The Cowboy's Second Chance. Christyne Butler

a bra. “So, you want to explain why you’re fixing my corral?”

      “I figured since I was awake I’d do something to thank you for the meds, putting me up last night…everything.”

      “Last night was my way of thanking you for helping me with that pain-in-the-ass Greeley,” Maggie countered, “and getting beat up for your efforts.”

      “I told you—”

      “Yeah, you told me.” Maggie propped her hands on her hips. “Don’t let the fact I’m a natural blonde fool you. I’m not as dumb as I look. Not anymore, and—”

      “Margaret Anne Stevens! What in the blazes are you doing out here half-naked? And talking with a stranger, no less!”

      Maggie jumped and spun around. Her grandmother, five feet of wiry enthusiasm and pure white curls, stood on the back porch. “Nana B., you scared me!” Then she sighed, and turned back to Landon. “My grandmother. You might as well come meet her before she goes for her shotgun, too.”

      His mouth twitched at one corner.

      Maggie started across the yard, a hot prickle dancing across her skin. As much as she wanted to blame it on the July sun, she wondered if it was Landon’s heated gaze on her back.

      And her backside.

      “I’m not half-naked and this isn’t a stranger…well, not really.” Maggie pushed her hair from her eyes as she reached the porch. Turning, she found he’d stayed at the foot of the stairs. “This is Landon and he—ah, he and his horse needed a place to crash last night. Landon Cartwright, my grandmother, Beatrice Travers.”

      “Ma’am.” He hooked one finger on the brim of his Stetson and nodded.

      “Call me Nana B., everyone does.” Her grandmother shot Maggie a quick look then continued. “So, you’re the noisemaker. You look right at home with a hammer. We’re lookin’—”

      “Nana B.!” Horror filled Maggie at her grandmother’s words. “Mr. Cartwright isn’t looking for work.”

      “I’m passing through, ma’am.”

      Nana B.’s back stiffened, then a bright smile danced over her aged features. “Not without washing up and some breakfast.” She headed back inside. “I’ll get started on the food, you two get wet.”

      Get wet.

      The two little words sent Maggie’s heart racing again. Last night’s fantasy of a midnight skinny-dip, present company included, flashed inside her head. Mortified, she bit her bottom lip, glancing toward Landon. “Ah, there’s a half bath inside if you want it.”

      His gaze dropped to her lips. Something hot and powerful flashed in his dark eyes. Her nipples tightened against the soft cotton of her tank top. His eyes flickered to her breasts for a moment before looking away.

      A muscle ticked in his jaw as he focused on the horizon. “I should be heading out.”

      A voice deep inside, frantic and desperate, cried out for him to stay.

      Good Lord, where’d that come from?

      “N-not without breakfast. My grandmother would skin me alive if I let you leave before tasting her blue-ribbon muffins.” She backed up until her butt hit the door. She pulled it open and stepped inside. “Besides, your horse is going to need—”

      “I know what G.W. needs.”

      The screen door banged closed between them at his abrupt words. Maggie didn’t know him from a hole in the wall. Her gut told her he was a good man, but hell, she’d been wrong before. Her body’s reaction was a poor barometer. She had her family and ranch to protect. Besides, it was clear he wanted to leave.

      “Fine…do what you want.”

      She forced herself not to look back as she made a beeline for the bathroom. The phone on the hall table rang. She grabbed the extension before it stopped. “Crescent Moon.”

      “Mama?”

      Joy flooded Maggie at the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Hey, sweetie.”

      “Are you okay? Did I wake you?”

      “I’m fine, honey, and no, you didn’t wake me.” A tall, sexy-as-sin cowboy who’s no doubt packing his truck as we speak, did. “Why are you calling so early?”

      A long pause filled the air. “I wanted to check on things.”

      Oh, Anna. Maggie leaned again the wall and pressed a hand to her forehead. Eight years old is too young to be such a worrier. “Everything is fine here.”

      “No accidents while we were at the carnival?”

      “You know Hank stayed at the ranch while we were in town.” Maggie straightened and forced a smile into her words. “Did you and Julie have a good time last night?”

      She listened to her daughter’s excited chatter for a few more minutes before ending the call. After lingering under the spray of the shower, she grabbed her robe and headed to her bedroom. Once inside, she paused at the door. Despite the nearness of her room to the kitchen, she didn’t hear a word of conversation.

      Not her grandmother’s lilting pitch, which still carried a hint of her Irish heritage, or Willie’s gravel-filled murmur that reminded her of aged leather. And certainly not the low, smoky tone of her rescuer-cowboy.

      Girl, you’ve got more important things to worry about than a cowboy and his lame horse. She closed the door and moved to her dresser. Like the financial standing of your ranch.

      Financial leaning was a better way to put it.

      After pulling on her boots, she used the hair dryer to blast her shoulder-length hair then pulled it into a ponytail as columns of figures from her so-called budget flashed through her mind. An upcoming vet payment to the Watson Clinic loomed, and her credit line at the feed store was near its limit. Not to mention the final balloon payment on the loan she’d had to get to buy her ex out of the Crescent Moon.

      Balloon payment! What a stupid term for a financial dealing. Made it sound like something connected with a birthday party instead of a way for her to lose everything.

      Lose everything? Over my dead body.

      Maggie marched into the kitchen, drawn by the aroma of her grandmother’s cooking. Weaving her leather belt through the loops on her jeans, she walked right into a heated wall of muscles.