Just Like A Cowboy. Delores Fossen

left Wrangler’s Creek and his uncle Joe’s small ranch to go full-time on the bull-riding circuit. Wynn had wanted to make a name for himself. And from everything she’d heard, he had done just that. Maybe he’d leave and keep on making that name so she wouldn’t have to see him.

      Carlene didn’t want to notice, she really didn’t, but darn it, he looked good. Of course, looking good wasn’t much of a stretch for a guy like Wynn. Good genes poured into great-fitting jeans complete with one of those prize rodeo buckles that was only slightly smaller than a truck hubcap.

      He had butterscotch hair that drizzled around the collar of his buckskin jacket. Warm caramel eyes. There was just a touch of milk toffee tint to his skin, a DNA contribution from his Comanche grandmother.

      All in all, Wynn looked downright edible.

      And that’s why Carlene backed up even more when he ambled toward her. Unfortunately, the freezing-cold sugarberry tree stopped her from backing up any farther.

      As if he owned the space between them, Wynn closed in on her. Knowing she had to do something, Carlene made a cross with her fingers and held them up in front of her. The way someone might try to ward off a vampire.

      Wynn chuckled. “I just brought you some hot chocolate, that’s all, and I’m trying to give it to you. I know how much you love it.”

      “I’m dieting,” Carlene said. Not exactly a lie. She was always dieting. Or at least thinking about it.

      Wynn took that as an engraved invitation to give her a full body once-over. His gaze skimmed over her bare, no-makeup face. Her chapped lips. And the poop-stained jeans and boots she wore when she was out feeding the calves—which she’d just been doing.

      It got worse.

      There were unidentifiable stains on the lime-colored down jacket, a ragged duct-taped rip on the left sleeve and lint bumps everywhere. The thrift store would have rejected the getup, even as a donation for dust rags.

      He shifted his stance a little, and she caught a full whiff of his chocolate and of him. The steamy musky-male-and-cocoa scent went straight to the center of her hypothalamus.

      And to other parts of her, as well.

      “Dieting,” he repeated, adding a husky, manly sound of disagreement. “Not necessary. You look pretty good, if you ask me.”

      He took another sip of the hot chocolate. Lazy. Slow.

      Carlene reminded herself that Wynn was only temporarily in Wrangler’s Creek and at his uncle’s ranch. She wasn’t. So, in order to save herself from another round of serious heartache, she needed to keep some distance between him and her.

      “It’s good to see you, Carlene,” he whispered, all low and sexy.

      That famous Texas drawl was in full working order. Wynn didn’t just speak. He French kissed the words, and they sounded a little lust crazed by the time they made it to her ears.

      His gaze dipped a fraction until he got to her lips. His chocolate-scented breath brushed over her mouth. She took in a deep breath, hoping the smell alone would satisfy the sudden craving she had for something hot and sweet.

      It didn’t.

      Nor did it satisfy the sudden urge she had for other hot and sweet things. Specifically, Wynn. And that meant she was in a mountain of trouble.

      Carlene tried to move, she really did, but her jeans were caught on something. She struggled, squirmed and otherwise wiggled way too close to a man she shouldn’t have been struggling, squirming and wiggling near.

      Wynn glanced behind her and chuckled. “Darling, it appears your butt’s frozen to the sugarberry.”

      Carlene got her own verification of that, but it came at a cost. When she turned her head, her boob swiped his hand and her mouth grazed his chin. Definitely not good. A warm boob and tingling mouth were not ways to distance herself from Wynn—especially since he’d noticed that boob swipe. He grinned at her.

      But that wasn’t all.

      With only a micrometer of space now separating them, Wynn looked deeply into her eyes. “You need some heat,” he informed her.

      Carlene gulped in a huge chunk of the freezing air. Why, oh why, did this man have her hormonal number?

      “And I suppose you think you’re the man for the job?” she complained.

      He fought with a smile, and somehow all that lip twitching was just as drool inducing as his full-blown foreplay smile. “Yeah, I do. After all, I’m the one with the hot chocolate.”

      Of all the things she’d thought he might say, Carlene hadn’t expected that. She just stared at him. “Huh?”

      “Hot chocolate,” he said again.

      Wynn set one of the cups on the ground and maneuvered himself even closer. He pressed his hips against hers and reached behind her. He drizzled a little of the hot chocolate on the butt of her jeans.

      Pinching, pulling and otherwise touching, he unthawed her from the sugarberry.

      “Uh, thanks,” Carlene mumbled. She craned her neck and caught a glimpse of the residue. Wonderful. Now, she had a saucer-size brown splotch on her rear end.

      She started to move again, but Carlene realized she was imprisoned by some pokey tree limbs. Wynn stood between her and much-needed freedom.

      He grinned again. And in that grin, Carlene saw the next few moments of her life flash before her eyes. He planned to kiss her. No doubt about it. She’d spent much of her free time since age sixteen either kissing Wynn Beck or daydreaming about kissing him, so she knew exactly how to interpret that expression on his face.

      “I’ve missed you,” he said, dropping that voice down yet another octave.

      Carlene shook her head. “This won’t work.”

      He nodded. “I know. We’ve grown miles and miles apart, what with you being here in Wrangler’s Creek and me on the rodeo circuit.”

      “Absolutely. Glad you see things my way—”

      He leaned in. “And you’re still riled that I left town the way I did.”

      “I haven’t given it a moment’s thought.”

      He brushed his mouth against hers. No more. No less. But, just like that, her body went from the frostbite stage to a raging inferno. The air around them warmed at least a full twenty-five degrees.

      Carlene’s body suddenly wanted to give in to the moment. Stupid parts of her wanted to wrap themselves around Wynn, haul his mouth to hers and see if he tasted as good as he smelled. She wanted to drag him against that sugarberry and have her way—

      But there was no way any part of her could do any of that.

      She forced herself to remember that Wynn was off-limits. Ditto for his hot chocolate. One would expand her thighs. The other would break her heart—again. It was time to turn her back on both of these particular temptations before they ruined her life.

      She ducked under his arm, pulled back her shoulders and started toward the house. Her exit would have been far more effective if she hadn’t had to dodge a frozen cow patty and a couple of surprised squirrels. She staggered and nearly head butted another tree before Wynn caught her arm.

      “Careful there,” he mumbled.

      “Too late for that.” Cursing herself for her near slipup and her sudden bout of clumsiness, Carlene extracted herself from his grip and got moving again toward the house.

      “Doesn’t it get lonely out here all by yourself?” he asked, picking up the second cup of hot chocolate and following her.

      “No. I date Birch Davidson now, and we spend a lot of time together.”

      That was a total lie. She had gone on a few dates with Birch, one of the horse trainers