Rancher Breeds His Runaway
Rugged 52-year-old rancher breeds the eager 19-year-old runaway who begs for his baby.
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The rain hammered down in silver sheets across the empty Montana highway, turning the asphalt into a black mirror. Colton McRae’s truck headlights cut through the downpour and caught a small, drenched figure walking along the shoulder with her thumb out. He slowed, squinting through the wiper blades.
She couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Soaked denim shorts clung to the firm curve of her ass like a second skin. A thin white tank top was plastered to her breasts, the cold making her nipples stand out in sharp relief. Long dark hair hung in wet ropes down her back. When she turned toward the truck, wide green eyes met his through the glass and something electric cracked between them.
Colton pulled over, the big diesel rumbling to a stop. He leaned across the bench seat and pushed the passenger door open.
“Get in before you drown, darlin’.”
The girl didn’t hesitate. She climbed up, bringing the scent of rain, cheap strawberry shampoo, and warm young female with her. Water dripped from her chin onto her thighs as she shut the door.
“Thank you,” she said, voice soft but steady. “I’m Lila.”
“Colton.” He kept his eyes on the road, but the truck suddenly felt too small. She was five-foot-nothing and every inch of her radiated ripe, desperate fertility. “You got a destination?”
She shook her head, wringing out her hair. “Not anymore. Just… away.”
He grunted. The cabin was ten miles up a private dirt road. He could have dropped her at the crossroads, but the thought of her standing out there alone in the storm twisted something low in his gut.
“You can stay at my place tonight. Got a spare room. Dry clothes. Food. No strings.”
Lila turned those big green eyes on him again. This time her gaze lingered on the thick silver at his temples, the hard line of his jaw, the heavy muscle under his flannel shirt. A slow, secret smile curved her full mouth.
“No strings sounds boring,” she murmured.
The tension snapped into place like a live wire.
By the time they reached the cabin, the rain had eased into a steady hiss against the tin roof. Colton killed the engine. Lila followed him inside, leaving wet footprints across the wide pine planks. The place smelled of woodsmoke, leather, and man.