Page 20 of Burn the Wild

“Don’t know,” he clips.

I roll my eyes. “Aren’t you a cowboy? You’re supposed to be charming. Helpful.”

He snorts so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t pop a vein.

“So what do I do?” I ask, tilting my head back to keep eye contact. His tallness is startling. They must grow them like weeds on Runaway Ranch.

“You stay here.” A shrug of his broad shoulder. “Unfortunately.”

“Absolutely not.” With a huff, I stalk away from him. But the boots I’m wearing have no grip and I slip and slide over the gravel drive.

My knees are buckling when a big, calloused hand wraps around my wrist. “Please tell me you ain’t planning to wear these boots around the ranch.” His voice is stern, but the way he grips my wrist is almost tender.

I glance up to find his eyes dragging their way up my bare thigh. I have to fight the low swoop in my stomach. “So what if I am?”

He grunts. “Bangles need work, too. You’re loud as hell.”

“Good thing I’ll be out of here before you can work yourself into a froth,” I say with my sweetest smile. I’ve already decided there is no way in hell I’m staying. I’ll tell Gradythank you, but hard pass,and tomorrow morning, I’ll hit the road.

Even if I have no idea where I’m going.

He stares at me, his gaze a dark storm brewing on the horizon. His hand stays wrapped around my wrist, the sensitive skin there tingling with a memory I try to push away.Burning. Falling into dark.

He must read something in my face because he drops my wrist.

Without another word, he strides toward a monstrous camo-colored UTV, muttering uncomplimentary phrases about women raising his blood pressure. He stops, turns and stares at me for a long beat, then waves a hand. “Well, get over here.”

It’s stern. Disapproving. Country and cavalier. It shouldn’t make my pulse race.

“Where are we going?” I ask, cupping my bangles in my hand and jogging after him. God forbid I jingle on the way.

“I’m taking you to your lodging.” He looks like he hates the idea.

I halt. “Not in that.” For a long second, I miss limos. Private drivers.

He grunts and keeps going, his long lope casting lazy shadows across the gravel drive. “Suit yourself. But trust me, it’s a long hike to where you’re staying.”

I remain rooted in place, arms crossed, unwilling to budge until he tells me where exactly he’s taking me.

“By the way,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Your card’s been declined.”

Reese totters on her heels like she’s planning to fall over again. “Wait, what?”

“Your card,” I state. “Declined.” Not like I was planning to charge her for the room. But the water she splashed in my face was going to be an expensive as hell charge.

Her face falls.

Fuck. My day’s already gone to shit. First, the call from Jim, then the flat tire, and now I’m stuck playing babysitter to a girl I’ve never met. This strange girl who looks like she’s about to burst into tears.

“Shit,” she whispers as her eyes go glassy.

Fuck no.

I keep walking, resisting the hard tug of my heart. A woman crying is my goddamn kryptonite. “Come on, it can’t be that bad, can it? Just call up someone and get a new one. Easy.”

The pissed-off expression on her face suggests she wants me to shut the hell up.

“Let’s go,” I say through gritted teeth. “I don’t have all day.”

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