Page 5 of Captured by the Billionaire Cowboy (The Secret Billionaires #7)
C iara.
The world froze, halted on its axis, at the lithe woman curled on her side, nestled in a thick pile of hay.
Years had come and gone since he’d last seen her, when they had both been teenagers blossoming with young adulthood, and yet he would recognize her anywhere. As a child, she had been adorable.
As a woman, she was beautiful.
Trim and athletic, slender lines had matured into womanly curves, apparent even under the billowy shirt and blue jeans.
Locks of shimmery blond waves caressed her shoulders, over sun-kissed skin that showed her love for the outdoors.
The eyes he knew would be cat green were closed, thick lashes fanned against creamy cheeks, and above a soft bow of rosy red lips.
She looked utterly in place, amongst her equine friends, relaxed in the innocence of sleep.
Unfamiliar emotion urged him forward. He should leave her alone, talk to her in the morning as planned. Yet she shifted, whimpering against the course hay. He couldn’t leave her in the uncomfortable position, not after all she’d done. She deserved a bed.
He could simply carry her to the guest room.
Would it bother her, to know he moved her? Ciara always cared for others before herself, helping horses, dogs and even insects. If he had been here earlier, he would have insisted she go to a proper bed. Since she was asleep, he would ensure it.
However, first he would ask. He knelt down next to her, into the scent of gardenias and honey, an intoxicating combination of sweetness and supple woman.
Before he could say a word, she lifted those long lashes, gazing at him with unfocused eyes.
“Hey Cowboy Sexy. I was hoping to see you out of my dreams.”
Um, what?
“You are looking mighty… mighty…”
What was happening?
“Sexy.”
She giggled, and he had to fight his own. Clearly, she wasn’t completely awake. Only she reached out and cupped the stubble on his jaw, and his smile vanished. Hers only widened. “I’m glad I dreamed about you again.”
His throat dried. Even if she didn’t realize who he was, or that she was even awake, the words sliced through him. Did she have any idea how much he’d wanted to see her again? He hadn’t. “Ciara, you must be uncomfortable out here. Can I carry you to bed?”
Her eyes lit up.
“To sleep.” He said it low at first, then immediately louder. “I mean to sleep, of course. And just you. I would leave you there.” Now he sounded as nonsensical as she, and he didn’t have the excuse of slumber. A little furrow appeared in her brow, but then she gave a slight nod.
Ever-so-slowly he reached under her, grasping endless curves as the hay poked him like tiny toothpicks.
He grasped her tightly, then rose. She shifted slightly, but her eyes drifted closed, and from there, her deep, even breathing didn’t waver.
He nodded to the horses, silently promising to return.
Threading through the stables, he stepped into the windy night.
The rain hadn’t abated, and even under the cover, it pelted him, soaking his clothing and chilling his skin.
He clutched Ciara closer, turning his back to shield her from the wind-blown droplets, as he strode quickly to the house.
Ciara mewled softly as he traversed the large farmer’s kitchen, the hallways covered in vibrant photographs of horses they’d raised.
They passed the realm of his childhood: the music room where Quinn sang when no one was listening, the living room where Spencer drew when no one was watching and the den where Davey smiled for everyone to see, at least on the few occasions he’d been allowed to visit.
Finally arriving at his destination, Rowan pushed open a tall wooden door carved with roses.
The guest room was decorated in shades of sapphire and emerald, with hardwood floors, a marble fireplace and a wall of windows that showcased the velvet night sky.
The furniture was luxurious and grand, and included a cherry wood dresser, curved armoire and antique writing desk.
A king size four poster bed served as the centerpiece, its posts also carved with roses, and its silky canopy embedded with tiny crystals that shimmered like miniature stars.
He approached the bed, hesitating briefly before lowering Ciara on the upturned sheets. With a gentle sigh, she burrowed under the covers, relaxing into the enveloping cocoon. Something in him shifted; an instant later, his chest tightened, as tension snapped taut muscles.
What was happening to him?
He pivoted briskly, striding to the door, yet stopped just before the tall portal. Drawn by a force he could neither explain nor resist, he allowed one last look. A deep breath and forever later, he exited the room, and shut the door.
He walked swiftly to the master bedroom, moving from memory, barely seeing the hallways of his childhood or the ghosts that creaked within.
Seeing her had jolted him like a kick from a Thoroughbred, emotions he wouldn’t attempt to name.
Likely it was just a reaction to coming home after so long, yet it didn’t matter.
He couldn’t get involved with a woman who would soon leave, whose heart he had shattered and would undoubtedly shatter again.
She needed a man who could give her the love she granted the world.
Yet now she was here, and like everyone at this ranch, he would care for her.
For the first time in a long time, anticipation burned.
The distant whinnying of horses interrupted her slumber.
Low and sweet, the equine concert played melody to her dreams, an inexplicable echoing of the single horse to which she typically awoke.
“Hold your horses, Snowflake,” Ciara murmured her usual joke, stretching on the luxurious linens.
Yet she stilled as a gauzy cloud surrounded her, embracing her in softness.
Her bed was not this comfortable. Her bedroom did not smell like roses. And shouldn’t there be only one horse?
She opened her eyes with a gasp.
Where was she?
She was not in her bed. Not in her room, not in her house.
The large opulent chamber was far larger than her bedroom, with dark cherry wood furniture and rich appointments nothing like the cream walls and whitewash pine furniture of her cottage.
It was luxury defined, with richly colored paintings and gleaming sculptures of horses in motion.
Fresh roses bloomed from a display in a glass blown vase, a brilliant starburst of pinks, purples and reds, scenting the room with their heady aroma.
It would have been a lovely room in which to awaken…
if only she could remember how she arrived.
She scurried off the bed, smoothing down her dusty clothing, the same outfit she’d worn yesterday.
In half a dozen long strides, she reached the large window, where a bright morning sun ruled over a flawless blue sky and endless green expanses.
Her rusty truck was parked down below, next to a gleaming late-model car and a sign that said…
Of course. She was at the Byrne Ranch.
She must be in the guest bedroom, but how was it possible?
She’d cared for the horses until late in the night, then rested her eyes for just a minute.
Of course, she could’ve fallen asleep, yet that did nothing to explain her current location.
She was a heavy sleeper, and she’d never sleepwalked in her life.
Certainly, she would’ve remembered walking all the way to this room.
Frank must have brought her inside. Impressive at his age, but then he was former military. Perhaps he’d woken her and helped her walk. She must have been so exhausted she extinguished any trace of the journey.
A memory edged just beyond her reach, a whisper of sensation hidden in dreams. Being carried against a solid chest, cradled protectively in a cocoon of warmth, strength, possessiveness . It didn’t make sense, because the man in her memory was most definitely not Frank.
Her watch beeped the hour, and she started.
How could it already be ten? She usually woke by eight, yet of course she didn’t usually stay up half the night soothing scared horses.
Fortunately, Frank never slept past five, and promised to check on the horses as soon as he rose. Still, they were her responsibility.
She moved rapidly now, raiding the small overnight bag she kept in the car for emergencies that Frank had brought up earlier.
She dashed into the en-suite bathroom, which was as large as her bedroom back home, and completed the necessities.
After a quick shower, she changed into a pair of blue jeans and a pink floral top.
Grabbing a granola bar and bottled water, she rushed out the door.
She travelled down a gardenia-scented hall she didn’t remember crossing, under rich paintings and intricate crown molding.
At first, her footsteps echoed alone down the empty pathway, but soon others joined, heavy and light, fast and slow, emerging from different directions.
She faltered as the sound of conversation added to the cacophony.
Last night Frank had been alone. Who else had arrived?
Was Rowan here?
She strode quicker, as the surroundings blurred past. Yesterday, Frank said the busy man probably wouldn’t come at all, even when he learned of her presence.
Had he decided to see the horses for himself?
Or had he come for a more nefarious purpose, to demand they leave?
She rushed past a window, barely glancing at the glimpse of green fields, horses and… people. Lots and lots of people.
She pivoted, retracing rapid steps to confirm what she hoped had been an illusion. A full ranch’s worth of workers roamed, clad in jeans and cowboy hats, appearing very much at home in the expansive yard.
One held the reins of her horse.