Like she would give any of them the time of day. “What’s she doing here anyway? Come slumming in the country?”
“Her sister Rebecca lives in Sugar Hill. Wiley Hartwell’s her uncle.”
Somehow this woman didn’t look related to that outlandish uncle of hers, though. And he’d met her sister, Rebecca, in that bookstore. She was pretty but quiet, sort of shy.
Not like a siren waiting to be noticed. And Rafe had noticed. Any red-blooded male would.
Especially a bad-boy bachelor at heart. In fact, he liked slow country music, fast women and wild horses—not necessarily in that order.
She pivoted on the stool, and his gut clenched as if one of his horses had kicked him. Following on cue, his leg throbbed, a reminder of just how dangerous their kick could be, too.
A heart-shaped slender face with dark exotic eyes stared back at him, her small, pink lips curling into a sexy smile. Raven hair hung past her shoulders like a thick, silky mane, adding to the sultry enchantment of her almond-shaped eyes. She was trouble with a capital T, the kind of woman he’d normally avoid.
The kind who had burned him in the past.
“What’s the lady drinking?” his traitorous mouth asked.
“White wine.” Johnny chuckled. “’Course, first she asked for one of them fancy drinks, a Cosmopolitan or something. When I told her we didn’t have that, she wanted something called Sex on the Beach. Imagine her asking for something like that in Sugar Hill.”
Rafe’s mouth quirked up. Yeah, she might get more than she’d bargained for. Not that he knew exactly what Sex on the Beach was.
“Finally settled for wine.”
“Send her a glass from me.”
Johnny laughed again. “I figured you’d be the only one bold enough to actually try and pick her up.”
Rafe nodded, in spite of the fact that his brain was screaming at him to leave her alone. Bold or stupid? It was a fine line. The men in the bar would probably be laughing in a second when she snubbed her nose at him.
But to his surprise, Suzanne Hartwell accepted the drink, then shocked him even more by crooking one of her long slender fingers for him to join her. He tipped his Stetson in reply, then ordered a second beer and strode toward her, his heart pounding like a runaway stallion.
His day had just gotten a whole lot better. Maybe he could forget his money troubles for the night. After all, even if Suzanne Hartwell was out of his league, a simple flirtation might ease the sting from his godawful day.
Chapter Two
Suzanne’s fingers tightened around the stem of the wineglass as Rafe McAllister slowly strode toward her. She would do as James suggested—keep her part in the company a secret until she got to know Rafe. Thanks to James’s extensive report, she had known just where to find him. The Dusty Pub, a little honky-tonk on the edge of town.
She had never seen such a powerful man or one with such wicked intent in the bold set of his walk. Jet-black hair, shaggy and unkempt, curled around the bottom of his neck, and his high cheekbones accentuated his solemn expression. She tried to get a peek at his eyes, but they lay hidden beneath the brim of his black Stetson. Instinctively she knew they would be as dark and brooding as the aura of masculinity surrounding him. Rafe McAllister was a real-life cowboy.
A denim workshirt hugged his broad shoulders, the top two buttons undone so dark curls of hair whorled in the opening. His hands were large and callused, a testament to the fact that he worked outside, and even white teeth gleamed against his tanned face as he offered her a lopsided smile. A smile meant to seduce and disarm a woman from all her defenses.
She sipped her wine, working to swallow, as her gaze drifted south. Dusty, worn jeans strained against muscular thighs, and cowboy boots that looked ancient showcased his devil-may-care stride. There was no denying that he was a well-made man.
He cleared his throat, his voice a low, sexy rumble as he tipped his hat in a gentlemanly gesture, “Howdy, ma’am. Rafe McAllister.”
Suzanne fought a nervous chuckle at his drawl, but looked up into his eyes and stifled her laughter. Just as she’d imagined, they were dark and serious, but amber flecks streaked the irises, the golden brown the color of the whiskey her father drank at bedtime. With a shiver, she remembered that scotch went down as smooth as silk, but then sparked a burning all the way through your toes.
She uncurled hers where they had turned under from his hot gaze. “Hi, I’m Suzanne Hartwell.”
“I heard.” He gestured toward the bartender. “Every man in here knows your name, sugar.”
She did smile this time. “It’s always nice to be noticed.”
He laughed, a thick throaty sound that made her heart flutter. Mercy me, Suzanne thought, mimicking Grammy Rose’s favorite expression. Rafe McAllister was nothing like the rancher she’d expected. She could easily see how he’d earned his troublemaker image years ago. In high school, every mother within a hundred-mile radius had probably warned their daughters away from the man.
The country music continued to wail, a song about looking for love in all the wrong places that described her disastrous dating life in a nutshell, while Rafe slid onto the barstool, spreading his legs outward causing one of his knees to rest against her thigh.
Suzanne resisted the urge to move. Rafe McAllister was not supposed to affect her this way. After all, she needed the upper hand with him, not the other way around.
Plus she was almost engaged, wasn’t she?
He propped his elbow on the battered wooden tabletop. “So, what brings you to Sugar Hill?”
You. Suzanne bit back the truth. “I stopped in to visit some of my relatives. My sister, Rebecca, runs the bookstore, she just got married a few weeks ago. How about you? Do you live around here, cowboy?”
He nodded. “I own the Lazy M Ranch right outside of town. I’ve met your uncle Wiley.”
She grinned. “Everyone knows him.” She ran a finger along the rim of her glass. “Hey, didn’t you win that purple pickup truck on New Year’s Eve?”
“That would be me.” For the first time since he’d sat down, his smile faded slightly.
“You don’t like the truck?”
He lifted his broad shoulders into a shrug. “It runs great, and it’s loaded on the inside. But the color…”
“Not what a rancher would have chosen.”
“Exactly.”
“You could have it painted.”
“Probably will.”
He finished his beer and she waved to the bartender to bring him another. “My treat this time.”
“No.” He placed a hand over hers before she could reach for her wallet.
“It’s just
