Page 4 of Roughing It with the Rancher

What drove me desperately to this godforsaken place was twofold. News that a big developer had their sights on Gunner Ridge Ranchandmy grandpa’s failing health. He’s in a nursing home, requiring twenty-four-hour care. So, this is my last chance to fulfill my grandpa’s dream before the place gets pavedover and piled high with another casino, strip mall, and movie theater complex.

“Is it normal to tip cashiers? Because I’m feeling like you deserve a little extra something for helping out a high roller.” Reese hands her a couple of crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, and I gasp.

If he’s going to flagrantly give away our earnings … Well, I won’t have that. Stepping forward, I exclaim, “Before you bleed money like a broken dam, we need to have a talk.” I press my lips into a thin line for emphasis.

Reese steps back, removing his cowboy hat and running his fingers through his thick, burnished copper hair. His arresting jade-hued eyes look downright mouthwateringifI wasn’t possessed by an even greener monster.

“Angel!” he exclaims, his eyes darkening as they inch over my face as if memorizing it.

“Angel?” I scowl. “Actually, the name’s Esmeralda.” I offer a hand, and he takes it. But instead of shaking with a firm grip, he turns it over, leaning forward to kiss the back. Sparks fly at the brush of his soft lips and the way he looks up at me, ulterior motives swirling behind his gaze.

“Esmeralda,” he repeats in soft, dark tones. “Like the county.”

I nod.

Despite the consternation in my thinking brain, all thoughts of feminism and who the hell does he think he is, my heart does a funny twirl in my chest. I’m not convinced it goes back to the same spot as before. It could be a problem except I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Arching an eyebrow, I ask, “And your name?” Of course, I already know, but I’m not ready to admit why I was eavesdropping.

“Reese Gunner.”

“Like the river?”

His eyes narrow, and he cocks his head. “That’s right. Are you from around here?”

“Oklahoma, actually.”

“So, you have a Reese River there, too?”

I shrug. “More than likely. I was referring to the Reese in Nevada, though.”

“Huh,” he says, leaning back on his heels and scrutinizing me. “And where did you come by so much Silver State geography?”

Dammit! I kick myself, realizing I may have already said too much. “I like Westerns.”

“Old Westerns?” he replies, looking unconvinced.

“Ancient ones. Used to watch them with my grandpa.” This last part’s no lie, so I speak it more confidently. His face relaxes slightly.

“I own Gunner Ridge Ranch. In no small part thanks to you.”

His words surprise me, playing right into my hand. I grin. “I’m glad we see things eye to eye. A fifty-fifty split’ll settle it. Though Lord knows that’s generous after the losing streak I pulled you out of.”

He laughs out loud, a good-natured sound coming up from the depths of his barrel chest. “You’re smoking hot and funny? Now, that’s a priceless combination.”

I put my hands on my hips. “What makes it a priceless combination is the part you left out.”

“What?”

“The luck.”

He laughs some more, his cheeks glowing by the time he’s done. Arching an eyebrow, he asks, “What are you doing in these parts, Oklahoma?”

Exploring Western history.That’s what I’ve told people all the way out here, but I bite my tongue. It’s getting far too closeto the truth for Reese Gunner. Although I can’t imagine this handsome cowboy’s much into history.

“Did you hear me, Okie? I was asking what brought you out this way.”

I shrug, trying to play it nonchalant. “Westerns. I wanted to see where some of them were filmed.”

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