could happen out here if a person wasn’t
careful.
It took just minutes to get through the
fringe of cottonwood trees ringing the
swimming hole. Older than anyone now
living on the ranch, those trees had seen
plenty. His brothers had had a rope-and-
tire swing here. They’d spent hours
whooping it up, clambering into the tire,
soaring out over the water, and letting go
of the rope as soon as the swing was over
the center of the pond where it was the
deepest. That water was cold as hell, too,
because it came from deep underground.
As soon as he reached the edge of the
trees, his feet stopped moving; tonight’s
swimmer was unexpected. He’d
expected
to find a few high school kids. Maybe a
cooler of beer or a couple a little too busy
discovering each other.
Instead, there was a woman in the water.
A damned fine, completely bare-ass
naked woman.
She cut through the dark water with
slow, lazy strokes. Not too tall and real
damned curvy. He could see her sun-kissed
skin even in the silvery moonlight. Water-
slicked blond hair covered her bare
shoulders and back. He should have been a
gentleman, should have looked away. But
damned if her swimming bare-ass naked in
his swimming hole wasn’t the sexiest thing
he’d ever seen.
She dove beneath the surface, giving him
a spectacular view of her ass. He
swallowed hard. From where he stood,
those curves looked as soft as peaches and
just as luscious. He wanted to cup both
cheeks in his hands. Run his hands down
that skin and explore every inch of her.
Even the shadowed crease between her
cheeks. Yeah, there, too, if she’d let him.
He’d show her every dark, sweet pleasure.
A slow grin tugged the corners of his
mouth. Hell, she’d have been safer if his
hell-raising younger brothers had been the
ones to find her.
He’d never pretended to be nice. He
didn’t have to. His family owned this
ranch. This world, this place, was
his,
and
here she was, blatantly trespassing without
so much as a by-your-leave.
His sexy swimmer reached a rocky
outcropping and grabbed for a plastic
bottle of shampoo. The scent of green
apples filled the air as, with a little hum,
she treaded water and lathered up before
slipping beneath the surface of the water.
That body of hers was now slick with
foam and appley-ness.
Christ, he’d always loved apples.
And, even though he hadn’t seen her face
yet, she looked good enough to eat.
The cold water of the Blackhawk
Ranch’s swimming hole nearly numbed
Rose, almost making her forget everything
that had gone so wrong. The loss of Auntie
Dee was still there, a deep, sore spot in
her heart, but maybe now that wound
would finally be able to start healing.
Coming back here to Lonesome was a
good start, she thought, even if it was at
Cabe Dawson’s imperious behest. Here
she could revisit some of her happiest
memories of Auntie Dee.
“Here’s to you, Auntie Dee.” Getting
ready to emerge, she lifted the shampoo
bottle in a mock toast. Auntie Dee had
loved crazy escapades. Even after Rose
had left Lonesome, and they had to share
their latest adventures by phone, Auntie
Dee had sometimes one-upped her. She
always wanted to hear all about Rose’s
life, but always, always, the older woman
had had stories of her own to tell.
Of course, the plain truth was that Rose
wasn’t here at the old Blackhawk
swimming hole just to swim and remember
Auntie Dee. No, she was here to get clean,
too, because she’d lost the key to the house
she’d inherited from Auntie Dee. Until she
was ready to face Cabe Dawson and
retrieve a copy, she’d be camping out.
Frankly, camping out was easier than
facing down his disappointed stare when
she confessed her carelessness.
God, she needed that house.
She needed to come home.
The water was a familiar kind of cold.
She’d swum her heart out here summer
after summer, whooping and jumping every
chance she got because she’d loved the
adrenaline rush as the swing’s rope curved
up through the air, taking her higher and
higher until her fingers slipped free and
she was falling, flying through the air with
the water waiting beneath her. Falling.
Flying. She’d gotten those two mixed up
back then. Then, when she’d left
Lonesome, she’d done more than her share
of both.
She knew the difference too well now.
When she heard the soft crunch of
gravel, she didn’t think too much of it. This
far out on the ranch, there was wildlife. It
was part and parcel of the place, but there
wasn’t anything out here that could really
hurt her. Still, the sound had her head
turning instinctively, her eyes searching the
darker shadows of the trees.
Adrenaline pumped through her in a
sickening, dizzying rush of sensation. Oh,
God. That wasn’t wildlife. There was
someone standing there in the shadows. A
large, too-male someone who was
watching her. She wasn’t stupid. She was
out here alone, and she was giving some
stranger one hell of a peep show. And that
was the best-case scenario.
No way she would be able to get out of
the water, grab her keys, and run past him
to her car. She would put herself within
arm’s reach in the process, and she could
imagine exactly how that scenario might
end.
Badly.
Maybe she could wait him out. But when
she swam out to the center of the
swimming hole, the water suddenly
seemed too cold, too dark. God, she had to
learn to
think
first. She shouldn’t have
come here, and she definitely shouldn’t
have come alone.
Booted feet moved forward, not making
any effort to keep quiet. He didn’t care if
she knew he was watching; he was
warning her of his presence. She froze, her
fingers clamping down around the stupid
bottle of shampoo. Eight ounces of Suave
wouldn’t save her now.
A rough growl of a voice came out of
the darkness. “What do you think I should
do with a naked trespasser, darlin’?”
The man behind the voice stepped out of
the shadows, crouching down by the
water’s edge. She knew the legs in those
faded jeans and those hand-tooled cowboy
boots. Even with his hat pulled down low,
she recognized
him
. Cabe Dawson. He’d
been her nemesis from the moment she’d
set foot in Lonesome. Eight years in the
town had burned that hard-edged, darkly
handsome face and big, strong body into
her memory. He was authority in these
parts, and she’d spent every minute
breaking his rules.
So it just figured Cabe Dawson would
catch her red-handed in his swimming hole
with a shampoo bottle, bare-ass naked.
“Well, cowboy, I’m thinking you should
march on back to that pickup of yours and
drive straight to hell.” The woman’s voice
was feminine, husky. And familiar. Way
too damned familiar.
Hell.
Recognition jolted through him, tossing
a big dose of wake-up onto his fantasies.
He recognized that voice.
Christ. This wasn’t just another teenager
looking for a quick thrill.
Even wet and slick from water, her
features were so very familiar as she
turned toward him. He knew that honey-
colored hair that hit just below her
shoulders, knew the darker slash of her
eyebrows. He’d spent too many hours
wondering if she colored her hair, because
that
was
just
one
of
the
many
contradictions that made up Rose Jordan.
He knew
exactly
how her creamy skin
freckled in the summertime and the
message
those
gray
eyes
were
telegraphing. Defiance. Disdain. One big
fuck-you to the very idea of rules. She
swam like a fish—and like she damned
well belonged there.
And she’d been avoiding him for far too
long.
“Not a chance, Rose.”
“Really?” She smiled up at him slowly,
treading water while she plotted her next
move. Even now, in the dark, the water
wasn’t quite enough to hide her body from
him. The curve of her breasts was all too
obvious when her arms met and then
pushed the water away. His dick liked that
just fine, too, which reminded him how
wrong all this was. She was supposed to
get her fine ass back to Lonesome, but she
wasn’t supposed to be
here
.
He’d always had a prickly relationship
with Rose. When they hadn’t been locked
in a silent power struggle, they’d fought
outright. She didn’t acknowledge any
authority, even when she should. She’d run
with his younger brothers, got in trouble
with them, and, even when she’d done that
running on Blackhawk Ranch, she hadn’t
wanted to listen to his rules.
Hell, she hadn’t wanted anything from
him at all.
This time, though, he’d have to figure
out a way to make her take what he had to
offer. He didn’t want to break her heart,
didn’t want to tell her that Auntie Dee
hadn’t left her much of an inheritance, not
money-wise. It would be simpler and
easier to just write Rose a big check for
the old place and let her haul her sweet ass
back out of town. She wasn’t a stay-put
kind of woman anyhow, so she probably
already had her exit planned.
He shouldn’t feel guilty about what he’d
done.
Auntie Dee hadn’t had any biological
family left. Hell, that was why Cabe had
made her the offer he had—he’d reverse-
mortgage her place, give her the money she
needed to live, and he’d get her land when
she passed on unless her estate paid back
the money. She wouldn’t take his money
any other way, and Cabe figured he could
always use more land. Especially land
with an aquifer beneath it. Sure, he’d kept
their arrangement quiet, but that was
because it was nobody’s business but his
and Auntie Dee’s. Auntie Dee had had her
pride.
“You finally came home, darlin’. It’s
about time. Past time, actually.” He
drawled the words, wondering if he should
share the truth with her right now. That
Auntie Dee’s place was going to be his,
not Rose’s, unless Rose had a whole lot of
cash saved up somewhere. That wasn’t
fair, letting her come down here all
unawares, but she hadn’t returned his calls
and he wasn’t explaining this in an e-mail.
Now, it seemed even less fair to tell Rose,
while she was naked and vulnerable.
Unfortunately, the naked part still had
him thinking things he shouldn’t.
Naked
. This was Rose Jordan he was
thinking about. Rose Jordan he wanted to
scoop up out of that water and lay out in
the back of his pickup. He’d make her
holler as he ate her right up. He’d bet that,
when Rose Jordan came, she came as
wholeheartedly as she did everything else.
This was his land.
His territory.
And, whether Rose Jordan realized it or
not,
she
was now his, too.
Cabe Dawson, in the flesh, packed a
brute-force sensuality that made no bones
about the raw power of the man. Sure and
confident, he ran this ranch and everyone
on it. Cabe had been a mostly benevolent
dictator—Rose had always acknowledged
that—but he’d never forgotten he was the
man in charge, and he’d always done what
he believed was best for Blackhawk
Ranch.
There’d been no place for her in that
world of his.
She’d never belonged to Cabe Dawson
like that, and he’d never seen her as more