Cowboy Courage

No telling what Brady would have done to her this time. Thank God—and the stranded woman sitting beside him— Kerri-Leigh had got away before Brady had the chance to lay a hand on her.

Again Cole studied the pretty woman on the other side of the seat. Thick dark lashes rested upon her cheeks. She didn’t look a thing like his sister—not up close. Kerri-Leigh had freckles across the bridge of an upturned nose and distinct dark brows. Laurie, her complexion soft and flawless, boasted an aristocratic nose and delicate, light brows that arched perfectly.

And where Kerri-Leigh was round and soft, Laurie was long and lean. Too thin, if you asked Cole. Fashionable, maybe, but he’d always liked the soft feel of a real woman, not a willowy, reed-thin model.

The soft feel of a woman? What in tarnation was wrong with him? He had no business even thinking of this woman in a physical sense. Laurie Smith was a stranger, in his life for a day or so, then on her way.

The faint, musky scent of an exotic floral perfume began to fill the cab, drawing his attention to the blond head resting against the passenger window. She had fallen asleep, her breath fogging the glass.

Laurie Smith, she’d called herself, but Cole didn’t buy it. Not for a minute. He tried to remind his skeptical side that this stranger had helped his sister. And if she held on to her own secrets, that was her business. He had his own problems to worry about. He’d won the first round of the custody battle, but according to his lawyer, there were more battles to come.

Rain beat down upon the roof, then streamed along the windows. Cole hoped they could make it through the dry river bottom before the road washed out.

The windshield wipers squeaked and swished back and forth across the rain-sloshed glass. Cole turned up the volume of the radio, and the mournful sounds of a fiddle filled the cab.

Then a slow Southern voice began to sing the praises of a honky-tonk hero.

Laurie felt a tapping on her shoulder and awoke with a jump. She blinked twice before realizing she sat inside Cole McAdams’s truck.

Outside, the rain pelted the exterior, but in the warmth of the cab, he watched her with eyes as clear and blue as a Texas summer. A worn Stetson rode easy on his head, while dark curls peeked out from under the brim. He had a strong, angular face, tanned by the elements. She found his expression hard to read and hoped she hadn’t made a big mistake leaving with him.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, his voice a deep Southern drawl. “We’re home.”

Wherever home was. Laurie tried to peer out the windows of the truck, but even if she could have seen through the fogged glass, the rain blurred her view. “Where are we?” she asked, reaching for her bags.

“My ranch just outside of town. Near the river bottom and close to the foothills.”

Laurie nodded, still unsure of the location. Since yesterday afternoon, she’d passed through so many small towns and cities, she couldn’t remember the name of the last place she’d stopped.

As she fumbled for the door handle, he spoke again. “Just slide out this side. It’s closer, and you won’t get as wet.” His voice was easy on her ears, comforting actually. In fact, his entire being held her attention.

She studied Kerri-Leigh’s brother as he climbed from the truck. Tall, ruggedly handsome, dressed in denim jeans and a chambray shirt, he embodied the image of an American hero. A cowboy, she decided, even though it had been ages since she’d seen one in the flesh.

Oblivious to the rain pelting his hat and spotting his shirt, he flashed her a grin. “I can carry you in, but you’re going to get wet either way.”

Yes, Cole McAdams was a cowboy, through and through.

“Thanks for the offer,” Laurie said. “But I’ll walk.”

As she slid across the seat, he reached for her hand and helped her out. His grip was callused, but gentle. Warm to the touch.

They ran to the porch, but by the time the cowboy opened the door and Laurie stepped inside, they were drenched.

Water dripped upon concrete flooring that looked more like a tawny, earth-toned Spanish tile. Laurie glanced at the puddle at her feet, then caught his eye. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

“It’ll mop up easy enough.”

She scanned the wood-paneled walls of the living room until her eyes lit upon a rock fireplace with an intricate, carved-oak mantle.

Amazing, she thought, as she continued to study the layout of a home that held the charm of a log cabin, the windows of a mountain chateau and the artistry of an architectural showcase. Rough, yet stylish. Spacious, yet intimate. Cole McAdams’s home bore a simple, raw elegance Laurie found appealing.

He must have noticed her fascination. “What’s the matter?”

“Your house is so…interesting.”

He shrugged. “I like it.”

“I do, too,” she said, hoping he hadn’t misunderstood her reaction. “Who was your decorator?” The question seemed natural to Laurie. Where she’d come from, people paid professionals a small fortune to create a home that reflected the personality and style of the occupants.

“I designed it myself.”

She must have dropped her jaw, because he laughed while hanging his wet hat on a rough-hewn coatrack in the entry.

“Well, shucks, ma’am.” His voice took on a sharp, expressive twang. “Y’all didn’t think we was so backwards in Texas that we thought indoor plumbin’ was as good as it gets, did ya?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to appear surprised that you could have created this. It’s just that I’ve never really cared for Southwestern style, but this is great.”

“This isn’t Southwestern style. It’s just my home.” He took her elbow. “Come on, I’ll show you to the bathroom. You can take a shower, if you’d like. And get out of those wet clothes.”

Laurie allowed him to guide her steps, as she continued her perusal of his home. Even the plain white walls appeared to be a work of art.

He paused at a linen closet and pulled out a towel and washcloth, then ushered her into a spacious bathroom. Clean and neat. Cole may have designed his own home, but Laurie doubted he kept things tidy all by himself. “How will your wife feel about me staying here?” she asked.

His jaw tensed. “I don’t have a wife.” Then, as if realizing she’d caught sight of something he hadn’t meant her to see, he quickly changed the subject. “Do you need anything?”

Laurie glanced down at her purse and the gym bag she’d lugged into the bathroom and placed on the floor. A stripe of yellow inside the tote reminded her of the envelope she’d tucked inside, but she chose to ignore that for now. She didn’t want to be reminded of Daniel or the problems awaiting her in California, if only for a day.

Her immediate concern was to get out of the wet clothes and shower. But all she had to change into was a pair of black leotards and a crop top, which certainly didn’t seem to be appropriate apparel on a stormy evening in a strange house with a man she didn’t know. “Do you have a robe or something I can use until my clothes dry?”

He nodded, set the towel and washcloth on the counter, then reached to turn on the faucets. “It takes a while for the water to heat up. I’ll get you a robe.” His gaze swept the length of her, pausing at her torso. You’ll have to cinch it up some.”

Had she imagined his eyes lingering on her breasts? Surely not, but she suddenly felt self-conscious, lacking something but not sure what. Before she could give it much thought, he handed her a thick, Turkish robe, then eased out of the room and shut the door.

Alone. Laurie sighed and looked through a large picture window that offered a view of a small outdoor garden of jungle-green ferns and red hibiscus. Resting her hands upon the cool tile counter, she stared blankly into the mirror. Who was the woman she saw before her?

Within minutes, hot water sprayed from the shower head while Laurie continued to stand before a fog-enshrouded image. A long-haired, ghostlike figure stared back at her. Fingering the fluffy white towel lying upon the beige countertop, Laurie hid a wry smile. She might look a fright, but there was definitely an upside.

Laurie Smith didn’t look at all like the sophisticated Lauren Taylor.

As Cole stepped onto the bath mat and reached for a towel, he realized that just down the hall, Laurie Smith was in a similar state of undress. He imagined her body, tall and lean, moving sensuously through the fog and steam, water and soap sluicing over bare skin. The erotic image aroused him, reminded him he was not only a single dad, but a man who hadn’t had a woman in a while.

He grumbled. Even though Beth wasn’t home and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, he was a dad first and a man second. Besides, having a houseguest was no big deal. He’d only provided temporary accommodations for Kerri-Leigh’s friend—a woman who had helped his sister when he hadn’t been able to do so himself.

Lightning flashed, and as the thunder began to roll, the light in the bathroom went out.

Damn. He’d better get out the candles. This was going to be one heck of a storm. The sun had yet to go down, but the darkened sky threatened an even darker night, especially without electricity.

Cole grabbed his shirt and jeans from the countertop and slipped them on. He left the steamy room and returned to the kitchen where he kept a flashlight. Within minutes, he had lit candles and placed them throughout the house.