Page 3 of The Rancher's Pregnancy Surprise

It's the amusement lacing Mr. Might-Not-Be-Improper's words that get to me, the sound freeing me from my mental prison, and I realize in secret shame that I had lost myself in the past again.

"I'm sorry," I say jerkily.

"Via doesn't offer any direct routes to Hartland from San Antonio."

Was this what I failed to hear earlier?

"But when you get to Laramie, you can transfer to a local bus to Hartland."

Words of apology and gratitude stay stuck in my throat. Everything he's said and done has been nothing but helpful, but as much as I feel bad about misjudging him—

SHEEP!

His warm breath suddenly caresses my skin as he leans in, and I realize that no, I did not misjudge him at all, and oh my gosh, are those his lips actually brushing my ear?

"You're welcome, darling."

And just like that, my body betrays me. A shiver courses down my spine, and something warm and forbidden pools low in my belly. I've never felt this kind of immediate, visceral reaction to any man before—not even Claude during our first meeting.

I should be outraged. I should step away and make it clear this kind of forward behavior is unacceptable.

But I don't.

I stand frozen, caught between indignation and an unfamiliar, unwelcome desire that makes my heart race and my palms sweat.

And what terrifies me most?

The realization that a tiny, rebellious part of me hopes he doesn't stop.

Chapter Two

THOUGHTS OF MR. ABSOLUTELY-Improper-After-All still weigh on my mind as the bus driver scans my $150 ticket before stepping aside with a tip of his hat. "Welcome aboard, ma'am."

His gentle smile catches me off guard, and I awkwardly mutter 'thank you' under my breath. I can't remember the last time I ever had someone smile at me like that. Is it because I've changed? Is it because I'm now broke that I'm not as "cold" and "unapproachable" as people often told me I was?

I step onto the bus, clutching my small bag to my chest as if it contains all my worldly possessions—which, in a way, it does. Everything that mattered from my old life is gone now. Stolen, just like my dignity.

And...wow.

This, just like Via's bus station lobby, is unlike anything I've seen in movies. Wood paneling for the walls and overhead cabins. A toiletry kit that includes a toothbrush set, an eye mask, and lip balm. In-seat screens with headphones and recliner seats with built-in massage functions, incredible leg space, and a note to request a blanket or extra pillows if needed.

The bus's 1-1 configuration is also a huge blessing. When watching concerts, I've always opted for aisle seats since I just don't have it in me to wriggle and squeeze past other people just to get to the toilet. Story says I could end up with kidney stones just for being antisocial, but I honestly think that's an exaggeration. It's not like I watch concerts every day, duh.

A part of me is dying to explore the rest of the amenities while I still have the bus all to myself. But there's the other part of me that's feeling really, really sleepy. And when I experience for myself just how comfy the recliner seat is, and ooooh. One push of a button has its massage function working pure magic on my back muscles, and...zzzz.

The bus is already on the move when I wake up. The sun has also started to set when I glance outside my window. I'm guessing I've been out for two hours at most?

I switch off the massage function with a yawn. Thank you, technology elves. I do a little stretch as I turn...and my heart drops to my stomach when my gaze meets a pair of painfully familiar cowboy boots.

You have got to be kidding me.

I squeeze my eyes shut in hopes that I'm hallucinating for the first time in my life. But when I open my eyes again, those shoes are still there. And they're still attached to the same pair of denim-clad legs.

Ugh.

Mr. Let's-Not-Forget-He's-Shameless-Too is seated right next to me, and I have a feeling that's no coincidence at all. He's obviously developed a taste for yanking my chain for whatever reason, but...I shall not let myself be provoked.

Because I'm a sensible adult.

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