Page 4 of Pretend To Be My Cowboy
The crowd was dwindling down to only a few remaining stragglers when a dirty blue pickup truck with a horse and cowboy logo painted on the side whipped around the corner and pulled up to the curb.
Emma straightened, a smile already on her face as the driver got out and spotted her. His gaze fixed on her and—
“Oh, Holy Hotness, Batman,” she breathed while trying to keep her fixed smile in place.
Two things were clear. He was the hottest cowboy she’d ever seen—in real life or on the big screen—and she’d been spending way too much time with five and six year old children if that was the best phrase she could come up with in the face of this much sexy.
Lizzy would have an epic quip right now. She’d make some sassy comment that didn’t involve cartoon characters. But Lizzy was happily going about her routine in Chicago, and Emma was here, face to face with the living embodiment of every cowboy romance she’d ever read. She blinked as if blinded by his good looks.
His dark brown hair fell back and away from his face in a natural wave that his cowboy hat couldn’t hide. He had a chiseled jaw, a long, straight nose and deep, dark eyes. And he was taking long, decisive strides in her direction in fitted jeans and a checkered shirt that did nothing to hide the fact that he was built. Not in a muscleman kind of way, but in the rugged, lean, natural way of a man who spent all his time outside, working with his hands.
Emma’s mouth went dry as he approached and her smile felt too big. Especially considering his own mouth was set in a firm line, his brows drawn down—not in a scowl, but in a look that said ‘serious.’
Come to think of it, everything about this man saidserious. And when he reached her side and stuck out a hand, even his voice was low and intense. “You Emma O’Sullivan?”
“Yes?” It came out like a question. Like she wasn’t sure who she was.
Smooth, Emma. Real smooth.
She swallowed down the ridiculous surge of nervous desire, and her smile widened as she remembered her manners and shook his outstretched hand. “I’m Emma. I’m so sorry but I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Nash,” he said, his grip firm. “Nash Donahue.”
Nash Donahue. She repeated the name to herself as he let go of her hand and reached for her bag.
There was something comforting in the way he said his name. So serious, and so confident. He didn’t seem much older than her, but the way he introduced himself indicated that he knew exactly who he was and where he fitted in the world.
And as she followed him to his truck, determinednotto check out his butt in those worn jeans, that nervous tension faded.
He was too hot. And if there was one thing she knew about guys at this level of handsome, it was this—they never, ever fell for women like Emma O’Sullivan. So she really had no reason to swoon or make a fool of herself. This was a business trip, and soon enough she’d be safely back home in Chicago and this Nash Donahue would be nothing more than a pleasant memory she could smile about when her romantic heart wanted to conjure up a sweet, unrealistic dream.
2
Nash was never late.
The fact that he’d been late to the airport left him rattled. He was the guy everyone came to for help because he was dependable. And he’d had Miss O’Sullivan’s pickup all arranged. One of his ranch hands was supposed to do it. But then Kit’s daughter woke up with a cold and only wanted Daddy, JJ got caught up dealing with that fence on the east meadow that kept coming down, and Nash hadn’t realized until too late that he was the last man standing.
So yeah, he’d been rattled as he’d driven to the airport, and quite frankly, dreading the task ahead of him. He had nothing against women, but being alone with a strange woman from out of town?
Not exactly his idea of a good time.
He wasn’t much of a talker and women, in his experience, expected conversation. Even his little sister badgered him to talk to her on long car rides, and even with her he came up empty after they’d exhausted local gossip and business at the ranch. That was when Casey took over the conversation and regaled him with stories from her college days or, more lately, plans for her upcoming wedding.
“I’m sorry I was late,” he said, hauling the suitcase into the backseat.
“No problem.” Emma’s voice was so cheerful, like she actually meant that.
He turned to find her reaching for the passenger side door of his truck. “Here, allow me.” He opened the door and offered Emma a hand to get in.
He might not be any good making small talk with the ladies, but his mama had raised him to treat every woman with respect.
She slipped her hand into his and paused, looking up at the passenger seat before turning back to him with a smile that made her look like an angel and made him feel like he was being blasted by sunlight.
Beautiful.
He swallowed hard. The woman was so dang pretty. He definitely hadn’t been expecting that.
He might have been rattled by being late, but that was nothing compared to the effect this woman was having on him right now.
