LITMIR.BIZ

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go from her core to a place that had seen little action in the past two years. Rising from her kneeling position where she’d been pulling the weeds trying to get friendly with her kales and collards, she shielded her eyes from the midday sun and squinted. Rare for a car to be coming down this road and she wouldn’t know who it was. But she did know. Could sense that it was him. One of them. One of the bourgie possums. Who else would drive such a swanky car in the middle of dirt roads, jackrabbits and tumbleweed?

      “What does he want?” she mumbled, angrily pulling off her gardening gloves and trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. “He’s the last person I want to see.” Liar! She began walking to the road on slightly shaky legs, anger rising at the way her body reacted. He was just a man. Her farm was full of them. She’d grown up with them all around her. And now of all times she was growing moist between her legs? Ridiculous.

      She reached the drive just as Warren turned off the engine. She stood there, arms crossed, face properly scowled to show the working of one’s nerves. The nonchalant mask threatened to slip a bit as after a brief moment the man got out—translation: uncoiled—his long, lean frame from a car that looked too small to hold him. She’d refused to consider it yesterday but now allowed herself to guess. Around six-four. Or five. Around two hundred pounds. Probably five percent body fat. She tried to digest these thoughts with the disinterest of one examining cattle flesh. In that vein, this was a very nice bull.

      * * *

      When he first turned off the engine, Warren didn’t move. He sat there fairly entranced at the vision before him. Backlit by the sun, she looked like an angel: a halo of long, unruly hair, skin bronzed and glowing, fitted white tee that unlike the oversize one she’d worn yesterday clung to her ample breasts and let him know that she was all woman. Her jeans were worn and tattered, clinging to curvy thighs, toned, no doubt, by the way she rode a horse. She can probably clench them tight enough to crack a walnut. Blood rushed to another nut, followed by thoughts of what else she could clench, causing Warren to shift his body and his thoughts while reaching for the door handle and finding a smile.

      “Good afternoon.” A curt nod was her greeting. “Nice-looking place you’ve got here.” She cocked her head to the other side. Okay, so she wouldn’t win the trophy for Miss Congeniality. Warren decided to bypass the small talk and get right to the point. “I, uh, think I might have an answer to the problem you mentioned yesterday.”

      She uncrossed her arms. “I’m listening.”

      With her arms now at her side, Warren found himself drawn once again to that rack of a body: full, round breasts, narrow waist, wide hips...damn. Is it possible for her to look even better than she did yesterday? She placed her hands in her back pockets and fixed him with a look that suggested she was long on agitation and short on patience.

      “We can put a gate on that part of the fence, the part that’s by the stream.”

      “Will it be locked?”

      “Most likely. It’s too far away for my men to oversee and while it’s a good distance away from the vineyard, I don’t want to have to wonder who or what might be sneaking through.”

      “So how is this giving access to my cattle?”

      “Just tell me what time you need it open and I can make sure that happens.”

      “I don’t appreciate having to give you a schedule.”

      “And I don’t appreciate your funky attitude. Has anybody ever pointed it out to you?”

      “A time or two.”

      It was a brief instant, a nanosecond really, but Warren could have sworn that the merest of smiles accompanied this statement. And he would be damned if he didn’t kind of like it.

      “We can install a gate and work out a time frame each day that it will be open and available to your livestock. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

      “I guess I’ll take it, though it would be much easier if the gate remained unlocked. Other than coyote and deer there’s not much to worry about around these parts. We had an issue with cow rustlers awhile back, but we fixed that problem.”

      “How’d you do that?”

      “With a twenty-two.”

      “Ha!”

      There it was again, that almost smile. He was sure he’d seen it this time.

      “How soon can you get that gate in?”

      “We’ll order it today. As soon as it arrives, shouldn’t take more than a day to have it installed.”

      Another nod.

      “Well, I guess that’s it.”

      He hesitated, having nothing more to say but not wanting to go. He’d had his share of women, even had one chomping at the bit to marry him. But there was something about this one, something about her feistiness and her don’t-give-a-damn attitude that moved him, intrigued him, made him want to know about her and maybe break down that wall. It made him wonder about the man responsible for her building it in the first place. But none of this was his business. She was his neighbor, nothing more, and probably one he wouldn’t see much past this meeting.

      “All right then. Goodbye.” He turned and headed back to his car, his long strides quickly widening the distance between them.

      “Drake.”

      He turned back around. “The name’s Warren.” He said this even though he liked the way his surname rolled off her tongue. He liked the sound of her voice, too, low and raspy, could imagine it moaning in the throes of pleasure.

      “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

      He smiled, got into his car and drove away, feeling as proud as a Boy Scout who’d just earned a new badge. He had a feeling there was a lot more to Charli Reed than met the eye. And in this moment, he silently admitted that he wanted to know it all.

      Chapter 5

      Warren parked his car next to Jackson’s truck. There were also a few cars he didn’t recognize.

      Jackson looked up as he approached. “Must not have gone too bad.”

      “It went all right.”

      “No battle scars, head still intact, proof that she didn’t bite it off.”

      Warren grinned. “She wanted to.”

      Richard walked up, having heard the last exchange. “A hellion, that one. I sure would like to tame her.”

      “You won’t have time for that,” Warren retorted, harsher than he’d intended. “I want this house finished as soon as possible, eight weeks tops. That includes the guest houses.” He turned to Jackson. “Still think we can meet that deadline?”

      “For the right price, anything is possible. Especially in this economy. There are plenty of men looking for work and workers love nothing better than overtime pay.”

      “I want you to get the size of crew you need to deliver within that time frame. Life will be easier if I’m living here during at least part of the harvesting of the first crop. Just run the numbers by me.”

      Jackson nodded. “Will do.” He looked at Richard. “I left the roll of blueprints down by where the pool is going to be. Do you think you can go and bring it up for me?”

      “Sure, man,” Richard responded. He gave Warren a quick, unreadable look, then turned and left.

      Jackson watched after him, his eyes narrowed in thought. “What’s his story?”

      “Richard is an old friend from New Orleans. Made some bad choices that landed him in prison. Our families are close—he became almost like a brother after my grandfather became his mentor. Practically lived at his home, became real close to my grandmother and later my mom. She talked me into helping him get a fresh start. Hard to land

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