He had the saddest eyes she’d ever seen, and the sexiest smile this side of the Rio Grande.
 Considering Josie Quinn was in a small honky-tonk in Texas, ‘this side of the Rio Grande" covered a passel of ground, but she had no doubt this cowboy would have no trouble hanging onto the title.  Heck, she’d give him the sexiest-smile-ever title.  She’d certainly never seen one that made her tummy flutter more.
     She moved to the beat of the music with him, the noise of the honky-tonk throbbing around her, the thrill of sexual awareness thrumming through her.  With his broad shoulders, lean hips and that killer smile, the man sent sparkling bubbles shimmering over her every feminine nerve.  A welcome diversion from the panic that had chased her into the bar in the first place.
     He held his hand up, her fingers entwined in his, and twirled her from him.
     She spun away until she hit the end of their extended arms, the sound of bass guitars vibrating beneath her feet, the twang of the steel guitar singing in her ears.
     He tugged her back, his cowboy hat tipped low, his big silver buckle glinting in the dim light.
     She danced back into his arms, his look heating her from the inside out, the sadness lurking in the back of his eyes touching a chord deep within her.  They’d sat at the bar for half an hour before they’d wandered out to dance.  During that time they’d talked about the Texas heat, the music and a dozen other generic subjects.  Now she wanted to know about him.
     She flicked one of the pearl snaps on his shirt.  “So tell me, cowboy, do these fancy Western clothes mean you’re the real deal?  Or are they just your let’s-go-dancing-and-impress-the-girls duds?”
     One corner of his smile hitched wryly.  “I’m the real deal, darling’.”
     “An honest-to-goodness cowboy, huh?”
     “Honest-to-goodness.”
     Considering her current predicament, she didn’t know if that was good or bad.  But she wasn’t surprised by the answer.  He had calluses on his hands, his skin was deeply tanned and his muscles didn’t look as though they’d been built in a gym.  He looked as if he spent his days under the hot Texas sun wrestling cows and sitting in the saddle.  She leaned in close again, enjoying the feel of that work-hardened body.  “Do you work nearby?”
     “Nope.”
     “Live nearby?”
     “Nope.”
     She chuckled.  “Do you have a thing about talking about yourself?  Or are you just short on words?”
     He shrugged through the next step.  “I might spend my days pushing cattle, but that doesn’t mean I share their IQ.  I get a pretty filly on my arm, the last thing I’m gonna do is bore her with talk about me.  Tell me something about you.”
     There was more here than a cowboy not wanting to bore a lady.  It seemed clear he didn’t want to talk about himself.   She studied him for a moment, debating whether or not to push.  The shadows in his eyes convinced her to let it be.  Getting personal might make him think about things he’d rather not.  Things he’d possibly come to this bar to forget.  Something she understood.  “So what do you want to know?”
     He thought for a moment, his expression turning playful.  “Tell me your three most favorite things in the world?”
     That was easy.  Chasing fresh powder with her three best friends, Crissy, Mattie and Nell.  The nights they stayed up together solving the world’s problems––and sometimes their own.  The fund-raisers she and those girls put on as the Alpine Angels, helping people with big medical problems and no medical insurance.
     But she couldn’t say that.  Because right now, she feared all that was about to disappear.  A fresh wave of panic washed through her, but she pushed it away.  She’d come into this bar to forget, too.  And with electricity crackling between her and the cowboy like heat lightning gone wild, there was certainly more appealing things to think about.  “Let’s see, my three favorite things are...  Old cars.  Good movies.  And...”  She shot him an impish grin.  “Dancing with handsome cowboys.”
     He shook his head, chuckling.  “Forget the stroke-the-cowboy’s-ego thing, let’s talk about those cars.  What kind of old cars do you like?”
     So he liked old cars.  She smiled.  “Well, you have to appreciate the old and grand.  The Deusenbergs, Cords and Auburns.  And the obscure.  The tuckers and the Bugattis.  But the more acquirble are nice, too.  You gotta love a ‘59 Caddy.”
     “Convertible or hardtop?”
     Her smile got a little wider.  This was a man who obviously had a preference.  “Convertible.  Absolutely.”
    He laughed, the sadness in his eyes almost disappearing as he looked down at her.  “The only way to go.  Wind in your hair, leather under your butt, highway flying by and nothing but pure style wrapped around you.  Beauty, speed and freedom.”
     Yes.  That’s just how she imagined she’d feel flying down the highway in her dream Cadillac.  But she had to laugh.    “Shouldn’t you be describing your horse?”
     He shook his head.  “My horse has his place.  On the range with the sun coming up and a herd of cows stretching toward the horizon, he’s the best tool, a soothing mod of transportation––and a good friend, too.  But when it comes to the perfect ride and good times, the Caddy’s damned hard to beat.”
     Didn’t she know it.  But the fact that he knew it was even better.
     “So what color is this Caddy?”  His eyes twinkled as he led her around the dance floor.  “Pink, I suppose.”
     “Is there any other color?”
     “If there’s a pretty blonde at the wheel, I think pink’s a prerequisite.  Then again, if your handsome cowboy is driving, fire-engine red with ivory interior comes to mind.”  He spun her away again, then gave her a gentle tug back.
     The world sparkled as she twirled back into his arms.  “Okay, I might concede that, it’s a bit pimpy, but––”
     “Pimpy.  Bite your tongue, woman.  The word is flashy––with a touch of class.”
     She laughed.  “Maybe.  But let’s face it, in my fantasies, the blonde’s driving, so pink it is.”
     He shook his head, smiling.  “Okay, the blonde’s driving.  What movie is she going to?”
     “Something with lots of action and manly heroes.”  She waggled a brow.  “The terminator.  The Wind Talkers.  X-Men.”
     “Thumbs up to the metal man and Native Americans, but how manly can a hero named Wolverine be?”  Devilry sparkled in his eyes.
     He was teasing her.  And she loved it.  It made her feel warm and alive and...wanted.  Something she hadn’t felt much of lately.
     He led her through the other dancing couples, his thighs brushing hers, his arms keeping her close.  “How does Miss Cadillac feel about epics?  Only the ones with manly heroes, of course.”
     “Hey, Lord of the Rings, Braveheart, I’m there.”
     He settled his hands at her hips, moving them in seductive cadence with his own.
     Man, he felt good.  All hard muscle and male heat.
     He cocked his head to the side, watching her, his expression as hot as the surface of the sun.  “So epics are in.  How does she feel about drive-ins?”
     Her pulse jumped into overdrive.  “Drive-ins?  Now those are hard to find these days.  But when one’s around and the night is hot, parking in the back with the top down and the right man has a certain appeal.”
     That sexy grin flashed again.  “Just the answer I’d expect from a lady driving a pink Caddy.”  And the glint in his eyes said it was exactly the answer he’d wanted.  Rocking her hips with his, he peered at her from beneath the brim of his tan, well-worn cowboy hat.
     Desire and need and something less definable––but more powerful––slid through her.  Since the moment she’d walked into the bar and their gazes had met, she’d been captivated.  Whether by his smile or those sad eyes she couldn’t say, but she’d never flet so connected to a man before.  She’d certainly never felt such heat.
     She ran her hands down his arms, savoring the hardness of muscle, the sharp contrast between male and female.  She couldn’t believe the energy that surged between them.  It was so strong it felt as if there was something cosmic at work.  The universe bringing soul mates together.
     Yeah, right.  Cosmic intervention only happened in fairy tales.  And her life had never been a fairy tale.  But that didn’t mean something wasn’t happening here.  Something more than alcohol and hormones.
     She probed a little deper.  “So tell me, what is a handsome cowboy like you doing alone in a crowded honky-tonk on  Saturday night?”
     He ran a finger down her arm.  “I’m not alone.”
     “You were alone when I walked in.”
     He looked away from her, his gaze skating over her head to a place much bleaker than the honky-tonk they were in now.  “Being alone has its place sometimes.”
     She studied his face, the grim turn of his lips, the shadows in his eyes.  “Maybe.  But that doesn’t mean it’s fun.”
     “No.”  His lips twisted wryly.  “More often than not it’s damned lonely.”
     “Poor cowboy.  She knew all about the cold, hollow grip of loneliness.  She’d grown up steeped in it.  Was afraid it was once again about to invade her life.  Is that the pull she felt between them?  The instinctive recognition of kindred souls?
     Maybe.  Maybe not. All she knew was that she couldn’t stand the sadness in his eyes.  She stretched up on her toes and kissed him, her lips brushing over his.
     It was a simple kiss, a comforting kiss.
     He drank it in and initiated one of his own.
     But there wasn’t anything simple about his kiss.  The sexual energy that had been smoldering between them caught fire and took off like a brush fire in a windstorm.
     She opened her mouth beneath his.  He tasted like Jack Daniels and hot male.
     Intoxicating.
     Tantalizing.
     She leaned into him.  She wanted to feel him.  All of him.
     He pulled her closer, the hard planes of his body molding to her softer ones, his tongue stroking hers.
     The cold wall of loneliness that was sneaking into the periphery of her own life warmed, heated...disappeared.  She savored the feel of him against her, the amazing buzz that hummed between them.
     He pulled his lips from hers and stared down at her, his eyes dilated, his breathing short and hard.  His gaze flicked to the right.
     She followed it.
     A wide staircase led up to a second level, no doubt to a bank of rentable rooms.  Heat poured through her.  She knew what he was thinking.  Knew he was wondering if they should go up those stairs together.
     Should they?
     She’d rushed into men’s beds before and been hurt.  Left alone.  She stared up at the cowboy, at the shaggy dark-brown hair that peeked out from beneath his hat, at his sad eyes and sexy smile.  She felt the connection humming between them, a connection that seemed to go so much deeper than sexual attraction.  She knew it was silly to believe the universe had brought her here to meet this man.  And yet, it felt that way.
     She took hold of her hopelessly romantic heart and tried to make herself think logically, realistically.  The universe was not an active being, it did not bring people together.  But...
     That didn’t mean she hadn’t stumbled upon Mr. Right purely by accident.  And if that were the case, did she want to throw this night away?
     Lordy, why didn’t life come with a road map?  Or a crystal ball?  Was that too much to ask?  She didn’t need a giant atlas that would show her every tiny road she might wander down, or a crystal ball that would tell her every second of her future.  Just...something to get her through to tomorrow morning.
     But all she had to guide her was her heart.
     She’d felt lonely when she’d walked into this bar.  His sexy smile and easy banter had eased that ache.  And his kiss had melted it away completely.  She wanted to hang on to that warmth.  And she wanted to chase his loneliness away, too.
     She looked back to find his gaze still on her.  She ran a finger down his jaw, savoring the purely male roughness of his five o’clock shadow, the deep warmth of his skin.  “We could burn this hotel down around us.”
     “We could burn this town down around us.  But should we?”
     “I know about loneliness, too, cowboy.  Know how deep it can sink into your bones.  I don’t want to be alone tonight.  Let’s see what else we have in common besides a love of old cars and good movies.”

     He shouldn’t take her up on her invitation.  He absolutely shouldn’t.  He’d come to this bar, gotten the same room he got every year so the bartender would have a place to dump him once he was unconscious, and then he’d headed to the bar to drink himself into oblivion.
     And he’d been well on his way to that blissful unconscious state when he’d looked up and seen a gray-eyed angel staring at him from across the noisy, smokey bar.  Angel?
     Hardly the word that had popped into his brain when he’d first seen her.  The woman had exuded sex.  With her sultry gray eyes, bee-stung lips and lush curves she’d obviously been made for sin.  Hot, steamy, sheet-twisting sin.
     And since sheet-twisting sin was his favorite remedy for chasing away the bleak emptiness that had entered his life four years ago, he’d gotten to his feet and sauntered over to the barstood next to her.
     But after five minutes of conversation, he’d discovered an openness about her, a guilelessness, a...wholesomeness that had no doubt put the angel image in his head.  And should have had him walking away.  Then and now.  Using an angel to hide from the cold barrenness of his life would undoubtedly get him a few extra years in hell.
     But he couldn’t walk away.  Not tonight.  Her wholesomeness combined with her overt sexuality was like a warm, thawing breeze.  A breeze he wanted to feel more of.  Needed to feel more of......