Slow Hand (Hot Cowboy Nights, #1)(7)

*

It had taken Nikki years to rehabilitate herself from a mortal attraction to cowboys. After being burned about a dozen times, she thought herself finally impervious—until this one flashed his irritatingly irresistible grin. She reminded herself that she was immune to his kind of rustic charm—but crystal-blue eyes and a chin dimple. Holy crap!

Why does my would-be lawyer have to be an incredibly hot cowboy?

When he pulled around in a dinged-up old F-150 and jumped down to grab her bags, Nikki noted he’d lost the coat and tie. The more casual look certainly agreed with him.

“I’ll have to put your bags in the truck bed, I’m afraid.” He gave her an apologetic look. “I didn’t want to leave the Lexus at the airport.”

“A Lexus? Yeah, right.” She laughed.

He shrugged, threw her two bags in the back, and then rolled up his sleeve to check the time. Nikki noted his TAG Heuer with surprise. The timepiece was worth more than his heap of a ride. “We’d better hit the road now,” he said, helping her into the truck. “We’ve a good ninety-minute drive ahead of us and you’re no doubt anxious to start making calls about your lost wallet.”

“I can take care of that on the drive. My cell battery is fully charged.”

“Make the most important calls first,” he advised. “Your phone will only last about thirty minutes—if you’re lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look around you, Miz Powell. This ain’t Atlanta. People come here to get away from it all. Which is a good thing, given how the mountains are such an effective barrier to outside communication.”

Nikki took in her surroundings for the first time. She’d arrived last night in near-blackness, but now the sun was rising, casting rays of pink, yellow, and orange over a majestic backdrop that stole her breath. There were no skyscrapers marring the horizon or blocking the sun—only the wide open sky and countless snow-capped mountains. The September air was crisp, clean, and invigorating. She inhaled in deep appreciation. “It’s incredible.”

“Yellowstone is eighty miles in that direction.” He pointed south. “Barely more than twenty as the crow flies. You need to see it.”

“I’m not a tourist, Mr. Knowlton. I don’t have time for sightseeing.”

His gaze narrowed, the morning light revealing crinkles at the corners of his fascinating crystal-colored eyes. “Some things, Miz Powell, are worth making the time for. This is God’s country. It’s unique. There is a lot here you may never get another chance to see.”

“We have mountains where I come from too, you know. Atlanta is only fifteen miles from Stone Mountain.” She sounded more prickly than she’d meant to, but everything about him seemed to elicit an overreaction from her. She wondered why.

“Just like an Easterner,” he mumbled with a deprecating head shake. “Always making mountains out of molehills.”

Nikki bristled. “What about the Appalachians? I hiked a segment of that trail when I was in college.”

“Darlin’, you ain’t seen a mountain until you’ve been to the Rockies. Come on now. Time’s a-wastin’. At least you can admire this scenery all the way to Virginia City.” He put the vehicle in gear and pulled out onto the highway.

“Virginia City? I thought you were taking me to Sheridan? I have to see to—”

“Sweetheart, you won’t be able to see to anything until you get your ID. I can promise you that. You might not want to hear this, but you’re in a bit of a catch-22 pertaining to your father.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“By Montana law you can’t authorize disposal of his remains without a certified death certificate, and can’t obtain the death certificate without proper ID.”

“You’re kidding! I came all the way up here and can’t even bury him?”

“’Fraid not.” He shook his head. “But I’ll do what I can to help you get it straightened out. Just be aware that this is likely to take some time.”

“How much time? I don’t have time!”

“I can’t rightly say. Do you by any chance have a passport?”

“No. I’ve never traveled out of the country. Until now, I’ve never even been north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Not that I haven’t wanted to travel. I’d love to go to Mexico or take a cruise someday.”

“That’s mighty unfortunate.”

“That I haven’t a passport or that I haven’t traveled?”

“Both.” He cast her another sideways look. “It seems you need to broaden your horizons, Miz Powell.”

She wondered what he meant by that remark. He was obviously trying to help her, but everything he said put her on edge. She could only conclude her churlish reaction to him was caused by a feeling of dependency that she despised. She wasn’t used to relying on anyone for anything, but now she had no choice.

“My horizon seems pretty broad at the moment,” she shot back, jerking her head toward the wide open landscape.

“You’d better start making those calls,” he advised. “I suggest you begin with the airline to see if your wallet’s been recovered. If it hasn’t, you’ll need to notify the Denver police.”