Page 22 of Misadventures Of A Single Mom

“He’s just being protective. It’s that alpha male testosterone that he’s got tons of. Be careful, he may drag you by your hair back to his cave.”

The image of being manhandled and dragged anywhere by Ty made me hot all over. “I met him for the first time last week. He has no claim over me or what I do.”

“Then it shouldn’t bother you to tell him you’re going to the ranch. Why keep it a secret?”

Good question.

The address listed placedthe ranch west of town, near Norris. It took me close to thirty minutes to take Norris Road all the way past the hot springs. I’d been stuck behind a pickup towing a trailer loaded down with a float boat, ATV and several coolers. Someone was going camping, hunting and fishing. I turned south toward Ennis and took a dirt road left, then right.

The ranch, like many in the West, had a huge log archway at the start of the drive. Two D’s sitting on a curve like the bottom of a rocking chair was the symbol for the ranch and placed with honors front and center on the arch. I slowly followed the dirt drive back about a half mile to the main parking area. It was impossible to miss the horse buildings. The main one itself was an aircraft-hangar sized monstrosity. There had to be an indoor racing ring inside. That or a 747.

Gray metal siding with forest green trim all around. A cupola with a weather vane graced the top. It was a no-nonsense building but obviously high-end. The minimal landscaping around it was tasteful and well-maintained, the building clean and only a faint scent of the horses lingered. No poop to be seen. The building had to have some kind of special horsy name but I didn’t know what it was.

A large house sat on a ridge in the distance. A Montana mansion made of logs with big windows and expansive views. Land all around spanned to the mountains, the scenery beautiful. The house could be a cover home forArchitectural Digest. If you liked the middle-of-nowhere mega mansion with stinky horses and cows roaming around. Some people loved it. Whatever floated your boat.

Next to the main building stood the stable, this much I could tell. Almost a football field long, it was narrow with big doors that slid open on the short end. I could see inside a little way and make out a few stalls. A horse or two had their heads over the half-doors so I knew I was in the right place. I parked and went in search of Drake Dexter—and Morty Moore.

It was darker in the stable than I expected and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight. It was warm inside, dusty and smelled of hay and horses. Several people worked forking hay, some hefting something else, most likely poop. Lots of it. A brown horse was being led outside by a bridle about its head. It seemed a precision operation. All employees appeared to wear matching green polo shirts with the Rocking Double D logo embroidered in white on the chest. The facility was clean, well-kept and obviously a money maker.

“Excuse me.” I stopped one of the workers who pushed a wheelbarrow with a pitchfork handle sticking out the end. “I’m looking for Morty Moore or Drake Dexter.”

The man was shaped like a keg of beer with strong meaty arms from hauling poop all day. He wiped his brow with the back of a hand. “I haven’t seen Morty in about a week, ma’am, so I can’t help you there. Mr. Dexter should be over in the horse arena.”

I’d been ma’am-ed. Holy crap, all of a sudden I was old enough to be ma’am-ed. It was all downhill from here. “The horse arena’s the big building?”

“That's it. Go through the door on the west side. Can’t miss Mr. Dexter. Big cowboy hat and a mustache.”

I thanked him and left the building. Sounded like I was searching for the Marlboro Man. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot, although in Montana, and on a ranch, there were probably a lot of Marlboro Men. But, as I followed the instructions and went through the west door, hello! There was Mr. Drake Dexter,Marlboro Man. Yup, he was the epitome of every woman’s romance novel fantasy cowboy. He must have made lots of money from the royalties off all those cigarette billboards.

Tall, whoa, well over six feet. Solid, built as if he drank lots of fresh mountain water and ate lots of good meat growing up. Maybe some Wheaties, too. He wore Wrangler jeans, work boots, a long sleeved white western shirt with snap buttons. He had a honkin’ silver belt buckle probably won doing something ludicrously dangerous, most likely on the back of a live, ornery animal. The hat was huge. It was definitely a five gallon one. White and well worn.

When the worker had said mustache, I instantly thought a caterpillar above the lip. This was a full-blown caterpillar above the lip plus handlebars down the sides to his jaw. The man could grow a mustache. His skin was tan, slightly weathered from being out in the elements. His hair was dark, although most was hidden beneath the super-sized hat. He was crazy handsome in that rugged, cowboy sort of way. The man you dreamed about riding his horse, scooping you up with one arm, placing you in front of him in the saddle and riding off into the sunset.

This guy gave me an instant zing, although this was a fantasy zing. No way in hell was I compatible with a man who dealt with horses and cows all day. Drake Dexter turned and saw me. His eyes roamed over my body. Not casually, but boldly, as if he was admiring a new piece of horseflesh. Okay, a fantasy zing felt pretty darn good as I had a hot flash that burned in all the special places.

“Mr. Dexter?” I asked when he came and stood close to me. A little too close. He put one arm on the rail that ran around the ring. I had to look up to meet eyes. It was like being sucked into a black hole. There was no oxygen.

“Dex.” He smiled. Yikes, he was intense. His look, his stance, his entire being exuded power. Cockiness.

I held out my hand. He took it in his large, dinner plate sized one, his grip strong and forceful. He held on a tad too long for my comfort level. “Jane West. I…um….” Now, standing here with his brown eyes on me, it was hard to put into words what I wanted to say. “I believe I have some sperm…semen that belongs to you.”

Dex raised one eyebrow. “You believe? I guarantee you’d remember if you had some of my sperm.” His eyes roved over my body once more as if looking for where the sperm was.

I blushed from the roots of my hair to my toes. I couldn’t see it, but I felt the flush everywhere. I wanted to sink into the floor and die. Had I actually said that? To a complete stranger?I believe I have some sperm that belongs to you.It couldn’t get worse than that. “Let me start over. I found a vial with semen in it and I think it came from your ranch.”

Dex smiled. “That’s something different entirely. I don’t forget where I put my sperm.”

Ewww, gross.

7

Dex’s smile changed to a leer. “I don’t put my sperm in a vial.” He didn’t say more, although obviously he was making a point by what he didn’t say. As if I didn’t know where heputhis sperm. “Our stallions are some of the best andtheirsperm…semen is put in vials. We provide stud services to other ranches who want superior bloodlines in their quarter horses by bringing their mares here to be inseminated. We also ship semen to ranches around the world when it’s too far to travel.”

“So it’s likely I ended up with a vial that was to be shipped out?”

“Where did you find it?” He ran his hand over his mustache.

I looked at the snap buttons on his shirt. “Um, in a garden gnome.”

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