Rancher In Her Bed. Joanne Rock

Cattleman’s Club.” She shifted in her seat to turn slightly toward him, her elbow resting on the console between them.

      Close to his.

      “Did I?” He’d never had any use for gossip, so he hadn’t paid much attention to the rumors. But his father had been so involved with opening a branch of the TCC in Houston, it was impossible not to overhear things.

      “You said no one would think twice about you bringing a ranch hand for a date tomorrow night because there was a lot of other drama brewing.” Her voice had a soft huskiness that made him think of morning-after pillow talk and shared confidences. “What’s that about? Anything I need to be aware of?”

      He glanced her way again, her green eyes fixed on him with a warmth he couldn’t ignore.

      Better to talk about the TCC than dwell on the spark of awareness growing between them. Besides, he had to admire her quick mind and her willingness to prepare for the social outing.

      “I’m sure you’ve read about the badly decomposed body found at the construction site where the Houston branch is being renovated.” He straightened in his seat, putting some more distance between him and the intriguing woman beside him. “Having a murder victim linked to the TCC has everyone...anxious.”

      His father hadn’t said much about it, but Xander guessed his dad must have some suspicions. Ryder Currin knew everyone involved in getting the Texas Cattleman’s Club Houston branch off the ground.

      “I read all the articles about that,” Frankie mused, her finger tracing the leather stitching along the side of the console. “It seems like they’re not speculating much while they try to identify the body.”

      “No one is speculating in an official capacity, but believe me, there’s plenty of talk. Some people think the victim could be Vincent Hamm, an assistant on the executive floor at Perry Holdings, who vanished into thin air right before the flood.”

      “Has anyone tried to locate him?” She went still, a note of alarm in her voice.

      “Apparently his family told police he’s always been a loner. He hated his job and often spoke of disappearing to a Caribbean island to be a surfer.” He hadn’t meant to worry her. “Maybe he finally did just that.”

      She fell quiet again, peering out her window as he passed a slow-moving farm vehicle.

      “I did something like that once,” she said after a long moment.

      She surprised the hell out of him with the turn in conversation. He needed to stay on his toes around this woman.

      “I can’t picture you leaving it all behind to take up surfing.” Although then again, she seemed to have a daring streak.

      “Definitely not.” She laughed, the sound bringing a rush of pleasure that made him want to hear it again. “I meant that I took off from home a long time ago and never looked back.”

      A chill went through him and he glanced over at her again. “I hope no one hurt you back home.”

      “No. Nothing like that.” She brushed aside the worry quickly, and she sounded sincere. “My parents treated me well enough, but they weren’t my real parents, and I always felt like they’d hidden something from me about the day they found me.”

      She went on to explain how her parents had found her as a toddler, abandoned on a highway outside Laredo. They’d raised her as their own but had always been cagey about the circumstances of her arrival into their lives and what steps they’d taken—if any—to find her real parents.

      “They were kind to me, but something always felt off about it.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that looked more pained than casual. “Anyway, your mentioning Vincent Hamm’s possible decision to leave everything behind made me think of my hometown. I wonder what my friends and parents thought happened to me after I took off.”

      “I don’t know, but I’m sorry you went through that.” He wondered what had made this driven, fierce woman decide to turn her back on the people who raised her. There was probably more to that story, and he was curious, but he refused to pry when he was only just starting to know her. “I wish you could meet my sister, Maya. My father adopted her when she was a baby, and as far as I know, he’s never told anyone how she came into his life.”

      “Seriously? How old is she?” Frankie steadied herself as the truck bounced over a pothole near the turnoff for the main house.

      “She’s eighteen and away at college. My dad was supposed to tell her the whole story once she reached adulthood, and Maya is more than a little upset he hasn’t done that yet.”

      Xander clicked on his high beams as the truck reached the wooden archway bearing the Currin Ranch sign.

      “I hate secrets.” The passion behind her words was obvious.

      “That makes two of us.” He’d had his own issues with secrets and surprises, and he sure as hell didn’t plan to tread down that path again. He steered past the bunkhouse where a lot of the younger guys slept and headed toward the cabins. “But I’m guessing my dad has good reasons for keeping his. Maybe your parents are trying to protect you somehow.”

      “Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, thanks for the ride home.”

      She was tugging at her seat belt before he even had the truck parked. Because she wanted to escape his company? Or was she trying to ignore the same spark that kept drawing his gaze over her way?

      “You don’t have to thank me. I know this wasn’t the ending you wanted for your evening.” He switched off the truck to walk her to her door.

      “It’s fine,” she rushed to say, already opening the truck door. “I can see myself inside.”

      He reached across the cab to put a hand on her forearm. “Frankie, wait.”

      Touching her had been a mistake—he knew it as soon as soon as his fingers landed on her sleeve. They wanted to linger there, to glide up her arm and around her shoulder to draw her closer. But he could hardly yank his hand back like he’d gotten scalded without revealing just how damned much she affected him.

      So he let his fingers rest lightly where they were.

      “I was hard on you tonight. Let me at least walk you to your door so I can tell myself I made an attempt to be a gentleman.”

      “You’re my boss, not a gentleman,” she argued, then frowned. “That came out wrong. What I mean is—”

      “But as you pointed out earlier, we’re not on the clock tonight.” His fingers grazed her bare skin on the underside of her wrist, a surprisingly tender spot where he could feel her pulse thrum fast.

      Her green eyes were wide in the glow of the dome light.

      “Right.” Her voice was all rasp and no substance. She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

      He slid his hand away and stepped out of the truck, walking around to her side.

      He reached up to help her down, but she hopped out on her own. Wary of his touch? Or stubbornly proud?

      Maybe a little of both. She was an intriguing woman.

      “Thank you.” She chewed her lower lip and peered up at him in the moonlight. “What time will I see you tomorrow?”

      His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, his own suddenly dry as dust.

      “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He was already questioning the wisdom of this bargain he’d made with her.

      If she was affecting him this much now, what would it be like tomorrow night when they had a whole evening together? Already, the memory of the feel of her made his hands itch to touch her again. He hadn’t thought this through well at all.

      She nodded, her dark braid sliding down her shoulder. “And just so I’m clear, will we be off the clock tomorrow, too?”