Page 13 of Roughing It with the Rancher (Love Along Route 14 #11)

Chapter Twelve

ESMERALDA

I awaken with a start, lying in bed for one unfamiliar moment before my mind reminds me where I am. Gunner Ridge Ranch, sleeping in my husband’s bed. Husband . I still can’t wrap my head around that amazing word.

Memories of Reese wash back over me. Of his burnished copper hair, his simmering emerald eyes, his deliciously kissable lips, and those hands that made me a believer.

In the kitchen, in the shower, in his big bed.

Never have I had so much mind-blowing sex in my life. Never have I lost count of my orgasms.

I stretch, feeling the yummy sore muscles I’d almost forgotten I have.

Remembering how I got them makes my cheeks sizzle.

Straddling him bare-chested on the kitchen bench.

His thick cock deep in my pussy, unraveling my pleasure as I gripped his neck, screaming his name.

And in the shower, when he dropped to his knees, eating me out from behind until I begged him to fuck me.

He stood, wrapping my hair possessively around his hand, tugging it lightly as he slid into my swollen channel. He railed me until I could barely breathe or think, heart racing behind my ribs.

But nothing beat the bedroom when he kept his promise, burying his head in my pussy until I flew among the stars.

After so much over-the-top ecstasy, he turned tender.

Wrapping me in his robust arms, he made love to me slowly and ardently, drawing me into a kind of intimacy I didn’t know was possible.

Greedy, needy, and already throbbing at these naughty thoughts, I reach for my sexy cowboy in the big California king. Only his side is empty and cold.

My stomach twists as I wonder if his injuries are worse than he admitted.

Maybe the pain’s too much for him. Clicking the lamp on the nightstand on my side of the bed, I rub my face with my hands, yawning.

Gliding out of bed, I sort through my suitcase, finding lacy hot pink panties and a lightweight Juicy track set.

I hurry into the clothes, surprised yet again by the chill of a high desert night.

Pulling on soft, pink, fluffy socks, I pad downstairs, finding the cowboy in the kitchen, bent over the treasure map sprawled on the table.

His eyebrows arch as I enter the dining room, a contented smile capturing his face. “Trouble sleeping?”

I hug myself with my arms. “Only after I woke and realized you weren’t there.”

He leans back, looking touched by my words. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to have someone care about whether I’m in bed.”

“Me, too.” I sit down in his lap, and he wraps his arm around me, kissing my cheek.

“Can I get you warm milk or something?”

“No, just your warm body, Cowboy.”

“Done,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “But first, I’ve got a few things I’m puzzling over with the map.”

I savor the warmth of his skin as I rest my head on his shoulder. His spicy sandalwood cologne wraps around me, and I feel safer and more secure than I ever have before.

His eyes rove over the map, keeping his fingers a few millimeters from the fabric, never actually touching it. He points to a portion in the upper lefthand corner and the initials ‘TEH.’ “See this cube-looking thing next to the letters? That has to be the old barn that tried to kill us.”

“That’s right. Now it makes sense why there are no windows.”

“Right, and there are few structures apart from this house and that barn that would’ve been around when Hayes was a ranch hand here.

So, we’ve got that part figured out. Call it the beginning of the treasure hunt.

” He traces a line made in words, adding, “See where it says ‘Ortus ad inferos S— C— stock’?” I nod against his chest. “I’m assuming this leads to the next part of the hunt. But what in the hell does that mean?”

Staring up at his handsome face, I answer, “‘Ortus ad inferos’ is Latin for ‘sunrise to hell.’”

“Sunrise to hell.” He frowns. “Well, that sounds ominous.”

“I know.”

“So, you mean to tell me part of this map’s in Latin? For God’s sake. What kind of treasure hunt is this?”

“A real one.” I squint, drawing closer to the map and the part he intensely regards.

“Sunrise to hell? What could it possibly mean?”

“Grandpa and I could never figure that out. Maybe something to do with the heat of the day?”

“Maybe,” he says, puzzling over the fabric, his finger still hovering. “But that doesn’t get us far.”

I scrutinize the map, willing it to unlock its secrets as I’ve done a thousand times with Grandpa. It doesn’t work, and for once, I realize I don’t care. In fact, I honestly feel a little jealous of how Reese is obsessing over it instead of resting warm and sexy by my side.

I lick my lips. “We’ve never been able to figure it out. Maybe it says ‘Santa Claus stock’? Or ‘Santa Clara’? That’s my grandpa’s and my best guesses.”

Reese grimaces. “Nope, not Santa Claus or Santa Clara. Hold on.” He slides me gently off his lap onto the bench seat and jumps up, beelining for the kitchen.

Rifling through what appears to be a miscellaneous drawer, he retrieves a pair of black-framed glasses.

“Don’t make fun of me for wearing these, Angel.

They make me look like a goddamned geek. ”

He puts them on, and I couldn’t disagree more, hungrily eyeing him and licking my bottom lip. “I think they make you look like Clark Kent.”

Leaning forward to scrutinize the map and wrapping his arm back around me, he grumbles, “You can be my Lois Lane any time.” Squinting, face serious, he asks, “Could it be ‘Saint Croix stock’ maybe?” He draws even closer, his nose almost touching the fabric.

“Grandpa and I have tossed around so many ideas at this point …”

“Not Croix, Crispin. C-R-I-S-P-E-N. It’s spelled wrong, though. Look that up on your phone, Angel.”

“C-R-I-S-P-E-N,” I repeat.

“Saint Crispin, with an ‘i’ instead of an ‘e.’”

I Google it, and my eyes scan the results. Sure enough, he’s right. “How did you know the spelling was off?”

He shrugs. “I’m the backslider in a long line of devoted Catholics. They’ve got all their saints and stuff. So, believe me, I’ve seen the name before.”

“I’m impressed, Mr. Gunner,” I remark, eyeing him.

He chuckles. “There’s a lot you still have to learn about me, Angel. I’ll try to make sure it’s all good. Now, how about those results?”

I summarize them as I read out loud. “Saint Crispin and the Crispinians. That’s a mouthful. They were Christian martyrs and patron saints of leather workers, cobblers, and shoemakers. Huh.”

Reese’s head pops up. “Come again?”

“Christian martyrs?—”

“No, the last part. Did you say, shoemakers?”

“Yes, and there’s also a reference in here to Shakespeare’s Henry V ,” I add, feeling like I’m grasping at straws.

“Nope, the shoe part. That’s it.” His eyes glow with an uncharacteristic excitement that makes my heart race.

“What is it, Reese?”

“Shoe stock. Shoe lumber. Shoe wood, maybe?”

My pulse increases, heartened by the progress.

“There’s something I have to show you.” He runs his hand over his beard, producing a scratchy masculine sound that makes me clench my legs together. Will I ever get enough of this rugged cowboy?

Surging to his feet, he paces back and forth. “Stock can be wood, right? And wood can be a tree?”

I shake my head, uncertain what he’s talking about. “What do you mean stock like a tree?”

“Like the stock of a gun made from the wood of a tree. Oh, Esmeralda, you’re going to love this. We have to go. Now .”

“What?”

He continues pacing, the dining area’s wood floor squeaking as his cowboy boots hammer to and fro. “This map keeps getting better and better. Motherfucker. To think generations of Gunners sat on a treasure without even knowing it. This is wild.”

In an instant, the exhausted-looking cowboy transforms into a revitalized man driven by a disease that’s long fueled grandpa and me—gold fever.

“We have to get a move on if we’re going to make it there before sunrise,” he mutters under his breath. “Angel, would you mind packing us some provisions and drinks for a little road trip?”

“Right now?”

He nods firmly. “Yes, I’ve got to show you this.” He beams, glancing at the map again. “Think camping-type stuff. I’ll work on all the tools we need: shovels, a pickaxe, a tent, sleeping bags, all of that.”

Elation thrills through me. Shovels? Grandpa and I only ever dreamed of being close enough to dig.

My heart races, and I wish I could call him with an update, but a quick glance at the clock reveals it’s only a little after three a.m. West Coast time.

Too early for the nursing home, apart from emergencies.

Curious beyond measure about what Reese wants to show me, I open the fridge, grabbing things to pack.

The cowboy strides purposefully back into the room, setting a cooler on the ground next to me. “Here you go, Angel. There should be ice in the freezer you can use to keep everything cold.”

His mouthwatering face radiates excitement as he leans down to kiss me. “Just so we’re clear, and no matter what we find today, Angel, you will always be my greatest treasure.”

My eyes follow him back through the kitchen and living room out the front door, devouring his round, tight ass in a pair of Wranglers, his back muscles bare and straining with no shirt and only the bandages I secured earlier.

Fanning myself, my mind wanders to our earlier delights, understanding exactly what Reese means by the last statement.

Gold or not, I’m here for this sexy, amazing man.