By Elizabeth Lowell
Tory Wells arrived at Sundance Ranch with just a battered suitcase and a letter from a chum that promised employment. getting better from knee surgical procedure, Tory desperately wanted this activity. And Ethan Reever was once her basically wish. yet Reever wasted no time in telling Tory he sought after not anything to do with a few city-bred stranger. In his opinion, a girl like Tory knew not anything approximately ranch lifestyles, and he'd made up our minds some time past that he had no need for lovely, lifeless ladies. in particular one that checked out him as innocently as Tory did -- regardless of how a lot he wanted her . . . Tory knew something for yes. decided to teach him she can make it on her personal, she vowed by no means to invite Reever for whatever ever back. now not a task. now not funds. and positively now not his love.
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Additional resources for Too Hot to Handle
M e ? ” asked Tory, outrage in every syllable. „You – “ Her teeth clicked as she snapped her jaw shut. She badly wanted to describe Reever’s genetic heritage, most personal habits and certain destination after death, but the only words she could think of had already been used by Billy and his friends. She had no intention of joining their sordid ranks. „You. Pushing me,“ Reever agreed flatly. Lips still parted over words she wouldn’t speak and quivering to tell him just what she thought of him, Tory looked straight into Reever’s eyes.
It didn’t matter because she didn’t have money for a ticket yet. She hoped that the Sunup Caf6 needed a cook or waitress, a dishwasher or someone to clean out the grease trap over the stove. Whatever. She wasn’t fussy about honest work. Reever watched Tory from the corner of his eye. For the first time he saw past the fact that she was female, young and able to arouse his temper and his body with maddening ease. He saw that her thick blond hair was cut simply and that the sun-streaked effect, like her tan, was natural rather than purchased at an expensive salon or resort.
I can’t,“ Tory said in a low voice. “ Reever snorted. „Honeybunch, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a rancher, not a damned drugstore cowboy. “ Tory’s only answer was a choked sound as Blackjack’s broad, muscular rump skipped sideways. The horse was just trying to balance Tory’s weight more evenly on his back, but she didn’t know that. She only knew that she was falling again. With an exasperated curse Reever dropped the roping rein, reached behind his back with both hands and jerked Tory’s arms around him.
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