About a hundred things, starting with why a rodeo cowboy had chosen her quiet suburban rental over something closer to his world. But what came out was, "Are you planning to have parties? Loud music? Women over?"
The question sounded more personal than professional, and she felt her cheeks burn as soon as the words left her mouth.
His smile returned, slower this time and with a hint of heat that made her pulse skip. "I'm not much of a party guy these days. As for women..." He paused, and his eyes met hers. "I'll be sure to keep the noise down if the situation arises."
The situation.As if he was already thinking about bringing women back to the bedroom that would be just down the hall from where she slept. The jealousy that shot through her was so sharp and unexpected it nearly made her gasp out loud.
She had no right to care about that. No reason to feel the sharp twist in her stomach at the thought. She'd known him for less than an hour, and she was already acting territorial.
"Good," she managed. "I mean, that's considerate. The noise thing."
"I aim to be a considerate neighbor, Ms. Baldwin."
The way he said her name made it sound like more than a simple courtesy. She walked him to the door, trying not to notice how he moved, trying not to imagine what he'd look like without the crutches, moving with the full range of motion that his job required.
Trying not to imagine what it would be like to wake up next to someone who looked at her the way he'd been looking at her.
"I'll call you tomorrow morning," she said as he stepped onto the porch.
"Looking forward to it." He turned back to face her, balanced on the crutches. "And Vanessa? Thanks for giving me a fair shot. Not everyone would rent to a cowboy with a broken ankle and no permanent address."
He knew. Somehow, he'd picked up on her reservations, her prejudices about his lifestyle, and he thanked her anyway for treating him like a decent human being. The realization made her feel small and ashamed and oddly drawn to his generosity all at the same time.
She watched him make his way down the front path to a truck that had definitely seen better days but looked well-maintained. A horse trailer was hitched to the back, exactly as advertised. He loaded the crutches into the cab and climbed in, favoring the injured ankle but managing the process with a competence that suggested he'd been taking care of himself for a long time.
As he drove away, she closed the door and leaned against it, the same position she'd been in after the marijuana enthusiast had left. But this time, instead of wanting to scream, she wanted to call him back and ask him to stay for coffee. For dinner. For the rest of the evening, just so she could figure out what the hell had just happened to her rational, organized brain.
Instead, she walked back to the kitchen table and stared at the seventeen resumes she no longer had any interest in reading. Tomorrow morning, she'd make her phone calls and offer himthe room, and then she'd spend the next few weeks sharing her space with a man who'd managed to turn her entire world sideways in the span of a single conversation.
The smart thing would be to choose someone safer. Someone boring. Someone who wouldn't make her wonder what it would feel like to run her fingers through that hair or what he looked like when he wasn't being polite and charming.
Chapter 2
Dustin
The Magnolia Inn was exactly the kind of place that charged by the week and pretended not to notice what kind of business their customers conducted in room 127. Dustin Fleming shut the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the scratched dresser, trying not to think about how much money he was bleeding on this shithole while his ankle took its sweet time healing.
Two and a half weeks of staring at water-stained ceiling tiles and listening to his neighbors conduct their lives through paper-thin walls. Two and a half weeks of climbing stairs that felt like Mount Everest when your ankle was held together with surgical screws and stubborn pride.
He lowered himself onto the bed, favoring his left leg and trying not to grunt like an old man. The springs protested under his weight, adding their complaint to the symphony of interstate traffic and whatever domestic drama was unfolding in the next room over. This wasn't living. This was surviving, and barely.
His phone sat on the nightstand where he'd left it after the interview, Vanessa Baldwin's number still displayed on the screen. He should call the other rental leads, set up a few more appointments, and keep his options open. That's what his daddy would have done. Cover all the bases, never put your eggs in one basket, always have a backup plan.
Instead, he stared at her contact information and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened to him.
He'd walked into that house expecting to check off another item on his to-do list. Find a place to crash, somewhere cheap and convenient, close enough to Thunder's boarding facility where he could check on his horse without aggravating his ankle. Simple. Straightforward. Business.
Then she'd opened the door, and his entire brain had short-circuited.
Beautiful didn't even begin to cover it. She was the kind of woman who made him forget how to form complete sentences, all blonde hair and green eyes and curves that her business clothes tried and failed to hide. But it was more than that. It was the way she'd looked at him. Not like he was some rodeo drifter who'd be gone in a month, but like he was someone worth paying attention to. Someone who mattered.
He'd known her for half an hour, tops. Half an hour, and he was already thinking about what it would be like to wake up in her house every morning, to share coffee in that kitchen, to have a reason to come home instead of just another place to sleep between rodeos.
This was bad. This was the kind of bad that got cowboys hurt worse than any bucking horse ever could.
He'd spent ten years perfecting the art of not getting attached. Not to places, not to people, and definitely not to women who looked at him like Vanessa Baldwin had looked at him. Was she was feeling the same crazy pull he was? And did it scare her just as much as it scared him?
His phone buzzed with a text from Jake, his traveling partner:How's the leg? Ready to get back out here yet?
