Page 6 of Cowboy Mountain Man

I clear my throat because something’s suddenly stuck there.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and her cheeks flush. Whatever that was, she felt it, too.

I drop her hand. Her fingers linger one second too long.

Back to business, Harlan, I silently scold myself.

She glances at the dark green shirt beneath my jacket, finds the company logo, then looks back up. “Martin said someone was coming.”

“Mrs. Bell’s daughter hired us.”

She sits in stunned silence. “Wow, you got here quickly.”

I shrug.

Her eyes narrow. “When I said somebody followed me, I was thinking more along the lines of reporting it to the sheriff. This seems expensive.”

“Her expense.”

“That doesn’t make it less expensive.”

Odd that she’s worried about someone else’s money when she’s just potentially walked into a home invasion. “Mind if I sit?”

She moves her bag off the opposite seat. “Are you armed?”

“Yes.”

“Then sit carefully.”

There it is again. That small, stubborn lift at the corner of her mouth.

I sit.

Up close, I realize the description from Marin didn’t prepare me for this. She has freckles across her nose and a pale mark on her chin that might be an old scar. Her heart-shaped face ends in a cleft that my thumb itches to cover.

Her hair is twisted into a knot that’s losing the fight. A loose piece rests against her cheek. And her ample pink lips flush the same hue as her full cheeks, the prettiest shade of pink I’ve seen outside of antique roses.

But I’m not the only one looking. Her nostrils flare as she returns the favor, appraising me for one long moment. The air suddenly feels thick as unsliced pound cake.

From her pale pink turtleneck to her tight-fitting dark wash jeans, plus-sized doesn’t begin to do her generous curves justice. She’s soft. The kind of soft that could make a man’s hands wander. Or maybe want to protect her.

Hope’s eyes are light brown, smattered with darker brown spots like cinnamon. Her lips slightly part like she’s waiting for me to say something.

I can’t string two thoughts together. This is ridiculous.

Get it together, Harlan. She’s off-fucking-limits.

Then I set my hat beside me on the top of the diner table, looking away for a deep breath and to run my fingers through my hair.

Our eyes meet when I look back. Sparks all over again. For God’s sake.

“Tell me what happened.” Her perfume wafts across the table. Lilacs and roses.

Of course.

As delicate as the curvy beauty seated across from me.

“Martin didn’t?”