“Justfucking great. Now fate is going to throw me into ahuge thunderstorm. Why? Because I was stupid enough to go for a drive by myselfduring a writers conference in San Antonio and I ended up out here in themiddle of the country. Now, I’m stuck on the side of some dirt road, out of gas,and God only knows how far from the nearest house.”

Lightningflashed, followed shortly by a loud crash of thunder. Mesa jumped. A shiverraced through her body as her heart clenched in fear. She hated thunderstorms.

Hercell phone beeped—the ominous sound of no cell phone coverage. Great!

Sheglanced out the window and saw water rushing under her car along a gulley shedidn’t realize she’d straddled when she stopped. “Shit. Flash flooding? I’m soscrewed.”

Asthe water began rising rapidly, she realized she needed to get the hell out ofher car before it was washed away. In the distance she could make out severallarger rocks. “If I can get on top of them, I should be safe from the rush. Ofcourse, that means I’ll be out in the rain getting soaked.” Fear rose,threatening to choke her with the lump in her throat. She rubbed her armstrying to calm the chills while deciding what to do. She really didn’t havemuch choice. Water ran in rivulets down the windshield. Lightning continued toflash and thunder rolled over the area. She sucked in a large breath as she bither lip.

Amoment later a tap, tap, tap on herwindow startled her out of her thoughts. She jumped and screamed as a faceappeared near her door. Blue eyes with long lashes stared back beneath a blackcowboy hat. Black hair ruffled slightly with the wind.

“Ma’am?Are you all right?”

“I’mfine.”

“Youneed to get this car out of the water. You’ll be washed away. It’s rising fast.”

“Ican’t. I’m out of gas.”

“Openthe door.”

“Hell,no. Do I look crazy to you?” she asked,her voice shrill with terror.

“Trustme. If I were a serial killer, I wouldn’t be out in this shit trying to findwomen to abduct. I’m going to help you, but you need to get out of the car firstbefore we’re both swept away.”

Mesabit her lip. Should she trust him?

“Ma’am?”

“Allright.” She eased open the door to find the water almost reachedthe bottom of the car. The cowboy pulled the door the rest of the way as shegrabbed her purse.

“Wehave to hurry,” he said, offering her a hand to help her from the car. “Let mehelp you. This water is rushing pretty fast.”

Ared horse stood patiently several feet away with its head down, riding out thestorm the only way horses knew how. A cowboy on a real horse outhere in the middle of nowhere?Surely, it’s safe. I mean serial killers don’t ride horses, right?

Hertennis shoes were soaked the moment she stepped into the rushing stream,chilling her feet even though the temperature outside today was a balmy ninetydegrees. She shivered as the man pulled her from the car, but chalked it up toher cold toes rather than the broad chest, wide shoulders and trim hips of thecowboy in front of her.

Oompf !

“Sorry,ma’am,” he said, setting her back from where she landed against his chest. “Let’sget out of this downpour.” He slammed the car door before he pulled her towardhis horse. “You’ll have to ride behind me.”

“Noproblem.”

Hisass looked fabulous swinging up into the saddle. What the hell? I’m checking him out like a piece of meat and the man ishere saving my butt from drowning.

“Ma’am?”he asked, holding out his hand so he could help her behind the saddle.

“Oh,yeah right. Thanks.” She swung up behind him and grabbed his waist like adrowning victim in the middle of a raging surf. “Sorry.”

“Noproblem. You need to hang on. I don’t want to dump you off the back.”

“I’msorry you’re getting wet because of me.”

“Iwas wet before I found you. I’ve been ridin’ fencesin between the downpours.”

Thehorse sidestepped to the right. A squeal broke from her lips. “Sorry.”

“Youdon’t have to apologize, ma’am. I shoulda asked ifyou were okay on horseback.”

 As the horse continued forward she caught therhythm of its walk and relaxed into the gait. “My name is Mesa.”

“Excuseme?”

“Mesais my name. I feel like some fifty-year-old woman with you calling me ma’am.”

“Sorry.Habit.”

“Ican imagine.”

“It’snice to meet you, Mesa. I’m Joel.”

“Hi,Joel. Do you live around here?” she asked, liking thefeel of his firm chest beneath her fingertips until she let them slip down towrap around his waist. The urge to run her hands along the ridges under his wetshirt overwhelmed her, sending tingles up her arms. She could feel the rippedabdomen beneath her palms.

“Afew miles up the road. My family owns a ranch on the ridge.”

Theman knew his way around horses from the way he sat comfortably in the saddleriding the animal’s gait like he was born to it.

Well duh, Mesa.

Therain had moved off, only pelting them now and then with big, fat drops. Thesmell of wet leather reached her nose and she wrinkled the bridge at thestench. Another smell permeated her senses. Cologne? She slowly inhaled, takingin the scent from his shirt. Damn, hesmells good.

“Whatare you doin’ out here on this back road?”

“Itook a drive. I’ve been in San Antonio at a conference and I needed to clear myhead.”

Hechuckled, a low, dry reverberation that made her sit up and take notice. Hernipples pebbled at the sound, sending frustration down her back. Could he feelthe hard nubs rubbing against his solid back? Probably, you dummy. It had been way too long since she’d been witha man if just sitting close to one made her horny. The rear end of a horse wasn’tthe place to get hot and bothered.

Thematerial of her shirt caught against her breasts. The rough fabric of her jeanschafed the inside of her thighs. The seam of her pants rubbed against her clit,turning her insides to mush. Never mind the clean, musky scent of the mansquashed against her boobs.

“Whatkind of conference were you at?”

“Aromance writer’s conference.”

“Romancewriter?”

“Yes.I’m an author. I write romance novels.”

“Oh.”

Shewaited for him to ask what type of romance novels she wrote, but he didn’t.Wasn’t he interested? Maybe not. Really, how could shetell him she wrote about guys like him? Westerns. Cowboys. Riding off into thesunset with some hunky cowboy on horseback. It would be totally embarrassing totell him, so maybe it would be a good thing he didn’t ask. “Where are weheaded, by the way?”

“Myparents’ place.” He chuckled again. “We’ll get you somewarm, dry clothes to change into. If the car didn’t get washed away, we’ll getyou some gas so you can make it back to San Antonio.”

“Thankyou. You don’t know how much I appreciate you coming to my rescue.”

“It’swhat cowboys do.”

Oh, hell yeah, they do. Especially in my dreams.

Theycontinued chatting about mundane things as they plodded along. The constantshift of the horse’s rump made her realize how long it had been since she’dridden. How far was this place anyway?“Joel?”

“Yeah.”

“Howmuch farther?”

“Amile or so.”

“Hell.”

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“I’mgonna feel every step this horse took tomorrow.”

Adeep laugh started beneath her fingers and rumbled up his chest until it burstfrom his lips. “You are too much, Mesa.”

“I’mglad I could make your day,” she grumbled, a little put out by his laughter. “Ihaven’t been on horseback in ages. My thighs are already screaming mercy.” Shefelt his body quiver from laughter again. “How do you ride all day withoutdying?”

“I’mused to it. I ride all day everyday so it doesn't bother me.”

“Youlive on a working ranch?”

“Yep.Longhorns and city folk.”

“Huh?”

“Wehave what most folks call a dude ranch. We let people come and stay on theranch. Do ranch work, ride horses…you know, play at bein’a cowboy for a while.”