Cowboy Redeemed Read Online Free PDF Page A

them bare. The yellow Formica countertops were chipped and stained. There was no microwave, but after a lifetime of heat-and-eat, Ainsley preferred to cook her meals the old fashioned way—on appliances the same color of brown as the cabinets. And she ate her meals at the faux wood table with metal legs that had four matching chairs.
    Her uncle hadn’t updated the place in more than forty years, but Ainsley couldn’t care less. The house was old and in desperate need of repair, but it was clean. It was hers.
    Clayton Mathis remained front and center on her mind as she grabbed the copper canister where she kept the coffee. She spent the first half of the night convincing herself she’d done the right thing walking away from him. The other half of the night she spent cursing her own stupidity. A body like his promised hours of distraction. A distraction he’d been more than willing to provide. One she well and truly needed.
    And she’d told him no.
    Ainsley wondered who’d told him yes.
    She flicked open the lid to the coffeemaker and scooped grounds into a filter.
    No doubt some dolled-up, curvy, well-endowed redhead. All of the things Ainsley wasn’t.
    She filled the carafe with water, poured it in, and then mashed the power switch a little harder than necessary. The coffeemaker sputtered to life as she crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the counter.
    Clayton was probably still with her—the slutty little redhead. She probably had her naked body draped over him, whispering trash in his ear and believing she’d been his first choice for a bed partner, when, in fact, she hadn’t.
    Whoa. Bitch alert.
    Ainsley groaned at the ceiling. What the heck was the matter with her? She’d never had possessive, jealous feelings about a man before. Clearly, lack of caffeine and sleep had made her delirious.
    A car pulled up the drive. Ainsley glared out of the kitchen window. Unless the person who drove the fancy sports car had a stash of ready-made coffee in the trunk, she had no interest in a chat. Not this early in the morning and definitely not with the suit-wearing corporate type who stretched from a car much too small to contain the ego that poured out with him.
    She so wasn’t in the mood for this shit.
    Grabbing the shotgun she kept by the front door, Ainsley navigated the rotting boards of the porch with practiced ease, giving little consideration to the fact she wore only a flimsy pair of sleep shorts and a braless tank top.
    “Can I help you?” Jesus, it was humid. Looked as if she was in for another miserable day with her air conditioner on the fritz.
    She leaned against the porch rail and rested the barrel of the gun against her shoulder. It wasn’t loaded. Shells cost money, and the few she had were for true emergencies.
    She was a woman alone, a good fifteen minutes from the nearest neighbor. It paid to show a semblance of strength, even if it was a bluff.
    Her visitor stopped in his tracks. His hand came up, and he waggled what looked to be a business card between his fingers. “I’m Michael Johnson from Aristo Industries, ma’am.”
    Polite, but calling her ma’am wouldn’t win him any brownie points. “There a reason you’re on my property before breakfast time, Mr. Johnson? And on a Sunday, no less?”
    Ainsley had a pretty good idea of what his answer would be.
    Mr. Johnson sniffed and tucked the card back into his pocket. “Obviously, I wish to speak with you about an important business matter. I chose a time most promising to catch you available.”
    More like he thought to catch her off balance.
    His arrogant tone grated on her nerves. She needed a cup of coffee before she could think straight, and this jackass wanted to talk while her pot still brewed? Not happening.
    “I’m not selling my land, Mr. Johnson. I’m sorry, but you’ve wasted your time coming out here.”
    He turned at the sound of a vehicle coming up the drive.
    What the hell?
    Ainsley watched with stunned disbelief as