Page 7 of Roughing It with the Rancher (Love Along Route 14 #11)

Chapter Seven

ESMERALDA

“ I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the Elvis impersonator says as we stand inside the Heirloom Rose’s world-famous wedding chapel, getting the full Nevada treatment.

Although I knew these words were coming, embarrassment still grips me, and I turn my head at the last minute, landing Reese’s very soft, very kissable lips on my cheek. I tense in his arms, knowing to the marrow of my bones I cannot let this man kiss me.

The rancher’s big, rough, work-hardened hand comes up to my cheek, palming it and turning my head. Before I can respond, he uses his other arm to pull me tightly against his body, sinking into my mouth for the real deal.

Warning alarms go off in my head as his lips tease and feather over mine, surprisingly skilled and tender.

I don’t know what I had expected. Maybe a big, sloppy, awful kiss, but this is like a little slice of heaven served up on a golden plate.

Sighing with shock, my lips part, and the cowboy goes from gentle to ardent, sweeping into my mouth with his warm, velvety tongue and completely undoing me.

My arms come up to his neck, clinging to him as he tilts me back, claiming every part of me and igniting the blood in my veins.

Is this what it’s like to have a husband? If so, I’m already in a world of trouble.

“Alright. Enough, you two. May I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Reese Gunner—” the Elvis impersonator cups his hand to his mouth, whispering next to us—“And urge you to take those hunks of burning love elsewhere.”

The rancher straightens, bringing me with him. Stepping back, he eyes me hungrily, like a starving coyote catching sight of a slow roadrunner.

I pant, unable to catch my breath and wondering for the millionth time what this man is doing to me. My panties sizzle, wet between my legs. I’m going to have to change them thanks to my husband of convenience.

But damn, if I don’t long to wrap my legs around him right here and let him do his dirtiest. One look at his ravenous face confirms it would be far filthier than anything I’ve ever imagined. God, I want him .

Sweeping me into his arms, he calls over his shoulder to the impersonator. “Thank you, sir. Please send our documents over to the cashier’s booth, where I’m picking up my winnings.”

“You’re the Craps guy who won so big today, right?” Elvis calls behind us.

“Yep, thanks to my good luck charm and wife.” Nothing about the way he says this statement sounds fake, and my heart throbs with treacherous delight.

Okay, Esmeralda, get yourself pulled together. Your current trajectory is a sure road to ruin and heartbreak. After all, you barely know this man.

Reese beams at me as I cling to his neck, watching the casino go by.

“Why are you carrying me, Cowboy? Isn’t that something to save for the threshold of your ranch?”

“Maybe,” he concedes, offering no further explanation and making it very clear he won’t let me down anytime soon.

At the cashier’s booth, he sees the same blonde with a ponytail, ordering, “Darling, I’m going to need my winnings brought out to the only white, nineteen seventy-six Cadillac Eldorado convertible with a six-foot steer horn in the casino’s parking lot, along with my marriage paperwork that should be coming over from the chapel. ”

“Marriage paperwork?” The middle-aged woman eyes us confusedly. “Boy, you work quick.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a lucky streak, so I figure I better take advantage of it while I can,” Reese answers, grinning. Those damn dimples again. They pave the road to perdition.

“Fair enough,” she replies with a nod, her face conflicted. Leaning forward and whispering, she adds, “You do realize everything you’re asking for goes against casino protocol. If my supervisor?—”

“Help yourself and your supervisor out to a little off the top. Just leave enough cream for me and my bride.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replies, a wide grin capturing her face.

I don’t know where to start. The word “cream” has my face on fire and my heart kathunking against my ribs as though I’m about to be eaten by a big, bad wolf.

One look at the rancher’s face, and I’m certain of this inevitability.

But then, there’s the matter of him passing out our money like it grows on trees …

and his continued scarcity mindset, despite the win.

It’s sure to put us both in the poor house if I don’t correct it.

“You know, you really should let me down. You’re making an unnecessary scene.” I bite my lower lip, registering the gawking faces we pass.

“It’s our wedding day, Angel. How can you expect me not to make a scene?”

“Fake wedding day,” I hiss.

“Maybe to us, but the rest of the world has to believe it. Am I right?”

“Not at all. This is an agreement between you and me,” I remind, shaking my head.

“Well, you asked me to marry you, which means you also asked me to act like we’re married. This is how I would act were I in the nuptial hot tank for real. Fair enough?”

I can’t even with him. Instead, I bury my head against his chest, savoring far too thoroughly the smell of his spicy sandalwood cologne.

I feel searing eyes from passersby on my back.

It’s early afternoon, and the casino is starting to hop, which makes this dramatic walk-through all the more embarrassing.

But if there’s one thing I’ve already learned about Reese Gunner, it’s that he doesn’t do half-assed, whether rolling his way to perdition at the Craps table or pretending this marriage is more than a safeguard.

A shiver of desire trembles through me as I wonder what else he has in store for our fake union.

Get your head back on straight, Esmeralda! You’re here for the El Cortez stash. That’s it. And as soon as you secure it, you’ll be divorced faster than Billy the Kid could draw a pistol.

Reese observes, his chin pressing on the top of my head and his growly voice rumbling through me, “I could get used to you pressed against my chest like this, Angel.”

It melts my heart but not my mind or my tongue. “This is only temporary, Cowboy. Get that through your thick skull.”

He chuckles. “Now, is that any way to talk to your husband, Treasure?”

I am in over my head, from his flirty remarks to the way need shuttles through me, enveloped in his warmth and security.

“Thank you,” he says as someone must open the door for him, and we step out into a blazing hot mid-June afternoon. The difference between day and night temperatures in Nevada astounds me.

“Woo, Lord,” Reese says as I finally lift my head, assuming the parking lot will hold less gawkers.

“You’re going to need that jacket back off, and I’m going to need out of my overshirt. It’s boiling out here.

It’s not even half as hot as my internal workings around this rancher. He’s gorgeous as they come, and I might delight in his embrace under any other circumstances. But I can’t let anything or anyone get in the way of the El Cortez treasure.

“Your ride, milady,” the rancher says, gently lowering me back onto my cowboy boots. My eyes bug out at the sight of the old, massive, horned white vehicle. I guess a part of me didn’t fully believe Reese, but here we are … about to head out like we’re rocking an eighties western soap opera.

“You weren’t kidding, were you, Reese?”

He gets a lopsided grin as he opens the passenger door for me, his face stuck between sheepish and flirtatious. “You will soon learn, Esmeralda, that I’m a man of my word in all cases. Or at least I try to be. Otherwise, there’s no way you would’ve talked me into a wedding today.”

I slide into the seat, nervously twirling the ring on my left hand. “Who’d have thought a casino wedding chapel would have a mini-jewelry store attached to it.”

“Lucky thing, otherwise we’d have been at the pawn shop, sifting through junk.

I figure we’ll leave your car parked here unless you have a problem with that.

Nothing’ll happen to it. This town has at least five sheriff’s deputies for every one miscreant.

But you will need to point your car out to me so we can grab your luggage and things.

” Reese removes his overskirt, throwing it in the back.

What I’ve gotten myself into with this fake marriage hits me hard as I consider staying with this man at his house.

Sure, the allure of twenty-four-hour, unfettered access to Gunner Ridge Ranch remains foremost in my mind.

Especially accompanied by someone who must know its landmarks better than anybody.

But the wild chemistry flying between us has me wondering if I can trust myself.

It’s a concern that’s never crossed my mind before with any other man.

Reese gets in, and the radio blares as he turns the key in the ignition. I startle in my seat, though the open convertible minimizes the auditory damage. “It’s Your Love” by Tim McGraw with Faith Hill rocks the ancient sound system as my hand instinctively goes to the dial, adjusting the volume.

“Don’t turn it down too low, Esmeralda. This here’s our wedding celebration, and we need romantic music.”

Wedding celebration? Has the rancher lost touch with reality?

“Which one’s yours?” he asks, leisurely cruising around the casino parking lot to the random jeers and cheers of passersby. “JR,” a couple of people scream, and Reese tips his hat.

I shake my head, increasingly flabbergasted by this outgoing, unflappable, well-natured man. Away from the Craps table, there doesn’t seem to be anything that could ruffle him. He takes everything, even an unexpected wife, in stride.

“It’s the beat-up Chevy Silverado over there.” I point, and he pulls up behind it.

I fumble for my keys in my purse, handing them to him, and he makes quick work of unpacking my passenger seat and piling it in the backseat of this monstrosity.

Knitting my brows, I ask, “Are you sure you don’t want me to follow you?

I mean, you said you won this at a Craps table? Are we certain it’s a reliable ride?”

“Started right up. I wouldn’t worry about a thing. Besides, the ranch is all unpaved roads that’ll blast sand and grit in your vehicle, and that’s not to mention the cow patties.”

“Sounds like a pleasant experience in a convertible,” I counter sarcastically.

“But if you’re not worried about your truck getting dirty, follow along. Either way’s fine with me. But do follow me. I don’t want a runaway bride on top of all my other bad luck.”

Runaway bride? Not as long as there’s treasure to be had.

I cock my head to the side. “I know you’re not asking for my advice.

In fact, I’m keenly aware of it. But have you ever considered that your current strain of misfortunes might stem back to the way you talk about things and what your brain fixates on? ”

The cowboy’s eyes narrow. In incredulous tones, he asks, “Come again?”

“The way you talk about and fixate on bad luck. Like it belongs to you. You’re sinking your own ship without even realizing it.”

He scrunches his face. “What are you? One of those New Age guru types? Think it into being people?”

“Whether you believe it or not, you’re thinking things into being all the time.”

He shrugs.

“It’s the only thing that explains your current strain of bad luck and how it improved once you became quantum entangled with me.”

“Quantum what?”

“Quantum entangled.”

“Damn, Angel. I don’t know exactly what that entails, but it sounds pretty fucking amazing,” he drawls unrepentantly, getting back in the Cadillac and handing me my keys.

I need to put a little distance between this cowboy’s slow-spoken innuendos and the corresponding heat from my body. Cheeks scorching, I round the convertible as he watches with a shit-eating grin. Jumping into my truck, I turn the key, and nothing .

Dammit! I try again. Still a whole bunch of nothing. Of all the times for this truck to refuse to start … I try again and again until I’m livid. Seriously?

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Reese standing on the other side of my window, his Eagles T-shirt dangerously hugging his firm, broad build. Never has a man taken my breath away more or pissed me off so thoroughly with his big, dumb grin.

“Shall we stick with the Cadillac today, Angel?” he asks, crossing his thick, muscular arms and turning my inner voice into a drooling, mindless fangirl.

He uses his thumb to point over his shoulder toward the white beast. “Don’t worry.

I’ve got a friend who’s a mechanic. I’ll give him a call at the ranch to see about having your vehicle towed back to his shop for a look. ”

I nod, resting my forehead on my hands as they grip the steering wheel. Winner-turned-married-turned-carless, all in the blink of an eye.

“Angel?”

I take a deep breath, willing myself back together.

“Angel?” He opens the driver’s door, offering me his hand. I hesitate, a highly independent girl not used to this kind of treatment. But then, I relent. What’s the use of fighting it? After all, I’ve got gold fever on my mind.