Page 10 of Roughing It with the Rancher

“Marry me, Cowboy.”

Chapter Four

REESE

Marry me, cCowboy.

I lean back as if she just socked me in the face.Did I hear her right?

“Do what?” I scowl.

“Marry me,” she repeats.

I take a step forward, closing the frustrating distance between us once more. God, this woman is gorgeous. Her full, cherry-stained lips and stunning turquoise eyes could talk me into pretty much anything. Only I have my doubts about how physical she wants this tempting arrangement to be. And that’s a problem.

“Look, hear me out before you get all weirded out…”

Too late for that. Only weirded out isn’t really the right word. More like convinced by her stunning good looks and her spitfire personality. And if, indeed, she comes with a healthy heap of luck, I could use that, too.

“Nevada’s a community property state, so anything we have moving forward would be split.”

“Nah, nah, nah,” I laugh, pressing my finger to my temple. “You must think I’m some kind of dumb because that would mean you get half of my ranch and earnings. No way.”

“We could do a pre-nuptial, spell out plainly what’s yours and mine.”

He shakes his head, roaring with laughter. “I must be in a dream. That’s the only way I can explain what’s happening.”

“No, you’re not in a dream. But you need to hear me out. It’s the only way I’ll leave you alone.”

“I beg to differ. One footstep on my ranch, which is private property, and I’ll call the sheriff to haul your ass away.”

“How gentlemanly,” I bark, setting my jaw. “See, I knew you’d find a way to cheat me out of my money despite what you swore a few moments ago. I won’t accept that. Besides, this arrangement would only be temporary, a form of collateral. A way to legally hold you to your word.”

“No way. You’re trying to trick me, and the next thing I know, I’ll be drunk on bad tequila and hog-tied buck naked to my bed while you run off with the dealer and my cash. I’m not falling for it. After all, I’d make a terrible victim for a true crime show.”

She puts her hands on her hips, struggling not to laugh and tapping her toe. A few patrons pass by, eyeing us. The barista calls out, “Sir and ma’am, I’m going to need to ask you to keep your voices down or walk back into the main casino.”

We both glare at him long and hard before Okie continues in muted tones, “How dare you accuse me of such a thing. I’m a God-fearing woman who’s never stolen a thing in my life. You’re the one trying to abscond with my cash.”

“Breakfast at Peg’s?” I remind, my stomach growling. But I’d be lying if I said my hunger was all about food. The thought of this woman with my ring on her finger, and my cock in her mouth? Good Lord! “Don’t you think we should at least go out on a first date before we start discussing nuptials?”

She nods firmly, and I offer my arm. After a begrudging moment, she takes it. Sparks tease up and down my arm, and I’d give my El Camino Cadillac for a chance to feel her nakedflesh against mine. Dark, dangerous thoughts fill my mind. To hell with reason and logic. Just when I thought a bank would be my ruin, the most gorgeous woman on God’s green Earth had to show up and prove me wrong.

Five minutes later, we stand in Peg’s, scoping out the best seats. We have the pick of the place thanks to the early hour. But come tomorrow, I imagine this casino will be hopping. “How about that booth in the back?” I ask, pointing towards a dark spot in the corner with no one seated nearby. “My fiancée and I could use a little privacy,” I tease.

Esmeralda nods, and the server mutters, “Some fiancé. You’re not even wearing a ring.”

The words take me aback, though they won’t make me tip her any less. Only poor service and bad food could do that.

“Excuse you,” Esmeralda intervenes, eyeing the waitress. “Talk about nosy and judgmental. Who are you to talk about my future husband that way?”

Future husband.It’s got a nice ring to it. So does the sound of Esmeralda’s voice defending me. This woman’s all sex and sass, and I can’t get enough of it.

“Sorry,” the server says gruffly as Esmeralda nudges me forward, urging, “Come on, Honey. Let’s find ourselves those seats.”

Once we’re comfortably repositioned in the booth, I observe, “Honey’s not going to work for me. That’s way too generic a term for a spouse. I want something more customized to my personality or what attracted you to me in the first place.”

“Money?” she suggests with a frown.

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