Tanya Michaels - Her Cowboy Hero

He didn’t realize he was going to agree until the words left his mouth. “Lead the way.” He hadn’t been there the day a car accident had shattered his world, hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to help. He found he couldn’t abandon this woman until she and her rattling joke of a truck were out of the rain.

Mounting his bike, he shook his head at the unexpected turn of events. Hazel was not the first woman who’d invited him back to her place. But it was the first time in two years that he’d accepted.

* * *

COLIN WAS TOO occupied with the diminishing visibility and handling his bike on the dirt road to study his surroundings. He had a general impression of going through a gated entrance; farther ahead were much larger structures, likely the main house and a barn or stable. But the truck stopped at a narrow, one-story building.

The woman parked in the mud, gesturing out her window that he should go around and park beneath the covered carport, where the motorcycle would be out of the worst of the elements. She joined him under the carport a moment later, her hand tucked inside the purse she wore over her shoulder. He wondered if she had pepper spray or a Taser in there. She’d sounded serious when she mentioned the self-defense lessons.

“This is the old bunkhouse,” she said. “I’m about to start refurbing it as a guest cabin, but at the moment it’s mostly empty.”

He supposed that any brothers or a husband lived in the main house with her. Although what caring husband would let his wife drive a disaster on wheels like that truck?

She tossed him a key ring and nodded toward the door. “You can get a hot shower, dry off. There’s a microwave and a few cans of soup in the cabinet. Before you tell me I’m naive and that you might be a master burglar, let me assure you there’s nothing to steal. I doubt you could get thirty bucks on Craigslist for the twin bed and microwave combined.”

He unlocked the door, noting how she kept a casual but unmistakable distance. Once he’d flipped the light switch, he saw that she was right about the lack of luxuries. The “carpet” was the kind of multipurpose indoor/outdoor covering used more in screened patios than homes. There was enough space for three or four beds, but only one was pushed against the wall. At one end of the long, rectangular interior was a minifridge and microwave, at the other a bathroom. Aside from a couple of truly ugly paintings of cows, the place was barren.

He stopped in the center of the room, raising an eyebrow. “The minifridge brings up my Craigslist asking price to thirty-five.”

She gave a sharp laugh, abruptly stifled. “Sorry the accommodations aren’t classier. The ranch is...in a rebuilding phase.”

The note of genuine embarrassment in her voice made him uneasy. “It’s plenty classy. I’ve slept on the ground during cattle drives and in horse stalls on more than one occasion.” By slept, he meant tossing and turning, trying to avoid nightmares of everything he’d lost.

Those hazel eyes locked on him, her expression inexplicably intense. “You work with livestock!”

Isn’t that what he’d just said? “As often as I can.” He preferred animals to people. “Sometimes I do other odd jobs, too. I was headed into Bingham Pass to get more information about a local employment opportunity.”

“Then you haven’t already committed to it?” A smile spread across her face, revealing two dimples. “Because, as it happens, I’m hiring.” She stepped forward, extending her hand. The oversize jacket parted, revealing a still damp but not entirely transparent blouse. Thank God.

“I’m Hannah.”

Hannah, Hazel. He’d been close.

“Hannah Shaw,” she elaborated when he said nothing. “Owner of the Silver Linings Ranch.”

Foreboding cramped low in his belly. Paralyzed, he neglected to shake her hand. “Not the Widow Shaw?” The one who baked cakes and harbored delusions of being a rancher?

She frowned. “People still call me that?”

Crap. It was her. He’d imagined Mrs. Shaw would be a temporary solution to his problems, but now, meeting her earnest gaze, his instincts murmured that she posed far more threat to his safety than any rifle-wielding jealous husband.

Chapter Two

“You know I’m rooting for you, but—”

“No buts, Annette.” Hannah secured the phone between her ear and shoulder, needing both hands to separate the yolk from the egg white. “This is the answer to my prayers! Think about it—I’ve been scouring the county for a halfway-competent ranch hand, and one rides to my rescue on a rainy Wednesday evening? It’s destiny.”

Or, at least, proof that her positive thinking was finally—finally!—paying off. She executed a happy twirl, narrowly missing the antique buffet that served as a kitchen island. Though she’d been too excited to eat dinner after she’d showered off the road grime and changed into dry clothes, she was busy mixing a thank-you batch of devil’s food cupcakes for Annette.

Over the past three months, Annette Reed had become like a big sister. Annette and her husband were trying to have kids; meanwhile they doted on Evan, helping create the extended family he’d never had. Annette was a blessing in their lives, even if she was slow to embrace Hannah’s “bright side” philosophy. The other woman didn’t fully understand that the determined optimism was the only thing that had kept Hannah going during the bleakest period of her life, that Hannah owed it to her son to prove good things could happen if you worked hard enough.

“Sweetie, please be careful,” Annette entreated. “You wouldn’t be the first woman in the world to get in trouble because she confused a hot guy on a motorcycle with destiny.”

“Hot guy?” Hannah froze, glancing out the window into the dark, as if making sure Colin Cade couldn’t overhear them. Which was insane since he was a quarter of a mile away, and she was locked into her house with a watchdog for company. “I never said he was hot.”

“Not in so many words, but it was in your tone. What’s he look like?”

Dark, with that shaggy, rich brown hair and unshaven jaw. Chiseled. And she didn’t just mean the muscles outlined beneath his T-shirt. His features, though striking, looked as if they’d been carved from stone. Had the man ever smiled in his life? Not that it matters. Being charming wasn’t a job requirement. She needed someone efficient and unflinching in the face of setbacks.

“He has blue eyes,” she said noncommittally. Light blue with a hint of green. “And he’s tall.”

Her friend guffawed. “Next to you, sweetie, everyone’s tall.”

She ignored the crack about her height. “Annette, this isn’t me getting my hopes up for no reason. The guy came here specifically looking for me, looking for this ranch.” Granted, Colin had seemed more shell-shocked than enthusiastic when he’d realized he found her. “An old friend of Colin’s told him I was hiring and he wanted more information.” She’d kept her answers in the bunkhouse brief and cheerful, barely mentioning Henry White, the well-intentioned, semiretired ranch hand who came by at least twice a week.

“Did you tell him the truth?”

“More or less,” she said, hearing the defensive note in her tone. “I mean, I didn’t volunteer that today was my fifth bank meeting and that I got turned down again. I said that I’d inherited a family ranch, have plans to turn it into a cross between a small dude ranch and bed-and-breakfast but have yet to put together a staff.” Unless one counted seventy-year-old Henry and his wife, Kitty. “I invited him to the main house for breakfast so we can discuss details. I’m making my homemade coffee cake.”

“Ah. Pulling out the big guns, then.”