A Cowboy Returns. Kelli Ireland

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A Cowboy Returns - Kelli Ireland Mills & Boon Blaze

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were parked at the bunkhouses, but she didn’t see Ty’s or Cade’s anywhere. She had expected she’d beat Ty to the Bar C, but she’d thought Cade would be around. As serious as things were likely to get, she couldn’t imagine the brothers would be too far out of pocket.

      Grabbing the backpack she carried her paperwork and iPad in, she slid out of the truck. Brisket leaped down and trotted along beside her, eyes glued to her hands, as she strode toward the main bunkhouse. Chances were someone there would know where Cade had run off to.

      “Can I help you?”

      She stumbled to a stop. Numb, her hands hung at her sides. Her feet wouldn’t move no matter what she silently shouted at them.

      “I asked if I could help you.”

      She might have shaken her head. Could have been she was just shaking. She had no idea.

      “Hey. I’m talking to you.”

      That dark chocolate voice wound around her chest and tightened, and her heart suddenly didn’t have enough room to hammer so wildly. She wondered if it would break free of her ribs or just break. Are there even enough pieces left?

      Brisket pressed up against her legs as he looked over his shoulder.

      “That dog... Reagan?”

      Steeling herself, hands fisting, she turned with incrementally small steps. “Yeah?”

      “Why didn’t you answer me?” he asked, exasperation woven through the question.

      She shrugged as she mentally reached for her pride. “I figured I’d weigh the odds of you assaulting me again if I turned around. But with Brisket out of the truck this time, I’m feeling lucky.”

      He smiled slowly. “Feeling lucky, huh? I didn’t think married women were supposed to cop to that with another man.”

      Ice lodged in her chest and her vision wavered through unexpected tears even as a fierce blush stole up her neck and across her cheeks. “Go to hell, Esquire. It’s right back the way you came, so you shouldn’t have trouble finding your way.”

      The smile faded. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you earlier.”

      His apology caught her off guard. Picking up her pack, she called Brisket to her as she started toward the bunkhouse again. “Stick with the insults. They go with the suit better than apologies.”

      “I didn’t know you were married.” His irritation escalated with every word. “And stop calling me Esquire.”

      She didn’t really want to be petty, fought not to smile. And lost. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder. The smile morphed from snarky to humorless when their eyes met. “But it fits you so well. There’s the attorney thing, but there’s also the fact you’re out here—” she looked him over just as she had earlier, head to toe “—apparently rolling around in cow shit while wearing designer duds I bet were featured in your namesake’s magazine. Esquire, it is.”

      “I don’t remember you being so bitter,” he said, absently brushing at his clothes.

      “And I don’t remember you being so worried about how you looked or what people thought,” she volleyed.

      Something wounded passed through his gaze. “Then you weren’t paying attention.”

      The breeze shifted. Eli’s cologne carried across the air, teasing her with its rich, crisp scent. She drew a breath, intent on offering him a creative suggestion on what to do with his cuff links, but the words hung in her throat. Beneath the cologne was the familiar scent that was all him—midnight and dark promises and sensual heat.

      She remembered the taste of his skin on her tongue, the half promise of heaven, half threat of heartache. The feel of his body wrapped around her. But the sound of his voice? That was all too real. It hadn’t changed, not with age and time or education. Not any more than the brutal, irrational desire she still harbored for him, desire she’d warred against so long...and lost every battle.

      Uncomfortable with the way the conversation was devolving and scared he’d want to talk about the kiss, she faced him and put up her hands. “Enough, okay? Enough.”

      He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. What are you doing out here?”

      “I’m the Bar C’s vet.”

      “And?” he asked, rolling his hand in a get-on-with-it gesture.

      She hesitated. “If neither Cade nor Ty said anything about this, I’m not sure I should be discussing it with you.”

      “I own one-third of this ranch, Reagan.”

      “On paper, yes.” Shifting from foot to foot, she let her gaze wander, let it rest anywhere but on him. “But by operational standards, I believe you’d be considered an owner in absentia.”

      “And how would you know the appropriate legal term?” His voice was lethally soft.

      She finally met his gaze. “That’s between you and your brothers, Esquire.”

      “So they called me home to officially shut me out?”

      “If that’s what you think, what I said earlier about your intelligence in business is wrong. You’re dumb as dirt in that arena, as well,” she snapped. “How many ways do you have to hear that they need you, Eli, because I’m running out of ways to say it.” She sighed in the face of his silence. “Ty either called you home or he didn’t. He either asked for your help or he didn’t. But consider this, Eli. How often does a proud man go to his knees and plead for help from the one man least likely to give it?”

      His visible flinch was followed by a wince as he touched his split lip. “Yeah, well, I don’t think Ty and Cade are seeing eye to eye on what they ‘need’ from me at the moment.”

      Reagan stared at him long and hard, noting the split lip, the bruise beginning to blossom on one cheekbone, and the ripped buttons on his shirt. “Cade do that to you?”

      Obviously watching her for a reaction, he blinked slowly. “What would you say if I told you I ran into Luke and he called me out on kissing you?”

      Every ounce of blood left her face. Spots danced in her vision. She moved in slow motion, closing the distance between them and watching detachedly as her fist connected with his unbruised cheek. Observed his chin whip to the side with absolute indifference.

      “What the hell!” Eli bit out, spitting fresh blood.

      “You don’t talk about Luke. Never again.”

      “I mention his name and you hit me?” The demand hung between them.

      She met his angry stare, her own eyes flat. “Luke was killed three years ago.”

      Eli’s mouth worked silently before he managed a gruff response. “Oh, shit. Reagan, I—” He reached for her, but she waved him off.

      “Don’t.” She spun away and moved stiffly toward the nearest bunkhouse. Her voice hollow in her ears, she called back to him. “Tell Ty I’m

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