Page 29 of The Undercover Cowboy

“That’s not supposed to be like that,” she said, pointing toward one of the horse barns. The door was hanging open. “Let’s go check it out.” She tugged his hand and pulled him in the direction of the building.

“Careful,” he murmured as Dolly’s boot caught on a tractor rut just before the entrance. Her body lurched forward precariously.

He grabbed her to him, to steady her.

“Whoops,” she breathed, her tone a mixture of relief and something richer, more potent. They were close, too close, and yet not nearly close enough. The warmth from her body seeped into his, a welcome heat in the coolness of the Texan night.

“Thanks,” Dolly managed, her voice barely above a whisper. The scent of her hair—vanilla and fresh hay—was intoxicating. His heart hammered against his chest, each beat a drumline to the tension that crackled in the air.

“Any time,” he replied, his hands lingering at her sides for a moment longer than necessary.

Their gazes locked. Her lips parted slightly, an invitation he felt powerless to decline. With deliberate slowness, he leaned in, his breath mingling with hers, until there was no space left for doubts or second thoughts.

Her lips met his in a kiss that was anything but tentative. It was passionate, intense—a conflagration of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface of their every interaction.The taste of her was sweet, like the sugared rim of a cocktail glass, a hint of mischief wrapped in allure.

Dolly responded with equal fervor, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed together, her curves melding into his angles, as if they were two puzzle pieces finally fitting into place. The softness of her mouth against his rugged one was a contrast that sent a shudder through him.

Nash savored the feeling of her against him, the way her chest rose and fell in quick succession, mirroring his own erratic breathing. The sensation of her heartbeat pounding through the thin fabric of her shirt created a rhythm that danced in tandem with his.

For a stolen moment, nothing else existed outside the cocoon of their embrace—the looming threat of Jackson Blevins’s illicit activities, the expectations of a life lived in the narrow confines of right and wrong—all faded into insignificance. In the dim light of the horse barn, Nash felt Dolly’s pulse quicken as his hands steadied her waist. Their breath mingled, a silent conversation of desire that no words could convey.

“And I thought I was going to catch a couple of horse thieves.” Finn’s voice cut through the thick air of the barn, abrupt and unwelcome. Shadows shifted as he stepped into view from around a stall, a half-eaten apple in his hand revealing his unannounced presence. He pulled on a chain and harsh overhead lights flashed on.

Dolly drew back, her cheeks red. She smoothed down her shirt, in an attempt to restore some semblance of order after their heated embrace. Her eyes darted between Nash and Finn.

“Evening, Finn,” Nash said, tamping down on his annoyance. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to feign indifference. The taste of Dolly’s lips lingered, a bittersweet reminder of what they had just jeopardized.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Finn replied, crunching into his apple with a casualness that belied the tension now threading the air. He leaned against the wooden frame of the stall, a silent observer to the undercurrents swirling between them. “But I wanted to make my presence known before things went any further.”

Dolly flushed deep crimson.

“I wasn’t aware that someone has been stealing horses,” Nash said, stepping in front of her protectively.

“Not stealing, yet. But definitely messing around with equipment. Stardust’s food was knocked on the floor. Beatrice’s bridle was on the floor of the stable, half covered in horseshit. And the barn door was left unlocked on more than one occasion.”

“Did you report this to security?” Nash asked.

Finn shook his head. “I figured we’d handle it ourselves. Probably just dumb kids or someone who would see the error in their ways with a good beatdown.”

“Probably,” Nash said.

Dolly bit her lip, and uncharacteristically, hid behind him. Nash watched her closely, noted the subtle shift in her posture, the way her hands clenched ever so slightly at her sides. She seemed to be afraid of something. Could she suspect Finn was working with Blevins?

“What are you two doing out here so late? Loretta kick you out of the RV?” Finn grinned.

“No,” Dolly said, clearing her throat.

“Because she and Taylor have been getting kind of close.”

“Nash and I were just…walking,” she said lamely.

This was going to be more fuel for the rumor mill, but he might as well roll with it.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Finn said.

“It’s my fault,” Nash said. “I had wanted to take a look at the bulls. I was wondering if the Mexican fighting bulls had arrived for tomorrow’s lineup or if we would have to wait until Laredo.”

“Nah, we won’t see them until the next rodeo.”

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