Have Cowboy, Need Cupid by Rita Herron Read Free Book Online Page A

legs in and out of that matchbox than it will for me to walk.”
    And just like that, he expressed his disapproval of her car as well. Suzanne barely resisted the urge to gun the engine and spit gravel and dust in his face as she cruised behind him. He walked up the drive with long easy strides, ignoring her. However, she noticed the occasional tightening of his mouth and realized the slight limp she’d detected at the bar that night was real. It obviously still caused him pain.
    Instead of retaliating against his rudeness, though, she opted for saccharine sweetness and pure male flattery. “You do have long legs. How tall are you, Rafe?”
    He smirked as if he knew what she was doing and didn’t intend to fall for it. “Six-three.”
    “With the boots.”
    “Without.”
    Big hands. Big feet. Big everything. Including a big bad attitude.
    She was going to have her hands full with this one.
    Seconds later she parked beside the house and climbed out, chasing after him as he headed toward the barn. The pointed toes of her spit-shiny, red-and-black handcrafted boots pinched her feet as she dodged the pockets of horse dung scattered along the fence and tried to keep up with him.

    H OW THE HELL could one saucy little woman make him feel like horse manure? Especially one wearing too tight, brand-spanking-new designer jeans, and a fifty-dollar red-and-black-plaid shirt that matched those silly looking dress-for-show snakeskin high-heeled boots? She probably had a Porter Wagner fringed jacket in the trunk of that pea-size thing she called a car.
    And while she smelled like sweetness and jasmine, he smelled like dirt and cattle.
    Damn it, he’d seen the look of condemnation on Suzanne’s face as if she thought his home was an eyesore that should be bulldozed down and landscaped with cookie-cutter condos and manicured lawns. Lawns barely big enough to hold a lounge chair much less house a neighborhood barbecue. He’d read about cul de sac parties in the suburbs where the homeowners congregated with cheap grills so they could watch their kids play in the streets because they didn’t have anyplace else to do so. He would not allow his property to be turned into one of them.
    No, the Lazy M wouldn’t become a cluster of department stores, chain restaurants, gas stations catering to endless yuppies stealing out to the country to pollute the air with the exhaust from their overpriced SUVs.
    Had she noticed his limp?
    Hell, it shouldn’t bother him. He didn’t care about impressing Suzanne Hartwell with his manliness. He simply wanted to prove to her she was wrong about what the town needed.
    Trying to gather his wits and cool his temper, Rafe led her out into the pasture to show her firsthand one of the many wonders of ranch life—the beauty of horses running in the wild before a natural backdrop of lush green mountains covered with dogwoods and wildflowers. A palomino and a black-and-white paint galloped across the hills, their long manes dancing in the wind. His own black stallion raced behind them at a thunderous pace. Rafe stopped and leaned on the edge of the fencepost, a peacefulness enveloping him as he watched the animals chase across the open space.
    “They are beautiful,” Suzanne said in a breathy voice that startled him. A voice that was breathy from running to keep up with his gait, not from wanting him, he reminded himself.
    He steeled himself against a reaction. “Just got the palomino and the paint in to break. The Stallion’s mine. Name’s Thunder.”
    “Figures.”
    He arched a brow.
    “Big man needs a big horse.”
    He chuckled, but the breeze lifted her hair and tousled it across her face, bringing with it a softer fragrance than the perfume she’d worn the evening before. Must be her daytime perfume.
    “I guess you’ve ridden horses all your life.” She smiled up at him, eyes twinkling, as if she was oblivious to the torture she rendered men.
    “Since I could walk.”
    “I wanted a pony when I