When his voice rumbled out tinged with a foreign drawl, she bit back a feminine sigh. He pushed his hat back slightly and held out his gloved hand. At first glance, his body appeared whipcord lean, but she suspected beneath those clothes was a muscular force to be reckoned with. His smooth skin glowed the color of rich coffee liberally laced with cream. Coppery-colored lips stretched wide and full below a thin blade of a nose. Thick black hair, tawny brown eyes fringed with dark eyelashes, and razor-sharp cheekbones that flared into a blocky jaw. He was easily the most dazzling man she’d ever set eyes on. When he lifted his head, Chassie’s breath caught. She resisted fussing with her hair and called out, “Something I can help you with?” This guy was one hundred percent cowboy, from the tips of his scuffed Tony Lamas to the brim of his dusty black Resistol.Ĭhassie probably looked like a rube, or worse that unkempt woman from American Gothic, standing in front of their old wooden barn holding a pitchfork.
This man wasn’t one of those young, green city boys looking for “real” ranch work and a wild Western adventure. Leather gloves covered fingers curled around the strap of a camouflage duffel bag. A long sheepskin coat brushed the thighs of faded Wranglers, drawing attention to the championship belt buckle centered between trim hips.
The mildly warm day and clear skies could change in a helluva hurry on the high plains of Wyoming and she shivered at an odd sense of foreboding.Įach steady clip brought the man closer, but she couldn’t see his face. Visitors were few and far between at the remote West homestead, especially on foot in the frigid month of February. Chassie West Glanzer squinted at the lone figure ambling up the snow-covered driveway.
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