Free Cowboy Crazy (The Dalton Boys Book 1) by Em Petrova Page B

try to get somewhere with her. She’s mighty pretty. Soft and sweet.”
    He stopped shoveling and glared at his brother. “She’s off limits.”
    “Why? I need a wife if I want that land, and she’s here. I like her.”
    “Get over it. You’re not touching her.”
    Grinning, Cash scooped up manure and hurled it at Hank. It struck his shins and slid down to cover his boots. Hank lowered his head, ready to charge his pipsqueak brother and pound the piss outta him like he did when they were little.
    “Do that again and you’ll find yourself flat on your back in this pile.”
    He laughed. “I’d like to see you try, bro. If you’re so protective of Charlotte, why aren’t you pursuing her more?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Wait—you tried and she pushed you away?”
    His pride took a hit, which made his tongue loosen. “Not exactly. She let me touch her.”
    “And?”
    “That’s it. Afterward, she closed up. I haven’t gotten through the door since.”
    “Dayummm. You must really have bad technique.”
    It was Hank’s turn to throw a shovelful of shit at his brother. It hit him square in the chest and ran off him in smelly chunks.
    “You’re askin’ for it, bro.”
    “Let’s go.” Hank poised, ready to fling cow pies in his brother’s face if it would shut him up about Charlotte. But five breathless, laughing minutes later, all he was left with was the need to hit the shower.
    Even though her car still sat in the garage, it was as if Charlotte had already driven away.
    * * *
    For three weeks Charlotte had been on the Paradise Valley Ranch. In that time, she’d learned how to bake everything from biscuits to bread, and homemade donuts to blueberry pies. She could make a mean chicken gravy, and failed twice at the Dalton’s favorite country fried steak. The boys had been nice, forking the burned meat into their mouths, but she knew how bad it tasted.
    Still, most of the things she tried her hand at were successful. At least when she left, she’d practically have a degree in home-cooking.
    She leaned against the sink and stared out the window at the setting sun. The kitchen was clean after dinner, and Mrs. Dalton had used her brand new set of crutches to get into the living room, saying Jeopardy and her recliner were calling.
    The times Charlotte wasn’t scrubbing mud off the floors or folding whipped cream into a fruit and nut salad, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Usually Hank came inside and she’d hurry to find busy work, but today he’d stayed away.
    All day.
    Cash had come in and talked her ear off about calving season, though. While the topic fascinated a city girl like Charlotte, she wished it was Hank doing the talking.
    If she were honest with herself, she missed him.
    Stupid. I don’t know him enough to miss him.
    But she knew his crooked smile when he’d taken a bite of her first dumpling, how his hair stuck up when he came into the house after a long night on the porch.
    And how good his rough fingers felt as she rode them.
    She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to ignore the heat coursing through her body. She wasn’t getting any relief from this deep ache, and it was her own fault. If she went to Hank again, he wouldn’t turn her away. The burning in his eyes assured her that he still wanted her.
    She could spend the last few weeks of her stay enjoying him. What was holding her back?
    The knowledge that he wanted more. It was written all over the cowboy—the way he looked at her, the way he moved when he was around her. And he wasn’t the type of man to love ’em and leave ’em. If she slept with Hank, he wouldn’t take it lightly.
    It had taken her all of a week to discover he was a forever kind of guy.
    A gorgeous Dalton boy strode into her view, long legs eating up the yard. He wore his hat low and his T-shirt was tucked in his back pocket, dangling down one chiseled thigh. Muscles glistening in the sun.
    Hank. She stopped