Page 90 of Cash

His lips twitch as his eyes lock on mine over the rim of his coffee mug. “Don’t know what I love more. My morning coffee or my afternoon beer.”

“Depends on who you’re having it with, I think.”

His hair is still wet from the shower. The smell of his soap is intoxicating.

I amthis closeto jumping the man’s bones.

Especially when he says, “Then I think I like my coffee more.”

Don’t flirt back.

Do. Not. Flirt.

“Or your evening Shiner Bocks at The Rattler,” I say.

That rumble of laughter. That smile. That happy, playful gleam in his blue eyes. “I like that too.”

Oh, Lord, am I falling for this guy?

That would be a disaster—a risk I can’t take. Especially now that I’m getting involved in the ranch’s day-to-day operations.

Especially now that I’m starting to like the place.

I’ve learned Lucky Ranch is what it is because of Cash. I lose him, there’s a very good chance I lose my family’s legacy. I want to do Dad proud.

Which means I absolutely cannot do Cash.

Even if he is kind. Thoughtful. And so hot it hurts sometimes.

Maybe I just need to get laid. Surely, this is just sexualfrustration rearing its ugly head? I bet some good sex with someone other than Cash will cure me of any inconvenient attraction I may feel for my foreman.

But who the hell do I sleep with in Hartsville? I can’t pick up any of the other cowboys or ranch hands. I don’t have the time—or the energy—to hang at The Rattler by myself and meet people there. Could I possibly shoot back to Dallas next weekend? Then again, Goody and I haven’t discussed my ability to come and go from the ranch like that.

The answer comes the next morning, on Monday.

Or, really, later that night. Guess Palmer was having Sunday Funday and stayed out late, because he sent a text at eleven forty-five p.m.

Palmer Mason

U up?

My pulse thuds. I could ignore him. I probably should.

But I need to dosomethingto keep my feelings for Cash in check. Otherwise, I think I’ll go crazy—or worse, give in to those feelings.

I move my thumbs over the screen before I can think better of it.

How far are you willing to drive for a hookup?

He replies a few hours later.

You’re on that ranch, aren’t you? The one you inherited.

Three hours from Dallas

I think I can swing that.

This weekend?