body flamed to life. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body along the length of his. She felt so safe in his embrace, so warm, so happy.
“What the hell is going on here?” a voice boomed from the doorway.
Darcy sprang back and looked, with horror, at the source of the angry demand.
It was her grandfather.
Chapter One
“Come on, get out of the way!” Darcy glanced at her watch, then leaned on the horn of her dilapidated luxury car for the second time. “Let’s get moving here.”
Ahead of her, the brake lights on the pale blue pickup flared red, and the vehicle stopped. Stopped? That wasn’t the response she’d been after.
Inside the truck, the driver moved as though to get out.
Darcy’s breath caught in her throat. Boy she may have just aggravated the wrong guy. She looked around. The rough road that led to T.L. Ranch had barely enough room for one car and certainly no room for her to go around him. And she couldn’t back up. The reverse gear had broken a week ago, and she’d been using the Fred Flintstone method ever since. She wasn’t about to open the door now....
The driver’s door of the pickup opened.
Darcy straightened her back and carefully reached for her purse on the seat next to her. Coming from Chicago, she knew not to take any chances with angry strangers. She had a stun gun and pepper spray at the ready at all times. Which should it be?
A booted leg extended out of the truck. And it was a big boot.
Pepper spray, Darcy decided.
She watched with bated breath as the driver unfolded himself from the truck. He straightened up to nearly seven feet tall, or so it seemed to her.
His hair was as black as licorice under a battered Stetson, and longish at the collar. His pale eyes narrowed when they touched upon her. If he weren’t coming at her in that sinister way, she might have thought he was attractive—in a rustic sort of way. Faded denims, a Levi’s shirt and scuffed leather boots completed the intimidating picture. He looked like an angry Paul Bunyan.
He walked slowly and steadily toward her. He wasn’t as tall as she’d originally guessed; he was probably just over six feet, but his commanding air made him seem taller.
. As he got closer, she realized he looked vaguely familiar. But how could that be? She hadn’t been to her grandfather’s ranch for ten years—since she was seventeen years old, and back then... Her heart pounded with a mixture of dread and excitement. Could it possibly be him?
No, surely he had left when she did.
Darcy glanced at the half-open window and pressed on the broken automatic-close button, knowing that it hadn’t worked for a month. The cold November wind whipping around the inside of the car was a testament to that. But paying to have it fixed had fallen somewhere after eating on her hierarchy of needs.
She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.
“You need something?” a deep voice asked.
She opened one eye and looked into the face of the truck driver. Her chest constricted. It looked like him, that was for sure. But it was just too far-fetched. He was long gone. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m trying to figure out what it is you need.” One side of his mouth twitched toward a smile but didn’t quite make it. The brim of his hat was low over his brow, shading his features.
“What I need?” she repeated dumbly.
He pushed the rim of his hat up and she went still with shock. It had to be him. There couldn’t be another man in the world who looked so like him. Faint laugh lines around his eyes made him a little less familiar than he would have been with the boyishly smooth skin she remembered. But it was him; she knew it.
“I heard your horn.” His voice was lower, a little huskier than she expected. “Thought you might be signaling some distress.” His mouth twitched into a half smile now. “Especially when it kept happening.” He hesitated and scrutinized her. “Is everything all right?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
“I’m—It’s fine,” she said, feeling her face warm.
“Wait just a minute.” He leaned closer and her heart skipped a beat. “Are you who I think you are?”
It was him. Joe Tyler.
“I’m not sure...” she said vaguely, her heart pounding a furious beat that he could probably hear from a distance of three feet. “You are...?”
Of course she already knew the answer. He was Joseph Emory Tyler, though he hated his middle name. Favorite color: blue. Favorite dessert: chocolate pudding. Favorite rock group: the Beatles. Favorite sport: steer wrestling at the rodeo. They’d spent many long ago hours arguing over whether or not it was a humane sport. He’d wanted to be famous for it one day. In the meantime he was going to try to finish his college education in order to have something “to fall back on if the rodeo thing doesn’t work out.” He hated spinach, but ate it because he’d bought into the whole Popeye myth years before. He loved beef but hated pork—except sausages and bacon.
A long time ago, Darcy had adored him enough to... well, that didn’t matter now. Maybe it had never mattered. It certainly hadn’t mattered to him—that was clear then and it was just as clear now. Maybe more, since he was still here.
She swallowed her bitterness. That was history now. Her anger could only hurt her. She took a long breath, inwardly counting to five. She knew her face was a self-conscious blotchy red.
“Darcy Beckett?” he said, solidly confirming his recollection. “Little Darcy Beckett?”
She gave a shuddering sigh. Hearing him say her name did nothing to still her reaction. And he remembered the moniker that had made her so impatient back then. All of her grandfather’s friends and employees, who’d known her since she was a baby, called her Little Darcy Beckett, but only Joe had done it in a low, teasing way. Then and now.
“Joe Tyler, right?” She hoped she sounded nonchalant.
He touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “How the hell have you been?”
“Fine,” she said, a little too curtly. She thought of all the ways in which life had not been fine, but forced a smile. “How about you?” What in the world are you still doing here? she demanded silently.
“Just great.” He shook his head again and gave a low whistle. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Darcy. Welcome back to the T.L. Ranch.” Was it her imagination or was his voice tinged with irony?
Anyway, just who did he think he was, welcoming her back to her own grandfather’s ranch? It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a real home, and yet she’d been sent away from it because of Joe Tyler. Now, here he was, welcoming her back in that lord-of-the-manner way of his. “It’s good to finally be back,” she said, hoping he noticed the chill in her tone.
Clearly unaware of the feelings churning inside her, Joe continued, “I guess you’re here because of the
