Page 2 of The Cowboy's Temporary Solution

Probably because I can't help but thinking that the outfit she's got on would look more appropriate for bending over a billionaire's desk in a city high rise office than for getting on a plane to cow town.

From the disheveled look of her, maybe that's exactly what she was doing before she got dropped off at the airport.

Leaning back against the hard plastic that passes for a chair, I widen my stance and set one ankle on my other knee.

It gives my dick a bit of breathing room and my eyes a better view of her.

Young, curvy, cute as hell. Dark chocolate hair still mostly pinned up in one of them neat little knots woman are able to pull off, the kind where they can loosen the whole mess so it falls down over their shoulders by just pullin' one pin.

My eyes drank their fill of her heart-shaped face and sweet features when I sat down across from her, when I took my opportunity to get a good look at all the things you can look at on a stranger without being a creep.

Now they're determined to cross that boundary and take what they want.

The plane's not here yet and there's nothing else worth looking at in this room, so I let 'em.

From the bow of pouty lips that look like they lost their lipstick a long time ago, my gaze trails down her delicate jawline, following a tendril of dark hair that's found its way out of its up-do and curled against her neck as it follows the long line of her throat and lays lightly along the contour of her cleavage.

Too many buttons have been left undone at the top of her deep green blouse. Not only are the tops of her full breasts on display but so is the lacy edge of the black bra holding them up. That, along with the wrinkles in her skirt and the thick runner in her stockings, just adds to my theory that she's got a rich boyfriend here in the city who's smart enough to keep her from looking at another man.

Old men like me, leering at her so hungrily that I almost manage to forget why I'm headed home after all these years and what awaits me when I get there.

The plane rolls up to the gate outside and I watch while the roll-away boarding stairs are moved into place and a handful of passengers debark the plane before those of us waiting to board make a move.

Except the pretty woman in front of me.

Before the plane has even pulled to a full stop out on the tarmac, she's shuffling about like she's eager to get on the plane.

"This your first visit to Slow River?" I can't help but grin at her fidgeting. No one dressed like that is ready for the Valley, or likely to be impressed with what they find when they get there.

Thick, dark lashes flutter as her gaze moves up to mine and I'm not gonna pretend that I don't notice the way her cheeks redden and her breath quickens as they do. Then, the prettiest set of aquamarine eyes have me transfixed in their stare and it's me that can't seem to catch my breath.

"Guess it's pretty obvious, isn't it?" Those stunning, jewel-toned irises dart past me to sweep over our fellow passengers before making a quick trip back down my own body-- taking in the t-shirt, jeans, and well broken-in boots before coming back to meet my gaze.

Getting to my feet, I hold out a hand to help her onto hers. Those fuck-me heels she's balanced on can't be the most comfortable shoes for traveling, but there's not a trace of wobble in her stance as she lets me pull her up.

She's obviously used to wearing the things, which only furthers my theory that she's a pampered city girl.

"What's got you headed for Slow River?" I ask casually, as I pick up her carry-on case in my free hand and follow her out to the plane that's waiting for us.

I tell myself I'm just being the gentleman my mama raised me to be, but the thoughts whirlin' in my head as I let my eyes drop to her plump bottom and the way it rocks with her stepsin that fitted skirt are the kind I don't want my ma to know anything about.

"Work," she answers over her shoulder as we make our way up the stairs and into the prop plane's cramped interior.

After following her up the steps and down the narrow aisle to her seat, I stash her case in the overhead compartment for her and touch the brim of my hat in response to the sweet little "thanks" she utters up at me before checking my seat number on my boarding pass.

"Looks like you get to finish tellin' me about what sort of work is sending you out to the middle of cow country dressed in that sexy librarian outfit."

It's a bold choice of words, but no one's ever accused me of being shy about speaking my mind.

Doing my best to get comfortable in the aisle seat next to the sweet, young thing that's been the best distraction I've found to the thoughts stampeding through my head, I watch her turn her phone onto airplane mode and then fidget with it in her lap.

"Just going there to do some research," she answers. "I work for a genealogical group based in Baltimore. We specialize in rural American family histories-- mostly from small towns that don't have the resources to get their records online."

Those pretty eyes of hers light right up while she talks about the field research assignment that's about to have her spending a week in the library basement with a stack of old newspapers, with Ms. Lassiter going on about her cats and plum jam recipes.

She makes it sound like an all-expenses-paid vacation to a tropical island resort, but it sounds like a day in line at the DMV to me. I'd rather spend my week mucking stalls in the barn.

There's no denying that she's passionate about what she does, though. She's practically bouncing in her seat with excitement about looking up a hundred- and fifty-years’ worth ofnews about the valley and the families that made their millions with cattle when the gold rush didn't work out for them.

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