Sharon Lynn grinned. “There’s hardly time for that. There’s always something going on out at White Pines. I’m back there practically every weekend for one celebration or another or just for an old-fashioned barbecue if granddaddy starts getting lonely for a little commotion.”
She caught the faintly wistful expression on his face. “What about you? Did you grow up on a ranch?”
“If you could call it that. It was probably every bit as bad as you say White Pines was way back when, but every time my daddy had a chance to make a real go of it, he squandered the money on booze. After he was gone, I sold the place to get a stake so I could move on to someplace where I could learn how a real ranch was run. I drifted a bit through Montana and Wyoming before heading south. Once I crossed into Texas, I kept hearing about your granddaddy and White Pines.”
“Well, you picked the right place. Nobody knows more about ranching than Grandpa Harlan and my daddy, or Harlan Patrick, to hear him tell it.”
She caught herself. “Just listen to me. I’m going on and on. Maybe you’d like to finish your meal in peace. I’ve got things I could do in the back.”
“No, indeed. Don’t even think of it. I’ve been on the road for days now. I’m glad of the company and the conversation, especially when the company’s as pretty as you and the conversation’s fascinating.”
The words were all glib charm, but as he met her gaze and smiled slowly, Sharon Lynn felt another of those quick little quivers in the pit of her stomach. Cord Branson was a very disconcerting man, more direct than most she’d met, outside of her brother and her cousins. He was certainly less subtle than Kyle, who had tended toward shyness.
She gazed into those devilish eyes with their golden sparks and something told her that she was in more danger now than she would have been if the only thing he’d wanted was to rob the place.
* * *
Cord wolfed down two of the best hamburgers he’d had in ages and tried to remember what it was that had brought him to Los Piños. He knew better than most that a man didn’t get anywhere in life, if he let himself get distracted.
And yet, he couldn’t help thinking that Sharon Lynn Adams would be a damned fine distraction. He’d never seen a woman with more sorrow written all over a face that was meant for angels. He had watched with amusement as she’d run the gamut of emotions when he’d first walked through the door. He’d seen the tiny flicker of fear, the fierce resolve and then the quiet, ingrained compassion that made her take him in and feed him despite the probable inconvenience. He thought he’d also noted a hint of relief in her expression, but, unable to imagine the origin of that, he’d dismissed it.
He pegged her age at late twenties and, after glancing at her ringless fingers, wondered why no man had snapped her up. Even in the past few minutes he’d seen that she was easy to get along with and even easier on the eye. To say nothing of being an Adams. From everything he’d heard, that counted for something in these parts. Maybe for too many men that was all that counted and she’d simply gotten used to warily fending them off.
He enjoyed watching her work, the quick efficient movements, the sway of hips a little on the generous side. Even more, he liked the ready rise of color in her cheeks when he teased and the way her laughter sounded when he finally managed to coax it out of her with one of the worst jokes either of them had ever heard. He’d found himself lingering long after he’d finished his meal, drinking more caffeine than his body needed if he was to get any rest at all tonight. Still, the coffee had been an excuse. He wasn’t looking forward to going back out into the cold night or to leaving her.
“Do you have a place to stay?” she asked eventually, when a glance at the clock and the discovery that it was after ten clearly startled her. “There’s a motel outside of town, but on a night like this it’s probably full and I’m not sure you ought to risk driving that far on the icy roads.”
“No problem. Unless you think the local law enforcement will object, I’ll