Page 1 of The Rancher

1

STONE

You know what they say about “good news, bad news.”

When I checked my investments this morning, everything was up. I'm fortunate enough that I don't really need more money. Still, it was nice.

But then an hour later I got a call about a horse in Willisworth that apparently was slowly starving to death. That was not so nice.

My fingers tighten around the wheel as I drive through the hamlet of Rusty Hill – the closest place to get groceries, shoot some pool, or check the post office box. Everyone’s friendly enough there, yet people mind their own business. That’s extremely important for our ranch. We don’t want people asking too many questions about what we do.

I drive slowly past the small businesses, noticing how pale the buildings look after the winter storms. We don't get a lot of snow around here, but the winter winds can be downright vicious. I swear, they can strip paint right off wood.

I tap the brake, waving to a farmer driving a chugging tractor onto the main drag from a side road that he should go ahead. Farmers always have the right-of-way in my books.

The sun is just setting as I look around, admiring the way the light dances gently over a cornfield. There’s a little yellow house on the corner, also looking a bit worse for wear.

…with someone standing on the porch, trying to pry open the front window?!

We don't take kindly to burglaries around here.

Throwing my truck into park, I stride across the lawn, yelling. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" I have a deep, loud voice, so I'm not surprised when the intruder startles, spinning to face me, their hands in the air.

Oh.

It's a young woman. Definitely no burglar. Pale, maybe a bit thin, with long brown hair and big blue eyes that are staring at me in utter terror.

My heart cracks open as a burning warmth floods my veins. She’s beautiful. Stunning. I need to scoop her into my arms right the fuck now to shelter her from the breeze that’s picking up. Need to feed her chocolates and find out all about her life.

Shit, and I need to stop staring.

"I'm sorry!" she shrieks.

"Hey, now." I raise my open palms, trying my damnedest to soften my voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. But I can't let you break into my neighbor’s house."

Her full and plush bottom lip is quivering. I need to kiss those lips. Kiss her. What the hell is wrong with me? I never get this kind of prickling rush just from looking at a woman.

"This is my aunt's house." Her sweet, light voice is quavering. "She said she’d leave the key under the mat, but I've torn the entire porch apart and it's not here."

"So you were going to bust in through the window?"

“I was being careful." Her delicious lip wobbles again. "I wasn't going to break anything, I swear." She looks so frazzled that it breaks my heart.

"What's your name?"

"Remy Morrison. My aunt is Sonia Johnson."

I'm pretty sure someone mentioned “the Johnson house” at some point. "Stone Whitaker. I work up at the ranch on the hill. Can I drive you anywhere, if you can’t get in here?"

She slumps onto a bench. There's a large backpack and a shoulder bag beside the front door. "I have nowhere to go." Her voice is cracking. Then she looks around. "Maybe there's a shed or something in the back? I could sleep there tonight and try to reach her in the morning?"

Like hell I’ll let an angel like this sleep in a filthy shed.

Crouching down, I point to the dark clouds to the west. "It's going to rain hard. The wind can get fierce around here. If it chills a big guy like me, I don't know what it’d do to a little wisp of a thing like you."

She's sitting tensely, looking down at her jeans, her hands twisting in on themselves. "I need power and Wi-Fi to work. I don't really want to waste money on a hotel, but is there something affordable in town?"

"There's Beaty’s Bed and Breakfast, but there were several cars out front. I doubt they’ve got a room."