Free A Real Cowboy Knows How to Kiss by Stephanie Rowe

be able to convince herself to remain detached, as if he were one of the horses she usually operated on.
    She'd totally lied to herself. There was no chance she was going to be able to convince herself that the man in front her wasn't Steen Stockton. Not only was there no chance she was going to convince her subconscious that he was comparable to a horse, but she wasn't even going to be able to delude herself that he was simply a patient. He wasn't. Not to her.
    He was Steen Stockton, in the living flesh. He was also half-naked, grinning at her as if he'd just figured out how to cause some serious trouble in her life.
    Oy.
    Men. More trouble than they were worth. But she couldn't help the thrill of anticipation at the way he was looking at her.
    In a last ditch attempt to protect herself from him, she gave him a good, solid glare before turning her attention to the bandage. She'd just managed to get it off when he interrupted her focus.
    "How long were you married?"
    She sighed. This was why unconscious horses were better patients than conscious men. "I don't really want to talk about that, thanks." She studied his side. The bleeding was from what was clearly a surgical incision, but next to it was another scar, a jagged, rough-looking one that looked about the same age as the one on his stomach: somewhat recent. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she assessed it. "Is that scar from a knife wound?"
    "Yeah. How long were you married?"
    "Six years," she said absently, her attention focused on his injury. "How did you get cut? This looks like it was very serious. Given the placement of it, if it had gone deep enough—" Her gaze jerked to his face in sudden understanding of why he appeared so lean. "Did you almost die from this? Is that why you look so thin? Is that what the scar on your stomach is from? Surgery to save you?"
    He tensed ever so slightly. His reaction was barely noticeable, except for the fact she was studying him so intently. "Maybe. Check the new incision. That's the problem now. They had to fix stuff up. Just let me know if it's good. What was his name? Your ex-husband's? Are you actually divorced? Was he a vet as well?"
    She bit her lip, unable to stop herself from tensing at the thought of the man she'd trusted enough to marry. "Yes, we're divorced. It's been over a year. His name's Louis, and he's a heart surgeon. He pioneered a new procedure that will save the lives of many people."
    She couldn't quite keep the irritation out of her voice. He'd been such a star on every level, which made his betrayal even worse. She bit her lip against the sudden tightness in her throat. Damn it. Why did she still let him get to her? Why couldn't she just get over it? Well, she could, and she would. That was why she was in Wyoming on a working vacation, right? Because somewhere in the land of her messed-up childhood was the answer, or at least that was what she hoped. But first, more importantly, was Steen, a welcome distraction from the life she was trying to forget. "You almost died?" She set her hands on his, studying his face. "How on earth did you get cut badly enough to almost die?"
    His gaze flickered toward hers, and she saw the evasiveness in his expression. "It's a long story. What did Louis do to you, Erin?"
    "Nothing." She would not be a victim, and replaying her life just gave it power.
    He cocked his eyebrow, and she knew he could tell she was lying. Guilt tumbled through her, and she sighed. Steen was right. She didn't want to lie to him. So, instead, she raised her eyebrows back at him. "Okay, so it wasn't nothing, but it's nothing I want to talk about." She would never forget that night, that moment, when everything had changed. Her hands started to tremble just thinking about it, so she shook out her hands, trying to keep her focus. "Why do you want to know so badly?"
    "Because it helps me know how to get beneath those prickly spines you have up." He grinned. "I want to get under the spines, Erin."
    She