The Maisey Yates Collection : Cowboy Heroes: Take Me, Cowboy / Hold Me, Cowboy / Seduce Me, Cowboy / Claim Me, Cowboy / The Rancher's Baby

Too late, she remembered that she had thought the lack of cell service might be an attraction to a place like this. That it would be nice if both she and Christopher could be cut off from the outside world while they indulged themselves.

That notion seemed really freaking stupid right now. Since she couldn’t use the phone in the house thanks to the outage, and that left her cut off from the outside world all alone.

“Oh no,” she said, “I’m the first five minutes of a crime show. I’m going to get ax-murdered. And I’m going to die a born-again virgin.”

She scowled, looking back out at the resolutely blank landscape. Christopher still wasn’t here. But it looked like the house across the way had power.

She pressed her lips together, not happy about the idea of interrupting her neighbor. Or of meeting her neighbor, since the whole point of going out of town was so they could remain anonymous and not see people.

She tightened the belt on her coat and made her way slowly out the front door, bracing herself against the arctic wind.

She muttered darkly about the cold as she made her way across the space between the houses. She paused for a moment in front of the larger cabin, lit up and looking all warm and toasty. Clearly, this was the premium accommodation. While hers was likely beset by rodents that had chewed through relevant cords.

She huffed, clutching her coat tightly as she knocked on the door. She waited, bouncing in place to try to keep her blood flowing. She just needed to call Christopher and find out when he would be arriving and, if he was still a ways out, possibly beg her neighbor for help getting the power going. Or at least help getting a fire started.

The front door swung open and Madison’s heart stopped. The man standing there was large, so tall that she only just came up to the middle of his chest. He was broad, his shoulders well muscled, his waist trim. He had the kind of body that came not from working out but from hard physical labor.

Then she looked up. Straight nose, square jaw, short brown hair and dark eyes that were even harder than his muscles. And far too familiar.

“What are you doing here?”

* * *

Sam McCormack gritted his teeth against the sharp tug of irritation that assaulted him when Madison West asked the question that had been on his own lips.

“I rented the place,” he responded, not inviting her in. “Though I could ask you the same question.”

She continued to do a little bounce in place, her arms folded tight against her body, her hands clasped beneath her chin. “And you’d get the same answer,” she said. “I’m across the driveway.”

“Then you’re at the wrong door.” He made a move to shut said door, and she reached out, stopping him.

“Sam. Do you always have to be this unpleasant?”

It was a question that had been asked of him more than once. And he gave his standard answer. “Yes.”

“Sam,” she said, sounding exasperated. “The power went out, and I’m freezing to death. Can I come in?”

He let out a long-suffering sigh and stepped to the side. He didn’t like Madison West. He never had. Not from the moment he had been hired on as a farrier for the West estate eight years earlier. In all the years since he’d first met Madison, since he’d first started shoeing her horses, he’d never received one polite word from her.

But then, he’d never given one either.

She was sleek, blonde and freezing cold—and he didn’t mean because she had just come in from the storm. The woman carried her own little snow cloud right above her head at all times, and he wasn’t a fan of ice princesses. Still, something about her had always been like a burr beneath his skin that he couldn’t get at.

“Thank you,” she said crisply, stepping over the threshold.

“You’re rich and pretty,” he said, shutting the door tight behind her. “And I’m poor. And kind of an ass. It wouldn’t do for me to let you die out there in a snowdrift. I would probably end up getting hung.”

Madison sniffed, making a show of brushing snowflakes from the shoulders of her jacket. “I highly doubt you’re poor,” she said drily.

She wasn’t wrong. A lot had changed since he’d gone to work for the Wests eight years ago. Hell, a lot had changed in the past year.

The strangest thing was that his art had taken off, and along with it the metalwork and blacksmithing business he ran with his brother, Chase.