Tycoon's Tryst (Culpepper Cowboys Book 10) by Merry Farmer, Culpepper Cowboys Read Free Book Online Page A

know about Rachel, and once she had a little sandwich and some chips in her, she was willing to talk. He didn’t ask about anything deep, just about where she lived in L.A., what she did on weekends, and, as subtly as he could, if she was seeing anyone. He nearly fist-pumped when she revealed that she hadn’t seen anyone seriously for years.
    As soon as lunch was finished, he stood and offered her a hand.
    “Where are we going?” She narrowed her eyes, but took his hand and stood.
    “I thought we could just stroll around. You need to take a closer look at our pond.”
    “What about all this?” She gestured to the table.
    Sly shrugged. “I’ll clean it up later. I thought we could walk off some of the calories first.”
    She smiled at that, and Sly considered it a great victory. He grinned right back at her and helped her step down from the gazebo and walk over to the pond.
    “It’s seen better days,” he explained as they edged their way around the muddy bank. “It tends to dry out in the summer, but we had the great idea of trying to fill it up again last week.”
    “We?”
    “Me and Arch and Doc,” Sly explained. “We thought we could get it looking nice for when Elvie got to town. But as you can see.” He held out a hand like a museum tour guide to the big, muddy hole.
    They continued to walk around the perimeter, where the freshly watered grass met the wide, muddy lip of the pond.
    “How do you keep it from filling back up again?” Rachel asked.
    “We have to dig parts of it out every few years.” He started to steer her around a particularly slippery spot. “I keep telling the others that we need to bring in some concrete or something and make it an official pond, not just a muddy hole, but so far I’ve been outvoted.”
    “I’m surprised that someone like you would be so democrati—”
    She ended with a yelp as her feet slid out from under her. A few scrambling steps later, and she’d stumbled into a patch of deep, slimy mud up to her ankles. She pitched forward, arms spread as if to brace herself as she splatted into the mud. Sly jumped into action and caught her. All he managed to achieve was shielding her as he dropped, back-end first, into squelchy mud.
    Sly couldn’t help but laugh. They were both splattered from head to toe. A big plop of mud had landed on Rachel’s cheek. He reached up to wipe it away. Something about the way Rachel’s arms were wrapped around him, the way she clung to him, her chest rising and falling in fast, startled breaths, overwhelmed him. This was exactly how he wanted her—tangled up with him, heart racing.
    Hand still resting on her smudged cheek, he leaned in for a kiss. It was impulsive, but he absolutely, positively could not help himself. The moment his mouth met Rachel’s, it was like fireworks on the Fourth of July. She hummed in her throat and kissed him back. Their tongues danced, and his heart raced. He could get used to kissing her like this—like theirs was the first and last great kiss—every day for the rest of his life. Mud or no mud.
    All of a sudden, Rachel gasped and struggled back.
    “No!”
    Sly gulped. “No what?” he asked, out of breath but ready for more.
    “I can’t go kissing you like that when you’re determined to ruin me.” Her words were harsh, but her expression was more confused than anything.
    “Sweetheart, I am determined to do everything but ruin you right now.”
    She glared at him. “Don’t call me sweetheart. It’s not fair.” She wrenched herself up through the mud to stand.
    Sly scrambled to his feet as well. He held up his arms as mud dripped off of him. The pulsing knot in the pit of his stomach wanted to argue with her that it was entirely fair to call her sweetheart and more. Instead, he said, “Sorry about the mud.”
    She gaped at him, then closed her mouth and blinked a few times, then looked confused. “I don’t mind getting dirty. Bev is the one who cries when she drips ketchup on her