Free The Rancher's Untamed Heart by Nicole Jordan Page A

supposed to head right out. That suited me fine.

 
     
     

     
     
    I took the purse and followed him out to his big old truck. He held every door open for me, very carefully.
     
    I would have protested, but I'd seen enough of ranch men to know that he expected to do that to every woman for his entire life, and I wouldn't win that battle.
     
    Besides, I had to admit that it was sweet.
     
    "So, where are we headed?" I asked.
     
    "What do you like?" he asked in reply, "Steak? Italian? Mexican?"
     
    "I like all of those," I admitted, "I know that's not helpful, but I'm hungry and all of that sounds great."
     
    "Mexican it is," he said, "I think I could go for something spicy."
     
    He smiled at me a little sidelong, and I rolled my eyes, but smiled back. It had been a long time since I'd gotten cheesy pick-up lines, they were starting to feel novel and interesting again.
     
    Maybe it was just Clint saying them, though.
     
    The ride into town was nice. Companionable.
     
    When we pulled up in front of a Mexican place that had never been, I turned to him and grinned.
     
    "I'm glad you didn't go surly," I said, "It's not fun predicting whether or not you'll talk to me."
     
    He rubbed the back of his neck.
     
    "You're not going to poke around my farm for your job again, are you?" he asked.
     
    "Not planning on it," I said.
     
    "I'm much friendlier with pretty women than with government inspectors," he assured me.
     
    "Brandon said that you're that way with everyone," I protested as he held the door to the restaurant open for me.
     
    "Brandon talks too damn much," he grumbled, "And he's not a pretty girl, so how would he know how I treat them?"
     
    I laughed.
     
    "Fair enough," I said.
     
    The hostess held up two fingers and Clint nodded. She picked up two garish menus and showed us to a quiet booth in the back corner.
     
    "Good spot," he grunted, standing back to give me the choice of seat.
     
    I took the bench nearest the door, and he sat across from me.
     
    "Brandon lives on your property?" I asked, "You don't see that at a lot of ranches any more."
     
    "Yeah, well, I can't handle nighttime emergencies all by myself," Clint said, "I pay him and Will a little extra to live at the ranch."
     
    "Good call," I said, nodding, "I've seen what happens when a ranch is left all alone for a night when someone has to go out of town suddenly."
     
    Clint nodded.
     
    "You know what you want?" he asked, holding up his menu.
     
    "Oh! No, I need to actually read it," I said.
     
    We lapsed into silence for a minute.
     
    When the waitress came by for our drinks, I got a margarita and Clint got a draft beer.
     
    "Ready to order?" she asked.
     
    We looked at each other, and both nodded.
     
    "I'll have chicken enchiladas," I said.
     
    "Good call. I'll have the steak fajitas," he told the waitress, who nodded, and took the menus as she disappeared.
     
    "It's good having Brandon and his fella there, and it's actually nice to have someone to talk to," he said.
     
    "Brandon's fella?" I asked.
     
    "Will," Clint said. He flashed his bright grin at me again. "Brandon doesn't like the pretty girls, he and Will met at the rodeo."
     
    “Oh,” I said, “Huh.”
     
    “That a problem?” he asked.
     
    “No, not at all. Not for me, but I would have pegged you for a little less..” I trailed off.
     
    “Brandon’s my best friend, and Will’s a good guy. Anything else is their business,” he said, firmly.
     
    “Good way to look at it,” I said. “How long have you known Brandon?”
     
    “Pretty much forever,” he said, “I suppose we’re more like brothers, he spent all his time at the ranch when we were kids.”
     
    “He mentioned your parents,” I said, “He, uh, actually said that they passed a few years back. I don’t want to be nosy, but, well, I am.”
     
    He took a swig of the beer that had just arrived.
     
    “Car accident,” he said, “My father, at least. Four years back. He lost my mother to