Redeemed by the Cowgirl (Mills & Boon Desire) Page 5

  “Um...” She stretched a hesitant hand in his direction. “Are you...okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Okay, he’d been a little short with her, but whatever. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t his houseguest. She was a suspect in an ongoing investigation. “I’ll help carry your junk to the guest room.”

  He turned on his heel and headed back to the entry hall.

  “What about this mess?”

  “Leave it.” Yeah, definitely short.

  “If you say so...” She didn’t quite put a period on the end of that sentence.

  “I say so. It’s late. I have an early morning. That means you do, too.”

  “Well, all righty then, Mr. Sociable.”

  With Harley doing his best to trip him, Cash ferried the remainder of Roxanne’s belongings to her room. She managed one load, fell over the dog, then wisely waited in the bedroom to direct him where to put the bags, boxes and luggage. After the last load, he paused at the door. He should have said something to her but he wasn’t quite sure what.

  Cash eventually settled on the tried and true. “Good night, Roxanne.”

  He shut the door firmly and retreated to the kitchen. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he headed to the media room. He clicked on the giant-screen TV while waiting for his laptop to power up. He’d catch the OKC Thunder game while checking his email.

  After drinking the beer and dealing with a few problems from the office, he was still restless. It was pushing midnight and he needed to sleep. Pausing outside the guest room, he listened at the door. The only sound he caught was a jingling noise—probably the tags on Harley’s collar. The Newf was scratching. Great. He probably had fleas.

  He tiptoed away and paused in the kitchen long enough to deposit the beer bottle in the trash. In his bedroom, he stripped down to his boxers and stretched out on his bed in the dark. Cash didn’t sleep well on the best of nights. Having others in his space perturbed him more than he wanted to admit. The rhythm was off—different noises, different feel to the atmosphere. He wasn’t used to a woman sleeping under his roof.

  Two hours later, he was still staring at the ceiling. He got out of bed and wandered out. The living room looked brighter than normal, and he remembered there was no longer a wall of curtains blocking the French doors and windows in the dining area. Security lights and the moon cast a grid pattern across the floor. He couldn’t decide if he liked the openness or not. One more thing that was different. And unsettling—as troublesome as the thought of Roxanne sleeping not fifty feet away.

  He wasn’t hungry or thirsty—not for anything in the refrigerator anyway—so he bypassed the kitchen. The media room was empty. The guest room wasn’t. He should have gone back to bed but he didn’t. He stood outside the door, breathing shallowly and listening to the indistinct noises on the other side. Two additional sets of breathing sounds—one whispery soft, the other a sonorous snore. Curious, he eased the door open and peeked in.

  Roxie lay spread-eagled on her stomach under the sheet and a light blanket. In the low light, her hair created a glowing nimbus against the white pillowcase. The black dog was a dark stain across the foot of the bed. The animal raised his head, snuffled, sighed and dropped back into sleep.

  Something knotted up inside Cash but he didn’t want to examine the feeling too closely. This woman was getting under his skin and he didn’t like that idea—or maybe he liked it too much. He closed the door as carefully as he’d opened it and padded barefoot back to his own room. He still felt unsettled but he climbed into bed. After some tossing and turning, he dropped off. Exhausted, he barely noticed the dip of the mattress as a warm body joined him.

  Six

  Something heavy lay on Cash’s chest and hot breath fanned his face. A clammy glob of...something nasty pooled on his bare skin. What the blazes? Something cold and wet nuzzled his face. He pressed his head into his pillow and opened one eye. Big brown eyes, a shiny black nose and trails of slug slime filled his vision.

  Harley. The damn dog was gazing at Cash like he was the critter’s new best friend—or breakfast. It was hard to tell.

  “Get off.” The big goof woofed, rolled over and burrowed into Cash’s side. Laughing despite himself, he shoved the animal off the bed. “Not what I meant.”

  Cash sat on edge of the mattress and grabbed his watch—all while ignoring the sad-faced dog. Six a.m. It might be Saturday but he had things to do. When Harley shuffled to the door, he figured letting the dog out was probably the first thing on the agenda.

  While Harley wandered around sniffing everything in sight inside the enclosed patio, Cash slipped down the hallway. He was more than curious how the dog had gotten out. The door was ajar just enough for a 150-pound dog to amble through. He nudged it with his foot and peered in.

  His guest was still sprawled under the sheet, face covered by a web of tousled hair, and she was making soft puffing noises with each exhalation. Roxanne appeared to be dead asleep. Either Harley was Houdini in disguise or Cash hadn’t closed the door all the way when he’d spied on the girl earlier.

  Ten minutes later, he was doing his best to forget the girl and her dog. Cash had things to do. First up, his daily five-mile run. While he normally used running time to order his thoughts and plan his day, he was failing miserably this morning. Thoughts of tousled auburn hair, golden eyes, pouty lips and an innocence that couldn’t be real intruded.

  What were her intentions? Why was her family after the Barrons? Where did she fit into the scheme of things? Which Roxanne was the real one—the sexy siren or the adorable klutz? How did he find the answers he needed? The questions beat in his head in time to the thud of his running shoes on the pavement.

  The woman was a menace—from her curious offer to help nab her family to his perplexing reaction to her. Especially the latter. He didn’t want to think about her as an attractive woman, or the way her skin felt when he touched it. Messy hair should just be messy hair. It shouldn’t make him wonder how it would look after a night of hot sex. And he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about having sex with the delectable Ms. Rowland. She was nothing more than a grifter, born into the life and raised on the long con.

  Wasn’t she?

  Cash had learned early on to rely on his gut reactions to situations and people. He was seldom wrong. Everything he knew about the Rowlands pointed at Roxanne being smack-dab in the middle of things, right up to her beguiling whiskey-colored eyes.

  He pounded the pavement but came no closer to answering the questions circling his brain. And the only answers he had pointed in opposite directions. Roxanne Rowland was an enigma—a woman allegedly raised away from her family, sentenced to boarding schools, whose one brush with the law involved Cash’s great-aunt. To cross paths now, six years later? With her father and brothers on the prowl in numerous Barron properties?

  In Vegas, the house always held the advantage and the odds. Working security, Cash had learned to watch for the long shot and plan accordingly. That outlier would jump up and bite you in the butt nine times out of ten. So what did that make Roxanne? A puzzle—and one he would solve sooner rather than later. He had no choice. He had a duty to his family to do so, and his father would expect no less from him.

  He jerked his thoughts away from his father. He’d molded his life to his father’s expectations after his first career lecture. He’d been seven and wanted to join the military like his cousin Hunter Tate. Barrons aren’t soldiers, his father had said. They’re generals. As a child, he’d only understood that he’d done something wrong—just as it was wrong when he wanted to join the police force.

  Ever since his mother had been killed in a car accident, Cash wanted only to protect his family, wanted to keep them safe from harm. And he’d wanted his father’s love and approval. One was just as elusive as the other. As an adult, the need to protect was still strong. Everything he’d done, either at his father’s direction or of his own volition, he’d done with that desire in mind.

  He wanted his h
ead clear but his thoughts were convoluted this morning. That was the problem. Cons. Questions. Puzzles. Family.

  Cash altered his morning routine slightly. He’d programmed the coffeemaker before leaving on his run but on the way back to the condo, he stopped in at Sugarbaker’s to pick up breakfast. The place catered to residents in the Deep Deuce/Bricktown area. Part coffee shop with amazing pastries, the store also carried gourmet groceries and takeout for lunch and dinner.

  With hot muffins and a few staples, like milk, cream and sugar in tow, he jogged the two blocks to his condo. Harley waited at the door—right where he’d been when Cash left—looking both mournful and miffed. The mutt had attitude and wasn’t afraid to show it.

  In the kitchen, he found a bleary-eyed Roxanne wearing a thin-strapped camisole and low-riding yoga pants. Cash had never appreciated yoga pants more than he did at that moment. Shifting the grocery bag to hide his reaction, he frowned at her puzzled expression.

  “Roxanne?”

  She turned to him with a yawn as she bent her arms to her shoulders for a big stretch. A stretch that bared her stomach and gave him a peek at a perfectly formed belly button. Refrigerator. He needed to put the milk and cream in the fridge.

  “I need coffee.”

  “Coffeemaker.”

  Her gaze slid from him to the machine on the counter. “Coffee?”

  She sounded a bit bewildered, and he stifled a laugh by sticking his head in the stainless steel fridge to deposit the perishables. “You get a mug from the cabinet, pick up the carafe, press on the lever and pour.”

  “Mug?”

  He looked at her from behind the fridge door. He pointed to the cabinet above the coffeemaker. “In there.” She didn’t move. “Roxanne?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I need coffee.” Bewildered tipped over into totally mystified.

  “You said that.” He stepped closer and she stepped back. Herding her in the opposite direction, he got her around the granite breakfast island and installed on a bar stool. Harley shadowed every step he took.

  Roxie plopped her elbows on the cool stone and propped her chin in one palm. Her sleepy eyes tracked every move he made from beneath heavy lids. Snagging two mugs from the cabinet, he glanced over his shoulder. “Black?”

  She yawned again, a jaw-cracking widening of her mouth that squinted her eyes shut. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Yes.” Cash couldn’t resist teasing her.

  “Huh?”

  “Yes, I have cream and sugar. Or milk.”

  “You drink your coffee with cream and sugar, too?’

  “No, I take mine black.”

  “Then why did you...never mind. Can I have cream and sugar in mine?”

  “If you’re capable of adding it yourself.” He poured coffee into both cups, his to the brim, hers with a little room for additives. Retrieving the carton of cream from the fridge, Cash took pity on Roxie and opened it for her. He placed everything in front of her, including a spoon, before leaning his hips against the counter to watch.

  Harley immediately sat in front of him and pawed at Cash’s thigh before looking pointedly at the closed pantry door. Did the dog want food? With another swipe of his paw, Harley shuffled to the pantry and stood waiting. Obliging, Cash opened the door and grinned when the mutt grabbed a box of dog bones in his massive muzzle and backed out. Cash took the box and instead pulled out the large rawhide bone he’d also picked up that morning. Harley happily settled on the kitchen floor mouthing the big chewy and leaving a puddle of drool.

  Roxie nursed her coffee and savored it like it was a rare vintage wine. “He likes you,” she muttered, and Cash caught a hint of jealousy in her tone.

  “How long have you had him?”

  She finished the coffee in her mug and pushed it toward him with an Oliver Twist “more please” look. He snagged the carafe and filled her cup. After she doctored it and took a sip, she answered. “He was a rescue. I think he was two. Maybe three. That was a couple of years ago.”

  Then Roxie sighed and all but buried her nose in the coffee mug as she gulped the remaining liquid. When it was empty, she held it out a second time.

  Cash choked back his laugh and attempted to look serious. “You aren’t a morning person, are you?”

  * * *

  Roxie suppressed a snarl but forced her eyes to open wide. She blinked, then stared at Cash, giving the sexy man a long, slow perusal. She took in his broad shoulders, the sculpted chest outlined by a damp cotton T-shirt. Tapered waist, lean hips encased in form-fitting—and, oh, what a form they fitted—running pants that showcased his muscular thighs to perfection.

  “And you are, I’m guessing.” She dropped her gaze to focus on adding cream and sugar to her coffee.

  “I am.” The smug amusement in his tone was almost more than she could take this early in the day.

  She gulped more of the hot liquid and choked as the sum of his outfit worked through her now caffeine-soaked brain cells. Sputtering, she managed to swallow and not spit out coffee. “Oh my gosh! You run!”

  Okay, that came out as an accusation but she didn’t care. Runners were...insane. Bordering on evil. Did he do this every day? Would he make her get up and go with him?

  “I do.” Now he was laughing.

  A paper towel appeared next to her cup. She wiped her mouth, studiously avoiding looking at Cash, with his lean runner’s body that she wanted to press up against and do bad things to. A huge muffin, resting on a small plate with warmth still radiating from it, appeared in her peripheral vision.

  “That one is buttermilk spice. If you prefer blueberry or lemon poppy seed, I have those, too.”

  Buttermilk spice was her favorite muffin in the whole world. It tasted the way she thought family holidays should, not that she had any real idea. Only as an adult, during college and while starting her career, had she any inkling of how normal families—real families—celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas and...birthdays.

  Roxie picked at the edge of the muffin overlapping the paper baking cup. A small piece crumbled into her fingers and she popped it into her mouth. The flavor burst on her tongue—cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg. This might just be the most delicious muffin she’d ever eaten. Peeling back the paper, she picked up the treat and took a real bite. She prevented her eyes from rolling back in her head but she couldn’t quite stifle the soft moan of appreciation.

  Cash moved, quickly putting the island between them. She lifted her gaze and let out a startled eep when she saw his face. His eyes were glued on her and she tried to decipher the look on his face. He edged along the far side of the island and all but dashed across the dining area, his back to her. “I need a shower. Enjoy your muffin and I presume you are now capable of pouring your own coffee?”

  “Uh-huh.” Her mouth was dry from the quick glimpse she’d caught of him before he turned away. Those muscle-hugging running pants left nothing—nothing—to the imagination and oh boy was her imagination doing cartwheels, shaking pompoms, and jumping up and down screaming, “Do me! Do me now!”

  No. NononoNO! Roxie reined in her thoughts and concentrated on her muffin. The delicious, her-favorite-kind muffin. Thinking about that man, with that body, naked in the shower? Nope. Not going there. Bad idea. Dangerous road ahead. Slippery when wet. Watch for falling rocks.

  Back in control, she finished her muffin and got up to pour one more cup of coffee. She was about to take a drink when Cash stepped out of the door to his bedroom. Wearing. Nothing. But. A. Towel. A towel slung low on his hips. Her fingers stopped working as her brain stuttered to a halt.

  Cash held up his cell phone. “There’s been a change in plans.”

  The mug in her hand dropped and shattered on the tile floor.

  Seven

  Roxanne stared at him, eyes so wide Cash could see the whites circling her irises. Unfazed by the broken crockery, Harley happily slurped up the coffee pooling on the kitchen floor.

  “
Change in plans?” Did Roxanne just lick her lips?

  The towel hitched around his waist stirred. He really needed to get control of his reactions to her. “That’s what I said. Harley, stop!” At his sharp order, the dog stopped licking the floor and let out a disgruntled huff. Cash turned his attention to Roxie. “Back out of the kitchen so you don’t cut your feet.”

  She glanced at the floor, as if she’d just realized what had occurred. “Oh. Oops. I’ll clean that—”

  “You’re barefoot. Back out carefully. Go get ready. We need to hit the road ASAP. I’ll clean up the mess as soon as I’m dressed.”

  Roxie’s expression waffled between determination and uncertainty. “Um, where are we going?”

  “To the ranch.”

  Her face lit up and she all but danced over and around the shattered mug. “A ranch? Harley! Did you hear that? We’re going to a ranch! Horses! I love horses! We’ll have a blast. C’mon!”

  The dog barked happily and followed his mistress as she jogged to her room.

  Cash stood flat-footed and confused. When had he lost control of this situation? He’d had no intention of taking the blasted dog, but Roxie automatically assumed the mutt would be welcome on this trip. He took a couple of minutes to collect the broken pottery and toss it in the trash. He wet a paper towel to mop up the remaining coffee.

  With the sound of the shower splashing from the guest bath, Cash finished cleaning the floor and headed to his bedroom to get dressed. He was on a conference call with two of his agents when Roxie appeared, Harley prancing alongside her.

  She had donned well-worn jeans that hugged her in all the right places and Western boots. Her sweater was a color that reminded him of peaches. With the sterile white of his living room as a backdrop, she looked like a ray of sunshine bouncing across a cloud. Her confidence was back in full force. She looked like a cowgirl. Walked like one. The ditzy girl was gone and in her place was a lovely woman whose golden eyes glinted with excitement.

  He ended the call and prepared for an argument over Harley. He surrendered when he saw the dog sitting next to the door to the garage, leash in his mouth, brown eyes begging. Cash had always been a sucker for big brown eyes.