The mere idea of being close to this man shook her senses.
Behind that incredibly masculine face and rock-hard body, he was a lawman. How could Noelle be attracted to him?
She couldnât answer that. She only knew that for the first time in years, Evan was making her remember that she was a woman. And the feeling was too good to pass up.
âI thought you might enjoy seeing something other than that little ranch of yours,â he said with a lazy grin.
Since sheâd moved sheâd been asked out on a few dates. Sheâd refused all of them. And something told her if she was smart now, sheâd tell Evan Calhoun a loud, decisive no.
But something strange was going on inside her. For the life of her she couldnât seem to form the word, much less say it to the man.
* * *
Men of the West: Whether ranchers or lawmen, these heartbreakers can ride, shootâand drive a woman crazy â¦
Chapter One
Reining the bay horse to a stop on the rocky rise, Noelle Barnes stood in her stirrups and peered toward the dry wash more than a hundred yards below. The dark lump lying near those slabs of rock looked like a man! And he wasnât moving!
Was he injured or sick? Or even dead?
Her adrenaline pumping, Noelle quickly guided her horse, Driller, down the rocky slope. Along the way, she buried the lower half of her face in the woolen muffler tied around her neck and tried to ignore the early December wind whipping across the bare Nevada hills. The frigid air permeated her heavy brown ranch coat and caused her eyes to water, but she was used to being out in brutal weather. And she could hardly turn back now!
Halfway to the gulch, a sinking feeling hit the pit of her stomach. Her eyes hadnât deceived her. The object lying at the bottom of the wash wasnât an animal. It was a person!
Urging her horse to a faster gait, she wound her way downward through the rocks and sage until she reached the bank of the deep gulch. By then she could see a man lying facedown in the gravel.
Oh, my! Was he dead? What was he doing way out here? Alone?
Her heart pounding with fear, she guided Driller over the ledge and down the steep embankment. The ground was loose and the horseâs hind feet slid in several places, but at that moment she wasnât concerned about either of them falling. Driller was sure-footed, and sheâd ridden a horse for nearly all of her twenty-eight years.
âCome on, boy,â she encouraged her trusted mount. âA little farther and weâll have it made.â
Noelle had hardly gotten the words out of her mouth when, several yards up the draw, another horse nickered shrilly. Driller returned the greeting.
âWeâll find your friend later,â she told Driller. âRight now we need to see if we have a corpse on our hands.â
At the bottom of the wash, Noelle dismounted. After tying Drillerâs reins to a dead juniper trunk, she hurried over to the motionless body.
Dropping to her knees, she leaned over him, but stopped short of touching any part of him. Only a portion of the left side of his face was visible, yet it was enough for Noelle to discern he was youngâsomewhere in his thirtiesâand clean-shaven. A trickle of blood oozed through the dark chestnut hair just above his ear.
Jerking off her leather glove, she shoved away the kerchief tied around his neck and felt for a pulse. Relief flooded through her as she detected a faint but steady beat.
âHey, mister, can you hear me? Wake up and tell me what happened.â
With her property being so remote, it wasnât much use carrying a cell phone. She would either try to move this man on her own or go for help. And considering that he appeared to be at least six feet tall and somewhere close to a hundred and eighty pounds, she figured throwing him over his horse would be a mighty big chore.
Racing back to Driller, she jerked a bottle of water and a piece of ragged towel from her saddlebags. âHeâs out, Driller. Colder than a mackerel. If I canât wake him up, you and I might have to ride like hell to get help.â