The Ranger's Rodeo Rebel

“But she laughed about it,” Colt added.

One of the rare times she’d laughed.

“Anyway,” Chance said, forcing the memories away. “I already took Carolina home to get some of her things, so I’ll just help her settle. Grab my stuff, too. Move in here.” Not that he had a whole lot. Just a bag.

“Have at it,” Colt said. “But when you’re done, I’ll expect some help assembling this mess.”

“Hey, wait.” Natalie frowned. “What is this? He can help you, but I’m not allowed?”

Colt scooted toward his wife and rested a hand on her belly. “Because you’re pregnant and you should be resting while I do the manly work.”

Natalie smiled, the look of love on her face prompting Chance to back out of the room and call out, “Have fun.”

He couldn’t get out of there fast enough, and he realized he’d forgotten to talk to Natalie about her clients. Oh, well, he’d do it later. Gushy, mushy love always made him uncomfortable. That kind of stuff wasn’t for him. He had more important things to do.

“Ready?” he asked Carolina.

She sighed, her pretty blue eyes filling with determination. “As I’ll ever be.”

Attagirl.

Earlier, when she’d been about to cry, he’d had the damnedest urge to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. He’d wanted to console her and let her know he would protect her.

No chance of that ever happening, he told himself. No chance at all. He wasn’t stupid. Touching Carolina might be a little different than touching other women. He had no idea why that was, but he always listened to his instincts. His instincts told him to keep clear of Carolina Cruthers.

And he planned to heed them.

Chapter Four (#ulink_32810955-b6a9-53cc-bf4b-f33428d6cefd)

It was ridiculously easy to settle into Colt and Natalie’s apartment, given that Carolina’s tiny two-bedroom apartment had been her home for the past year and a half. Easy, and if she were honest with herself, a relief. No sign of James and no more worries about surprise visits in the middle of the night. Not unless James broke through the iron gate blocking the driveway of Reynolds Ranch and then walked more than two miles to the riding facility. She doubted he’d ever do that, and if he did, they’d see him coming. The only fly in her ointment was her new boss.

Chance Reynolds.

It was as if her thoughts had summoned him.

“Knock, knock?” he called from the other side of her apartment door, adding a rap from his knuckles while she stood in the kitchen, frozen.

Crud.

She was still in her pj’s, a gray pair of sweats that hung loose around her waist and had a big hole in the knee. And the T-shirt she wore doubled as a nightie. No bra, either.

“I’ll be right there,” she called out, making a beeline to the bedroom. Someone had recently decorated the room in a horse motif. She dived beneath a brown-and-black bedspread with a Western star in the middle to find her bra, which she’d apparently ditched atop the bed last night. She felt every second tick as she slipped the thing on, then ran a hand through her loose hair, hoping she looked presentable as she headed to the door.

Presentable? Why? asked a little voice.

She wasn’t going to think about that and pasted a smile on her face as she opened the door. “Chance. Hey.”

He seemed amused as he eyed her up and down, although what it could be she didn’t know. The baggy sweats? Or the messed-up hair? Crud. She hoped her makeup didn’t look as if it belonged on The Walking Dead. She hadn’t even thought about last night’s mascara leaving streaks beneath her eyes.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

Chance slipped past her, and she ducked back to avoid him touching her.

And there it was.

Attraction. She might as well admit it. Chance Reynolds was more handsome than her boss’s good friend Rand Jefferson, a man who played Hawkman in the movies. Whereas Rand had the muscular build of a Greek statue, Chance was more athletic. More Captain America than Hawkman. She much preferred that.

“What’s up?” She followed him to the kitchen, where he set down a brown duffel bag, clearly a relic from his past.

“I brought you some presents,” he said. “The kind that might save your life.”

She caught a glimpse of what was in his bag, something wicked looking and clearly meant for self-defense. “What kind of weapons do you have in there? I really don’t like guns.”

“No guns.” He held up what looked like an electric razor.

She crossed her arms in front of her. “What am I going to do with that? Shave him to death?”

“Huh?” He glanced at the device in his hand. “Oh. No. It’s not a razor.” He pressed something on the front. An electronic charge crackled through the air. “It’s a Taser.”

She straightened in surprise. She’d been thinking about getting one of those.

His smile should be obnoxious this early in the morning. What was it? Seven? But it wasn’t obnoxious. It was adorable. He was clearly proud of himself.

“Where did you get it?”

“That’s not all I got.” He set the Taser down on the table. “There’s this, too.” He held up a can with a bright red lid. “Pepper spray. There’s two kinds. The industrial size.” He reached into the bag again. “And the key-chain size. Easier to hold when you’re walking alone at night.”

Not that she planned on walking anywhere alone. Her curiosity got the better of her, though, and she moved up next to him, fingering the Taser.

“I got it from a friend of mine,” Chance said. “Owns a karate studio, but he sells these on the side. Speaking of that, we should teach you some moves. Basic self-defense stuff. You never know when you might need it.”

“Brass knuckles?” she said, holding up a feminine version. They’d been painted pink.

He shrugged. “Hey, sometimes simple is best, but I’d have to teach you how to punch in order for them to be effective.”

No, thanks. The thought of him touching her in any way, shape or form was...disturbing.

“What’s this?” She held up a nasty-looking object with prongs.

“That’s the big daddy.” His smile was pure, childish delight. “You see these? You can shoot them at your assailant. It’s a Taser, too, but it’s the kind the police use. Really high voltage. Knock your guy to the ground. The other one is more of a deterrent. It’ll hurt like hell, but it won’t knock someone to the ground.” He took Big Daddy from her. “This one will do some damage.”

She didn’t know whether to be amused or repulsed by his enthusiasm, although she wished she’d had some of these items before. Some of her amusement faded.

“How about this one?” she asked, spying another small can of something.

“Horn. Blow it if you feel threatened. Usually that’s enough to scare away most assailants.”

She pursed her lips and moved on. “And this?”