Sara Orwig - Cowboy's Special Woman

Jake said in a voice as warm and soft as melted butter. “I won’t break your heart—you won’t break mine.”

“You sound so sure of yourself,” Maggie said, annoyed by his confidence. She was aware of his hands on her waist, his closeness, the faint scent of his aftershave. Jake was a wanderer. If she didn’t want to risk falling in love with him, she should stay clear away from him. But his confidence made her feel suddenly reckless, and she slanted him a look, sliding her hand to the back of his neck.

“You’re so certain you won’t fall in love with me,” she said softly. “Maybe you should guard your heart.” She stood on tiptoe and placed her lips boldly on his. She saw the startled flicker in his dark eyes before she closed her eyes and poured her heart into the kiss.

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lives with her husband and children in Oklahoma. She has a patient husband who will take her on research trips anywhere, from big cities to old forts. She is an avid collector of Western history books. With a master’s degree in English, Sara writes historical romance, mainstream fiction and contemporary romance. Books are beloved treasures that take Sara to magical worlds, and she loves both reading and writing them.

With thanks to my editors

Joan Marlow Golan and Julie Barrett

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

There weren’t many things that could tie him in knots, but fire was one. Jake Reiner held his Harley with a white-knuckled grip and glanced over his shoulder at flames whipping through cedars and oaks. In spite of the hundred-degree August heat and blasts of hot Oklahoma wind, he was chilled by the sight of the fire. He knew he was racing along the dusty road at a dangerous speed, but he had to warn the ranch family who lived at the end of the lane.

In minutes he came roaring up from a dip in the road, took a curve and saw a tall two-story Victorian house ahead. Shade trees surrounded a three-car garage, a brown barn, a bunkhouse, sheds and a corral. A Circle A brand was burned in the wood above the barn door. Inside the fenced yard, a woman stepped around the thick trunk of a giant cottonwood tree. In her hand she held a power saw.

Jake’s gaze raked over a figure that made his pulse skip. Cutoffs hugged trim hips and revealed long, shapely legs. Stretching snugly over lush breasts, a T-shirt was tucked into the waistband of the cutoffs. His gaze swept up to her face as he approached. She looked wary. Long, golden hair was in a thick braid that hung down her back to her waist.

Barking a warning, a black-and-tan dog ran around the barn. The woman’s head snapped around and she spoke to the dog. Stopping beside her, it continued barking.

Jake slowed and braked, sending up a flurry of dust. As the engine idled, he braced his legs. Then he heard a child’s cries. Following the sound, he looked at the cottonwood. Perched on a lower limb was a small girl with a gash on her head and tears streaking her cheeks.

“Mommy!”

“Hold on, Katy,” the woman said calmly. Glaring at Jake, she snapped, “What do you want?”

“Can I help?” he asked, getting off the bike, realizing that, between the fire and whatever was happening here, this family had real trouble. At the moment, the child seemed the most urgent problem.

“Why are you here?” the woman asked, her cautious demeanor transforming to anger. As he watched sparks dancing in her blue eyes, he knew he didn’t give a reassuring appearance with his shaggy hair, his bike, and his ragged jeans.

“Up by the road your place is on fire.”

While her gaze flew past him, the color drained from her face.

“Not now!” she gasped and looked up at the child. “I have to get Katy free first.” She turned away as if she had already forgotten his presence.

Moving closer to the tree and forgetting the stranger, Maggie Langford fought a rising panic. Katy was caught and hurting, and now their place was on fire. A really bad fire would devastate them. She said a small prayer that she could free Katy’s foot, which was wedged between a limb and the trunk. As Maggie raised the heavy saw, a hand closed around her wrist and the stranger took the saw from her.

For a split second, with the physical contact, an electric current of awareness zipped through her. When the stranger stepped closer, Katy let out a howl.

“I’ll just cut a little more, and then I can break that limb free. You get up there and hold her so she doesn’t fall,” he said in a deep voice.

“Hang on, Katy, I’m coming up beside you,” Maggie said, trying to calm her child.

“This is my little tomboy,” she told the stranger. “Katy was climbing and fell. Shh, Katy. It’ll be all right. You’ll be loose soon,” Maggie said.

“Have to watch these trees. They’ll just reach out and grab you,” the stranger said to Katy with a reassuring smile that softened his rugged features.

Through tears and the streaks of blood from the head wound, Katy smiled in return.

Maggie caught a limb and pulled herself up, taking hold of her five-year-old. Katy twisted to cling to her.

Maggie looked down at the tall, deeply tanned man. His shaggy black hair hung below the red bandanna wound around his head. He wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves ripped away, and thick muscles flexed as he sawed the limb. The loud buzz of the saw was the only sound until he stopped, set down the saw and glanced up at her with his dark eyes.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Hang on to me, Katy,” she said, holding her daughter.

The stranger jumped up, grasped the limb and hung on it. With a sharp crack the limb split from the tree, freeing Katy’s foot. As agile as a cat, the stranger landed on his feet and tossed the limb aside.

Katy’s arms tightened around Maggie’s neck, and Maggie held her tightly in return, relieved to have her daughter safe again. Then the stranger reached up. “Hand her to me.”

Maggie passed her daughter down. The stranger set her gently on the ground and Katy rubbed her ankle and sniffed. Maggie swung her legs over the limb to jump down. As she jumped, hands came around her waist and the stranger caught her. Without thought she put her hands out to grip his arms, feeling the rock-solid muscles, looking into brown eyes that bored into her with an electrifying intensity. The instant her hands had closed on his arms, a current had raced through her. Unable to breathe or look away, she stared back at him while her heart hammered. He smelled faintly of sweat and aftershave. The aftershave surprised her. He looked primitive rather than civilized, yet she knew she was rushing to judge too swiftly.