The Cowboy's Second Chance. Christyne Butler

A ponytail made her look about eighteen, probably ten years younger than her true age.

      “Well, the day’s a-wasting.” Willie rose, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He placed his dishes in the sink before grabbing a ragged, straw Stetson from a hook near the door. “I’m gonna meet up with Hank and check the herd. Unless you need me here?”

      Willie eyed Landon and Maggie followed his gaze.

      “No, we’ll be fine,” she said. “Oh, my truck. I’ve got to get into town—”

      “I’ll take you,” he interrupted.

      Her green eyes returned to his, and he found himself wishing for his hat.

      “I thought you were leaving?” she asked.

      He was. So why weren’t his feet moving?

      Placing his mug on the counter, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ll drop you off on my way out.”

      She didn’t reply.

      “Margaret Anne, where are your manners?” Nana B. chided. “Say thank you.”

      “Thank you,” she dutifully repeated, looking away as she rose.

      Landon nodded, not believing she meant it and wondering why he cared. “I’ll finish up my laundry so we can head out.”

      “I told you not to worry about that.” Nana B. dried her hands with a dishrag. “It’s gonna be a couple of hours before you can leave anyway.”

      “A couple hours?”

      Maggie walked to the sink and dumped her dishes into the soapy water. “The machine’s old. It takes a few cycles to get everything dry.”

      “Dryer-schmryer. I’ll put this beautiful day to good use and hang most of it outside. Nothing like the smell of clean clothes fresh from flapping in the sunshine.” Nana B. draped the dish towel over Maggie’s shoulder and winked before walking into the mudroom.

      Fresh linen.

      The memory of that scent invading his dreams caused Landon to draw in a deep breath. There it was again, mixed among the lingering smells of frying bacon and lemon dish soap. Since he’d held Maggie in his arms, her fresh, unsullied fragrance clung to his clothes, and his fingers itched at the awakened memory of soft skin.

      Willie cleared his throat. “I’ll be heading out, then.”

      Maggie nodded. “See you at dinner.”

      Willie nodded and moved to Landon. “I guess I’ll say my goodbyes.”

      Landon took his outstretched hand. “Much obliged for—well, for last night.”

      “No need. You helped Miss Maggie with that jackass Gree—” Willie’s eyes darted to Maggie’s grandmother busy at the washing machine. His voice dropped to a mumble. “—and we helped you.”

      “Is he as much of a weasel as he pretends to be?” Landon asked, ending the handshake.

      “Yes siree.”

      “No.”

      Maggie’s disagreement had Landon locking gazes with her across the kitchen. Her eyes held for a moment then broke free, and she busied herself clearing the table. He looked back at the elderly cowboy.

      “You didn’t take a beatin’ for no reason,” Willie muttered before heading out. The sound of the back door closing echoed through the kitchen.

      Landon moved toward the table, keeping his voice soft. “You told Willie about your run-in with Greeley. But not your grandmother?”

      Maggie ignored him as she put things away in the refrigerator.

      He leaned closer and asked, “She accepts a stranger who spent the night in your barn and ends up at her table the next morning?”

      “Not much surprises my grandmother anymore.” Maggie closed the fridge door, pausing to push hard against the handle until it clicked shut.

      “Why didn’t you tell her?”

      She spun around, her honey-colored hair whipping over her shoulder. “What happened last night was no big deal.”

      Landon crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the need to brush away the few strands caught at the edge of her mouth. “You get manhandled, break up fights and bring home strangers often?”

      First surprise, then anger crossed Maggie’s features. She advanced on him until they stood toe to toe. “You don’t know me. You don’t know this ranch. And you sure as hell made it clear you don’t want to work here. So why don’t you mind your own business?”

      She pushed past him and stomped across the kitchen.

      He watched her go, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. Maggie Stevens had a temper, and she was sexy as hell when riled.

      No, don’t go there. You’re halfway out the door.

      Still, his gut told him something wasn’t right. He didn’t know if it was Maggie’s refusal to tell her grandmother about last night or the fact she’d brought home a total stranger and treated him like family.

      Forget it. You don’t know these people from a hole in the wall, and you’ve got your own problems to deal with like an empty wallet and a lame horse.

      Ah, hell.

      He started for the back door, grabbing his hat on the way out. Maggie headed across the yard. He followed her into the cool interior of the barn. “Hold on a minute—”

      “I don’t have time to hold on.” Maggie moved from one empty stall to the next, pausing to open each door and push it flat against the wall. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve a lot of work to do.”