To Court A Cowgirl. Jeannie Watt

lifted her chin and headed off for the kitchen, where she went to the sink and poured herself a glass of water. Maybe if she hydrated, she could gain control of her hormones. She took a long drink.

      Yes. Better.

      Or maybe it was the fact that there were now a couple of walls and a healthy distance between herself and the guy with the great ass.

      Allie emptied the glass, then opened the dishwasher and started putting the dishes into the cupboard, resolutely pulling her thoughts away from Jason until she heard the bathroom door open and her nerves jumped. Jason’s tread was heavy on her old wood floors and each step made her heart rate speed up just a tiny bit more.

      Then the steps stopped.

      Allie froze, wondering what he was doing, until he started moving again and she busied herself arranging glasses in the cupboard. Unaware. Unaffected. Yes. That was her.

      “I didn’t know you painted,” Jason said as he came into the kitchen, carrying the bucket in one hand and the soiled towels in the other. His pant leg was soaked from the knee down, where he’d washed the blood out of it. Just looking at it made Allie feel a little clammy. Wet jeans were never comfortable.

      Nor was facing the guy who’d caught her checking him out.

      “I don’t paint,” she said matter-of-factly. “Not anymore. It was just a...phase.”

      He cocked an eyebrow at her in an expression that said he’d like to know more, but wasn’t going to ask—probably because of her forbidding expression. “I only used one towel, but I did a number on it. Where should I put it?”

      She gestured toward the mudroom and he followed her to the washing machine. She lifted the lid and he dropped the wet, bloody towel inside.

      “I’m sure there’ll be more to follow,” she said as she closed the lid again.

      “Do you have a lot of injuries here?”

      “No, but when you have this many animals, stuff happens. If not blood, then mud. Trust me—that washer will have a load in no time.”

      “Huh.” He flexed his knee as if testing whether or not his administrations would hold. “Well. I’m good as I’ll be. I guess I’ll head on back and try not to get hurt.” He pointed to the back door. “Can I go out this way?”

      “Of course.”

      He paused, his hand on the door handle. “Are you going to dock my pay for this?”

      “Not if you don’t sue me for having an attractive nuisance on my property.”

      “I recall signing a paper releasing you from indemnity if I got hurt.”

      “Good call on my part.”

      “Looks like it.” He held her gaze and when she didn’t say anything more, he turned and headed out the door. After he was safely out of the house, Allie moved to the window to watch him walk to his truck, free to watch his ass all she’d like. She let out a breath as she let the curtain drop.

      The house felt empty and as she started toward the kitchen, it seemed to echo alone, alone, alone in time with her footsteps.

      Alone had been her natural state for the past year, but not one that she particularly welcomed, even though she wasn’t certain how to change that without jeopardizing the fragile sense of control she had over her life right now. It was crazy, but even when she was with people she felt alone—probably a holdover from all those years that she pretended everything was okay with her and Kyle when they were not. She’d been the great pretender, with her sisters and her mother. With herself. She’d protected her deep secret, the fact that she was barely holding herself together in the face of the disintegration of both her marriage and the ranch, by erecting barriers. Not letting conversations get too deep, or herself get too close to others. Her sisters had been off in distant places, living their own lives. And she’d been here on the ranch, lying about hers. Lying hadn’t turned out well in any respect, so she was determined to be honest with herself this time around.