When Tanner stepped off the stage, however, I suddenly felt like I’d been tricked by an optical illusion. From the back of the room, he looked compact. Not too tall, not very big. Standing two inches away from me, though, he had towered over me. Was he lean? Yes, but also broad and dripping with sexual energy. He’s tight all over, muscles rippling even through his clothes. Tanner perspired under the spotlight, and his sweat smelled good and made me think of a summer day on the river — fresh water, warm rocks, and earth. Oh my. It took everything I had in me not to lean in, grab a handful of his shirt, and take a deep whiff.
Tanner’s shirt was so tight I’d speared him in the pectoral with the boutonniere pin. He gets points for taking over and saving me embarrassment because I’m sure I looked to everyone else like a nervous teenager on prom night who doesn’t know what she’s doing.
Up close, that severe, angular face had cracked slightly in a hesitant smile. And I’d take a good look at his eyes. Big, dark brown, shadowed by the black hat, but undeniably pretty.
Prettier eyes than me, not that it matters.
Above his shirt’s top button was the smallest tuft of jet-black hair. I’d assumed a pretty boy would be all about man-scaping—shaving or laser hair removal. The sight of that hair did something to my midsection that I don’t particularly like. Something strange and warm filled my belly, and my fingers itched to reach up and play with it.
Lord almighty, he would be fun to play with in bed—all those hard ridges and the bonus fuzz… I wonder if he’s hard all the way down.
But he’s not my type. Nope. Not going to happen. I don’t need someone who travels from town to town for his job. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
So it’s a good thing that’s not what I’m paying for. I’ve shelled out a thousand bucks for a day’s labor. Did I just bamboozle myself?
Okay, he was athletic enough to hang on to a bucking bronco for eight seconds or longer, but endurance is much more important to me.
Tanner Murphy didn’t even blink when I said five a.m. So maybe he’s agreeable to it. Surely he knows he ain’t coming over for pre-dawn sex.
Violetta did say I was allowed to do whatever we wanted on a date, within reason.
As if it wasn’t difficult enough to pin flowers to a black cowboy shirt with everyone in Darling Creek watching, Tanner had to go and look good in it. His chest filled it out to nearly bursting at the seams, making it impossible not to prick him with the pin.
What a silly ritual. But, I suppose I’ll have to play along to get along in this town.
“It’s all for a worthy cause, right?”
I utter this out loud to no one. Just me, in my car, alone, on a Friday night.
Patsy answers with a whine and a playful nudge of her snout.
“Nice dog. I can see why you didn’t want to stay to let me buy you a drink.”
Crap, I’d forgotten I’d left the window open.
Someone wearing a pair of black jeans and shiny black boots stands outside my open passenger-side window.
Tanner.
“Careful. Patsy doesn’t like strangers.”
Tanner wisely backs up a step. Patsy wouldn’t bite unless he tried to open the door. But she will growl if she doesn’t like a person.
At seeing Tanner, Patsy puts both paws on the window ledge, and her tail wags, thumping the passenger seat. She practically throws herself at the man.
Geez. Even my canine is a sucker for whatever black magic he’s putting out there.
“She’s protective of you. That’s good,” Tanner says.
“She needs to be. I’m not a great judge of character on my own,” I say.
I instantly regret spilling that little detail. I barely know this man; he doesn’t need to know my history.
Thankfully, he plays it off. “That’s true. You did obliterate the competition to get to me.”
Ah. A sense of humor about himself. Alright fine. That’s three points in his favor so far.
Ugh. Why does my brain insist on racking up character points when all I want is a ranch hand for the day? This is silly.