Angels Fall

lot confused.
    She'd planned it all out. spent hours and days and nights calculating just how to bring Lo to heel, when the time was right. When it suited her, she admitted. But damn it, if a man had ever needed to be brought to heel, it was Lo.
    She'd given him plenty of time, plenty of room. It was time for both of them to settle down. Together. As she drove out toward the ranch, with the sage flats ripening to bloom around her, she was  determined to tell him just that. Fish or cut bait.
    And it he opted to cut bait, she didn't know what the hell she was going to do. She wished she could have talked to Reece before taking this step. Reece had experience, city smarts and style. But Reece had plenty of problems of her own, and was probably a little bit irritated since she'd gotten sucked into a bar fight.
    She had to brake for a moment as a bull buffalo stood in the middle of the road as it lie owned it. With a sharp blast of her horn, she got him moving over to the flats through the grasses. God, what had she been thinking, sashaying up with that stupid guy right in front of L.o's facer Make him a little jealous, make him see what he was missing. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. The problem was it had worked too well.
    How could she have known they'd start swinging?
    Men. She snitted on the thought, scowling at the wildflowers, the herd of pronghorns that snacked on them, and working up a new head of mad.
    She'd only been dancing, for heaven's sake.
    She tapped her fingers on the wheel in time with Kenny Chesney. What she ought to do was turn right around, go back to town and let Lo stew in his own bile for a few more days. Possibly forever. What she ought to do was keep on going, track that brainless cowboy down and give him a piece of her mind for causing a ruckus over nothing.
    So she drove, pushing her little car up to eighty on the flats, letting the wind fly through her open windows while Chesney wondered who you'd be today.
    She slowed as she approached the big open gate with its wrought-iron  K  wrapped in a circle. No point in mowing down some tourist who wanted a taste of western life just because her love life was in the dumpster.
    She passed a corral where a foal nursed from his mama, the bunkhouse with its faded logs and wide front porch built to look as if it had stood, frozen in time, for a couple of centuries. She happened to know that, among other things, the kitchen inside boasted a microwave and a Mr. Coffee. The main house was log as well, and sprawled in e't'ery direction. Guests could stay in one of the second-floor rooms and one suite, or bunk in one of the one-or two-bedroom cabins tucked into the pretty pines. They could ride, rope, take overnight campouts, hike with a guide, float, hsh, do a white-water trip.
    They could pretend to be cowboys for a few days, and take home the bumps and blisters that went with the fantasy. Or they could just sit in a rocker on one of the big porches and contemplate the view. At night they might belly up to the bar in the lodge and talk about their adventures before they slid into a feather bed, under a cozy duvet no cowboy had ever found at the end of the trail. She turned at the fork of the dirt road toward the stables. Her contact, Marian, who worked in the kitchen there, had given her the intel that Lo would be on grooming detail that evening. 
    She parked, flipped down the vanity mirror to check, then finger—fluffed her windblown hair. As she got out of the car, the cowboy giving a riding lesson tapped a finger on the brim of his hat in salute.
    "Hey there, Harlev." She fixed a bright smile on her her face. Nothing wrong here, she thought. Just dropping by to pass the time.
    And kick Los stupid ass.
    She swung into the stable, into the strong smell of horses and hay, the sweet scent of grain and leather. She shot a smile toward LaDonna. one of the women who guided trail rides.
    "Linda-gail, how ya doing?" LaDonna raised an eyebrow. News traveled, especially when it invoked fists and fury. She nodded toward the rear of the stables. "Lo's back in the tack room. Pretty pissy. too."
    "Good. I'm feeling the same."
    Linda-gail inarched back, turned the quick corner and, stiffening her spine, walked into the tack room. He had Toby Keith on the CD player and his hat tipped back on his head as he worked saddle soap into leather. His jeans were faded and snug, riding low on his hips. His denim shirt was rolled up to the elbows. The toe of his