Tumbleweeds & Tequila – Chapter 3
The first sensation was coolness against my skin, a stark contrast to the scorching heat that had been my constant companion. I groaned, my body aching in protest as I tried to move. A soft, almost imperceptible scent tickled my nose—earth and something faintly metallic, like sun-warmed copper.
My eyelids fluttered open, revealing a blurry world of muted colors and soft light. I blinked, trying to focus, and the image of a canvas tent came into view, its walls billowing slightly in a gentle breeze. I was lying on something soft and padded, a far cry from the hard desert floor I remembered.
Then, I saw him.
He was sitting a few feet away, his back to me, meticulously cleaning a rifle. The broad expanse of his shoulders strained against the fabric of his worn t-shirt, and the muscles in his arms rippled with each precise movement. His dark hair was tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly. Even from behind, there was an undeniable power and intensity to him.
“You’re awake.” His voice was a deep rumble, the sound echoing in the small space. He didn’t turn, his focus still on the weapon. “Good.”
I pushed myself up on my elbows, wincing as pain shot through my muscles. “Where…where am I?” My voice was raspy, a dry croak.
He finally turned, and my breath hitched in my chest. His eyes were the color of rich, dark amber, framed by thick lashes. They were intense, piercing, and held a hint of something…vulnerable, maybe? There was a ruggedness to his face, a combination of sharp angles and smooth lines that made him impossibly handsome.
“You’re at my camp,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “I found you a few clicks from here. You were out cold.”
I remembered the storm, the feeling of being lost and utterly defeated. “The sandstorm…it got me.”
He nodded, setting the rifle down. “It was a bad one. You’re lucky I found you when I did.” He rose and approached me, his movements fluid and graceful despite his size. He knelt beside the cot, and I could feel the heat radiating off him.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice slightly stronger now.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Angelo Ramirez. And you are?”
“Savannah Brooks,” I replied, my gaze fixed on his face. “Thank you…for saving me.”
He reached out, his fingers lightly grazing my cheek. The touch sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re welcome, Savannah. You gave me quite a scare. You were dehydrated and close to heatstroke.”
His fingers lingered on my skin, and I found myself leaning into his touch. He was…intoxicating. I had never felt this instant pull, this dizzying sense of connection with anyone.
“How long was I out?” I asked, pulling away slightly.
“A few hours,” he replied, his gaze still locked on mine. “I gave you some water and made sure you were stable. You need to rest.”
“I can’t just rest,” I protested, trying to sit up. “I have to…I have to…” My head swam.
He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Easy. You’re still weak. I’ll take care of you.”
The way he said it, with such quiet confidence, made my heart flutter. It was both reassuring and incredibly arousing. I’d always been fiercely independent, but there was something about Angelo that made me want to let go, to surrender.
He reached for a canteen filled with water, holding it to my lips. I drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat.
“Better?” he asked, his eyes scanning my face with concern.
“Much,” I said, handing the canteen back. “Thank you.”
He stood and moved to a small table where he had set out a bowl of what looked like stew. “You need to eat something. It’s not fancy, but it’ll help.”
He returned with the bowl and a spoon, settling on the edge of the cot. He held the spoon up to my lips, and I hesitated for a moment, a strange mix of shyness and anticipation swirling inside me.
I opened my mouth, and the warm, savory stew filled me with a sense of comfort. He fed me slowly, patiently, his eyes never leaving mine. It was an intimate act, a silent exchange of trust and tenderness.
“You know,” I said after a few bites, “I’m not used to being taken care of.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through me. “I can see that. It’s okay to let someone else take the reins.”
His words resonated with a part of me that I had kept hidden for so long. Maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let someone else in.
He continued to feed me, and as I ate, I couldn’t help but study him. The way the light caught the stubble on his jaw, the slight curve of his lips, the strength in his hands. He was everything I wasn’t—grounded, confident, and fiercely protective. It was intoxicating.
“How did you know where to look?” I asked, my voice softer now.
“I was out on patrol,” he said, his gaze lingering on my lips. “Miguel called to see if we had waited until tomorrow, and since I never met you, I assumed you came out on your own. I saw the storm approaching, knew someone might be in trouble. I followed the tracks.”
“I was stupid, going off-trail like that,” I admitted, shame washing over me. “I should have listened to the locals.”
He put the bowl down and leaned in close. “You were adventurous, Savannah. There’s nothing wrong with that.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and his gaze was searing.
My heart pounded in my chest. There was a magnetic pull between us. Or maybe I was just delusional. But I wanted him. Now. And I found my brain trying to explore the strong urge of lust. Was it because I nearly died? Or had the desert made me crazy?
He reached out again, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. My breathing hitched as I closed my eyes and almost willed him to kiss me. Hold me. Touch me. Something!
Instead, his fingers dropped lower, to my pulse. I opened my eyes to see him timing his watch.
“You need more fluids. Your heart rate is still too high.”
I was not going to tell him he was the reason.
He moved away, breaking the spell, and grabbed the canteen again. “Drink,” he commanded softly, holding it to my lips. I obeyed, the cool water doing little to quell the heat that had ignited within me.
“How long will we be here?” I asked, my voice a little breathy.
He shrugged, his eyes scanning my face. “Hard to say. I need to get you back to the big house. I’ll pack up and we Oscar Mike in twenty.”
Wait. What? Who was Oscar?
“Please,” I started. “Oscar Mike? Did they help rescue me?” I asked, my brow furrowing slightly.
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Military speak for ‘on the move’. I’m not going to leave you here, Savannah. You’re coming with me.”
“The big house?” I repeated, tilting my head. “Is that your place? Your home?”
He nodded, his amber eyes glinting in the soft light. “My agave farm and distillery. It’s a bit more comfortable than this tent, and we can get you properly checked out.”
A small thrill shot through me at the thought of spending more time with him, of seeing his world. But then, a flicker of apprehension. “I don’t want to impose,” I said, shifting uncomfortably on the cot. “I can find my own way back to the main road.”
He raised a dark eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing around his lips. “You passed out in the middle of the desert. I don’t think you’re in any condition to find your own way anywhere.” He stood, his tall frame casting a shadow over me. “Besides,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper, “I’m not going to let you go so easily.”
The intensity of his gaze made my breath catch. It was a challenge, a promise, and something more that I couldn’t quite decipher. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribs. “What if I refuse?” I said, trying to sound more assertive than I felt.
He smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. “Then I suppose I’ll have to convince you.” He stepped closer and the air crackled with unspoken tension. “But trust me, Savannah, you’ll want to come with me.”
Oh, why did he have to say it like that? My body was wasting what little hydration I had on getting me wet in the wrong place. “Okay,” I managed, licking my lips. “I want to come with you.”
His smile widened. “Good. Now, I’ll be right back.”
I looked around the tent and tried to take in more details. I wondered if he had found my Jeep, or any of my belongings. I groaned thinking about my laptop, relieved that I had backed everything up to the cloud back at the diner. Right, I could see my phone on the box next to me, but it was dead. I hoped the sand hadn’t killed it, too.
I gingerly sat up and helped myself to another sip from the canteen. My skin felt raw and painful in patches. I had planned for the elements, but not a sandstorm and being stranded in the heat. Angelo appeared back in the tent.
“Right, ready to go. I’ll get you in the truck and then pack up the tent.”
I took his hand, and the contact seared through my skin. His grip was firm, his skin warm and calloused. He pulled me to my feet, and I swayed slightly, my legs still weak.
“Easy,” he murmured, his arm wrapping around my waist to steady me. “You’re still a little wobbly.”
I leaned against him, my head spinning. The smell of him—earth, leather, and something uniquely masculine—filled my senses, making me dizzy. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe, protected.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and concerned.
“Better,” I replied, my gaze fixed on his face. “Much better.”
We walked side by side, the silence between us charged with unspoken desire. As we reached his truck, an old pickup that looked as rugged and dependable as him, Ifelt a sense of anticipation. I had no idea what awaited me at his agave farm, but all of this was going in the book.
He helped me into the truck, his hand lingering on my arm for a moment longer than necessary. The touch was electric, sending a jolt of heat through me. He reached across me, his breath brushing along the base of my throat, and buckled my seat belt. I was no longer sure the dizziness was due to my time lost in heat.
I watched every step, the way his shoulders moved and the lean, strong line of his body as he methodically emptied and tore down the tent. When he was done, he brought me my useless phone.
“Don’t have a charger in here. She might charge back at the ranch.”
I accepted it and frowned. Then remembered to ask about my Jeep.
He shook his head. “Don’t know which way you came in, but we can look for your Jeep when you’re stronger. Most likely going to need to see Miguel for repairs.”
I groaned. Miguel, the man at the gas station that had also warned me to seek out Angelo. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the passenger side window and the man himself started to grow concerned. He tapped the canteen at my elbow.
“Get another few sips. Just sips, though,” he ordered.
I complied. I was exhausted and no longer had the strength to argue. I just wanted to sleep again.
“Do I have to stay awake?” I asked.
He climbed in behind the wheel.
“Not if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice softer now. He reached over, his fingers gently brushing my cheek, and then unbuckled my seat belt. He pulled me towards him and I had no means to resist, not that I even wanted to. I nestled in against his side, my head resting on his shoulder. The warmth of his body was a welcome comfort, and I closed my eyes, letting exhaustion wash over me.
“Just rest, Savannah. I’ve got you.”
You have been reading Tumbleweeds & Tequila...
I’m lost, sunburned, and trapped on a remote ranch with a stoic ex-SEAL whose scowl could scare off a mountain lion—and whose touch makes me forget every reason I ever had to go it alone.
Angelo Ramirez rescued me from the Arizona desert, then made it clear he has no patience for lost city girls, or messy complications.
But my body’s still weak, the roads are gone, and I can’t remember the last time I wanted to trust someone this badly.
He’s gruff, maddeningly steady, impossible to read. Each day in his orbit, my defenses crumble. Each brush of his hands makes me ache for something I swore I’d outgrown.
The press is hunting me. Deadlines are closing in. The life I built back in New York waits, cold, relentless, and safe.
But out here, the real danger isn’t the desert.
It’s the way Angelo looks at me like I’m the only thing worth saving.
And the hardest part isn’t surviving him.
It’s walking away.
