Page 4 of Cowboys Next Door

Caution immediately overwhelms me as I step forward, despite my better judgment. He obviously knows my name for a reason.

“Yes?” I answer nervously, straining to get a better look at his face.

He tips his chin upward, and now I can see him fully. He is freaking gorgeous! But in an unsettling way.

His shadowed, sooty eyes are unsmiling, and he turns to face the windshield, both hands clenching the steering wheel. “Get in. Your grandmother is waiting.”

Right. For a moment, my reason for visiting Montana completely slipped my mind. My grandmother, Katherine, my father’s mother—a woman I had long believed to be gone from this world, yet she’s very much alive—had extended an invitation for me to stay with her.

The past month had been a whirlwind of life-altering changes, so really, encountering a ridiculously attractive man in a cowboy hat shouldn’t have been as startling as it was.

My gaze shifts toward the driver’s side, filled with a half-expectation that the man will emerge to offer help or say something, as I pick up my single suitcase and wander toward the tailgate. Yet, he remains inside, offering no assistance or words.

I shove my bag in the back, wandering back toward the passenger side, gulping the stone in my throat.

Here we go.

Drawing in a deep breath, I slide into the seat and eye him nervously. It’s clear he’s not volunteering any information without some prodding. “And you are?”

His hat has fallen along his broad shoulder, held on by a string. He runs a hand through his already tousled chestnut tresses, then along the scruff of his face. But he doesn’t meet my curious gaze, the tension only making me hotter somehow.

Suddenly Montana doesn’t seem so chilly. For a minute, I think he’s not going to answer me, but he suddenly responds. “Hudson Walker. Buckle up.”

Without giving me a chance to respond or react, he shoots away from the curb and into the traffic outbound from Helena Regional Airport. I inhale sharply and reach for my seatbelt, securing myself to the seat.

Another surge of heat rushes through me, but I can’t determine if my nerves or attraction toward this perfect stranger are making me feel so flushed and out of sorts.

I sneak another look at his devastatingly sorrowful expression, hoping he’s not a long-lost cousin.

“Do you work for Katherine?” I want to get a handle on who he is and keep the conversation flowing.

Hudson snorts like I’ve asked the world’s dumbest question. “No.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and, not wanting to annoy him, I hold back further questions. Tearing my eyes away from his profile proves to be a difficult task, but I manage to wrench my stare toward the passing landscape outside as the ride goes totally silent without me moving the conversation along.

Hudson has little to offer, not even the odd sneak peek at me. I know because I check often to see if he’s showing any remote interest in me.

Maybe I shouldn’t be checking out my grandmother’s friends,I chide myself, embarrassed at my reaction to the handsome cowboy… assuming that’s what he is.

The hat seems to indicate as much, and there’s mud on his boots. But what do I know about cowboys? I’m just a Seattle girl. I don’t know the ass end of a horse from the front, and I’m pretty sure cowboy boots should all come with rhinestones.

Soon, we’re outside the city, the commercial buildings giving way to grassy knolls and trees. My breath is taken by the beauty of the landscape, the rolling hills and livestock roaming freely along the greenery. Montana is just as spellbinding as any picture or movie I’ve ever seen.

My eyes grow heavier as the motion of the truck maintains its speed, and I fall asleep without realizing it. A hand shakes me awake, and I find myself staring into stormy, gray eyes as afternoon light pours through the now-still vehicle. I jump at the chiseled face in front of me, my subconscious telling me that it’s okay as I struggle to connect his familiarity.

Hudson. Walker. The driver who picked me up from the airport.

“We’re here,” Hudson announces gruffly.

He backs away and lets himself out of the driver’s seat as I sit up, blinking wildly. For a moment, I’m sure he’s made a mistake, taken me to the wrong place. Embarrassed, I collect myself, looking where we landed in disbelief.

My brow furrows, and I gape at the sight in front of me.

I shouldn’t have gotten in the car! I’ve been kidnapped!

This can’t be my grandmother’s house, this ramshackle building on a spot of patchy land in the middle of nowhere. Whatever barns or stables had once stood are now in varying stages of decay, without an animal in sight.

This isn’t what a ranch is supposed to look like. There likely hasn’t been a horse or anything else of value on the property in decades.

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