Page 32 of Wild and Wanted

It wouldn’t take long to be whispered around the circle.

Not that Stevie minded. Everyone she’d met on the ranch thus far, from staff to vacationers, had been lovely. Sure, they’d been up for a chat about her music and she’d signed some autographs, but nobody had been pushy or starstruck to the point of making her and everyone uncomfortable.

Stevie guessed that people came to a dude ranch to get away from the everyday hustle and stress of their real lives, and they in turn respected that she, too, might be doing the same. They were a lot more civilised out here in the middle of nowhere than some people were in the cities she’d toured, that was for sure.

‘Stevie!’

Stevie looked over to find Mags waving from behind the large wooden table where the food was served. It was loaded with cutlery, glasses and plates and groaned with what Stevie knew to be the most delicious sides to ever grace a BBQ.

She headed in Mags’s direction with a smile, the other woman meeting her halfway, greeting her with an enthusiastic hug. ‘You brought your guitar.’

‘Yep.’

‘Fantastic! Hey, Mom.’ Theresa was standing under a big cottonwood tree talking to a young couple who were pushing their child in the swing which hung from the sturdy branches overhead. ‘Stevie’s going to play us a few tunes later.’

Theresa excused herself and joined Mags and Stevie, her genuine smile as welcoming as it’d been a week ago. ‘That will be wonderful, Stephanie.’

‘My pleasure,’ Stevie murmured and realised she actually meant it.

‘Now.’ Theresa moved briskly into momma mode. ‘What can we get you to eat? John’s cooking another batch of burgers which will be ready shortly but there’s a great big ol’ pot of beans over there that’s ready now if you’d prefer.’

Between them they ushered her to the BBQ and fussed over her, making sure she had enough to eat while enquiring about her grandmother and discussing the weather for tomorrow, which was supposed to turn rainy overnight and might interfere with Stevie’s first trail ride. Then she and Mags sat on a hay bale and chatted with the other guests, and it was so pleasant in the relative cool of the evening, the aroma of wood smoke and cooking meat scenting the air, that Stevie almost forgot about Clay.

Almost.

Until the low rumble of an approaching motor pricked at her ears and she glanced towards the barn to see a vehicle approaching from the track that wound behind it, headlights slicing a path through the dark. Moments later the pickup pulled to a stop near the hitching posts about thirty yards away.

Clay’s pickup.

‘Well I’ll be,’ Mags murmured as the door opened and out strode Clay.

Stevie’s gaze ate him up. It was like that first day all over again, with Electra, mesmerised by the way the man moved, by the rugged power in his frame. She could not take her eyes off him – from the snug fit of his jeans and plaid shirt rolled up at the elbows to the arrogant ease of his stride. He was compelling.

And then there was the weight of his stare.

Even hooded in the shadows of night, Stevie could feel his eyes on her, watching her intently as he walked a straight line to her position. His gaze stroked her skin like the hot lick of fire and her heart skipped a beat as he grew nearer and nearer, making her feel both enthralled and utterly gauche.

Clay Calhoun was so incredibly out of her league, so out of her range of experience and yet, her body throbbed with desire under his unwavering attention.

She’d dreamed about him these past two nights, waking hot and achy, and those dreams came flashing back now in all their carnal intensity. How was it possible to have no real experience in ways of the flesh and yet be so certain that this one man could debauch her so thoroughly she’d never be the same?

The narrow circle of her purity ring felt like a heavy, metal shackle around her finger, and Stevie’s thumb played with the back of the band, spinning it around her finger, her throat thickening as Clay’s boots stepped ever closer.

Ten feet. Nine feet. Eight feet. Seven. Close. So close now. His gaze not leaving hers. The firelight catching his face and flashing in his amber eyes.

Six feet.

A slight, almost imperceptible nod of his head at her, which Stevie felt down to her toes as Mags said, ‘Well, look who the cat dragged in.’

Clay completely ignored the jibe as he veered away, trekking behind them, and Stevie’s breath left her chest in a rush, her pulse skipping madly.

‘Mustn’t have any food in his fridge,’ Mags mused, half turning to watch her brother pass by them, clearly as surprised by Clay’s presence as Stevie.

‘Saw your brother a few years back in San Antonio,’ said a pretty, blonde thirty-something woman sitting on the opposite side of the fire. ‘Now that’s what I call a man.’

‘I second that,’ agreed her friend.

‘I third it,’ added another woman.