Page 19 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

Fuck, this girl is so perfect. I can hardly wait to get my hands on her.

“Did the boss already leave?” Miguel asks.

He removes his hat, pushes a hand through his sweaty hair and promptly parks the hat back on his head. In all the years I’ve known him I think I’ve seen him without a cowboy hat for a grand total of about an hour.

“A few minutes ago.” I tear my eyes away from Cecilia. “He’ll be gone until Friday.”

Miguel squints at the horizon. “A big section of the north pasture fence took a beating during that blizzard a few months back. The whole damn thing should really be replaced.”

“I can give you the green light. Do what you’ve got to do. And thanks for taking some time for the tour this morning.”

“No problem,” he says just as a skinny cowboy named Del walks over and mutters in his ear. Miguel nods and shoots me a glance.

“Go ahead,” I say. “I don’t mean to keep you from your work.”

Cecilia is listening and she aims a bright smile at the ranch foreman. “Thank you so much for everything, Miguel.”

He tips his hat. “My pleasure, ma’am.” Then he whistles for the other boys to follow him to the stables so they can mount up and ride out.

Fort, who always jumps at any chance to disappear into the wild, starts to follow them until I grab his arm.

“Do me a favor and take Mr. Personality with you. You’ll probably find him on the far side of the barn, still sprawled in the dirt and scheming revenge plans. Drag him if you have to.”

Fort shrugs. “Fine, but you owe me one.”

Meanwhile, Tye has decided it’s time to impress Cecilia with some rope tricks. Too bad he doesn’t know any.

“Watch this.” Tye starts spinning the rope around. “It’s called the Texas Skip.”

Got to admire the guy’s swagger. He’s unbothered by the fact that no matter how many times he twirls the rope it still resembles a wet noodle. Then he finishes by smacking his cheekbone with the rope tail.

Cecilia presses her lips together to stifle a laugh. “Very impressive, Tye.”

Undeterred, he drops the rope and rubs at the burn on his cheek. “If you liked that, I can’t wait to show you what I can do with a hockey stick.”

“I thought you were retired,” she says.

Tye can’t stop flirting. It’s just something he does without thinking. His mouth stretches into a grin and he edges just a little closer to her. “My talent is still intact, honey.”

“You can keep your stick to yourself,” Cecilia tells him sweetly and brushes a wisp of hair from her face as she shifts her gaze to the mountains.

Since Tye can never be bothered to pick up after himself, I swipe the abandoned rope off the ground and walk it over to the tack room. Along the way I pass a cow with an eye injury and she bleats a complaint from her pen.

As I walk through the barn, this is one of those random times when I get caught up in scraps of memory.

My mother, born and raised in New York City, was perpetually delighted with ranch life.

In the warm months she’d bring us boys out here to visit the animals and then we’d have a picnic on the flat grassy zone beyond the corral.

“My little cowboys,” she’d laugh and I can picture her sitting in the grass with a protective hand on her heavily pregnant belly.

And I see my brothers too.

Tye, running in circles, trying to chase me and getting frustrated because his legs were shorter.

Getty, doing his best to crawl off the edge of a quilted picnic blanket and flailing his limbs with fury when he couldn’t get there fast enough.

As for Fort, he was still the unknown lump in our mother’s belly.

Then I see my father, surprising us with a sudden return from whatever mysterious business had taken him away from the ranch. With a broad grin, he sneaked up behind my mother, kissed her cheek and presented her with a bouquet of cheerful yellow flowers.

I’m sure it’s a real memory, not just a wishful vision cooked up by my overactive brain.

Shutting the barn door behind me, I see that Cecilia and Tye have moved. They’re over by the corral, watching Miguel and the cowboys trot away from the stables.

I’m still walking over to join them when Fort appears.

He’s riding our father’s Arabian stallion, Omerta.

My dad rarely heaves himself into the saddle anymore but his rule is that only family members can ride Omerta.

Fort looks over his shoulder and shouts something to Getty, who is walking his horse at an obnoxiously slow pace until he turns his head and notices that Cecilia is watching.

I’m not excited about the sudden grin that lights up his face. While I have faith he’d never physically harm a woman, I wouldn’t put it past him to scare the hell out of her.

With a chaotic whoop, Getty digs his heels in and takes off at full speed like a train robber amid a thunder of hooves. He doesn’t get within ten yards of Cecilia but she still cringes and hastily backs up.

To his credit, Tye instinctively moves over to stand in front of her. By the time I catch up, Cecilia’s arms are tightly crossed in a defensive posture and an uneasy shadow has stolen her smile.

“Pay him no mind,” Tye announces as Getty gallops past the rest of the cowboys. “One of these days he’ll tire of being a menace to society.”

“Don’t count on it,” I say and briefly touch my hand to Cecilia’s back. “Are you okay?”

She nods and lowers her arms. “Of course. He startled me. That’s all.”

“You look like you’re gonna be sick,” Tye says to her.

“Trust me, I’m not,” Cecilia replies.

“We can’t have our guest of honor passing out.” He comes toward her with his arms outstretched. “I’ll just have to carry you.”

“No need.” Cecilia raises her chin and walks straight into the grass. After a short distance she stops, facing the opposite direction. A soft breeze ruffles her hair and she carefully sits down, folding her legs underneath her and rearranging the loose fabric of her skirt.

Tye wags his eyebrows at me before chasing Cecilia.

He drops to his knees beside her and promptly lies down.

After watching them for a moment and realizing Cecilia doesn’t plan to move anytime soon, I go with the flow and take a seat on her other side just as Tye asks her who she hates more, horses or Getty.

“I’ve always loved horses.” She frowns and picks a blade of grass from her skirt. “I still do. After begging my parents, I started riding when I was eight. I could have happily lived at the stable. My dad always promised I could have my own horse for my thirteenth birthday but then…”

Her words cut off and she rubs her palm over her left knee. I feel a strangely powerful urge to wrap my arms around her and cradle her to my chest.

She takes a deep breath. “I had recently learned how to jump. There was a competition I wanted to enter and I didn’t listen when my riding instructor warned I was setting the bar too high.

The horse balked at the next jump and I lost my balance.

Fell right off. At the same time, someone’s pet Chihuahua got loose in the ring and the horse freaked when the dog got underfoot.

She accidentally stomped my leg and it was a bad injury.

I needed three surgeries and tons of physical therapy.

Sometimes my leg aches in the damp weather and I stick to low impact therapeutic workouts, mostly swimming.

But aside from a scar and a cautionary tale, I’m actually pretty lucky. ”

Tye had propped himself up on his elbow while she was talking and now he gazes at her leg with frank interest. “That’s why you’re always so overdressed, huh?”

She throws him a look. “I’m appropriately dressed. But I’ve always been a little uneasy about the scars.”

He grins. “Let’s see. Pull your skirt up.”

“Tiberius,” I warn.

He stretches out on his back and continues to grin at Cecilia. “Come on. Show us. It’ll be like therapy.”

“Forget it,” she snaps.

“Okay. Why don’t you move a little closer so I can put my head in your lap? It’ll make us both feel better.”

She rolls her eyes. “Is he always like this?” she asks me.

“Only when he’s awake,” I say.

“Nothing dirty about it,” Tye insists. “I’m just looking for a pillow.”

Cecilia unties the pale pink sweater that was knotted around her waist and tosses it to him. “Use this for your pillow.”

He balls it up and stuffs it beneath his head. “Thanks, sweetheart. I kind of like how you stick with a theme.”

“I have a theme?”

Tye yawns and shuts his eyes. “Everything you own is pink. I’m not complaining. It’s cute that you’re so prissy.”

She sighs and unfolds her legs, sticking them straight out while careful to keep her skirt modestly smoothed. “Not everything I own is pink,” she insists and looks at me. “Fort said you picked out these boots.”

“I might have had a say,” I admit.

After consulting Cecilia’s tastes, courtesy of her hacked Pinterest account, I arranged a purchase from a store in Laramie.

Last night I sent the owner a nice chunk of change to open the place at the crack of dawn.

One of my guys was waiting to pick up the boots so Cecilia would have them first thing this morning.

Cecilia studies me more closely. “You seem to have a very good eye when it comes to my taste in fashion.”

I meet her gaze without blinking. “I’m observant.”

She breaks the stare first, letting her eyes coast over my jaw and start to move down my chest before she catches herself in the act and shifts gears, brushing some imaginary dirt from her skirt. “Yeah, I’d say there’s not much that gets past you, Julian.”

“Why would you want to put anything past me, Cecilia?”

She clears her throat and her breathing does a little skip.

I stifle a grin of triumph. She tries so hard to disguise the way she gets all flustered around me.

“Thank you for the boots,” she finally says.

“You’re welcome.” I’ve already memorized her features but when she’s this close I refuse to look away.

And why should I? She’s fun to look at and I brought her here for a reason. I’ll stare at her all I want.