Cowboy Proud. Kelli Ireland

she could ask for his cell number in case she changed her mind and sought out a restaurant, he’d disconnected. Again.

      “Great,” she answered, anyway. “Can’t wait to meet you.”

      Grabbing her bags, she made her way to one of the small cafés and settled into a booth before pulling her laptop out. She had three hours to kill. Might as well make them productive.

2

      CADE HAD BEEN unanimously volunteered for the trip to Amarillo. His protests hadn’t made a bit of difference. Eli had argued as only a lawyer could, defending his ability to manage the contractors and keep them lined out. Reagan’s efforts were split between working with the installers on the placement of the commercial kitchen appliances in the new dining hall and assisting Tyson, whose favorite, and most valuable, mare had gone into labor.

      The animal had been in hard labor for about an hour before Cade left, and Ty wasn’t about to let something as mundane a surprise visit from some public relations exec pull him from her side. Reagan might be an entirely capable large animal vet, but the horses were Ty’s life. He was there for every major event, beginning with their birth and ending with either their sale or their death.

      Singing along with the radio, cruise set on seventy-five and air conditioner blowing hard to combat the afternoon heat, Cade adjusted his rearview mirror to keep the slowly sinking afternoon sun from blinding him. He crested a slight hill, and Amarillo spread out before him. The city sat ensconced beneath a gritty haze, the dust driven by winds he’d guess were easily thirty miles per hour and gusting higher. While there wasn’t much in the way of a traditional city skyline, the view still left him with the impression of people surrounding him on all sides. Compared to Roy, the tiny town closest to the ranch, he supposed it was more reality, less impression. Harding County, New Mexico, had a total population of less than seven hundred. Last he’d heard, Amarillo was pushing two hundred thousand residents.

      He exited the interstate and took Highway 60 north to Airport Road. Despite wearing sunglasses, he still squinted in the bright light as he pulled out his cell and dialed Ms. Graystone’s number.

      She answered on the third ring. “Emmaline Graystone.”

      Her voice, now more cultivated than irritated, was sultry enough he couldn’t help but take notice. It warmed a body from the inside out, same as a good whiskey sipped on a cold night.

      A small, internal voice reminded him that even the smoothest liquors could deliver a vicious bite. Worse, if a man let the drink go to his head, that same warmth could make him do things he’d regret come morning. Still, Cade couldn’t help but wonder how that rich voice would sound in the dark. It wasn’t hard to imagine her whispering against his skin, the whisper of her breath hot and moist over bared skin. To consider how she might—

      “Hello?”

      Cade shifted in the driver’s seat, irritably adjusting his fly and trying to stop the path his out-of-control imagination had barreled down. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in a fantasy about an unknown woman’s voice—a contractor’s voice, no less. That particular realization did little to cool the inexplicable lust flooding his system, but it was more than sufficient to clear his mind. “Hi.”

      “Is...everything okay?” she asked, curiosity unchecked.

      “Fine.” He cleared his throat. “This is Cade Covington. We spoke earlier when you called the ranch. The dude ranch. Lassos & Latigos.” He set the phone face down on his thigh and shook his head. Just how many dude ranches do you think she called from the Amarillo airport, idiot? He refocused before replacing the phone to his ear. “I’ll be in front of the airport in about five minutes. You want to meet me curbside, or should I come in and get your bags?”

      “I’ll meet you outside.”

      “Fair enough. What should I be watching for?”

      “I’m about five foot nine, very short dark red hair that’s natural and highlights that aren’t, black sunglasses, sleeveless black dress. Luggage—two pieces—is also black. I have my messenger bag over my shoulder. You can guess the color. I’m a travel cliché and a pretty drab one at that—everything’s black.” Her heels clicked across the tiled floor as she began to walk. “My purse is bright red, though. That might help you pick me out of the crush of people.”

      Her dry humor made him chuckle. “I take it you’re used to busier airports than our humble little Amarillo hub.”

      “I’ve travelled the world over more than once, Mr. Covington. But an airport with six terminals where at least a dozen men volunteered to retrieve my luggage out of courtesy is a phenomenon I can’t even begin to make sense of. I suppose I sound jaded.” She laughed softly. In the background, he heard the sound of the doors whooshing open and then the mix of traffic and wind sweeping across her phone’s mic. “I’m at the curb. What are you driving?”

      He pulled into the passenger drop-off/pickup lane and opened his mouth to answer, but that was as far as his side of the conversation got. He dropped his phone and it bounced off the rubber floor mat, but he made zero effort to retrieve it.

      The woman who’d snared his attention pulled her phone from her ear and stared at it in confusion. She had to be Emmaline Graystone. She’d described herself as “drab” only moments before. She’d flat-assed lied.

      The short, black dress she wore showcased toned arms, a trim waist and lean legs that, based on the gawking of other drivers, were long enough they should’ve come with a hazard warning. He’d never been a fan of short hair on a woman, but the way the sun lit up her red hair, it appeared almost burnished. And she did, indeed, carry a red purse. All of that was delicious. What she’d neglected to mention were the red lips and siren-red stiletto heels that would be the showcase of his totally inappropriate dreams tonight.

      She spoke into the phone, glancing around. Her gaze passed over him, and then snapped back, an eerie recognition on her face. Thumbing her phone off, she dropped it in her bag before reaching up and pulling off her sunglasses.

      Cade had dealt with beautiful women before. Emmaline Graystone put every one of them to shame. Her beauty was a quiet demand that he stare whether he wanted to or not. No wonder so many men had offered to help her with her luggage.

      The thought made him want to growl. And that shocked him into action. He had no business thinking of her that way. As both a contractor and a ranch guest, she wasn’t some random woman at a bar angling to gain his attention or take him home for the night. That fast, his mind ran off with ideas of all the ways he’d want her if she had come onto him under those circumstances. He’d figure out what made her tick, discover her every desire, particularly the kind that required no clothes and a lot of one-on-one instruction. In the dark. He fought the urge to punch himself in the temple. Instead, he swallowed his pride and retrieved his phone.

      Emmaline had already started toward him, and he inched his truck close to the curb before slamming it in Park. He hopped out and jogged around the front to meet her and take her bags, hoisting them into the crew cab’s backseat. The large bags took up the whole bench. Then, steeling himself, he faced her.

      In heels, she was only a couple inches shorter than him. Her eyes were the palest green with a dark ring around them. Her nose was short and straight. And her lips... Those lips had been created specifically to go with the rest of her sultry voice and body.

      “Since you’ve taken my bags and put them in your truck, I’m going to assume you’re Cade Covington.” She arched a brow, considering him. “That or I’m being abducted in broad daylight and allowing it, which I can’t imagine I would.”

      Cade proffered his hand. “Ms. Graystone.” His heart skipped a beat. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

      “Call me Emma. Please.” She took his hand in a firm shake. “We’d have gotten off to a far better start if you’d laid on the cowboy drawl and charm