Pamela Britton - The Ranger's Rodeo Rebel

Keys, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t be able to go home and sulk unless she found her keys.

The walk to the main barn was a short one. The horses in the stalls hung their heads out to greet her. Hanoverians, Trakehners and other imported warm bloods mixed with the occasional Thoroughbred. They peeked at her curiously, ears pricked forward as if asking, “Food?”

“Not yet, guys,” she said.

Carolina kind of understood why Colt had decided to sit out the rest of the rodeo season. His wife, Natalie, a famous hunter/jumper rider, with a waiting list of people wanting to train with her, was about to have a baby. The doctor had recently grounded her. Colt wanted to be around to help with the baby when it came. Someone needed to keep riding all the horses, and that was Colt. Carolina didn’t blame him. She just couldn’t stand the idea of some flatlander telling her what to do. It made no sense.

At the far end of the barn, near a patch of sunlight that nearly blinded her, was the office, its fancy French doors closed. She said a silent prayer heavenward and turned the handle.

It didn’t move.

She rattled it some more, just in case, jiggling the door so hard dust fell from the sill above. The door wouldn’t budge. Okay, fine. Up to the apartment she would go. No big deal. When she got home she’d pour herself a big glass of wine. Maybe even take a bath. It’d been forever since she’d had one of those.

The stairs to the apartment were outside at the back of the barn. It was a steep climb that had her heart thumping from the exertion of taking the steps two at a time, but her reward was a door handle that slid down easily. Carolina released a breath of relief and all but dived for the phone.

A man stood in front of her.

A tall man with black hair and green eyes and a face that resembled her boss so much she knew in an instant who he was.

Chance Reynolds.

And he was naked.

* * *

HE SHOULD MOVE, Chance thought, standing in the living area of his new home. He should, but he couldn’t seem to make himself, because there was something so incredibly priceless about the look on the woman’s face.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m so—”

The rest of what she’d been about to say was lost in her mad scramble to run away.

You would have thought he was naked. As he glanced down at himself he admitted she probably thought exactly that. He wore military-issue underwear that happened to be the same color as desert sand. In other words: nude.

“Hey, wait,” he shouted. He grabbed the jeans he’d thrown over the back of the small couch.

“Really.” He ran and tugged, ran and tugged, hopping and skipping as he headed for the door. The woman was already at the bottom of the steps by the time he poked his head outside, his pants still open at the zipper. “Stop.”

She paused with her hand still on the rail. “I’d like to borrow your phone,” she said without making eye contact.

“Hold on.” He zipped up his jeans and glanced back inside his apartment for a shirt. He’d been extremely sleep deprived when his brother had dropped him off at three this morning, and he wasn’t sure where anything was. His bag sat by the door, but he saw no sign of his shirt, not even on the floor of the tiny kitchen to the left of the door.

“Seriously,” he called. “Come back up. I’m dressed.”

She slowly faced him, her eyes looking anywhere but at him. When she peeked up and noticed he was shirtless, she immediately glanced away, her face turning red.

He laughed. “All right, I’m half-dressed.”

“I just need to use the phone,” she repeated.

“Feel free.” The woman with twin blond braids took a deep breath, apparently weighing her options. Chance didn’t mind. It gave him the opportunity to study her. She was slight of build and wearing jeans and a black shirt that hugged her curves and displayed the narrow width of her waist. He had a pretty good idea who she was. Carolina Cruthers. He’d seen her picture on his brother’s website. Trick rider. His new employee.

She must have made up her mind, because she slowly climbed the stairs, her boots clunking up the wooden steps, the sound echoing off the roof of the covered arena a few dozen feet away.

“Need to call a tow company,” she muttered on her way by.

He swung the door closed behind her. “If you’re having car problems, I can take a look.”

“No, thanks.” She’d clearly been to the apartment before, because she walked straight to the phone in the kitchen.

“Thanks.” She turned away from him, dialed a number. “Hi,” he heard her all but whisper into the white handset. Curious, he followed her. Her gaze met his and she half turned away. “This is Carolina Cruthers. I—” She slapped her mouth closed and, judging by the way her full lips pressed together, she wasn’t happy about what someone said on the other end. “Actually, yes, I did.” She lowered her voice even more. “I’m at work.” She gave an address, one he instantly recognized as his own. Well, it’d been his when he was a kid, growing up on Reynolds Ranch. He still owned fifty-plus acres to the east, part of his inheritance when his dad died. One day he would build there, but for now, he was ensconced in his brother’s fancy barn.

“I’ll be waiting.” She hung up, lifted a hand in apology. “Sorry to bug you.”

“How long before they get here?”

Her eyes dipped down, but not before he spotted the way they lingered on his chest. He supposed he should feel self-conscious standing in front of her half-naked, but he hadn’t spent the last eight years of his life in the military, four of them as an Army Ranger, without learning how to be comfortable in his own skin.

“Half hour, they said. Maybe more.”

“Locked your keys in your truck again?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and he caught his first good look at their color. Light blue. The color of the sky first thing in the morning. The ring around the pupils so dark it made the lightness stand out. Some men might find her twin braids, worn jeans and dirty boots attractive, but he liked his women far more feminine.

“I guess Colt told you about me.”

He’d been told the woman had been through a lot. He scanned her arms and her face. No sign of the bruises his brother had mentioned. He did notice, though, that for someone who tried to project toughness, she had a very fragile-looking face. Tiny chin. Small nose. High cheekbones, and skin as pale as the fresh snow that sometimes fell in the desert.

“He told me you were in a spot of trouble.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” she said before tipping her chin up. “Thanks for letting me use your phone. I’ll wait outside.”

“No need.” He spotted his shirt on the floor near the couch, up next to the wall. He must have shed his clothes on his way to bed. “Sit down and relax.”

The words brought to mind a different image, one that had no business slipping into his thoughts, especially given what she’d just been through. Especially given where he’d just come from. Behind enemy lines. Fighting insurgents. Trying to survive. He still couldn’t quite grasp he was home again.

Home to babysit the woman in front of him.

Because that’s what it boiled down to. Truth was, his brother had been worried about his rodeo trick rider. Really worried. Concerned enough that he’d put Chance in charge of the rodeo act. Carolina had been acting funny, too, Colt had told him. Like locking her keys in her truck and forgetting portions of her routine. His brother had a feeling there was more to the breakup with her ex than she let on. He was pretty sure she was being stalked, not that she’d tell anyone anything. Typical cowgirl. They thought they could handle anything without a man’s help.