coupled with the insult, worked just as Matt hoped.
Sara’s slender shoulders stiffened and she drew herself up to her full five feet, nine inches. She glared at him resentfully. “I’ve always been extremely helpful and forthright!”
He grunted and reached for the metal cutters. Walking along the fence, he snipped through the lengths of rusting barbed wire. Irritated to find she was still fast on his heels.
“Is that what they’re calling your do-gooding these days?” He slanted a glance at her, and noted the way the breeze was plastering the soft knit of her sweater against her delectable breasts. Ignoring the hardening of his body, he turned his gaze back to her face. “And here I was thinking you were just bossy and interfering.”
She dug her boots into the hard ground beneath them and propped both her hands on her denim-clad hips. “I go where I’m needed, Matt.”
The fact she, like so many others close to him, apparently saw him as a charity case rankled. Gathering up the wire, he walked back to toss it into the bed of his pickup truck alongside the stack of weathered metal posts. “I don’t remember calling for a large-animal vet.”
She continued shadowing him, getting close enough he could inhale the lilac of her perfume. “Then I guess it’s your lucky day,” she announced. “Me, showing up here—”
“Uninvited,” he turned to point out.
She held her ground. “—and all.”
This ornery woman had no idea who she was playing with. “Uh-huh.” Matt moved closer, drinking in her fair skin and sun-blushed cheeks. Damn, she was pretty, standing there in the spring sunlight. Her cloud of golden-blond hair drifting across her shoulders and framing the delicate features of her face.
In an effort to further repel her, he let his gaze move lower, to the lithe build of her body. From her dainty feet and long sexy legs, to her slender waist and the lush fullness of her breasts, she was all woman.
Still enjoying the view immensely, he returned his focus to the elegance of her lips, cheeks and nose. The jade depths of her eyes. “Sure you’re in the right place? Talking to the right ex-soldier?”
“Definitely.” She trod even closer and tilted her chin up to his. “And believe it or not, I’m strong enough to handle you, cowboy.”
“Sure about that?” Matt asked gruffly, wishing he hadn’t noticed how feminine and perfect she was. All over.
“Yes,” she repeated.
Funny. She hadn’t seemed strong when she’d lost her husband a little over a year before. She’d seemed vulnerable. Achingly so.
To the point, every time he’d run into her, he’d been tempted to take her in his arms and hold her close. Not as the platonic friends they’d once been in their high school days. But as an ex-soldier comforting another ex-soldier’s wife.
There were several problems with that. First, he’d already gone down that route before—and learned the hard way that any relationship based on rebound emotions was a huge mistake.
And second, she was so damn pretty and accomplished these days, he knew he’d never be able to leave it at that. Holding Sara close would make him want things he couldn’t have and had no business wanting.
Because, thanks to the mistakes he’d made and the guilt he still harbored, having a wife or a family of his own was no longer in the cards for him.
Clearly misunderstanding the reason behind his long pause, Sara pleated her brow. She looked at him more closely, then queried cautiously, “Really, Matt? You seriously doubt my inner strength?”
“No,” he conceded honestly. “You’re as feisty as they come.”
“Feisty,” she said, repeating the term distastefully. “Really.”
He grinned, thrilled to be getting under her skin.
It was that friction that would help keep them apart.
Watching the color come into her high, sculpted cheeks, he removed his hat and let it fall idly against his thigh. “Don’t like the term?”
Her pretty green eyes narrowing, she watched him run his fingers through his hair. “It’s condescending!”
He settled his Resistol squarely back on his head. “Yeah?” he retorted sardonically. “In what way?” Because she was feisty and then some. Always had been.
Oblivious to how much he liked her spirit, Sara let out a lengthy sigh. “In the sense that feisty is an adjective usually attached to a female or small animal one would not expect to defend itself.”
He rolled his eyes at her deliberately haughty tone. “Spoken like a veterinarian,” he said. Then seeing a way to needle her further, added, “A woman veterinarian.”
Now she was spitting mad. She planted her hands on her hips again. “You just keep digging yourself in deeper, don’t you, cowboy?”
He shrugged in a way designed to rankle her even more. “Hey. If it annoys you, maybe you should leave.” He went back to pull up some more aging fence posts.
“Not until you at least agree to come to my ranch and see the puppy.”
He turned so suddenly she nearly slammed into him. He inhaled another whiff of her lilac perfume. “Why me?” he asked as his gaze drifted over her fitted suede jacket and dark, figure-hugging jeans. “Instead of someone else a hell of a lot more amenable?”
Sara sighed and folded her arms beneath her breasts, her action plumping them up all the more. “Because we need more veterans actively involved in helping other returning military personnel,” she stated softly, her breasts rising and falling with each agitated breath.
He rocked back on the heels of his worn leather work boots. “Isn’t that the mission of the West Texas Warriors Association?” Of which, he knew, there were hundreds of members.
Her expression turned even more serious. “We need everyone, Matt.”
He rejected her attempt to make him feel guilty for not wanting to dive back into the world of his nightmares. “I don’t think so.”
She glowered at him. “Why not?”
“I like my solitude.”
She made a face and then, to his mounting frustration, tried again. “Listen to me, Matt,” she beseeched, hands outstretched. Her gentle eyes filled with compassion. “I know how hard it was for Anthony to really reconnect after he came back to civilian life...”
So, the rumors about her late husband’s unhappiness...and maybe hers, too...were true.
He scowled, not sure why the comparison bothered him so much. “I’m not your late husband, Sara.”
She acknowledged that with a nod, then pushed on despite his gruff, unwelcoming tone. “Working with dogs can help alleviate PTSD-related depression and anxiety.”
Now what
