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  A couple of seconds went by with rain coming in his open window and hers, too, probably. He had a chance to study her a little, which added to his initial impression that she was pretty—high cheekbones, rounded chin, full lips and very blue eyes. He wondered if she was worried about accepting a ride from a stranger. “My name’s Wyatt Locke,” he said. “I’m Jack Chance’s half brother visiting from San Francisco.”

  “Sarah didn’t mention anyone coming to visit today.”

  Wyatt wondered if Jack’s stepmother would be annoyed because he was dropping in. “It’s a surprise. But if you want to call the ranch and double-check that I’m legit, go ahead. The surprise isn’t that important.” And they couldn’t tell him to leave with this gully-washer in progress, even if they wanted to.

  She smiled, revealing even white teeth with a tiny space in the middle. “I’m sure you’re perfectly safe, Wyatt Locke. Serial killers don’t usually come out in weather like this.” She glanced at the seat next to her before turning back to him. “But I have a couple of bags of stuff I need to take up to the ranch house.”

  “Will it get ruined if it gets a little wet?”

  “Not really, but—”

  “You can’t carry it all in one trip,” he said, making a guess.

  “Right.”

  “Hang on. I’ll help.” Leaving the motor running, he opened his door and stepped out. He was drenched immediately. Cold water soaked his Adventure Trekking T-shirt and hiking shorts, and burrowed into his hiking boots.

  “Wait!” she called out. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yeah, I do. Can’t leave a damsel in distress.” He slogged around the front of the truck, his boots making a sucking sound with every step. First he opened his passenger door and then turned toward her Jeep. “Let’s get your bags in there first. Do you have an umbrella?”

  “No such luck.” She opened her door and passed him two large zippered totes.

  “Got ‘em.” Water ran in rivulets down his face, but now that her door was open, he could see the rest of her if he blinked the rain away. She had a great figure, nicely showcased by jeans and a black scoop necked top. Then he noticed her feet. Dear God, was she wearing high heels? Not good. “Stay put. I’ll come back for you.”

  “No need. I’ll take off my shoes and roll up my pant legs for the trip over.”

  “It’ll be better if I carry you,” he called over his shoulder as he navigated the short but muddy stretch between her Jeep and his truck. He put the totes on the floor of the cab and turned back to her.

  She had one bare foot propped on the edge of the seat as she rolled her pant leg up and her toes had some sort of glittery stuff on them. Her left arm and leg were already wet from the rain coming in the open door.

  “You really don’t want to step out here. It’s nasty.”

  “It’s only mud.” She glanced up at him, her blue gaze resolute. “You can go back to your truck. I’ll be right there.”

  “But I’m already a mess. If I carry you over, you won’t have to be.”

  She looked him up and down. “Yes, but the footing is terrible. You could easily slip, and then where would we be?”

  He swiped the rain away from his eyes. “I won’t slip.” By now his boots were so full of water they’d keep him well stabilized.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t mean to slip, but how often do you carry a person who weighs a hundred and…twenty through the mud?”

  He couldn’t help grinning. Women and their weight issues. “More often than you’d suppose. I’m a wilderness guide, and I’m certified for search and rescue. In other words, I’m a professional.”

  “Oh. That explains the Adventure Trekking logo on your truck and your shirt.”

  “Exactly. I could carry you even if you weighed one-thirty.” He was guessing at how much she’d subtracted from her actual weight.

  Her cheeks turned pink and her chin lifted. “One-twenty-six.”

  She wore it well, too. “Come on. Just let me do my thing. It would be a shame to get those sparkly toes all covered with muck.”

  “They’d wash off, but…all right, Wyatt Locke of Adventure Trekking. You’re getting soaked, and you’ve convinced me I’m just being stubborn.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that.”

  “I believe you, and that kind of restraint is impressive.” She smiled at him. “Let me put my shoes in my purse before you hoist me out of here.”

  He waited as the rain plastered his clothes to his body. He hadn’t been this wet fully clothed since the time he’d fallen in the Snake River on a canoe trip two years ago.

  “Ready.” She hung her purse strap around her neck and scooted out from behind the wheel. “Can you get the door once I’m out?”

  “Uh-huh.” Moving into a half crouch, he slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades. She felt warm, soft and infinitely huggable. If it were up to him, she wouldn’t lose an ounce of that one-twenty-six. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  She did, bringing with her a tantalizing scent of jasmine.

  He was starting to enjoy himself. “On the count of three. One, two, three.” He lifted her, taking care not to bang her head on the door frame, and stood slowly as she nestled against him. “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He was more than okay. Coming to the aid of a beautiful woman—he’d upgraded her from pretty to beautiful—was a rewarding experience. Besides getting points for gallantry, he was required to cuddle with said woman for a brief time, all in the name of a heroic rescue. He turned toward his truck.

  “Don’t forget the door.”

  “Right.” Which he had. The sensual pleasure of holding her had short-circuited his brain.

  Rotating in place, he nudged the door with his left knee. The sideways tilt of the Jeep meant gravity was in his favor, and the door swung closed with a solid clunk. But using his knee to close the door threw him slightly off balance.

  She let out a little cry of alarm and tightened her hold on his neck. “Don’t you dare drop me!”

  “Easy does it. We’re fine.” He regained his balance and adjusted his hold. God, she felt good in his arms. Part of that was her welcome warmth against his chilled body, but he could get that from a hot water bottle. She was a lot more satisfying to hold, and he was reminded that he’d been so busy working in the past year or so that he’d abandoned his social life.

  The trip to his truck took maybe five seconds, and he cherished every one. Too soon he had to lean down and slide her onto the fabric seat, which was also wet after having the door open so long. “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” She scrambled onto the seat and unhooked her purse from around her neck. He thought she’d go for her shoes, but instead she put the purse on the floor with the bags and started running her fingers up through her wet hair as if trying to save the look she’d started out with.

  Shrugging, he closed the door and sloshed around to the driver’s side. A woman’s concern with her appearance was usually a warning signal for him after all the years he’d spent watching his mother obsess about her hair, makeup and clothes. But he didn’t know this particular woman well enough to make snap judgments.

  Hell, he didn’t even know her name. Climbing into the truck, he closed the door and fastened his seat belt. She was still futzing with her hair. “It looks fine,” he said.

  She laughed and finger-combed it back from her face. “I’m sure it doesn’t, but thanks for saying that. I’m Olivia, by the way. Olivia Sedgewick. And I appreciate you rescuing me and keeping my feet clean.” “You’re welcome, Olivia. Nice to meet you.” And he meant it sincerely. He flashed her a smile for added emphasis.

  “The thing is, I’m a beautician, so I like to arrive at an appointment somewhat pulled together.”

  “You
have an appointment at the ranch?” He put the truck in gear, and after a moment’s hesitation while the tires worked out of the mud, it moved forward.

  “Uh-huh.” She took her trendy heels out of her purse and slipped them on her feet. “Sarah hired me to come out and give everyone manicures.”

  “Everyone?” Wyatt had only spent about ten minutes with Jack, but he couldn’t picture the guy getting his nails done.

  “All the women, I mean. Most of the guys are out of town this weekend at a horse show and sale, so Sarah decided to schedule a night of beauty for herself and her daughters-in-law, plus a few other women connected to the ranch in one way or another. I’m going to try and get a few pedicures in there, too.”

  “Oh.” Wyatt wished to hell he’d pushed past his fear of rejection and called ahead. “I assume that means Jack’s gone, too.”

  “I’m afraid so.” She glanced at him. “Sorry. Kind of messes up your surprise, doesn’t it?”

  “It kind of does.” He stared out the windshield. Maybe the storm had been an omen, after all. Not only had he missed Jack, he’d landed in the middle of a girls-only beauty shindig. He had bad timing all the way around.

  Do you need a cowboy fix?

  Sons of Chance

  Chance isn’t just the last name of these rugged Wyoming cowboys—it’s their motto too!

  Look for these other books in New York Times bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson’s Sons of Chance series in ebook format!

  Wanted!

  Ambushed!

  Claimed!

  Should’ve Been a Cowboy

  Cowboy Up

  Cowboys Like Us

  “It’s Christmas, Cowboy!” in Merry Christmas, Baby

  Long Road Home

  Lead Me Home

  Feels Like Home

  Take a chance…on a Chance!

  “One of the hottest Western romances of the year!”

  —RT Book Reviews on Claimed!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson’s love affair with cowboys started with the Lone Ranger, continued through Maverick and took a turn south of the border with Zorro. She views cowboys as the Western version of knights in shining armor—rugged men who value honor, honesty and hard work. Fortunately for her, she lives in the Arizona desert, where broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboys abound. Blessed with such an abundance of inspiration, she only hopes that she can do them justice. Visit her website at www.vickilewisthompson.com.

  ISBN: 9781426834172

  Copyright © 2012 by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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