Page 18 of Take Me Away, Cowboy

“I do know. And I can handle it. Can you?” He looked right at her, unfazed, his stupid smile still plastered to his face. She forgot all about her earlier ideas of seeing him naked and discovering what his body could do. Now all she wanted was for him to take that body, fine as it might be, and walk it right back to his property, and stay there. Forever.

“I don’thaveto handle it, remember? I’m only here for a week. You’re the one who’s stuck in this two-horse town now. Not me.”

“I’d be willing to bet my first sharecrop you aren’t going anywhere, Paige,” he said smugly.

“I thought you said the world is big, that I can do what I want?” Paige shot back.

Her arms crossed tight over her chest, cleavage be damned. Let him look—it was as close as she’d ever let him get to her. She was so frustrated, so consumed by heat, her skin burned. The last time someone had riled her this bad was when Paulo left her with a monthly rent she had to cover herself, and a broken heart that she worried would never heal.

“I did say that, and I believe it. But I don’t know that it’s the best thing for you,” Owen said. “Believe me, I’ve seen my fair share of people running from something, and it always catches them in the end. You take yourself with you wherever you go, Paige.”

Paige shook with fury. How dare this man, this stranger, come into her home, drink her liquor, and tell her she was running away.

Who the hell was he, anyway? Some sort of armchair poet? Some hippy with enlightenment that he lorded over the rest of humanity? He had some cajones to come at her like this when he didn’t know her at all.

“You need to go. I’m tired,” she said. Nothing could have been further from the truth, though. She wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. It would take half the bottle of rum to calm her down, and Owen Johnson wasn’t worth another sip.

“I’m not done with my drink,” he said, smiling bigger now.

“I’ll pour it in a to-go cup for you,” Paige offered, reaching towards him for the glass. He maneuvered around her, pulled her arm around his side, sliding her body close until she was pressed against him. Her breathing hitched in her chest.

She saw then that she’d drastically underestimated his strength. His scent. The power his gaze held.

“Let me—” she started, but before she could finish her sentence, he dipped his chin and kissed her. In mutiny, she pursed her lips tight, but her body betrayed her, relaxing into him. Her brain screamed at her to run, to kick, to scream—anything to get away from this ridiculous man who thought he knew everything.

Her hands fisted in his hair, her body in complete control now.Damn.He could kiss, even if he was wrong about the other stuff. His tongue parted her mouth and explored her. Passion built between her legs.

A hand planted on her waist, caressing her back, while his other tangled in her hair, pulling her into him. He tasted like salt, like earth and spice and the islands, and just as she released herself to him, to his bidding, he pulled away from her as suddenly as he’d started.

He plopped her down in the overstuffed chair, his hands encompassing both her biceps, and walked towards the door.

She stared after him, her mouth still open, her eyes wide in surprise and frustration.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, standing up. She was now completely torn over whether to pull him to her bed or kick him out on the streets and demand he not return. What the hell was that kiss about, anyway?

“Heading home. Gotta get up early to run my tiny farm in my tiny town. Need my rest.”

“You, you—” Paige began, her fists balled up, this time, hanging at her side.

“G’ night, Paige. Thanks for the rum,” Owen said, downing the remains of his glass, leaving the empty vessel on the table by the window. He gave a small salute, including a wink that made Paige’s hair stand on end, and headed down the stairs. He whistled out the door, then down the place in the grass he’d flattened between her parents’ place and his.

She didn’t know what the hell had happened, and try as she might, she still couldn’t wrap her head around Owen, or why his words irked her as much as they did. All she knew for certain was that her earlier assumption was right.

There wouldn’t be any rest for her that night.

CHAPTER SIX

A Call for Help

Owen woke happy,whistling the cadence he’d started humming the night before when he’d left Paige’s house. He found the rhythm soothing, a memory of a past life that faded bit by bit each day. It was during the nights that he was back in the suck, when more than the songs came out to haunt him. Last night, though, for the first time since he stood on those yellow footprints and swore his fidelity to his brothers in the Corps, to his country, Owen went to bed and slept through the night.

No nightmares plagued him, no terrors came at him from all angles in the shadows. Just sleep. Blissful, restful sleep.

He wasn’t an idiot—he knew it was only one night, that the likelihood of his peace being the lasting kind was slim, but it had happened. And much sooner than his therapist back in Hawaii had told him it would come.

He blamed, or rather credited, Paige. He hadn’t had the kind of stimulating conversation he’d shared with her in a while. Talking to her made him feel alive, more than he had since before the RPG, before the Humvee. Sure, he’d riled her, and if he was being honest, he’d meant to.

There was something so sure about her, so confident, he had to see how deep it went. He’d been pleasantly surprised to find her as easily thrown off her game as she was. He liked knowing she had more to her personality than an “I’m-better-than-this-place” attitude and eyes he couldn’t look away from.

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