Page 7 of Roughing It with the Rancher

“What’s the best place around here for breakfast?”

“Peg’s on the second floor.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll have those drinks right out.”

Reese saunters towards me, sexy and brutish as they come. He moves with purpose, power in his motions. My eyes wander to his work-hardened hands and thick fingers, desire twisting me in knots. I can tell by his natural swagger that he’s the kind of man who knows how to use those strong fingers.

“Peg’s work for you? I’ve never been there, but I figure we can give it a shot.”

“Sure. Where do you normally eat in town?”

“The Five Star Diner. Down the street a way. But I figure this’ll be more convenient and a bit of a culinary adventure.”

“I like adventures.”

“Me, too.”

“Speaking of those. How does a self-professed gambling novice who hates casinos and owns a ranch end up pulling an all-nighter at a place like this?”

“All-nighter? Do I look that tired?”

“No, but I heard a few people at the Craps table whispering about how they saw you last night when they walked by and then again this morning.”

“Believe me, it was not by design. But I was at the end of my rope. Out of choices and options.”

“And so you chose the Craps table at a casino to turn things around?”

He shrugs, grinning and revealing adorable dimples. My heart somersaults in my chest as I fantasize about reaching across the table, grabbing his cheeks, and pulling him in for a long, lingering kiss. My thumbs pressed into those sexy indentations.What in the hell is wrong with me?

“Well, it worked. Didn’t it?”

“True. But why were you at the end of your rope?”

“Not for any one reason but more like a perfect storm of events.”

I arch an eyebrow, pressing my lips together and hoping to draw him out with silence.

“One too many years of famine, wildfires, grazing and water rights fights with the federal government. And the worst luck you could ask for with cattle. Although I have half a mind to believe there was foul play involved with that.”

“Foul play? As in murder?

“As in poisoned feed or water.”

“That’s terrible. It seems like someone really has it out for you. Why do you think that is?”

He shrugs. “There’s a big-name developer who’s got his sights set on buying or condemning the ranch to make room for a small municipal airport with an adjoining casino resort. Farbigger than this place. Maybe you’ve seen the plans in the local newspaper?”

“I’m familiar with the plans.”

“They want to transform Foxfire Valley into the next Laughlin or something. It’s a foolhardy venture and one paved in open land theft.”

“Seems silly with gambling legal in nearly all fifty states.”

The cowboy nods, dwarfing his chair.

“Reese,” the barista calls, and he jumps to his feet, sauntering toward the counter. I honestly don’t know how the big, gruff guy could get any sexier, which makes keeping my eyes on the treasure nearly impossible.

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