A log cabin? Where the hell am I? Montana! She was in Montana. She remembered arriving in Bozeman the night before last and then driving to Sheridan with Wade. She’d seen her father and then…then…her throat tightened. Oh shit! She’d gotten totally wasted! Why had she gone for tequila? It always made her do crazy things. Stupid things—like sleeping with hot Montana cowboys. With her pulse racing in panic, she forced herself to breathe and take stock. No. It was OK. It must be. One: she was in a very unmasculine bedroom. Two: she was alone. Three: she still had her clothes on—the same ones from last night. Thank God! But that still didn’t ease her mind about where she was or how she got there. The last thing she recalled from the night before was Wade’s tongue in her mouth. Well, that wasn’t quite it either, more like the very abrupt and disappointing removal of his tongue from her mouth, followed by the departure of his big, warm hands from her ass.
