Roxann Delaney - Bachelor Cowboy

Since the moment he’d met her with a shotgun in her hands, he hadn’t been able to keep his mind off her. Or his hands. A touch here, a brush there, each one leading to wanting more.

It wasn’t love. It was lust, pure and simple, and he found fighting it exhausting. Every night he battled the image his memory held of her, keeping him awake long after decent people slept.

Touching her was the same as sticking his hand in a flame, and still he ached to touch her. No, it wasn’t love. But he couldn’t deny it was the closest he’d ever come to it.

Grabbing her hands, he pulled her to her feet. As he looked into her startled eyes, saw her lips parted in surprise, an electric bolt shot through him. He’d have it over with, he thought—this kiss he’d been dying for….

Dear Reader,

For some people, falling in love is the last thing on their mind, so it’s a complete surprise when Mr. or Miss Right comes along. That’s how it is for Dusty McPherson, the bachelor cowboy hero of—well, what else?—Bachelor Cowboy! But he isn’t the only one not looking for love. Kate Clayborne has her life planned out, and falling in love—or getting married—isn’t part of her future.

There’s nothing quite as satisfying as watching two strong-willed people meet their match…and then tumble into love, no matter how many times they deny it or how much they fight it. Will Dusty and Kate give in and find their happily ever after? Do they really have a choice?

If this is your first visit to Desperation, Oklahoma, and the people who live there, welcome! If you’re visiting again you’ll find some familiar characters, and will have a chance to meet some new ones. I hope you love Dusty and Kate as much as I’ve loved learning and writing about them. And look for more Desperation romances in the future.

Happy reading!

Roxann

Roxann Delaney

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Roxann Delaney doesn’t remember a time when she wasn’t reading or writing, and she always loved that touch of romance in both. A native Kansan, she’s lived on a farm, in a small town and has returned to live in the city where she was born. Her four daughters and grandchildren keep her busy when she isn’t writing, designing Web sites or planning her high school class reunions. The 1999 Maggie Award winner is excited about being a part of Harlequin American Romance and loves to hear from readers. Contact her at roxann@roxanndelaney.com or visit her Web site, www.roxanndelaney.com.

To my grandchildren, Scarlett, Alexandria, Gavin, Jaxon and Becca, who help me see the world through the eyes of children and who are just beginning to understand that Nana is writing books while she sits at the computer all day.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

“Keep your hands where I can see them, and back on down that ladder real slow.” The voice was soft and low. Distinctly feminine. And definitely not joking.

Freezing at the command, one foot above the other on the metal steps of the combine ladder, Dusty McPherson stopped breathing.

An ominous click shattered the silence, and he knew without a doubt that the woman had a shotgun in her hands, cocked and ready. Breathing again, but careful not to startle her, he didn’t question her as he eased back down the ladder. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, even though the late May Oklahoma morning sun hadn’t begun to heat the day. A woman with a gun could be dangerous.

“Okay, that’s good. Now turn around, but don’t make any sudden moves,” she said when he reached the ground. “And keep your hands up.”

Dusty made his turn slow and smooth, his nerves taut and ready in case she had an itchy trigger finger. Knowing he could meet his maker in the blink of an eye, he faced his opponent. His eyes zeroed in on the tip of the steel barrel pointed directly at a spot any man would protect. He could only hope he’d be quick enough if there was any indication he’d be shot. He might want to be a daddy someday.

Slowly raising his gaze to her face, Dusty found himself staring into eyes the color of a clear blue mountain lake. It was all he could do to keep from sucking in air at the sight, but he managed to control himself.

The blue eyes widened for an instant, but just as quickly narrowed, hard as granite. “Just what do you think you’re doing, cowboy?”

The urge to check out the rest of her was strong, but tempered by the fact that it could be the end of him if he did. Not wanting to spook her, he kept his voice low and even. “Put the gun down and I’ll tell you.”

“You must think I’m crazy.” Her gaze never left his. She took a step closer. “What are you doing messing around my machine?”

“I’m here about the job,” he answered with a calmness the clippity-clop of his heartbeat denied. “Agatha Clayborne hired me.”

Her lips formed a perfect pink oval. “Oh…well…”

Dusty noticed her finger ease up on the trigger and allowed himself to relax a little. But he didn’t let down his guard. Only a man with scrambled eggs for brains would do that.

Eyes narrowing again, she tightened her grip on the gun. “How do I know you’re not just saying that?”

“You needed some harvest help, right?”

Her chin dipped a fraction of an inch in a noncommittal nod. “But I expected somebody younger. Like one of the kids from the high school.”

“And I expected to get this wheat cut.” He watched her consider his statement. “Mind if I put my hands down now?”

Hesitating, she finally lowered the shotgun. “Aunt Aggie mentioned she’d put some fliers around town. Maybe you should have come up to the house first and introduced yourself.”

Before he could answer, she turned around, giving him a view of her backside and the long, copper braid that reached past her waist. The end of it swung between a set of slim but well-curved hips encased in a pair of tight blue jeans. Something about her was familiar, but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was. And he was sure he wouldn’t have forgotten the woman if he had met her before.

“You might as well come on in,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Breakfast should be on the table.”

Two strides brought him up next to her after he’d taken a long, breath-stealing look at the sashaying form in front of him. “Any special reason you came after me with that gun?” he asked, matching his longer gait to her shorter but strong one.

She slid him a look, but didn’t slow her steps. “I don’t like strangers poking around. Would you?”

“Guess not. But you didn’t need the gun. I’m pretty harmless.”

“You never know.” She gave him another quick glance when they stepped up onto the wide porch of the Clayborne farmhouse and proceeded around to a side door.