Chapter 1-1
1014 Words
1
CATHERINE
Ten Hours Earlier…
“This is the captain speaking. We're in line for takeoff, but as you can see out the window, the weather isn't playing nice and the tower has put a ground stop on all flights. Not sure exactly how long this thunderstorm will hold us up. Looks like we’ll be here for at least half an hour, folks. We'll keep you posted.”
Great. Peeking out the airplane's small window, I could see the roiling charcoal gray clouds that prevented us from leaving Denver. I'd dashed from one gate to the far distant commuter area to reach my connecting flight in time, only to be waylaid like this on the tarmac. I glanced at my watch, then sighed. I didn't have time for this. Hell, I didn't have time to go to Montana, but I was going just the same.
Leaning back into the uncomfortable headrest, I shut my eyes and tried to breathe away my frustrations. I was up half the night finishing the depositions that had to be filed this morning, then spent another two hours closing out as many emails as possible. By the time I'd finished that, I still had to pack. I had nothing, nothing, that was appropriate for the Wild West besides a pair of jeans and running shoes, so after an hour of fretting, I just threw a little bit of everything into a bag.
I'd slept a measly two hours when the alarm went off at four-thirty, only to find the bridge from Manhattan to Queens was having overnight repairs and the traffic was backed up. Then airport security was long and I'd suffered the up close and personal pat down because of the titanium pins in my leg. When I had finally reached the gate, my boss had called to complain about my lack of face-time with my current client list. I wanted to make partner badly enough that I actually considered abandoning my suitcase and just heading into the office, but when my flight was called to board, I knew I had to get at least one mess in my life cleaned up. And now I was stuck in a thunderstorm.
As I tried to rub away the sandpaper feel behind my lids, I attempted the deep breathing techniques I’d learned in yoga class. The classes were supposed to be calming, but they never worked. I was never calm. And right now, the canned air inside this tiny airplane was getting hotter and hotter, sinking into my lungs, suffocating me. I was stuck and there was nothing I could do about it. s**t. I hated things that were beyond my control. I wasn't claustrophobic, but I felt trapped just the same. A huge clap of thunder shook the plane, just before rain pummeled the metal like a thousand tiny hammers. Was God trying to tell me something?
Breathe.
Breathe in slowly through the nose, hold it, hold it, let it out through the mouth. Breathe in…sandalwood and leather with just a hint of warmth I was sure had to be completely unique to him. I sat next to Mr. Cowboy Hottie and he smelled too good to focus on anything else—especially with my eyes closed. The scent wasn't cologne, soap maybe, and had me completely distracted. How could anyone concentrate on yoga breathing when Tall, Dark and Handsome and I were bumping shoulders?
I'd almost swallowed my tongue when he'd walked down the narrow aisle, put his cowboy hat in the overhead and took the seat beside me, all but folding his large size into the small space. He'd offered a quick smile and a polite hello and opened his book. I'd been texting on my phone at the time, but my thumbs had frozen in place as I ogled him. Blatantly. I figured I owed it to all womankind to look my fill as my heart started once again.
He had fair hair that was a little long and curled at the ends. Combed, but untamed. His eyes were equally dark and piercing, but the way his full lips quirked up at the corners indicated he wasn't as intense as he seemed. Tanned skin proved to me he didn't work in an office. As did his big hands with short, well kept nails and a fascinating play of muscle that shifted just beneath the surface. Strong hands that made a woman beg to be touched. Most importantly, no wedding ring either.
I was a total perv thinking about my seat mate like this, but holy s**t. He was pumping out the pheromones or something because suddenly all I could think about was climbing on his lap and taking him for a ride. My brain had stalled and my ovaries had taken over.
There weren't any cowboys in New York. And I had to admit, there was nothing like a man whose size and corded muscles were brought about by hard work, fresh air and sunshine instead of daily trips to the gym. No man could wear a snap button shirt, a pair of jeans and worn boots like a cowboy. And this man? He was all cowboy. Holy hell, I'd always thought the urban businessman was hot, but they were pale weaklings in comparison. They might be able to make a billion-dollar deal over lunch, but I'd turn a blind eye if they tried to get me in bed. But Mr. Hottie? He could ride and wrangle me into submission any day.
Since I wasn't going to tell him that, I glanced at my watch again. Three minutes had passed since the captain's announcement. I should use this dead time to my advantage. Bending forward, I tried to reach my bag, but the seats were too close together. I had to lean sideways to do so only to find the side of my head bumped into Mr. Hottie's rock-hard thigh. Rock hard and warm thigh.
Abruptly, I sat up and flicked a gaze his way. “Sorry!” I blushed furiously and bit my lip.
- Writer
