and the bandstand? That’s where we set up a few dozen picnic tables, haul out the portable dance floor from the Small Barn, and kick up our heels until the sun comes up.”
“Wait. You have a portable dance floor?” Seriously, who the hell owned their own portable dance floor?
“Have you ever tried dancing the two-step on an uneven lawn? It’s not for the faint of heart.” Then he shot her a sideways glance. “You do know how to two-step, don’t you?”
“You make it sound like it’s mandatory.”
“Good Lord, you don’t know how to two-step.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Do you know how to two-step?”
Damn it. “No.”
“Oh, hell no.” He stopped the cart with a jerk, snapped up the keys and slid out. “We’re fixing that right now.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” she said, keeping her butt firmly planted on the padded seat while he rounded the vehicle. “Seriously, I’m good.”
“Every Texan has got to know how to do the two-step in order to live a complete and fulfilled life.”
“You really don’t have a problem with overstating things in a big way, do you?”
He waved that observation away. “Since you need to understand both me and this ranch to do your job up right, you’ve got to start with the basics.”
“Since I’ve already turned down the job, I really don’t.”
“Come on, darlin’.” He held out his hand, his gaze challenging hers. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”
“Scared? Me?” Her hand was in his and she slid off the cart before she thought about it. “I’ll have you know that I’m one of the best dancers in Bitterthorn, if not the best. It’s my favorite thing to do, even more than eating Pauline’s praline ice cream.”
“Yeah?” The sun blazed down on them as he led her to the middle of the open lawn. “That’s got me beat. Dancing might not be my most favorite thing to do, but it’s definitely in the top three. Kissing’s number two.” Facing her, he took her left hand to place it on his right shoulder, then took her right hand in his while his free hand curled around her back to cup her shoulder blade. Once they were in a classic dancing position, his head bent toward hers until his ruggedly gorgeous face was all she could see. “Wanna guess what my first favorite thing to do is?”
“I’m going to guess it’s not eating ice cream.” Valiantly she tried to believe the burn in her cheeks came from the sun, and not her imagination as it dived into thoughts of Ry naked and twisting her legs around his ass as he plunged into her... “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
He moved closer still, so that the brim of his hat blocked out the sun’s glare. “I thought you said you weren’t scared.”
Scared? Oh, hell yes. She was downright terrified of how much she loved having him this close. “You implied doing the two-step on an uneven lawn wasn’t easy, so...”
“I’ve got strong arms. I’ll catch you if you fall.” His hand rubbed along her shoulder blade in what was probably a reassuring gesture, but it was so close to a caress it took all her strength not to shiver in delight. “Trust me, Celia?”
Surprised, she looked up into his eyes and said the first thing that came to mind. “Not even a little.”
He took his time absorbing that. “Then this lesson’s going to do you a world of good, because the two-step’s all about the woman trusting her man.”
That didn’t sound promising. “Why is that?”
“Because in this dance, the man leads his woman where he needs her to go, and she has to trust he knows what the hell he’s doing.” His fingers tightened on hers in a gentle squeeze. “You start by putting your right foot back, then bringing your left foot back to it, real quick. Ready?”
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this right—”
“And go.”
She wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow he made her feet move, a quick step backward that made her clutch at his shoulder.
Holy crap.
A pleased sound rumbled deep in his throat, and she glanced up at him only to find that his attention was zeroed in on her mouth. “Not gonna lie, darlin’. I love how you do that.”
“Do what?”
“The way you hold me.” The surprising deepness of his voice seemed to vibrate all the way through her, making her skin heat and her belly turn to goo. “You gripped my shoulders just like that when I kissed you last night. You’ve got such little hands, but by damn, do they know how to hold on to me as if they never want to let me go.”
Her eyes widened before darting to her hand. Sure enough, her traitorous fingers were curled into his deltoid muscle like her life depended on it. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Don’t apologize. I told you I love it. Now then,” he went on in a more businesslike tone, before she had a chance to pull away. “Those two quick steps back are just the first half of the two-step. The second part is a slow walking backward—first your right foot, then left. So basically it’s two quick steps back that bring your feet together, and two slow walking steps back. Got it?”
She nodded. It wasn’t exactly rocket science. “When do I get to go forward?”
“That’s where the trust part comes in. You don’t go forward in this dance. The man leads, and his woman believes.”
“I’ll bet this dance was made up by a man,” she began, then squeaked when he leaned forward, setting her into motion.
Like that, they were dancing.
They had to look ridiculous. There was no music, no floor beneath their feet, and no earthly reason for them to be doing what they were doing.
So ridiculous.
But with each step her awkwardness faded away, and as she caught his rhythm, how they looked no longer mattered. They didn’t need to be on a dance floor, or have a beat to move them in harmony, and being under a cloudless sky in beautiful surroundings was reason enough to celebrate life with a dance. The strange rightness of it floated through her, even as they glided across the grounds with such ease it was almost alarming.
What was she doing? She should be trying to avoid him like the plague, because nothing good ever seemed to come of getting tangled up with him.
And yet...
Her heart thudded against her sternum as she gazed up into his eyes. God, she loved the way he looked at her, as if he wanted to memorize every nuance of her face. The weight of his gaze was an unabashedly intimate caress that had the power to steal her breath despite her determination to keep her distance. How could she ever want to keep her distance when there was this baffling rightness being in Ry’s arms? For God’s sake, this was Ry Brody, the one man in Bitterthorn she shouldn’t feel anything for.
But her heart was pounding. Her senses jangled with heightened awareness, making his clean, manly scent all the more delicious as it mingled with the scents of the grass under their feet. He made her feel this much. No one else. Just Ry.
If he were any other man, she would have been bowled over by the sheer romance of the moment.
This wasn’t any other man, though.
She’d be an idiot to forget that.
“Don’t look down, darlin’. There’s nothing to see there.”
Her head snapped up as his voice yanked her out of her thoughts. “Sorry, what?”
“I want your eyes on me and nowhere else. Makes me believe you like looking at me.”
She did like looking at him, too much. “I suppose you’re more interesting to look at than my feet.”
“Damn, woman, you’ll turn my head with flattery like that.”
Yikes. Talk about rusty social skills. “Just call me a smooth operator.”
“You’re definitely smooth on your feet.” The hand at her back urged her closer, and suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the world. “See how easy life is when you trust me to know what I’m doing? Suddenly you know what you’re doing, and everything feels right with the world.”
“That’s the thing, though. I don’t know what I’m doing.” That truth was becoming clearer to her with each passing second, as she realized she no longer had the power to look away from him. “From one moment to the next, I’m totally winging it and any second now I’m sure I’m going to wind up falling flat on my face.”
“I said I’d catch you if you fell.”
“I’m doing my best not to.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that. And so far you haven’t, but it won’t be the end of the world if you do. And who knows?” He gave her hand another squeeze, the muscles in his tattooed forearm oddly beautiful in their movement. “You might even enjoy the fall.”
She sucked in a careful breath. “Are we still talking about dancing?”
“You tell me.”
“I thought we were,” she said slowly, all the while wondering how his eyes could be so vividly green, without even a hint of blue or brown. “But now I think maybe not.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “When you figure it out, let me know. In the meantime, when it comes to dancing, I think you must be a natural.”
“Told you I was good.”
“You move like you were made to dance with me.” As he spoke, the dazzling brilliance of the sun gave way to the cooler shade of the trees. Automatically she looked over her shoulder to make sure she didn’t crash into a branch, but her head whipped back around when his hand tightened on hers. “Don’t look back. Trust me to take care of you, Celia.”
“On a dance floor, maybe,” she said, not looking back once more through sheer force of will. “Dancing backward at a high rate of speed through trees is asking to get cracked in the skull by a low-hanging branch.”
“Life’s full of lessons. Looks like today’s lesson is all about risk-reward.”
“Where does the reward come in? Because all I’m feeling is the risk.”
The smile he gave her was a work of masculine art. “If you risk having a little faith in me, I promise you’ll get one helluva reward.”
A thrill of excitement zipped through her so strongly it almost smothered the flash of panic. “What, like a gold star?”
“I’m guessing I can come up with something a bit more memorable.” With that, he slowed down, pivoted, and before she knew it her back was flat against the pillar-straight trunk of a tree. “Ready for your reward, darlin’?”
“You’d better make it good.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised before his mouth came down on hers.
This wasn’t like his first kiss. Oh no. Before, there had been a humor and casualness about it. Pleasantly hot, but without a focused intent.
Not this time.
This kiss had the absolute intention of unraveling everything that held her together. Her attempts at indifference. Her defenses. Her belief that she had a chance of being the same after this.
He unraveled her, because every lie she’d told herself couldn’t stand up to the truth of his kiss.
At some point her eyes closed, her hands moved to sweep the hat from his head, and the caress of his tongue became the most important part of her tactile universe. Greedy for more, she arched up to seek it out, her fingers sifting through the thick silk of his short hair. God, she loved the feel of it. She’d never be able to get enough.
Did people ever realize they were becoming addicted to their fix while it was happening? Maybe she was unique in that regard, because she could feel the irrational need seeping into her, molecule by molecule. Ry was fast becoming her addiction, and if she didn’t do something soon, she was in serious danger of getting hooked.
She didn’t want that.
She was almost sure of it.
It took most of her strength to turn her head, and even then she moved only an inch or two away. And forget about forcing her hands from his hair. They weren’t giving up that manly goodness until they were good and ready. “Wow. Wait. I have to—”
“No, you don’t, darlin’.” His mouth had slid to her jaw, weakening her resistance further. His tongue tasted her skin before his teeth nipped at her in a way that made her wobbly hold on sanity slip even more. “We’re not talking now. Talking’s not on my list of favorite things to do. Kissing you is.”
Something vital inside melted. “Listen, I—”
“I’m going to make it so kissing me is on your favorites list, too.” With that, he brought his mouth over hers again and silenced her.
Boom.
Lust pumped through her hard and fast, and any remaining thought of holding back went up in smoke. Why the hell would she ever hold back when he gave her so much? From the hard wall of his chest crushing against the softer cushion of her breasts and the fierce hardening of her nipples, to the way his fist tightened in her hair as he pressed his mouth to hers—all of it filled her senses until it blocked out the rest of the world. It was exhilarating, what he made her feel, and all she wanted was more.
But since there was no way she’d take her mouth from his to tell him that, she told him the one way she knew how by rubbing her body in a slow, delicious friction against his.
A harsh growl sounded in his throat as the heat between them went nuclear.
The hand that wasn’t in her hair slid boldly over her ass, claiming it in a demanding grip. Her pulse tripped over itself when he pulled her hard against him and rubbed her hips against the obvious swell of his cock.
Oh...wow.
Wetness bloomed in her cleft even as a faint alarm went off that things were going too far, too fast. But the alarm was easy to ignore when she was filled with giddy joy that he was as turned on by her as she was by him. If he felt even half as achy and hungry as she did, she was one lucky woman.
He growled her name into her mouth when she shifted her thigh to make way for his advancing knee, and he took full advantage by gripping her leg and pulling it up to his hip. At the same time he arched his hips deep into the juncture of her thighs, rolling them in such a sinuous, sexual motion it was almost like he’d already buried his stiff flesh inside her.
Yes.
The frustrating barriers of clothing made her want to scream, and she was just getting ready to pull up her skirt when she thought she heard a voice from far off.
Shit.
Somehow she’d forgotten they weren’t the only people in the world.
“Fucking kill that dumbass brother of mine.” Ry’s mouth rolled from hers to swear bloodthirsty vengeance, confirming that there were indeed other human beings in the world, and one of them was coming closer to where she’d almost...almost...
Lifted her skirts to have crazy-hot stand-up sex against a tree with Ry Brody.
Oh, my God.
Reality crashed in like a ton of bricks. She had to put a hand to her mouth to stifle both a growl of frustration and a wail of dismay at her loss of control, even as his hand curled around her bare thigh, pulling her closer.
“When we’re together, that’s what’s important—us being together,” he grated, sounding downright dangerous. “Nothing else matters. I won’t fucking tolerate any interruptions.”
“It...” Good grief, she was breathless. Breathless and hot and horny as hell. And though she knew it was insane, she wanted to shriek in protest when he at last lowered her leg to the ground. “Um. It’s good. It’s fine.”
“Good? Fine? Seriously?” Not even bothering to cover up how hot he was still running, Ry glared down at her as if all he wanted to do was devour her from the top down. “You want my hands on you, Celia. Making you shiver, making you moan, making you scream. Admit it.”
Oh, hell yes. “And you don’t want the same thing?”
“Hell yes, I do,” he breathed, echoing her inner thoughts so perfectly she could only stare up at him. “Just the thought of you touching me is enough to make my skin so damn tight I swear to God I’m feeling like I’m gonna bust right out of it. The only reason I’m breathing right now is so I can get to the next moment when we can be alone together. Maybe then I can get those hands on me where they belong.”
Any second now her panties were going to burst into flame. “You say the craziest things.”
“Want me to stop?”
“Don’t you dare.”
He started to laugh, but it quickly vanished under a growl when his name was called again. “Don’t move,” he muttered, his brow coming to nuzzle hers in an oddly endearing caress before he planted a firm hand against her chest above her dress’s neckline, pinning her to the tree while he looked around the wide trunk in the direction of the house. “What the hell, Fin. I told everyone I’d have a royal shit fit if I was disturbed today. You think you’re not a part of everyone, or did you not take my shit fit threat seriously?”
“Since Dottie was too spineless to bother you with business, I got tapped to do it, so don’t bitch at me,” came a curt response from the second-youngest of the Brody brothers, Finian. “Uh, hey there, Celia.”
“Do not talk to her. Do not say her name. Do not even think about her when you’re daring to interrupt my time with her,” Ry snapped, sounding borderline scary even as Celia took in a breath to offer up a self-conscious hello to a man she couldn’t even see. Bewildered by the threat in Ry’s warning, she tried peeking around the trunk of the tree, only to have him press her more firmly in place. “We don’t have to go over the rules again, now do we?”
“Jesus,” Fin muttered in a way that Celia could easily envision him—a longer-haired, younger version of Ry—looking up to the heavens for strength. “Off-limits, I got it. I was just being polite.”
“This is me not giving a damn about you suddenly remembering you’ve got manners,” Ry snapped off so bluntly Celia could actually feel the tension rise. “What’s Dottie’s message?”
“She’s run into a brick wall over that embryo canister fuck up, and she thinks it’s time to bring in the lawyers. I say before we shell out a bunch of dough on that score, we try talking one more time to the insurance assholes who want to push the payout responsibility onto the company that shipped the canister. The reason we bought the damn insurance in the first place was to make sure we didn’t have a profit loss should something happen in transit. But I’m thinking that talk should be done face-to-face, just to let the insurance assholes know they’re not dealing with a bunch of dumbass farmhand rednecks from the sticks.”
“Shit.” Ry looked up at the green canopy above them, then scooped his hat off the ground with a sigh and turned his attention back to Celia. “I gotta take care of some business, darlin’. Since it sounds like it’s going to take a while, I’m going to have to put a rain check on the rest of the tour.”
“The rest? Didn’t I see everything?”
He lifted a brow as he put his hat back on. “Talk about a loaded question.”
Just when she thought her temperature couldn’t rise any higher. “I meant here at the ranch.”
That wicked grin of his flashed. “I had plans on taking you over to my place a few acres over, closer to the river. Guess that’ll have to wait until next time.”
She tried not to shiver in anticipation. “You think there’s going to be a next time?”
“No doubt about it. And next time, wear jeans. We’ll ride over to my favorite fishing hole. Make a picnic out of it.”
“Ride?” She was fairly certain her eyes bugged out of her head. “Like, on a horse?”
“Yep. We don’t use horses to herd as much as we used to, now that the cattle come running to us when they see the feed trucks, but it’s still a good idea to keep in practice in case of emergencies like floods and washed out areas.”
“Good luck in getting me on a horse at any point in my lifetime.” Relieved that sanity had returned—and deeply disappointed for the exact same reason—Celia tacked on a smile and did her best to emulate Fin’s politeness by ducking around the tree and lifting a hand in an awkward greeting. “Uh, hello, Fin. Good to see you.”
Fin’s face lit up. “Always good to see you, Cel. Wow, look at you, pretty girl. Yellow sure looks good on you.”
“Shut up. And you,” Ry added, swinging his gaze so sharply to her it made her take a half-step back, while something like harsh disapproval burned unexpectedly in his eyes, “it’s time for you to go. I’m taking you home—now.”