Page 29 of Westin
Lea bent over double, stretching out her thighs the best she could from a standing position. The soreness was almost incapacitating. She felt like she’d just spent a month on the back of that horse. She had no idea how she was going to move for the next twenty-four hours.
“A hot bath helps.”
She spun around, not as surprised as she should have been to find Bowie standing behind her, amusement written all over his handsome face as he watched her stretch. He had the same open admiration in his eyes that Westin continuously tried to hide, but there was no attempt on Bowie’s behalf to hide it. She’d chosen badly, it seemed, if all she was looking for was a casual lover.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to know I like what I see.”
“Keep it to yourself.” She stretched her arms above her head, aware she was only giving him a new angle to enjoy, but not really caring. “Where did Westin go?”
“To find Clint. I guess the two of you found something out there?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, while they work that out, you’re with me. And, I hate to break it to you, but it requires getting back up on a horse.”
“You’re joking!”
“We’re giving the tourists a ride out to the paddock to see a couple of the older cows.”
“Great.”
“It’s a working ranch. Not much I can do about it.”
“If I hear that one more time, I might have to scream!”
Bowie just chuckled as he headed out of the barn, gesturing for her to follow him. After some hesitation during which she honestly considered making a run for it, she did follow him, not thrilled to see Gray Lady still tethered to the hitching post by the big doors. Reluctantly, she climbed back up into the saddle, sliding her feet into the stirrups and pushing them outward, taking as much of her weight out of the saddle as she could, not only to aid the horse, but to keep the pressure off her ass. It didn’t do much for her thighs, but she’d rather have sore thighs than a bruised ass.
It seemed Westin hadn’t had to go far to find Clint. She saw the two of them huddled together behind the barn, looking at Westin’s phone. She prayed they wouldn’t go back out there and dig the box up. They had no idea what—or who—they were dealing with here. These people were not the kind of people who would appreciate having their stash messed with. Nor would they go easy on people like Westin and Clint, good ole boys who should know better but didn’t. The last thing Lea wanted was for anyone on this ranch to get hurt, but she didn’t know how to stop it without exposing them to a world and a truth she knew would only take them down an even more dangerous road.
She never should have come here. She desperately wished she’d kept driving when she came to that diner Friday morning. She’d already been going for more than twelve hours; she could have gone another couple of hours. If she’d only known Fang was that tight on her tail, she would never have put innocent people in danger. Never.
This was getting out of hand. She had to do something.
“There’s our group,” Bowie called out to her, gesturing to a small group of women huddled near the gate that led to the back of the property, the same gate Westin had taken her through this morning. “Give me a few minutes to get them saddled up.”
He got down off his horse—a beautiful Quarter Horse that must have been seventeen hands at the withers—and sauntered over to the ladies, drawing their attention simply by his arrival. He was such a big man that he demanded consideration just by existing. Topping that off with a charming smile, deep dimples, and a charm that was like whipped cream on top of a sundae, he was almost irresistible. Lea once again found herself wondering if she’d set her sights on the wrong cowboy.
She dismounted and twisted Gray Lady’s reins around the gate before walking over to join the group herself. She kept to the fringes, though, smiling to one woman who noticed her, but feeling kind of invisible as the others totally disregarded her presence in favor of hanging on every word out of Bowie’s mouth.
“This is some vacation, isn’t it?” she commented to a young blond woman when Bowie finished his introductory speech and began taking the women, one at a time, into the paddock to choose a horse. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this sore.”
“Not me,” the woman responded. “I do yoga three times a week, so I’m in pretty good shape.”
“I thought I was, too, but being on a horse for hours really does a number to your thigh muscles. It’s like tensing your abs and forgetting to relax them all day.”
The woman looked almost startled at the thought. “Lord, I hope not! I like my thighs. I need my thighs!” She leaned close to Lea, her eyes moving around the slowly reducing group as if she were afraid of being overheard. “I have my eyes on one of these cowboys. The younger, blond guy? So hot! I plan to get him into my bed before this week is over, so I kind of need my thighs to be happy, if you know what I mean.”
“Then I would suggest you be real careful how long you ride this horse today. A couple of hours and…” Lea rolled her eyes. “Sore city!”
The woman made a face. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Well, what else are you going to do today?”
“There’s a group of women back at the bunkhouse learning how to sew a quilt. I thought it sounded lame, but maybe I should do that instead.”
Lea nodded. “Maybe.” She glanced toward the paddock, watched Bowie deflect a flirty middle-aged woman while trying to get her settled on a horse. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cell phone on you, would you?”