Cowboy Redeemed Page 3

  Ainsley didn’t believe for a second things were that cut and dried over at Shadow Maverick Ranch. She hadn’t been in town fifteen minutes before rumors about the tight-knit Mathis family filled her ears. After six months, Ainsley had a good idea how things worked. Thick as thieves, they were. As, she admitted, a family should be.

  Damn it! They could be naked and sweaty in the cab of his truck right now. Why couldn’t he have kept his tempting mouth shut? Ainsley knew why and it pissed her off even more. She didn’t want to feel anything for this man. Not the lust searing her veins, and not the gratitude that warmed her chest. The son of a bitch had given her a choice when he could’ve taken advantage. She would’ve fucked him without his name, and he hadn’t let her. His conscience really put a damper on her night.

  “That’s good to know. Gavin’s in charge. You’re the ranch hand.” Conscience or not, no man enjoyed a poke at his ego.

  Clayton eased back in his chair, the tight set of his jaw making her wonder if she’d pushed too hard. “You know, I’m beginning to think you’re deliberately trying to aggravate me. While I can think of a much better use for that aggression, I’m intrigued. What are you so afraid of? What’s going on over at your place that has my brother convinced you need to sell? There must be some reason he hasn’t taken no for an answer.”

  A vulture following a scent.

  According to Mr. Sutherland, Ainsley was broke. She was nothing if not determined, and she’d do whatever she had to do to keep the ranch, including beating not-so-innocent cowboys out of their beer money if she needed cash for groceries.

  She stood. “I suspect because stubborn runs in your family, but why don’t you ask him? As for me? I’m leaving.”

  If she had any hope of keeping her home, she needed to stay focused. Not give Clayton any ammunition to take back to his brother to use against her. Maybe even force her to sell, if such a thing was possible.

  “You can run away this time, Ainsley, but I promise you, this isn’t over.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, cowboy. This never got started.”

  ***

  Never got started, his ass.

  They’d been blazing ten thousand miles an hour, straight into the sun.

  Clay watched as Ainsley’s sweet little ass disappeared out the front door. The woman had spunk, he’d give her that. She had something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but knew he wanted more.

  Of all the women he could’ve gotten tangled up with… Jesus, the woman pushed his buttons. She pissed him off and revved him up.

  A fucking ranch hand.

  He chuckled. Oh, she was a wildcat, all right. And if she thought she’d seen the last of him, pretty little Ainsley Russell was in for a rude awakening.

  Offering his name had been the right thing to do. He hadn’t been completely honest about not getting involved in ranch business. Adding the Nelson Ranch to their holdings would be no small undertaking. A decision of that magnitude wasn’t something Gavin could make on his own. Clay had been on board, but it seemed Ainsley had other ideas. She refused to sell and had developed a disdain for his family she’d been quick to share with Gavin, who in turn had shared with the rest of them.

  So, why was Gavin trying so hard to change her mind? Clay wondered if the answer had anything to do with the animosity Ainsley felt toward his family. Something that hadn’t been his problem. Until now.

  No doubt, Ainsley would’ve been hotter than a two-peckered alley cat if she’d found out who he was after they’d fucked. But damn, doing the right thing sucked for his balls.

  He wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been honest tonight. She said she’d made a mistake, but her pert little nipples told a different story. He’d bet his left nut her panties were as drenched as his dick was hard.

  A shot glass wandered into his line of sight. Clay accepted the glass and turned to see Dakota’s smirk.

  “That was quick. Strike out already?”

  Clay tossed the shot back. The tequila did nothing to quench his thirst. Clay clapped Dakota on the shoulder. “No worries, my friend. I’m just gettin’ warmed up.”

  Chapter Four

  Ainsley hadn’t slept a wink.

  Lying in her cold, lonely bed, she’d been haunted by the feel of warm, calloused hands. By dark, sensual eyes and sinful lips. After staring at the bedroom ceiling for an hour, she’d retreated to the couch, which only managed to change her view, not the sexual wandering of her brain. The sky had begun to lighten in the east by the time she’d finally dozed off. It hadn’t lasted long. A couple of hours of tossing and turning on the ancient couch, springs poking at her ribcage, and she gave up.

  Ainsley slid from the couch and padded on bare feet across the marred hardwood floor. She stepped wide over the threshold to the kitchen, avoiding the seam of damaged linoleum. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. She was cranky enough without starting her day nursing a sliced-open foot.

  The kitchen was large, with plenty of windows to let in the natural light now that she’d removed the curtains and left them bare. The yellow Formica countertops were chipped and stained. There was no microwave, but after a lifetime of heat-and-eat, Ainsley preferred to cook her meals the old fashioned way—on appliances the same color of brown as the cabinets. And she ate her meals at the faux wood table with metal legs that had four matching chairs.

  Her uncle hadn’t updated the place in more than forty years, but Ainsley couldn’t care less. The house was old and in desperate need of repair, but it was clean. It was hers.

  Clayton Mathis remained front and center on her mind as she grabbed the copper canister where she kept the coffee. She spent the first half of the night convincing herself she’d done the right thing walking away from him. The other half of the night she spent cursing her own stupidity. A body like his promised hours of distraction. A distraction he’d been more than willing to provide. One she well and truly needed.

  And she’d told him no.

  Ainsley wondered who’d told him yes.

  She flicked open the lid to the coffeemaker and scooped grounds into a filter.

  No doubt some dolled-up, curvy, well-endowed redhead. All of the things Ainsley wasn’t.

  She filled the carafe with water, poured it in, and then mashed the power switch a little harder than necessary. The coffeemaker sputtered to life as she crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the counter.

  Clayton was probably still with her—the slutty little redhead. She probably had her naked body draped over him, whispering trash in his ear and believing she’d been his first choice for a bed partner, when, in fact, she hadn’t.

  Whoa. Bitch alert.

  Ainsley groaned at the ceiling. What the heck was the matter with her? She’d never had possessive, jealous feelings about a man before. Clearly, lack of caffeine and sleep had made her delirious.

  A car pulled up the drive. Ainsley glared out of the kitchen window. Unless the person who drove the fancy sports car had a stash of ready-made coffee in the trunk, she had no interest in a chat. Not this early in the morning and definitely not with the suit-wearing corporate type who stretched from a car much too small to contain the ego that poured out with him.

  She so wasn’t in the mood for this shit.

  Grabbing the shotgun she kept by the front door, Ainsley navigated the rotting boards of the porch with practiced ease, giving little consideration to the fact she wore only a flimsy pair of sleep shorts and a braless tank top.

  “Can I help you?” Jesus, it was humid. Looked as if she was in for another miserable day with her air conditioner on the fritz.

  She leaned against the porch rail and rested the barrel of the gun against her shoulder. It wasn’t loaded. Shells cost money, and the few she had were for true emergencies.

  She was a woman alone, a good fifteen minutes from the nearest neighbor. It paid to show a semblance of strength, even if it was a bluff.

  Her visitor stopped in his tracks. His hand cam
e up, and he waggled what looked to be a business card between his fingers. “I’m Michael Johnson from Aristo Industries, ma’am.”

  Polite, but calling her ma’am wouldn’t win him any brownie points. “There a reason you’re on my property before breakfast time, Mr. Johnson? And on a Sunday, no less?”

  Ainsley had a pretty good idea of what his answer would be.

  Mr. Johnson sniffed and tucked the card back into his pocket. “Obviously, I wish to speak with you about an important business matter. I chose a time most promising to catch you available.”

  More like he thought to catch her off balance.

  His arrogant tone grated on her nerves. She needed a cup of coffee before she could think straight, and this jackass wanted to talk while her pot still brewed? Not happening.

  “I’m not selling my land, Mr. Johnson. I’m sorry, but you’ve wasted your time coming out here.”

  He turned at the sound of a vehicle coming up the drive.

  What the hell?

  Ainsley watched with stunned disbelief as a large, white pickup—its doors emblazoned with the Shadow Maverick Ranch brand—eased to a stop between her and the fancy sports car.

  Great. Just what she needed. Another arrogant male to deal with. Doesn’t anyone sleep in on Sunday anymore?

  At least this put to rest her vision of Clayton lingering with the slutty redhead. If there had even been a slutty redhead. God help her, she hoped not.

  “I strongly advise you to reconsider, Ms. Russell.” Mr. Johnson turned back to her, dismissing the truck all together. “I’m prepared to make you a handsome offer.”

  Ainsley held her tongue as Clayton emerged from the truck. He removed his hat and tossed it onto the seat before slamming the door shut. His midnight hair fell in sexy disarray over his forehead. She forced herself to stop gawking at the way his tight gray T-shirt stretched over his muscular chest and focused instead on the weasel in front of her.

  “You, personally, or your company?”

  Mr. Johnson huffed, causing his cheeks to jiggle. He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and dabbed at the perspiration on his face. “My company, of course.”

  Of course.

  Clayton sauntered around the front of the truck. Tight jeans hugged muscled thighs as he rested a boot against the bottom porch step. He made no move to climb the steps to join her.

  “Mornin’, Ainsley.” The rich, deep timbre washed over her like warm honey. He raised a brow at the gun she now cradled. “Everything okay?”

  Despite the heat, her nipples tightened against the soft cotton of her tank. Fantasies from her sleepless night jumped front and center. Clayton’s mouth on every inch of her body, tasting, sucking, driving her crazy for his possession. “Everything is fine, Clayton. Thank you,” she ground out.

  Why he’d concern himself was a mystery to go along with why the hell he was standing at the base of her porch.

  First things first.

  “I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Johnson.” Ainsley was sick to death of dealing with men who wanted what belonged to her. “Again, you’ve wasted your time. Nelson Ranch isn’t for sale. And save yourself the trip, it won’t be for sale tomorrow, either. Or the day after.”

  “Ms. Russell.” Johnson sighed as though Ainsley were a troublesome child. “You are in over your head here. The whole county knows it. With all due respect, it’s in your best interest to hear what I have to say. Preferably in private, if you please.”

  The only person who had Ainsley’s best interests at heart was herself. The guy’s holier-than-thou attitude pissed her off. The reason for her being awake all night leaned casually against her porch rail and didn’t help her mood any.

  “Mr. Johnson.” Ainsley slipped into the haughty tone she’d perfected the two years she’d spent in Boston as a teen. “With all due respect, please remove yourself from my property. Now you’re wasting my time, and I have very little to spare.”

  Mr. Johnson squared his shoulders, his eyes narrowed to a sneer. “You’re all alone out here. Ranching can be a dangerous business for a woman.”

  “Now that sounds like a threat.” Clayton’s lazy drawl drew Mr. Johnson’s attention.

  “Just stating the facts,” he told Clayton before his beady eyes shifted back to her. “Face it, Ms. Russell. You’re going to lose this ranch. It’s your choice whether you leave with some cash in your pocket or you leave with nothing. I’m offering you a favorable solution.”

  Ainsley’s temper soared. Solution, her ass. He didn’t give a shit about her. No one did. She was done being intimidated.

  “Let me guess. You’ve got what you deem a fair sum of cash to offer? An amount that would wash all my worries away?”

  Johnson’s cheeks flamed.

  Yeah, she thought so.

  She didn’t care about money. Money couldn’t buy what she craved. “You aren’t offering me a solution, Mr. Johnson. You’re giving me an ultimatum. I’ve asked you nicely to leave. Next time I won’t be so polite.”

  Clayton climbed the steps. To her surprise, he planted his body at her side, arms crossed.

  “What’s your first name, Mr. Johnson?” Clayton asked.

  “Michael.”

  “And you work for…?”

  “Aristo Industries, but I don’t see what business that is of yours.”

  “Not your place to see. Trust me when I say Ainsley isn’t alone. You’d better think twice before making good on those facts you spouted, Mr. Johnson. Any harm comes to Ms. Russell, her property, or anything that belongs to her—you’re the first person I’m gonna visit. Bet your ass on it. Am I in any way being unclear?”

  Mr. Johnson’s face paled. “I’ll be sure to pass on your message.”

  “You do that. Now would be good.”

  Mr. Johnson sneered. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Can’t wait.” Ainsley mumbled with a mock salute.

  Mr. Johnson climbed into his car. Gravel flew as he turned and sped down the driveway.

  “Pleasant man,” Clayton said as he watched him go. “I’m guessing he’s not a friend of yours.”

  One down. One to go.

  The united front display rattled her senses. Clay had her back. Ha!

  When had anyone had her back before? The idea felt good. Too good.

  Unable to deal with the emotions churning through her, she huffed. “I don’t need you to fight my battles. What’re you doing here, Clayton?”

  “Most people call me Clay. If I can coerce you to put the gun down, I thought we could talk.”

  Ainsley cursed under her breath. He was what she’d spent all night thinking about—and what she’d do if she saw him again. Those fantasies had nothing to do with kicking him off her property and everything to do with getting him naked. “I’m not doing any more talking until I have at least one cup of coffee. Come in if you want, but watch your step.”

  He studied the porch as though trying to decide the best route to her front door.

  “Step wide here.” She demonstrated by stepping over two boards to plant her foot on the threshold. “Avoid those and you’ll be fine.”

  She didn’t wait to see if he would follow. His nearness renewed the ache to have him between her thighs. Part of her wished he’d turn tail and leave her alone. The other, more insistent part of her wanted him to drag her to bed and keep her there all day.

  Clay’s boots clomped against the worn hardwoods. “How long has the porch been like that?” He propped a hip against the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. His short sleeves allowed her a view of the tattoo she’d been fascinated with last night. Black ink decorated his forearm, an intricate design starting just above his wrist and ending at his elbow. She itched to get a closer look.

  “I suspect a long time. It hasn’t gotten any worse since I’ve been here.” She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a coffee mug. “Want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sugar? I don’t have cream, but I’ve got
milk if you want.”

  “Black is fine, thanks.”

  She grabbed a second mug and filled both as he pulled out a chair and took a seat as though he belonged there. Ainsley set his mug in front of him and leaned against the counter, facing him.

  “So, talk.” She blew over the rim of her mug before taking a sip.

  “Lemme guess. Not a morning person?”

  “I like mornings fine. I’m actually quite cheerful when my mornings aren’t rudely interrupted by strangers before my first cup of coffee.”

  He chuckled. “Fair enough.” He tested the coffee with a small sip before tipping his mug for a deeper drink. “That guy hasn’t been out here before?”

  “Not him, no.”

  “Someone else?” he prompted.

  “Seems there’s a never ending supply of people around here who think I’m incapable of running this ranch.”

  One thick, dark brow rose. “You’ve got experience running ranches, then?”

  Ainsley drew in a breath and set her coffee aside. “That’s really not your concern, is it? It’s not anyone’s concern. Whether people around here like it or not, Mr. Nelson left this ranch to me. To me.” For reasons he took to the grave. “I’ll bet no one is interested in the mountain of debt the bastard left along with it, are they?”

  Her temper mounted, as did her need to vent to someone, anyone. “Fuck experience. I’m smart. I’m a fast learner. I taught myself how to cook when I was eight. I lied about my age and got my first job when I turned twelve. I taught myself how to saddle and ride a freaking horse for crying out loud. There’s not a goddamned thing I can’t do, you hear me? I’ve managed to keep things going here without any major disasters and without any outside help. And I’ll keep right on doing it.”

  Clay spoke, unfazed by her diatribe. “You can’t expect to do this all on your own, Ainsley. No one could. Not even me, and I’ve been a rancher all my life. There’s no shame in asking for help.”

  “And you’re here out of the goodness of your heart? To help me?” A disgusted noise slipped from her lips.