Christine Wenger - The Cowboy And The Ceo

With a wave, Emily was gone from the cabin.

Susan headed for the couch and sat down. She’d never backed down on a promise, and she didn’t intend to start now.

Clint sat opposite her on the coffee table. “That was a really nice thing you did, volunteering to help Mrs. D.”

“I think you were the one who volunteered me, Clint Scully. My volunteering would have made more sense if I knew something about arts and crafts and riding.” She smiled to take some of the sting out of her voice.

“I believe you’ll be a wonderful teacher.” He stood and tweaked his hat.

She just loved it when he did that. And how could she be mad at him when his eyes sparkled like that?

She’d be mad enough later when she thought about it. Mad at herself. Clint had outwitted her, and it had been a long time since she’d had the rug pulled out from under her.

Maybe she really did want to stay.

How could she even think such a thing?

Stay here? She’d been counting on doing business, with a relaxing spa weekend on the side—not playing teacher at a kids’ camp. But here she was—trapped. And it was her own fault for volunteering.

“Susan, I’ll help you with your classes anytime. Day or night,” Clint said.

Now, that was a loaded statement. Clint was a flirt, and she was very rusty in the flirting department.

Standing, she walked to the door. Clint got the message and sauntered over to her. “I’ll be sure to call on you if I need you,” Susan said, then waited a few beats. “Day or night.”

He grinned. Tweaked his hat. “See you in the morning.”

She could hear the thud of his boots as he walked onto the porch and down the stairs. She locked the door behind him, then sat down on the couch.

She had to think of something besides Clint. The cowboy was getting under her skin, making her stomach flutter and her heart do little flips in her chest. For heaven’s sake, she was a businesswoman, not a freshman in high school.

Don’t think about him. Think about your class.

She’d just promised Emily that she’d teach arts and crafts, but she didn’t have a clue as to how to begin. Or even how to relate to the campers.

She’d never been a child herself.

But she never broke her word, not where kids were concerned. She’d been just about to tell Emily that she was only good at writing checks, when the “I’ll do it” had come rocketing out of her mouth—not once, but twice.

So she’d try to make her arts and crafts program a success. She would develop it like a business project with a workable plan, realistic goals; set some milestones and plot it all out.

With that decided, she walked over to the refrigerator, suddenly dying for a hearty gulp of leftover Chardonnay.

Her reflection in the window caught her by surprise. It was so dark outside. No streetlights, no marquees, no car lights or skyscrapers lit for night. No TV. No radio. Just darkness and silence. With this kind of peace and quiet, she’d die of boredom within fifteen minutes.

Unless she had a certain cowboy to amuse her.

Reaching in her purse, she took out her cell phone to call Bev at home and check on things at Winners Wear, but then she remembered the time difference. Bev was probably fast asleep. Checking her cell, she saw there was still no signal. With a sigh, she tossed the cell phone back into her purse.

She paced. She sipped some wine. She paced some more. Sipped. Paced. Sipped. Paced. Sipped.

Finally, she decided that she should try to get some sleep. Maybe in the light of day, she’d find her lost mind.

She checked to make sure the door was locked, then for a little extra security, she pushed a heavy chair against the door. She missed her myriad locks, dead bolts and chains.

Back in the bedroom, she changed into a pair of sweatpants and a long white T-shirt, and eyed the puffy comforter on the bed. Slipping inside the covers, she sighed as the delicious warmth enfolded her. The bed was perfect. Now for some sleep.

She turned the light off and couldn’t believe how dark and quiet it actually was.

There was no glare from the streetlights. No angry blare of car horns or revving motors. No shouting.

How did people live like this?

Staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide open, she tried to will herself to sleep, but Clint Scully kept intruding on her thoughts.

Cowboy. Handsome. Turquoise eyes. Boots. Sideways smile. Little dimple on the side of his mouth. Excellent butt.

She smiled and snuggled deeper into the bed when she heard a fluttering noise and felt the slightest breeze against her face.

“What?”

She thought that maybe the noise was a squirrel on the roof of the cottage. Did squirrels come out at night? What if it was a mountain lion or something with lots of sharp teeth? After all, this was the wilderness.

Something fluttered. And then again. Whatever it was, it was in her room.

Holding her breath, she flicked on the light and picked up her purse for protection.

A black bird flew by.

No. A bat!

She screamed. It flew by her face. She screamed again. Then again for good measure.

She sprang out of bed and tried to remember what she knew about bats.

Absolutely nothing.

She swung at the thing with her purse, ducking and dodging. The bat flew into the living room. On shaky legs, she turned on every light that she could find.

She screamed and swung again as it flew by her. She heard a series of knocks at the door—or perhaps it was her heart pounding against her chest.

“Susan? It’s Clint. Susan, are you all right?”

What a stupid question. “No, I’m not all right. There’s a bat in here!”

The door rattled. “I can’t get in.”

On wobbly legs, she managed to run over and unlock the door so Clint could squeeze in.

“Where is it?”

“Over by the fireplace.”

Clint squinted. “That little thing?”

“It’s a bat! Do something!”

“I will.”

He moved her away from the door. The bat flew out. He closed the door. “Gone.”

Her head became a little woozy and she couldn’t stop herself from swaying forward.

Then the shock of something cold and wet splashed on her face brought her around.

She gasped. “W-what are you doing?”

“There was a glass of water on the table, and I—”

“I know what you did, but that was wine.”

Clint grinned. His eyes didn’t move to meet hers, but were riveted to her chest.

She looked down. The wine had made the fabric of the white T-shirt cling to her breasts.

She rolled her eyes and plucked the material away from her body.

“Thank you for getting rid of the bat. Good night.”

She stood up to reach for a blanket, but her knees wouldn’t hold her yet. Just before they gave out completely, Clint caught her.

She let him hold her, enjoying how his hands roamed over her back and how warm his chest felt against her wet breasts. How his hard body felt against her.

Suddenly nervous, she stepped back, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself. Disappointment dimmed his eyes.

“How did you happen to be here?” she asked.

“I walked Mrs. D home and was just going back to my trailer when I heard you scream. Actually, I think they heard you up in Canada.”

She laughed. “Thanks, Clint. I’m glad you were here. I’ll be okay now.”

“Do you want me to stay with you? I’ll take the couch.”

Actually, she did want him to stay, but she just couldn’t deal with knowing that Clint was in her cabin. She’d never sleep.

“No, thanks. I’m just going to sleep with all the lights on. It’ll make it feel more like home.”

He grinned. “Suit yourself.”