The White Cowboy - Complete BWWM Romance Box Set (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

The Mustang sputtered, then stalled. "Damn."

Gemma rested her head onto her steering wheel. What was she supposed to do now?

Maybe the cop would come by, but she had no guarantee.

She waited. Her car getting colder by the minute. Not one to wait for something to happen, she grabbed her purse, buttoned up her coat, then stepped out into the snow storm.

On her second step, her foot flew out from under her, and she landed on her butt. She hissed in pain and frustration.

Standing, she couldn't decide if she should return to her car or keep going.

The snowflakes battered her face as she debated internally.

"Damn."

She couldn't just sit and wait for help, so she trudged along what she thought was the side of the road.

A few feet later, she found a mailbox that said “Steele Farms”.

Gemma headed down what she thought and hoped was a driveway. Her coat was better suited for a runway than a blizzard, and did little to protect her from the howling wind. Her high-heeled boots had no traction, and she fell more than once.

When she looked back, she could no longer see her car.

Damn.

She squinted in hopes of seeing a light on in the dark snowy night. Shivers overtook her, but she carried on. She couldn't stay where she was with the snow, wind and dark. Freezing to death was not in her game plan.

Sunny California had never sounded so good. She kept her mind on the final prize as she walked through now knee-deep snow.

After a few minutes, she did finally see a light. Relief washed over her just as she slipped one more time.

***

Brandon had dozed off in his chair when he thought he heard a knock on the door. The night was not fit for man nor beast, so he figured he'd dreamt it.

Then it came again, louder, in between a break in the gusting winds.

Spike let out a bark, but he didn't seem too concerned. Still, Spike wasn't known for his watchdog qualities. He was a herder, and unless there was a wolf knocking on the door, the dog wouldn't get too excited.

Brandon opened the door to find a bedraggled figure, covered in snow and dripping wet, shivering on his porch. Before he could say a word, they barged past him, covering him with snow. They stalked right in, and went to his fireplace as if they owned the house.

He closed the door with a struggle, then turned to look at his intruder. Wiping snow off his shirt, he glared at the newcomer. He didn't like his space being invaded. This was his home, his sanctuary.

"Thank goodness," the person said as they removed their wet jacket.

The person now revealed themselves to be a woman. She wore boots that added four inches to her height, a coat completely unsuited for the snow, and no hat.

She shook out her hair, letting snow fall everywhere by his fireplace.

She was going to leave a puddle. He frowned, his annoyance streaming through him.

Then she looked up at him, and he gazed into the most beautiful chocolate brown eyes he'd ever seen. They contrasted with her smooth cafe ole skin.

Damn,
was all he could think. There hadn't been a beautiful woman in his house since his wife left him. And now one had found her way through a storm to his front door. What the hell was he going to do?

"I didn't ask you in," he said.

"What?"

"You just barged in here," he said. He knew he was being an asshole, but her beauty put him on edge. Beautiful women were high maintenance and no use in the remoteness of his farm.

"Were you going to make me stand in the snow until we were formally introduced?" she said. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a blizzard going on out there."

"I did notice. Why are you out in it? And why did you come to my house?"

"Isn't this the Midwest? Aren't people more friendly out here?"

She removed a scarf and put it over the back of his rocking chair. Her dripping coat sat rumpled on the floor, getting his hardwood floor wet.

He blinked. "Not when you enter their house without asking."

"Well, sorry. I was cold and wet."

She sat on his rocker, and he watched manicured hands slide off her boots. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she said, "You might as well close your mouth and get me a towel. I think I'm stuck here."

***

What was this guy's problem?  He stalked out of the living room and came back with a large towel. He handed it to her, then stepped away as if she were contagious.

"Thank you. I'm Gemma."

"Brandon."

She held out her hand. He took it as if she were offering him a fragile item. Her hand tingled in his grip. She resisted the urge to pull away.

She looked him over. Fine specimen of a man, she thought, even though she wasn't in the market.

"Nice to meet you, Brandon. Thank you for taking me in."

"Like I had a choice," he said.

"I couldn't find a hotel and had to get off the highway. Here I am."

"Where's your car?"

"Stuck in a snow bank on the road. I'll call a tow truck in the morning."

He shook his head, standing in the middle of the room. "Tow truck operator works the plow. He won't have time to tow you tomorrow."

"Then I'll call another one."

He chuckled. "He's the only one."

Where had she landed? The outback? "There's only one plow?"

He placed his hands on his hips. "For the town. It's a small town."

"Where am I?"

"Harleysville."

She didn't remember seeing that on a map, but she hadn't studied Iowa carefully. Her only plan was to drive through it. Iowa had merely been an obstacle on her journey west. "Oh. That means nothing to me."

He shrugged as if he didn't really care.

"Do you have sweatpants or something? My clothes are soaked."

He gave her a stricken look, then left to hopefully find clothes. He came back with sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Looking at his size, she figured she'd be swimming in them, but she was freezing cold, and beginning to shiver.

"Which way to your bathroom?"

He pointed over his shoulder.

"Is it okay if I use it?"

"You've decided to ask first now?"

"Now that I'm out of the blizzard, yes. I'm being polite."

She brushed past him to get changed. Looking at herself in the mirror, she had to laugh. Her wet hair was matted to her head. She probably looked like a yeti to this guy. She shrugged. Without her brush or dryer, she couldn't do anything about her appearance. Oh, well.

With her clothes hanging in the bathroom, she returned to the living room. The man hadn't sat down, but was mopping up the water she'd dripped onto the floor.

"Sorry about that."

She settled onto the lone chair in front of the fireplace. She held her feet towards the fire and wiggled her naked toes. She noticed he stared at them before he left with the mop.

Very odd duck.

CHAPTER THREE

Brandon had to get out of the room. He wasn't sure if he wanted to throw her out in the snow. Or throw her down on his bed.

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, with her mocha skin and eyes so dark you couldn't discern the pupils. Too bad he'd sworn off women, beautiful or otherwise.

He stood in his kitchen catching his breath. He'd been rude to her, he realized, but he'd been so taken aback by her forwardness in entering his home. No one, stranger or friend, had been in his house in years. He'd chosen a life of solitude with his animals.

Having someone enter that realm, especially someone not invited, had him on edge. But his mama had taught him manners, so he’d best go back and apologize. He probably should offer her a hot beverage.

Bracing himself with a deep breath that he let loose slowly, he walked back into the living room. Spike was letting her pet him. If his dog liked this woman, she couldn't be all bad.

"I owe you an apology," he said.

Her eyes widened. "Oh?"

He looked at the floor, then back at her. "I haven't been hospitable. I guess you surprised me."

"I guess it isn't every day that a woman barges into you house during snowstorm. Is your wife not home?"

"No wife, ma'am. It's just me and the animals."

She looked around. "I only see a dog."

"I have horses and goats and cows. Oh and one pony," he said.

"Do you have another chair? I don't want to hog this wonderful fire all to myself."

He slid another rocking chair close to the fire, but a safe distance from her. He didn't want to touch her. Or smell her. She probably smelled pretty, and her skin would be soft.

The soft skin was what he missed most about not having a woman around. You touched them, and they could be like velvet. No hard angles to them, unless they were too skinny. Gemma wasn’t like that. He could get a handle on her, and, well, he shouldn't be thinking that.

No reason to go there. She'd be gone in the morning.

"Can I offer you tea?"

"You have something stronger?" she said.

"Scotch."

"I'll take some scotch."

She didn't look like a scotch drinker, but then what did one look like?

He came back from his kitchen with two glasses. After he handed her one, she reached out and touched his with hers. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

She sipped it, and her eyes closed ecstatically. He couldn't help, but watch her. You'd think she was in the throes of an orgasm as she swallowed the alcohol.

That thought made his dick twitch. "Where are you headed?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "California. I have an appointment with an agent."

"Agent?"

"I'm a singer and want to be a star," she said.

Good. She'd mosey on out of town tomorrow, and he'd be rid of her. Now he just had to get through the next few hours and he'd be asleep for some of them.

***

Gemma let the second sip slide down her throat as she looked at Brandon. What a powerful man. Muscles from real work. Blue eyes that could melt you. And that tingle she'd felt when he'd shaken her hand.

If she had a few more days, she'd want to spend them in his bed. Naked, of course.

But she had a goal. She was going to be a star and no man, no matter how scrumptious, was going to stop her. He'd be great for a roll in the hay to scratch an itch, but she wanted nothing long term.

Especially not with a cowboy. She'd had one of those, and he'd broken her heart.

Nope. She'd leave in the morning and never seen Brandon again.

That's how she wanted it. Her hormones had other ideas about what to do with Brandon until then, but she would resist.

"You live our here all alone?"

"I have my animals."

"You don't like people?"

He shrugged. "I like people okay. Animals are just easier. If you feed and shelter them, they're happy most of the time."

"I bet there's a broken heart in there," she said.

He didn't respond. Guess he wasn't used to someone being to forward with him.

Clearing his throat, he stood. "I'll get some sheets and blankets. I only have the couch to offer you."

"It is getting late." Her stomach chose that moment to rumble.

He stopped, his gaze going through her. "I'm sorry. I never offered you food."

"It's fine. I shouldered my way in."

A frown creased his face. "No, it isn't. My mama raised me better than that. Let me see what I can heat up."

He raced to the kitchen as if he couldn't get away from her fast enough. Feeling warmer now, she decided to follow him. She found him in an unexpectedly spacious kitchen with stainless steel appliances.

Guess the cowboy liked to cook. He had his head in the refrigerator, so she slid onto one of the stools by the six-foot island. When he turned, his face held surprise.

"Sorry to startle you. Can I help?"

He shook his head, a plastic container in hand. "I don't have much but leftovers, but I can heat up some soup."

"That would be great," she said.

He pulled a pot from a drawer, then poured in the contents of the container. He put it on a low flame, then wiped his hands on his jeans.

"What do you want to drink?"

"What do you have?" she said. She was getting the distinct impression that she was making him nervous. Was it her in particular, or would anyone make him feel this way?

"Wine, beer."

"You have wine?"

He crossed his arms. "I may be a country boy, but I like wine. Is that a problem?"

Defensive?

"Not at all. I'd love a glass of wine. White or red, doesn't matter."

He placed a glass of chardonnay in front of her. She'd watched his strong hands while he opened the bottle. Imagine what those hands could do to her body. Her insides thrummed with the possibilities.

She shook herself. No getting involved. Her goal was clear and in her sights. She was going to be a star, and that was it.

"Thank you for the wine and the soup."

He put a bowl in front of her that held the most amazing soup she'd ever smelled.

"You're welcome. I have to go into town to shop in the next few days. I'm a little low on supplies."

"In Jersey, everyone goes to the supermarket if they hear the word snow."

"Well, I had to make sure the animals were secure, and I knew I'd have a few days' supply even if I didn't go."

He stood in the middle of the kitchen, strangely diffident, as though in a stranger’s house. Rubbing his hands on his thighs, he didn't look at her. Instead he shuffled his feet, then leaned on the counter.

He didn't stay there long. Was he nervous?

"Would you please sit? You're making me uncomfortable."

"Oh, sorry."

He slid onto the stool farthest away from her. She took her first spoonful, and thought she'd died and gone to heaven. "Did you make this?"

All sorts of flavors danced across her tongue. Basil, tomato, and something she couldn't identify. She'd grown up around people who like to cook, and she could hold her ground in the kitchen. This soup was beyond what anyone in her family had ever cooked.

This was an orgasm in soup form.

She had to like men who cooked. Her father cooked, so she'd never had patience for any boyfriend who couldn't find his way around a kitchen.

In fact, if a guy could cook, that made up for any inadequacies in the bedroom.

"Yes, something wrong with it?"

"Wrong. Holy shit. This is the best soup I've ever eaten. And my family owns restaurants."

He smiled. The first one she'd seen all evening. Wow, did it soften his face and put lines right where they should be. She couldn't stop looking at him.

He wasn't handsome in the classic sense, or what she was used to.  Instead, he had a strength to his face that made him good-looking.

Looking back at the soup, she admonished herself. She had a goal she needed to focus on. Stop daydreaming about this guy.

"You should smile more often," she said.

"Why?"

"Because you're a pretty good-looking guy when you do."

She wanted to reel the words back in. Why had she said that?

In his favor, he didn't look away. Those blue eyes stared at her unflinching. "My animals aren't worried about what I look like. Only that I can take care of them."

She took several spoonfuls of soup before she answered. "Very pragmatic of them."

***

Good-looking?

He'd never been too concerned about his looks. His wife, Jessica, hadn't really said much about how he looked, but she was much more into how she looked. She'd been all about Jessica.

Being in the rodeo meant days in the sun, which had darkened his skin and put lines on his face. His ex had commented that she didn't marry him for his looks.

He often wondered why she had married him. When he was no longer a rodeo star, he knew exactly why she stayed with him.

He had to admit that Gemma made him nervous. Gemma made his body feels things he didn't want to feel. He didn't want to be attracted to this stranger. He wanted her out of his house, but he couldn't kick her out into the stormy night.

So he'd have to keep his dick in check. Just hold out until the morning when she could leave.

"What?" she said.

"Did I say something?"

"No, you have a look on your face as if you smelled shit."

"I smell shit all the time. Not sure why it would bother me now."

She laughed. "I guess you do smell shit all the time."

He didn't know why that was funny, so he just stared at her shaking form. Why had she chosen his driveway to come down?

Not that there were many choices, but she could have come off any exit of the interstate. Why this one? And how fast could she be on her way tomorrow?

So he could go back to his quiet life.

Just him and the animals. No complications. No one asking him questions. No one leaving him.

"Sorry. I'm not laughing at what you do," she said.

He waved his hand. Even if she were, he didn't care. She was passing through and not worth much of his thoughts. "I didn't think you were."

"Good."

He watched her eat some more soup. She made it seem oddly sexy. Or maybe it was just that he hadn’t gotten laid in a long time. Maybe any woman would seem sexy.

Maybe an ugly woman enjoying his soup could turn him on.

No, this woman was not ugly, but she was enjoying his soup. Jessica never ate. Always worried about her figure.

This woman ate like she actually enjoyed food.

"That was amazing," she said.

He smiled again. That was twice tonight he'd smiled. That wasn't good. He had to remember that Gemma would be gone tomorrow.

"Then let me get those sheets and a pillow. The couch isn't bad."

"The couch will be fine."

She placed her bowl and spoon in his sink, then spun around to look at him. "Do you know how long the storm is supposed to last?"

"Should be done by morning. It isn't a big one, just dropping lots of snow."

She followed him out to the living room. Too close. He could smell her scent of peaches. He loved peaches. Great for pie and jam.

If he stopped suddenly, she would run into him. Her breasts would nudge his lower back.

Damn. He had to go to bed. Now.

"I'll get the sheets. You can wait here."

He stopped before his linen closet to catch his breath. He had to adjust himself. His friend had woken up, and he didn't want to be denied.

But he would be. His lustful thoughts would remain just that. No woman, and especially no woman who wanted to be as star.

With sheets in hand and his dick back in its place, he entered the living room. She stood there looking a little lost. She'd crossed her arms loosely over her breasts, which he could still see through the large shirt he'd given her.

Damn, damn, damn.

"Here," he said, then handed her the bedclothes. "I'll see you in the morning."

He backed out before he could say or do anything else.