Have Cowboy, Need Cupid. Rita Herron

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.

      Refusing to allow the pot to boil over, she wove through the crowd and found her table, then slumped down on the bar stool, wishing she’d had more time with Rafe.

      To pump him for information, she told herself. Not to dance or hold him or dream about finding heaven in his arms.

      Steepling her hands tent-style and leaning her head into them, she closed her eyes and shut out the images that swirled through her mind, steeling herself back in control. She hated feeling vulnerable. James had taught her to attack, to go in for the kill, to eliminate the human element of a business situation, evaluate all the data, make a decision and move on it. Her father used the same approach.

      The technique had always worked for her before.

      She wanted to earn her promotion. She would use the tried-and-true methods to do so now, and forget emotion, and the way Rafe’s lips might taste.

      Just as soon as the memory of his hands on her waist and his breath on her neck subsided.

      “You want another drink?” Johnny asked.

      Suzanne shook her head. “No, I think I’ll call it a night.”

      “Stick around and we can hang out after I shut down.”

      Suzanne’s gaze shot to his.

      “I promise not to run out on you like Rafe. Poor guy’s got a lot on his mind today.”

      Okay, he had offered the bait and she was fishing. “Why, did something happen?”

      “Heard Wallace turned down his loan. It’s just a matter of time before he loses the Lazy M.”

      And Horton Developers would be there to save him, Suzanne thought. It would be the best thing for both of them.

      “Has he spoken to anyone about selling the property?” Suzanne asked.

      Johnny shrugged. “Some big developer from Atlanta, but he turned him down flat. Can’t stand the thought of a big mall going in where his cattle have grazed all his life. Supposed to be a town meeting to discuss the proposed development in the morning.”

      “Really?”

      “Yeah, some of the town’s all for it, but others think it’ll bring sin and crime to Sugar Hill.”

      Oh, heavens, didn’t they see the good the development would bring to their little town? That change was not always negative, but progress meant positive things for the people and community?

      “Where is this town meeting going to be held?”

      “City hall. Noon.”

      Suzanne smiled and patted his hand, then stood and said goodbye. “Thanks, Johnny. The drinks were great.”

      She’d stay over in Sugar Hill tonight and be at that town meeting tomorrow. She wanted to hear what everyone had to say.

      Especially the sexy cowboy with the whiskey-colored bedroom eyes.

      Chapter Three

      As usual, Rafe rose early the next morning, knowing he had to finish his chores and clean up before lunch to make it to the town meeting by noon. He and his two hands, Bud and Red, had finished moving the cattle to the east grazing pasture, then Bud and Red stopped to repair the fencing that had been torn down by the last ice storm along the northern border of his property. Rafe rode Thunder, his prized stallion, across the rolling hills toward the ranch house, the fresh scent of hay and dirt soothing to his weary state.

      He had not slept well the night before.

      Dreams of dancing with Suzanne Hartwell had haunted his sleep. He could still smell the sultry essence of her expensive perfume and feel the satiny softness of her hair tickling his chin. And those subtle curves. Oh, at first she’d looked like a bony model, but beneath those stiff designer clothes, he’d sensed a softness that had melted into the hard planes of his own body. A softness and passion that had turned him inside out. Unbridled hunger, sass, spunk—Suzanne Hartwell was no shy, wimpy female. Pampered and spoiled, yes. But defenseless and naive—no way. Making love to her would be like taming a wild horse, he imagined. Or dancing with the wolves.

      The reason she was off-limits.

      Rich, city women could never understand the kind of life he led, the love of the land, the adrenaline that kept him alive as he worked with his hands. The pleasure that pumped through him as he listened to the night sounds of the farm, the cows, the crickets, the blissful quiet of a hot summer’s night. The primitive raw power he thrived on by living