wall. She looked small and cold in a leather jacket that wouldn’t protect her well enough against this kind of weather. City girl, indeed.
She sure stood out among the locals. A few men followed her progress as she walked; the way her beautiful little backside was encased in tight jeans drew more than one appreciative gaze, the sexy piercing and her half-moon tat at the corner of her lip. It made Ely remember far too much.
He remembered biting her there, and that she’d liked it.
She’d nipped him back, and he’d liked that, too.
Lydia didn’t mind a little rough play and could hold her own on that score. He was suddenly, unexpectedly hard, and shifted in his seat, cursing under his breath. Obviously seeing her up close packed more of a punch than when he was following her around in the truck all day.
Damn, she was hot. He guessed they would need a lot more time to let the effects of that one night fade.
Her black hair was a little longer, flaxen, slightly curled at the edges as it danced around her pale skin, accentuating dark eyes and full lips. He knew that her skin, under the coat and sweater, was covered in ink...something he’d never found sexy on a woman before, but when he’d been with her, he hadn’t been able to get enough of looking at the sexy designs that covered most of her body. Running his hands over them, tracing them, tasting them.
Ely had one tattoo, the symbol penned on his shoulder that he shared with the guys in his squad. Other than that, there had never been anything meaningful enough to him that he would want to inscribe it permanently on his body.
He finished his food, but barely tasted anything as he peeked at her in between bites. Taking her coffee from the server with a smile, Lydia pulled a book from her bag, sitting there, alone, reading. Her apartment had been filled with books.
Ely suspected there was far more behind the ink than anyone knew. Maybe that’s why she covered herself in it, as well as the piercings that accented various points on her body—lip, ear, belly button, and one even lower that had totally surprised and turned him on.
But maybe, in some way, it was her armor. A way of hiding her secrets? Who she was, why she was here, and what was in her past that she was so intent on hiding. He knew, since he had his own. It had been necessary to survive in the war, and even when he’d come home. He ordered another beer, intending to call it a night and go back to his room before she spotted him. If he was going to be stuck here for a few days, he’d have to lay low.
Then a guy sauntered up to the booth and slid in on the opposite side from Lydia. She didn’t put her book down, but the cowboy didn’t take the hint. He smiled, leaning back and picked up a sugar packet from the bin on the table, playing with it between his fingers, appearing casual. Ely knew his look; the guy was obviously hoping to score that evening. Lydia peered over top of her reading and said something that made the guy’s smile widen.
Ely’s back stiffened, his body tightening as if for a fight. She’d probably been with others since him—why not? It was none of his business.
When he saw Lydia shake her head, smiling in a forced, false way as she brushed him off, Ely’s blood pressure lowered. Something primal emerged at the thought of another man’s hands on her—this guy, in particular—and didn’t settle until the cowboy rejoined his friends at the bar.
Ely nursed his beer and pretended to watch the news. Eventually, she closed her book, walked to the door. She wasn’t wearing the heavy eyeliner or makeup that she normally did. Still, there was something dramatic and sexy about her, making it hard to look away.
As she headed out, Ely saw the guy who had been talking to Lydia walk out the door behind her. With a buddy. The hair on the back of his neck went up. Putting the rest of his beer on the counter, he followed them outside.
* * *
LYDIA HAD HAD such a frustrating day. Heading back to the house alone had seemed unappealing after spending a good part of the afternoon waiting on her mother’s lawyer, who never did show up. The will was clear—she had inherited everything—but her mother mandated that for her to collect, Lydia had to stay home for a month. Obviously her mother had good intentions, always having insisted that Lydia had to face her past.
Lydia didn’t agree.
She needed to sell the ranch as quickly as possible—which meant staying the month, three more weeks—and then leave for good. But the world seemed to be working against her.
The house needed some necessary repairs, and she had tried to line up someone to do them sooner than later, unsuccessfully. Then, she’d looked into tracking down the one Realtor in Clear River. They were closed on Wednesdays. Of course. Strike three. It was Christmas in a small town. This was not going to be easy.
Many of the contractors were already booked or not scheduling new work until spring. She’d gotten some suggestions for businesses in the city, but that would add to the cost considerably.
On top of that, one of the cows was sick, and they’d had to call for the vet. Necessary and costly. The animal would be fine, thank goodness...Lydia had sat with her most of the night before, taking turns with Smitty, the ranch manager. He and one ranch hand, a sour guy named Kyle Jones, were the only two hires her mother had kept on.
She might have to see if she could take a loan against the house to make repairs and ask Smitty to talk to someone about selling the livestock. She’d forgotten how much she liked the cows. Peaceful creatures, mostly. She was glad her mother had reduced their herd to this small group of gentle dairy cows, but she had to make sure they found a good home, not some meat market.
It was all so overwhelming. Lydia felt trapped, her present life held hostage to her past, and she didn’t like it. She’d left her life here behind, and she wanted to keep it that way.
But if she just walked away, she would lose the property, and her chance to sell it. With money from a sale, she could expand her business back in Philadelphia, open a second location of Body Inc., which would also mean hiring a second artist. It was a dream she didn’t think she could attain for several years, but sale of her family home would make it possible.
Thinking about it made her crave the city, and she took in her surroundings as icy wind whipped her hair around her face, freezing her ears and nose.
The town was still pretty and well-kept, as it always had been. Twinkling lights decorated most of the buildings and were strung from streetlight to streetlight, their cheerfulness contrasting with the storm clouds that blotted out the stars. She’d heard they were expecting the first real snow overnight.
Most of the old, low-profile, Western-style buildings were still in place here, though there were a few new constructions. Across the street she saw an architects’ office and a new medical practice that looked pretty upscale for the small town. The street was repaved, the sidewalks new, with large wooden raised gardens placed intermittently along the main street. Where plants would grow in the summer, they were now covered with snow.
As a kid, she had often gone to the pizza shop down the road with her friends after football games and to the tack store with her father. Every year, she would bake dozens of cookies with her mother for the Fourth of July picnic that always accompanied fireworks at the edge of town. Clear River always had its own little holiday parades with their local bands and town officials, and all of the kids would do something creative to show off. The town itself was often more like an extended family, everyone knowing everyone else. It had been a nice way to grow up. Mostly.
She’d
