The Texas Rancher's Vow. Cathy Thacker Gillen

CELIA asked Jen late the next day.

      Jen pressed her cell phone closer to her ear. “I can see the entrance to the Triple B Ranch from where I’m standing.” The fifty-thousand-acre ranch was located on the far western edge of Laramie County. Hundreds of black Angus cattle grazed sedately in the rolling green pastures, for as far as the eye could see.

      “How is the radiator holding out?”

      Jen took the clear plastic jug out of her aging white utility van, pulled on an insulated leather work glove and walked over to lift the hood.

      “Okay.” Considering I’ve just driven two hundred miles in a little over four hours. “I’ve been stopping every hour or so to add water.” Carefully, she unscrewed the top. Steam rose, dissipating quickly in the hot, dry summer air.

      “I wish you would just get it fixed,” Celia fretted.

      Jen frowned at the sight of a horseman breaking away from a group of cowboys. He was headed her way. She turned back to the radiator and dumped another pint into the opening. “I will, as soon as finances allow.” Finished, she set the jug on the ground, replaced the top and then shut the hood. “Listen, I’ve got to go.” She walked back to put the water in the van.

      “Call us later. Let us know how it goes.”

      “Promise.” Jen ended the call and slipped her cell phone in the pocket of her skirt.

      “Trouble?” Dismounting with easy grace, Matt Briscoe inclined his head at the engine.

      Jen watched one of the other cowboys come forward and take the reins from him, then he rode back to the herd they’d been tending, with Matt’s horse in tow.

      Great. Now she was stuck with him.

      “Nope…I’m fine.”

      Matt adjusted the brim of his straw hat. “I was hoping you’d take my advice.”

      Someone else had said that to her once, and the situation had not ended happily.

      The only difference now was that she was a lot better equipped to handle the inevitable criticism doubtlessly coming her way.

      Her gut tightening, Jen slammed the cargo door with unnecessary force and gave him a challenging look.

      “You’re going to regret this,” he predicted.

      For reasons that had little to do with the man she was supposed to meet—and everything to do with the one in front of her—Jen already did.

      Determined to get what she wanted out of this arrangement, she bantered back. “I think I can handle whatever comes my way.” Including you.

      * * *

      MATT WAS USED TO beautiful women. Texas was full of them, and Laramie County had more than their share.

      But there was something about this one.

      He wasn’t sure whether it was her delicate heart-shaped face, the gold highlights in the wavy chestnut hair, the cornflower-blue of her eyes or the full soft lips beneath her model-perfect nose, but something in Jen Carson had his rapt attention.

      It didn’t matter whether she was clad in a short denim skirt and a man’s work shirt, or outfitted in a pretty sundress that bared her silky shoulders and even sexier legs. She was five foot nine inches of curvy woman, one who knew what she wanted and was determined to get it.

      Matt respected ambition. Strength of purpose. And iron will.

      What he could have done without, besides her showing up here in that pathetic old white van, was her sass.

      Jen Carson had a mouth on her that just would not quit.

      To the point she was already getting under his skin.

      And she had barely entered their lives.

      Matt could only imagine what would transpire if Emmett got his way, and Jen was soon ensconced with him.

      Matt worked to rein in his disdain. Nothing would be gained by him losing his cool. He needed to stay calm to outmaneuver this pretty little protégée.

      He headed around to the passenger side of her van. “I’ll escort you to the ranch house, to meet my father.”

      Long lashes fluttered briefly. “Wow, this is my lucky day.”

      Matt moved the remains of a take-out lunch from Sonic, set them carefully on the floor and slid into the passenger seat. “Are you this rude to all your potential customers?”

      Jen’s jaw set. “You’re not my customer.”

      Nor was he ever likely to be.

      Still…

      He couldn’t say he minded looking at her.

      Or inhaling her sweet womanly scent, a mixture of lilac, fragrant grass and summer air.

      Jen discreetly tugged the hem of her dress down as she settled in the driver’s seat, cutting off his glimpse of silky thigh. “Don’t feel you have to stay with your father and me while we talk.”

      Matt ignored the tightening in his torso, the one that reminded him he hadn’t had sex—or intimacy of any kind—in way too long. “Are you kidding?” he drawled, just to get her goat. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

      Jen sent him another annoyed glance, then turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. Flushing, she turned it again.

      Still nothing.

      He couldn’t say he minded her humiliation, given the havoc she was about to wreak on his life. Trying not to think how chivalrously his father would react to this situation, Matt reached for his cell phone and punched in the number for the bunkhouse.

      She tried again. The third time was the charm.

      Crisis averted. For now, anyway.

      Resisting the urge to say something about her vehicle, he gestured toward the wrought-iron arch at the head of the drive. “The house is at the end of that.”

      Her eyes flashed as she slid him a look. “Good thing you told me,” she quipped. “I never would have found it.”

      There she went with that mouth again.

      Jen shifted into Drive and hit the accelerator. To Matt’s surprise, the van edged forward smoothly and almost soundlessly. It glided onto the road, and then a hundred feet later, onto the paved lane.

      She was silent as she drove down the shady, tree-lined drive toward the cluster of buildings a half mile back from the road. He could see that she liked what she saw. And why not? The white limestone ranch house was stately and expensive-looking. So was the adjacent glass-walled garage, which showcased all ten of his father’s cars and trucks.

      Jen’s eyes slid to the Lamborghini.

      “A memento from marriage number two,” Matt said. “Dad rarely drives it anymore.”

      “What does he drive?”

      “These days, mostly his Lincoln Navigator or his Cadillac Escalade. But that could change.” Matt tilted his head toward the collection, not above testing her at every turn. “What’s your favorite ride?”

      Jen rested her surprisingly delicate hands on the steering wheel. “Couldn’t say.”

      Matt wondered how she kept her hands so soft looking, given the nature of her work. He lifted his gaze back to her face. “Noncommittal, hmm?”

      “About some things.” She looked him right in the eye. “Others, not so much.”

      Meaning she had already decided she didn’t like him. Fair enough, given the fact that the distrust went both ways.

      He swiveled toward her on the uncomfortably worn bench seat, his knee landing just short of her thigh. For some reason he wished he had an excuse to make physical contact, see if she was