Free Luke (Armed and Dangerous Book 2) by Cheyenne McCray

was about to do. She was going to dump the man she’d been with for two years, a man she was close to being engaged to.
    For what? A kiss by a cowboy she might never see again?
    The thudding of her heart slowed and she was surprised at how calm she felt when she heard Race’s familiar, cultured voice answer on the other end of the line.
    Two years together, yet it only took a few minutes to tell him it was over between them.
    Race was far too much of a gentleman to pitch a fit over getting dumped, even suddenly, and long-distance instead of face-to-face.
    Trinity almost wished he would have made a little fuss, fought for her in some way—even threatened to fly straight to the States and talk sense into her. But of course, he didn’t, and that really summed up her problems with Race.
    He was hurt. Polite. And in the end, cool and distant. The man had absolutely no fire at all, at least not for her.
    By the time Trinity turned off her phone and slipped back into bed, she was positive she’d done the right thing. She knew she’d be able to sleep, maybe better than she had in months.
    Her hand moved back to the warm, damp place between her legs, and she closed her eyes.
    First, though—another fantasy.
    This time, without a drop of guilt...

Chapter 11
    After the party, Luke headed back to the Flying M Ranch, refusing to let himself consider that Trinity MacKenna was staying in the main house. She was practically close enough he could smell her, if he let himself go sniffing.
    Which he damned sure didn’t need to do.
    Luke bypassed the main house. He saw the strange Mustang convertible and knew the sweet little treasure was tucked somewhere inside the house. His pulse throbbed in a vein at his throat to know she must really be there as he made his way to the foreman’s cabin behind the bunkhouse. Shit. He had to get his mind on his job. For now.
    Out of habit ingrained from years of training, he made sure the building was secure before he let himself into the small cabin. He’d installed his own security locks on the front and back doors, as well as pull-down shades at the windows, and he always chose a different means of identifying if anyone had been in his quarters in his absence. Today the almost invisible threads had still been intact at both the front and rear entrances, and he found nothing suspicious.
    Once he’d made a quick round of the living room, single bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen, he slung his duster on the coat rack beside the door. He tossed his Stetson on the knobby top, where it rocked back and forth for a moment before going still.
    From out of his duster pocket he withdrew his PDA—a slim palm device. From the holster he pulled out his cell phone and switched it so that it would hum instead of vibrate, and then kicked back in the comfortable leather recliner in the cabin’s small living room. The room always smelled of mesquite wood from the pile stacked next to the old woodstove and of leather from the worn couch and armchairs.
    The furnishings weren’t much to look at, but it was neat and clean. A pair of ancient deer antlers was mounted on the wall beside the black stovepipe of the old woodstove. A few throw rugs were scattered around the tiled floor and the room had been paneled in a rustic knotty pine.
    On one of the wooden tables perched a small potted Christmas tree with miniature decorations, courtesy of Skylar who figured all her ranch hands needed something Christmassy in their quarters. The tree she’d put in the bunkhouse had been a little too big for his tastes, but the men had gotten a kick out of it.
    Luke managed to keep his mind off Trinity MacKenna—sort of—as he set to work. He turned on his palm device and used the stylus to tab through the pages of notes he’d made during the cattle rustling case, until he came to his short list of subjects and suspects, people he thought might be players in the Guerrero operation, or potential competitors.
    He added in Joyce Butler