The Ranger's Rodeo Rebel by Pamela Britton

ever. I’m done with men. Most of all, I’m done with you. Now leave me alone, or I swear to the good Lord, you’ll be sorry.”
    She hung up before he could ignite her temper any more.
    â€œI take it that was James?”
    Chance leaned against the trailer door. Wow. That must have been the world’s shortest shower. “I called him,” she said. “Told him to leave me alone.”
    â€œAnd you think he’ll listen?”
    â€œIf he has any sense he will. I threatened to out him on television if he didn’t.”
    He nodded, his hair still wet, as was hers, but she’d bet he looked ten times better than she did. He looked as though he’d come from a photo shoot, one of those sexy-men-out-of-the-shower shoots, complete with white T-shirt clinging to his damp skin and skintight jeans.
    â€œWe should probably turn in.” He stood back so she could enter the trailer. “Long day tomorrow.”
    And she would have to sleep by him. This would be a long night.

Chapter Eight
    When Chance woke up the next morning, he’d have been the first one to admit his bad mood. Sleep deprivation did that to a man, especially when the lack of sleep involved a woman.
    Who wasn’t in the trailer.
    He checked the bathroom. And the bed where she’d slept, the same damn bed he’d thought about crawling into last night, even though he knew she’d kick him out if he did.
    I’m not dating anyone. Not now. Not ever.
    Her words should have served as a stern reminder why he should steer clear. Instead they were like a call to arms, at least as far as his body was concerned. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
    Where was she?
    The trailer wasn’t that big, and since she wasn’t inside, she must be outside, after he’d specifically told her not to leave without him.
    Damn it.
    He burst outside so fast he knocked the trailer door open all the way, its boom no doubt startling their neighbor.
    â€œThere you are,” he said, grimacing slightly at the accusatory sound of his words. “Where were you?”
    â€œSorry,” she said, somehow looking five years younger in her bulky sweatshirt and ponytail. “I thought I would feed the horses.”
    â€œAnd I thought I told you to stay put.”
    â€œYou did, but I made sure the coast was clear. And just in case, I brought my kitty claws and my pepper spray.” She held both up, then put them back in her pockets. “Even if James had shown up, I would have been okay.”
    â€œFamous last words.”
    â€œNo. Really.”
    How could he make her see things through his eyes? It was the most frustrating part of this whole situation.
    â€œCarolina, I’m serious. Once, when I was over there, in the Middle East, we found a woman huddling behind some bushes. Strangest thing we’d ever come across way out in the middle of nowhere. At first we thought she might be some kind of radical Islamist—you never know these days—but we took one look at her face and knew she was no terrorist.”
    He stepped toward her, hoping she’d see the utter seriousness in his eyes.
    â€œShe’d been beaten by her husband. Guess he took offense to some other man trying to talk to her. Blamed it on her, and so she ran.”
    Her face paled. “You don’t have to tell me any more.”
    â€œYes, I do. I need you to understand something about the opposite sex, something that not a lot of women know, but that I saw firsthand. There are men out there who think they own their wives or girlfriends—I mean, own own. They look upon women as a commodity. As a thing. It was bad over there. Worse than you can possibly imagine. This poor woman was married to such a man. We tried to get her some help. Tried to take her to our embassy. Asylum. Whatever you want to call it. Didn’t do a damn bit of good. The sons of bitches wouldn’t let us help her. We had to turn her over to