Cowboy Resurrection: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

hello. I have a mind to ask the waitress for a mop and a wet floor sign to put next to the table.”
    He laughed at that. “For the record, they came to me. I didn’t call them over.” As he studied her face, heat rose in her cheeks. She fought to keep her expression neutral. “You know,” he said, “not worrying about what other people think isn’t a God-given gift. It’s a conscious choice. You can make it too.”
    Monica shook her head. “Actually, no, I can’t. Just sitting here with you, a white man, by myself—that’s already pushing boundaries. Even if it’s for work.” She leaned back and studied the room. Familiar faces, but all strangers. “Being back home makes me feel…I don’t know. Like too many people are watching me. I just want to hide.”
    Their food came. Dean doused his fries with ketchup and offered some to her. She took a couple. Then she took a couple more.
    “Sometimes I feel the same way,” he admitted, to her surprise. “I haven’t stayed in one place this long since…I can’t remember when.” He paused. “My father, he’s gone through this two times in the past. He’s got lots of fight in him yet, but he’s not as young as he used to be. And each relapse—it takes its toll.”
    As he spoke, Monica regretted complaining about feeling stifled. A mother who spent her time on dating websites trying to find her daughter a husband was nothing compared to having a sick parent. Monica didn’t know if she had the strength or emotional maturity to cope with something like that.
    Deflated by guilt, she asked in a softer voice, “So when it gets to be overwhelming, what do you do to relax?” When he waggled his eyebrows at her, she rolled her eyes and said, “I mean, besides that .”
    “To blow off steam? I work on the ranch. There’s never a shortage of things to do. But to relax?” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Riding is always good. And my brothers and me, we lift weights, try to outdo each other.”
    Monica had to admit that that particular hobby was paying out good dividends. “How many brothers have you got anyway?” Anywhere she went in Oleander, she seemed to run into a big, buff MacKinnon brother.
    “Three,” said Dean. “I’m the oldest. Daniel’s number two. Clark—you met Clark—he’s number three. And last is Caleb. My baby brother. He’s twenty-two.”
    “That’s a big age difference between you two.”
    He shrugged. “We call him Oops behind his back. Among other things.”
    She took a big bite of her sandwich. It was tasty. “So riding and lifting. Is that it?”
    “Let’s see. Um, my sister-in-law’s got a huge library in the house. It’s great, ’cuz I like to read.”
    “You?” she asked. “You like to read?”
    “That surprise you?” He smiled. “We’re not all illiterate Okies, you know. We don’t spend all our time shootin’ rats at the dump.”
    She raised an eyebrow at him.
    He hesitated. “Okay, maybe after we shoot rats at the dump, we pick up a book or two.”
    She laughed and stole another fry from his plate.
    “I got into the habit on the road,” Dean continued. “A book’s easy to carry. It’s cheap, and TV only turns my gears so far. I guess I needed more. Much more.” He paused and looked at her across the table. The seats of the booth were upholstered in robin’s-egg vinyl that set off the blue fire in his eyes. He’d hung his hat on the hat rack. His dark, disheveled hair and neatly trimmed dark beard only made his eyes look more feral. Monica had to look down at her half-eaten sandwich to keep from falling into his gaze as though it were a deep well or a high cliff next to the ocean.
    Someone should post a sign on his forehead. “Danger. Falling women.”
    “You know something else I like to do out here?” he said at last. “Go for drives.”
    “Around Oleander? What’s there to see?” she scoffed. “Burnt grass? Dust storms? Roadkill?”
    He pointed a french fry at her. “Okay,