The Cowboy And The Ceo. Christine Wenger

more distant.

      “No. I can’t,” she said abruptly. “I didn’t know that a program would be starting and the kids would be here. For some reason, I thought I’d be here in between programs.” She took a deep breath and looked out the window. “Like I said, I’ll be leaving on Saturday. I have to get back home.”

      She was getting downright frosty, but he still pushed. “Well, you’ll be staying at least a couple days. You’ll enjoy the ranch and the kids. The kids are the best.”

      She didn’t answer, then sighed. “I’m suddenly very tired, Mr. Scully. It was a long flight.”

      Just before she turned her head to look out the side window, he could swear he saw moisture in her eyes. Now he felt bad.

      “Susan, did I upset you somehow?”

      “Oh, no. No. You didn’t. Like I said, I’m just tired.”

      That was just an excuse. Something was wrong. She seemed really tense when he talked about the kids. Something was going on.

      Clint concentrated on the road ahead, knowing that he’d somehow put a damper on Susan Collins’s arrival in Wyoming.

      He usually stayed far away from women like her—rich, successful, city women who had plenty of money but no heart. Women who were just like his former fiancée, Mary Alice Bonner. Hell, Susan looked like she could teach Mary Alice a few things.

      But for some reason, he wanted to—needed to—see Susan Collins smile. He wanted to get her to relax, to get rid of the burden weighing her down.

      And if anyone could do that, it was Clint Scully.

      Chapter Two

      Susan didn’t want to get involved with the kids. She was afraid it would hurt too much.

      She was just supposed to help design a logo and a line of merchandise for the ranch, and that was all she intended to do.

      It wasn’t that she didn’t care. Quite the opposite. She hadn’t been thinking clearly when she’d agreed to come here—she wasn’t sure she could bear facing a group of children whose pain so reminded her of her beloved sister’s.

      To this day, she could remember the smells and sounds of the hospital where she visited Elaine, who’d died way too young.

      As soon as Emily was available, she’d meet with her to discuss what Winners Wear could offer. Then she’d take her scheduled flight out of Mountain Springs on Saturday morning. Bev had bought her an open-ended airline ticket, thinking that she’d decide to stay and relax and enjoy the spa.

      She’d be leaving in two days.

      With that decided, she glanced at Clint to see if he was still alive. He walked slow. He talked slow. He even drove slow.

      Anyone could see that on this wide-open road without a car or a cop in sight, he could go at least seventy.

      She checked her watch. “Clint, how far away is the Gold Buckle?”

      “A couple of hours.”

      “Oh.”

      He could easily cut that time in half if he’d just step on it. Then again, she doubted that the huge, rusty pickup could go much over the forty miles an hour at which he was currently cruising.

      She stole another quick glance at Clint. She had to admit he was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way. He had a lazy, sexy smile with a little dimple at the corner of his mouth.

      Clint Scully was intriguing.

      Maybe it was because he was the first actual cowboy she’d ever met. Certainly, it wasn’t because his jeans hugged his strong thighs, or because his legs were so long that he could barely fold them beneath the dash. Or the fact that he smelled like fresh air and warm cotton.

      Her cheeks heated, and she rolled down the window a little more. She reached up and swept the hair that had escaped her French braid off the back of her neck, trying to catch some much-needed air.

      She stole another glance at Clint and saw the laugh lines around his eyes. His hands were tanned and strong. She studied the sharp crease of his long-sleeved, blue-checkered shirt. His light brown hair stuck out from under his white cowboy hat and brushed the back of his shirt collar. Her eyes strayed farther south.

      He sure did fill out those jeans.

      “Something wrong?” he asked, glancing over at her and grinning.

      “Um…no. Just admiring your truck.”

      That was a lame recovery, but she’d die of embarrassment if he ever guessed that she was checking him out. She decided to change the subject.

      “Why did those cowboys at the airport know you?”

      “They’ve probably seen me working the rodeo events. I’m a bullfighter. That’s the new politically correct term for a rodeo clown.”

      “You mean you toss around a red cape and get the bull to charge you like they do in Spain?”

      “Absolutely not.” He chuckled. “You’ve never seen a rodeo or a bull riding event, have you?”

      She shook her head. “Not once.”

      He whistled. “I thought everyone in North America had seen one at one time or another.”

      “Not everyone.”

      He made a sharp right turn onto a bumpy road. Susan gripped the lip of the dash so she wouldn’t fall over onto him. She thought her teeth were going to rattle loose from her head.

      “So what does a bullfighter do?” she asked.

      “I protect the bull riders.”

      “From what?”

      “From the bull.”

      “Just how do you do that?”

      “Various techniques, but mostly I’m fast on my feet.”

      Her heart started to pound as she thought of a huge bull charging him or anyone else. “Are you crazy?”

      “Mostly.” He shrugged. “But then I think you’re crazy for living in New York City, but to each his—or her—own.” He paused for a bit then added, “Anyone special going to be missing you back in New York?”

      Hmm…She didn’t know whether or not she liked the fact that he was asking about her availability. He was nothing like any man she’d ever met, and would be interesting to get to know, but that was all. She had no interest in a casual fling.

      “If you’re asking me if I’m married, I’m not. Marriage isn’t for me. I don’t have time for relationships. How about you? Anyone worried that you’re going to kill yourself saving cowboys from bulls?”

      “No. Marriage isn’t for me, either. Most women aren’t happy living down on the ranch once they’ve seen what the world has to offer.”

      “Sounds like you speak from personal experience.”

      There was silence. Then he raised a finger from his grip on the wheel and pointed at the horizon. “Bet you don’t get sunsets like that back home.”

      The sun looked like a big red ball stuck between two peaks of lacy black mountains. Slivers of purple and yellow and red shot across the sky, and she wondered how long it had been since she’d taken the time to watch a sunset.

      She knew the answer to that—not since she’d gotten too busy building her company.

      “We might get sunsets like that,” she said, “but there are too many buildings in the way for me to see it from my office or my apartment. Those who live on a high floor can see it.”

      “What a shame,” Clint said, shaking his head. “So what do you do in New York?”

      “I