Silver James - Redeemed By The Cowgirl

“One of my new houseguests.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not. See what else you can find out. I’m headed to my place as soon as I can get all of Roxanne’s stuff loaded in the Rover.”

“Roxanne’s stuff. Loaded in the Rover. Uh...huh. Care to explain?”

“Executive decision.”

“Oh, boy. Can’t wait to hear this story. Will I see you at the office in the morning?”

“Yes.” Cash clicked off the call before Bridger could ask any further irritating questions. He centered himself and said, “Let’s go.”

Ignoring the huge wet spot staining his slacks—a splotch that resembled slug slime—he gathered up an armful of boxes and a suitcase. It took them two trips each to stow all of her odds and ends in the cargo area. When it came time to load Harley in the backseat, Cash balked.

“Those are leather seats. Claws and drool do not mix with leather.”

Roxanne harrumphed and rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She marched back inside and returned quickly with a blanket. “Here, Mr. Fuddy-Duddy.”

He was not a fuddy-duddy. He just appreciated fine things, and that included leather seats in his vehicles. “You already owe me a cleaning bill for these slacks. I figured you wouldn’t want to add replacement seats to your tab.”

“Replacement—” Roxanne’s jaw snapped shut and her golden eyes sparked.

Cash had a perverse streak, obviously. Pushing this woman’s buttons was far too much fun. He watched her avidly while she bent over, reaching into the vehicle to smooth the blanket over the backseats. He caught a few of her muttered imprecations.

“...made of Corinthian leather...male-chauvinist moron...cheapskate...cars that cost more than some people’s houses...hates my dog.”

He glanced down at the huge black dog sitting beside him. “Does she always talk to herself?” The animal gazed up with solemn brown eyes and sighed. Cash tilted his head to get a better look at Roxanne’s very lovely butt. She backed out of the vehicle and whirled, catching him in the act.

“Really?” she demanded, then muttered, “Add jerkface to the list.”

Biting his lips to stifle a burst of laughter, Cash snapped his fingers at the dog. “Get in the car, mutt.”

“He is not a mutt. Harley is a full-blooded, pedigreed Newfoundland.”

He figured the inside of his mouth would be bloody before they got to his place. “Fine.” He snapped his fingers again. “Get in the car, full-blooded, pedigreed Newfoundland mutt.”

Harley bounded into the backseat, apparently unconcerned that Cash was dissing him. Roxanne threw her arms up as her anger simmered. She clambered into the front seat and slammed the door. Cash could no longer hold back his laughter. She was cute and feisty and he was far more turned on by that than he should be, given their circumstances. He just managed to choke off his laughter as he got into the driver’s seat.

“It’s not funny,” Roxanne huffed.

“It is from where I’m sitting.”

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