Free One Fine Cowboy by Joanne Kennedy

She’d heard they were breeding genetically altered cows these days, but how did the poor thing walk?
    She sighed and pulled out another package.
    Ground beef. She never thought she’d be so glad to see an animal chopped up beyond recognition. This she could deal with. She could make spaghetti—with meatballs for Nate and whatever other students might show up.
    Because they were bound to show up. Nate seemed confident no one would opt to stay at Latigo Ranch, but he hadn’t seen the brochure. Wherever Sandi had taken those pictures, it had been gorgeous—rustic, yet comfortable, with rough-hewn log furniture and open-beam ceilings.
    She glanced around the kitchen, taking in the worn linoleum floor, the scarred countertops, and the chrome dinette set. Then she looked at the wallpaper and felt a rush of happy, homey familiarity. The place definitely worked for her—but the other students were in for a very rude surprise.
    ***
    Nate’s head was pounding by the time he’d finished the after-dinner chores. He practically staggered to the sofa, then fell onto the cushions, letting his head loll on a pillow. Sleep. He needed sleep.
    Blessed, blessed sleep.
    “You can’t sleep,” said a voice behind him.
    Nightmares already?
    He turned to see Charlie standing in the doorway to the kitchen. There were times he might call the woman a nightmare, but this wasn’t one of them. Her hair was smoothed down, the spikes calmed to sleek layers, and her face was freshly scrubbed. Without the red lipstick and dark eyeliner, her face looked softer, more approachable.
    More kissable.
    He chased that thought away. It was totally inappropriate—but he couldn’t help moving his eyes down that body, lured by the pale skin of her bare legs. She was wearing only an oversized white T-shirt that barely covered those mysterious panties, and Nate was sure he could see faint round shadows where the fabric peaked over her breasts.
    Damn right he couldn’t sleep. Not after seeing that. He licked his lips, then pulled his gaze back up to her face, flushing guiltily.
    “You have a concussion,” she said. She seemed totally unaware of the fact that he’d just stripped that T-shirt off her in his mind, savoring the curves and valleys of the body underneath. Her skin would be smooth, he thought—smooth, warm and yielding.
    Totally unlike her personality.
    “You can nap for maybe an hour,” she continued, stern as a drill sergeant with a new recruit. “But you need to wake up every once in a while. Maybe you could set an alarm.”
    “I’ll be fine,” he said, looking away. He could feel himself shifting, stirring with arousal, and he squeezed his eyes shut, calling up Aunt Martha from the depths of his subconscious. “It’s nothing serious.”
    She plopped down on the sofa beside him and peered into his eyes. He turned away. He knew what she was looking for, and he knew she’d find it. He’d looked in the mirror earlier, and his pupils were still dilated. But he was fine. In fact, judging from the way his body was responding to the sight of Charlie in her skimpy nightclothes, he was perfectly healthy.
    She reached up and took his head between her hands, turning his face toward hers. Her eyes met his with an intensity that set his pulse to pounding, and he could swear his temperature spiked a good three degrees. Maybe she was only looking for concussion symptoms, but it felt like she was looking deep inside him, searching his mind—maybe even his soul. He swallowed hard, wondering if she could see his thoughts: The faint outline of Aunt Martha, fading behind an ever-changing series of images. Images of Charlie, naked as she stood there in the doorway. Naked on the sofa. In his bed. In his arms. On his lap.
    He needed to put something on his lap, that was for sure. Charlie didn’t need to look in his eyes. All she needed to do was look down and she’d know exactly what he was thinking.
    “Your pupils are still huge,” she said.
    She