Book 2: Montana Rodeo Brides
“Problem, cowboy?” The husky voice stopped him in his tracks.
A petite woman, two stairs ahead of him, blocked his path. Her lush, full lips mocked his predicament, and because she was staring down at him, Bowen found himself in the unusual position of having to look up at a woman.
The eyes hit him—crinkled in the corners in amusement and a rich amber like his favorite whiskey. Familiar, and yet no name rattled out from the past to help him.
“You don’t remember me.” Her gaze cooled a fraction and at the same time challenged.
Dammit. He hadn’t slept with her, right? He would have remembered that. And he never played in Marietta because, well, small town and one he hoped to settle in the moment he could get his cousins to retire from the rodeo and put down the roots they’d always talked about.
Here.
Montana.
Three Tree Ranch.
And all that might be in jeopardy now.
“Ummmmmm,” he delayed. “It’s been a while. How you doing?”
Her nostrils flared; she clearly wasn’t buying his half-assed stall. She tossed her head as if a mane of hair would bounce around her shoulders, but her short, sleek mannish bob stuck like a helmet. Still, the movement triggered something in his brain.
“Bowen Ballantyne,” she said, clearly at an advantage. “You fixing to break another girl’s heart tonight?”