Page 17 of Roughing It with the Rancher

What I’ve gotten myself into with this fake marriage hits me hard as I consider staying with this man at his house. Sure, the allure of twenty-four-hour, unfettered access to Gunner Ridge Ranch remains foremost in my mind. Especially accompanied by someone who must know its landmarks better than anybody. But the wild chemistry flying between us has me wondering if I can trust myself. It’s a concern that’s never crossed my mind before with any other man.

Reese gets in, and the radio blares as he turns the key in the ignition. I startle in my seat, though the open convertible minimizes the auditory damage. “It’s Your Love” by Tim McGraw with Faith Hill rocks the ancient sound system as my hand instinctively goes to the dial, adjusting the volume.

“Don’t turn it down too low, Esmeralda. This here’s our wedding celebration, and we need romantic music.”

Wedding celebration?Has the rancher lost touch with reality?

“Which one’s yours?” he asks, leisurely cruising around the casino parking lot to the random jeers and cheers of passersby. “JR,” a couple of people scream, and Reese tips his hat.

I shake my head, increasingly flabbergasted by this outgoing, unflappable, well-natured man. Away from the Craps table, there doesn’t seem to be anything that could ruffle him. He takes everything, even an unexpected wife, in stride.

“It’s the beat-up Chevy Silverado over there.” I point, and he pulls up behind it.

I fumble for my keys in my purse, handing them to him, and he makes quick work of unpacking my passenger seat and piling it in the backseat of this monstrosity. Knitting my brows, I ask, “Are you sure you don’t want me to follow you? I mean, you said you won this at a Craps table? Are we certain it’s a reliable ride?”

“Started right up. I wouldn’t worry about a thing. Besides, the ranch is all unpaved roads that’ll blast sand and grit in your vehicle, and that’s not to mention the cow patties.”

“Sounds like a pleasant experience in a convertible,” I counter sarcastically.

“But if you’re not worried about your truck getting dirty, follow along. Either way’s fine with me. But do follow me. I don’t want a runaway bride on top of all my other bad luck.”

Runaway bride? Not as long as there’s treasure to be had.I cock my head to the side. “I know you’re not asking for my advice. In fact, I’m keenly aware of it. But have you ever considered that your current strain of misfortunes might stem back to the way you talk about things and what your brain fixates on?”

The cowboy’s eyes narrow. In incredulous tones, he asks, “Come again?”

“The way you talk about and fixate on bad luck. Like it belongs to you. You’re sinking your own ship without even realizing it.”

He scrunches his face. “What are you? One of those New Age guru types? Think it into being people?”

“Whether you believe it or not, you’re thinking things into being all the time.”

He shrugs.

“It’s the only thing that explains your current strain of bad luck and how it improved once you became quantum entangled with me.”

“Quantum what?”

“Quantum entangled.”

“Damn, Angel. I don’t know exactly what that entails, but it sounds pretty fucking amazing,” he drawls unrepentantly, getting back in the Cadillac and handing me my keys.

I need to put a little distance between this cowboy’s slow-spoken innuendos and the corresponding heat from my body. Cheeks scorching, I round the convertible as he watches with a shit-eating grin. Jumping into my truck, I turn the key, andnothing.

Dammit! I try again. Still a whole bunch of nothing. Of all the times for this truck to refuse to start … I try again and again until I’m livid.Seriously?

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Reese standing on the other side of my window, his Eagles T-shirt dangerously hugging his firm, broad build. Never has a man taken my breath away more or pissed me off so thoroughly with his big, dumb grin.

“Shall we stick with the Cadillac today, Angel?” he asks, crossing his thick, muscular arms and turning my inner voice into a drooling, mindless fangirl. He uses his thumb to point over his shoulder toward the white beast. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a friend who’s a mechanic. I’ll give him a call at the ranch to see about having your vehicle towed back to his shop for a look.”

I nod, resting my forehead on my hands as they grip the steering wheel. Winner-turned-married-turned-carless, all in the blink of an eye.

“Angel?”

I take a deep breath, willing myself back together.

“Angel?” He opens the driver’s door, offering me his hand. I hesitate, a highly independent girl not used to this kind of treatment. But then, I relent. What’s the use of fighting it? After all, I’ve got gold fever on my mind.

Chapter Eight

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