Have Cowboy, Need Cupid

“That would be me.” For the first time since he’d sat down, his smile faded slightly.

“You don’t like the truck?”

He lifted his broad shoulders into a shrug. “It runs great, and it’s loaded on the inside. But the color…”

“Not what a rancher would have chosen.”

“Exactly.”

“You could have it painted.”

“Probably will.”

He finished his beer and she waved to the bartender to bring him another. “My treat this time.”

“No.” He placed a hand over hers before she could reach for her wallet.

“It’s just a beer,” Suzanne said, surprised at the stubborn thrust of his chin. “It is the twenty-first century. Women buy men drinks all the time.”

“Maybe in the city,” Rafe said in a gruff voice. “But not in Sugar Hill.” Pride laced his voice. Now she understood him. He was the old-fashioned, Southern-bred type with barrels of macho pride that would make it difficult for him to admit defeat and sell out.

So, why did a seed of admiration stir inside her? Because she understood about pride. Still, most of the men she’d dated thought nothing of going dutch or letting her buy dinner and drinks. In fact, in some ways, sharing the bill had become the norm.

He shoved a twenty on the counter and indicated for Johnny to freshen her drink, as well. Suzanne tried to drag her eyes away and focus on the patrons. Locals were heading to the dance floor, two-stepping and line dancing to the popular melody, laughing and flirting. Rafe’s knee jerked up and down in time with the music as if he enjoyed the country tunes. Suzanne had always thought country music too twangy. Songs about cheating wives and sick dogs howling in the back of pickups with sawed-off shotguns lodged over the cab were just not her cup of tea. Give her Elton John or Dave Matthews any day.

Forget the music. Make chitchat, Suzanne. You’re here to get him to talk about himself. He has no idea you already know half of his life story. “So, Rafe, you have a big spread around here?”

He nodded, tilting the beer mug up for a sip, once again drawing her attention to the strong muscles in his jaw. “A few hundred acres. I raise some cattle. Got a few cutting horses, too.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn to ride.”

“Really?” A chuckle rumbled from his chest, mischief dancing in his eyes as he angled his head and swept a look over her. “Well, sugar, come on out to the Lazy M. I’ll be glad to saddle a mare and teach you.”

She met his challenge with a teasing look of her own. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Do you want to dance?” Suzanne clenched her glass in midair, hardly able to believe she’d just blurted out that invitation. But dancing with the man might ease her tension and help her refocus. She’d come to Sugar Hill on a mission; she couldn’t let this sexy bad boy sidetrack her. He probably collected women like a little boy collected toy cars, then threw them away the minute the paint faded.

Hunger flared in Rafe’s eyes. Good. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling flashes of desire. The realization sent need soaring through her like an aphrodisiac.

The music mellowed from a fast tune to a slow, sultry melody, and several more couples joined those on the dance floor, their bodies tucked tightly together. Still, he hesitated. His gaze caught her ring. “That depends. I don’t encroach on another man’s territory.”

Suzanne bit her tongue. “No one owns me, Rafe.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “All right, then.” He offered a massive hand and she slipped hers inside, then allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. His hard boots clicked on the wood planks as he pulled her into his arms and began to lull her into the rhythm of the song. She thought she’d detected a slight limp for a minute, but it disappeared so quickly she decided she’d imagined it.

Suzanne had gone clubbing with her girlfriends and James at the trendiest spots in the city, but she had never been as hypnotized by a song as she was in Rafe’s arms. They circled the dance floor, his big body moving seductively against hers, denim-clad legs brushing denim, the warmth of his breath whispering against her neck as he held her close. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and at five-seven for the first time in her life she felt small next to a man.

This was not going as planned.

She was supposed to be talking to him, learning his weak spot, and moving in to find out how to trap him into selling his land. Not falling under some kind of hypnotic spell.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered roughly.

He felt like heaven, too. Suzanne closed her eyes and forgot about the land deal and the fact that yesterday another man had proposed to her.

Because for just a moment she wanted to savor being in this man’s arms and not think about work.

RAFE THREADED his fingers through the long strands of Suzanne’s silky hair, his breath locking in his chest.

A fierce need to possess her overcame him, unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

She was soft and sensuous and had the voice of a vamp. And God help him, he could get lost in those exotic brown eyes. They were like a sea of hot chocolate, rich and dark and mesmerizing.

But holding her was all wrong.

She was a Hartwell, the niece of a well-known town member, the daughter of a prominent Atlanta doctor. A rich, well-bred girl with more money and more education than him. For goodness’ sake, the damn sapphire ring on her hand alone could pay for all sorts of farm equipment, not to mention that her hands were delicate, uncallused, and she was used to men with hands that weren’t hardened or dirt-stained from the land. And damn it, she didn’t seem like the footloose and fancy-free type that slept around, either.

And right now he had nothing to offer any woman except a one-night stand.

Suzanne Hartwell would undoubtedly want more. He knew her type. Driven by career, not family. She wanted the nice things in life. Things he had no way to give a woman.

Plus, her daddy would probably kill him if he found her dancing with a run-down cowboy in a dive called the Dusty Pub.

As if to cement his reservations, the door to the bar opened and in walked Slim Wallace, the man who’d told Rafe in no uncertain terms today that he was going to lose everything. Slim’s words scraped over his consciousness like a razor over raw skin—You might as well declare bankruptcy. Let me take over the ranch and move on, Rafe. It’s too late.

Damn it. It wasn’t too late. The Lazy M was his ranch. His legacy. The land had belonged to his father and his daddy before him and his daddy before him. Somehow they had all managed to hold on to the place because the McAllisters believed that if a man had land, he had a place to build a life. Without it, a man couldn’t survive.

And he would not be the one to let it all go.

He suddenly realized the music had stopped. Suzanne had stilled in his arms and was looking up at him with big doe eyes, her expensive perfume so intoxicating he’d pulled her to him in a viselike grip. He glanced down in horror, immediately releasing her. He could not drown his sorrows in her soft, tempting body.

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked in a low voice.

He shook his head. His problems were his own. A woman like Suzanne Hartwell would never understand.

They had shared one dance. That was all they would ever have.

SUZANNE STOOD on the dance floor alone in stunned disbelief as Rafe slipped out the barroom door. After that soul-hugging dance, he had mumbled a hasty apology and a goodbye, claiming he had forgotten something he needed to do, then run for the door as if she had suddenly pulled out handcuffs and tried to arrest him.

Had something really come up? Something to do with his ranch? His sick mother?

She tried not to think about the ailing Mrs. McAllister.

The thought resurrected memories of her own mother, those last few days of her illness stirring the hot pot of emotions that always simmered close to the surface at the thought of her.