Pamela Toth - Cattleman's Honor

Some women would undoubtedly find his interest complimentary, his determination flattering, but Emily was merely annoyed by his persistence. In California she’d been surrounded by truly beautiful women, and she’d been married, so men hadn’t been standing in line to flirt with her. Perhaps here in rural Colorado any reasonably attractive woman was fair game, but the last thing Emily had time for was an admirer, especially one who might prove to be obstinate. The best thing for both of them would be for her to make it clear this man was wasting his time.

“I’m sorry you’ve come all this way for nothing,” she said with a dismissive curving of her lips as she shifted the door shut a couple more inches. “It’s nothing personal, believe me.” As her gaze left his to inadvertently sweep over his long, lean body, she felt a tiny shiver of regret. If she’d been in the market… Her visitor was a walking, talking cowboy fantasy, the total opposite of her sophisticated, successful ex-husband.

“I’m sure you’re a very nice man,” she continued briskly, before he could respond, “and you’re certainly attractive, but I’ve just moved in. and I really don’t have the time or the interest in getting to know you better. If you’ll excuse me—”

Before she could close the door the rest of the way, his hand, clad in a worn leather work glove, shot out and held it open. “I hate to burst your bubble, Ms. Major,” he drawled, amusement evident in his eyes, “but I’m not here on a social call.” His gaze touched her body in a way that left her feeling as though she’d been thoroughly frisked. His smile was back, but it was mocking. “You’re an attractive woman, and I hope you won’t take this personally,” he continued, parroting her words outrageously, “but my visit is strictly business. I’m here to buy your land.”

Adam watched the woman’s cheeks turn pink as she absorbed his last statement, and he wondered whether he should have pandered to her assumption that he’d taken a personal interest in her. She was certainly pretty, even with those silly wire-rimmed glasses perched on her pert little nose and a streak of dust down one cheek, but he would prefer a woman who wasn’t quite so confident of her own appeal as to assume he’d followed her home like some lovesick pup.

“You’re here to buy my land?” she finally echoed, her death grip on the door relaxing enough for him to gently pry it back open. A frown marred her forehead. “But it’s not for sale.”

He’d come prepared to negotiate, and he refused to be distracted by the way her full lips shaped each word she spoke. “Everything’s for sale if the price is right,” he replied. “I’ll give you ten percent over what you paid Ed Johnson. Why don’t you let me come in, and we’ll finalize the deal right now.” He wasn’t sure what her connection was to the previous owner, but the only possible reason for her to buy the twenty-acre parcel, surrounded on three sides by Winchester land, was to turn a quick profit. Why else would she be here?

He’d actually taken a step forward before he realized she wasn’t exactly welcoming him into her home. Nor did she appear the least bit impressed by his offer.

“I might be able to go a little higher,” he admitted grudgingly, “but keep in mind that I’m probably the only interested buyer you’ve got, and my generosity only goes so far.”

“Why are you so determined to buy my piddling twenty acres?” she asked. “From what I’ve seen, there’s enough open land in this state to go around.”

Adam thought fast while he returned her stare. The reason for his interest was no secret. Why was she pretending ignorance? To throw him off guard?

“My brothers and I own The Running W,” he explained, fairly sure he was only repeating what she must already know. “Your land nearly cuts our spread in two, and it’s got water we need for our cattle.” His senses recognized her perfume from their last encounter, but the distraction was more irritating than enticing. “Let’s not dance around the campfire,” he added without bothering to conceal his impatience. “Name your price. I’ve got things to do.”

Removing her glasses and folding them carefully, she drew herself up to her full five and a half feet. The curls on top of her head quivered as she thrust out her chin. In its center was a shallow dent that looked as though it had been put there by a sculptor’s touch.

“What part of no didn’t you get?” she demanded. “My place is not for sale.”

Adam sighed. He didn’t have time for this. “Call me Adam,” he suggested. “And I didn’t catch your first name.”

“I didn’t throw it.”

Releasing his hold on the door, he folded his arms over his chest, lifted his brows and waited, a maneuver that worked as well with his fifteen-year-old daughter as it did with his ranch hands.

It didn’t work now. “Good day, Mr.—”

“Winchester!” he reminded her right before the door was shut firmly in his face. “Adam Winchester.” It took him a full ten seconds to realize he was staring at the painted panel like a fool. Once he’d recovered, he spun on his boot heel with a muttered oath and stomped back down the steps, irritated but undaunted.

Ultimately he’d get what he wanted. When it came to the ranch he usually did. He rarely misjudged an opponent. The little blonde with the big brown eyes might have distracted him temporarily, but she was no match for Winchester determination.

Halfway to his truck, Adam glanced over his shoulder in time to see the front curtain drop back into place. “I’ll be back,” he muttered as he settled his Resistol more firmly on his head. “We’re not done yet.”

Plastered against the wall next to the window where she’d ducked to avoid being caught gaping, Emily pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a groan of embarrassment. What on God’s green earth had possessed her to jump to the narcissistic conclusion that Adam Winchester had tracked her down because he’d been dazzled by her feminine charms—and why had she humiliated herself further by telling him?

What must he be thinking? Thanks to her impetuousness, he’d have an amusing story to tell his cronies around the campfire, or wherever cowboys hung out these days. Perhaps it was the rustic saloon she and David had driven by on their arrival. The only thing that could have increased her embarrassment even more would have been for Winchester to catch her watching his departure with her nose pressed to the window.

Good thing that when it came to men with sexy eyes, a killer smile and great buns, Emily was immune—totally, terminally uninterested, especially when the man was also insufferably arrogant, assuming he could waltz in here and demand that she hand over to him this place she already loved.

If her little section of Colorado was so crucial to her neighbor’s operation, why hadn’t Mr. Johnson sold it to him instead of going to all the trouble of advertising out of state? When she’d bought the land, she’d had no idea anyone else would be interested, but it was obvious now that Adam Winchester would have paid more than she had.

Before accepting Emily’s offer, Mr. Johnson had insisted that she make him an unusual promise. He hadn’t given her an explanation for his request, and she’d been reluctant to pry, but after Adam Winchester’s visit today she was certainly curious. She doubted the promise was legally binding, but that didn’t matter. When she gave her word, she tried her best to keep it.

The whine of David’s motorbike cut through her thoughts like a chainsaw through butter. She opened the door as he pulled up beside the porch in a cloud of dust and killed the engine.