A Rancher of Her Own. Barbara White Daille

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ job consisted of shifting tables, couches and chairs and putting them back into place. It involved very little talking and a whole lot of looking, which suited him fine.

      “Midmorning will be a good time for us to get the common areas done,” Jane had said yesterday. “The guests will either be sightseeing or taking riding lessons out at the corral.”

      Exactly where he should have been, overseeing those lessons. Instead, he’d notified all the hands they could reach him on his cell phone if necessary.

      The morning had passed much more quickly and with much less bickering than he had anticipated—probably because once Jane got behind the camera, she stayed there.

      He stood leaning against the door frame, watching as she worked her way silently around the area.

      “I don’t see much of a difference,” he said finally. “And the room always looks comfortable enough to me.”

      “It’s a matter of perspective, especially with a static shot. Of finding the right balance between comfort and space.” She continued moving, her gaze on the camera, the shutter clicking away. “For now, we’re looking at still photos for the website and print promotion, but we might eventually shoot some panoramic video. Grandpa’s going all out with his ideas for the revamp.”

      “I can’t see anything wrong with the hotel the way it is.”

      “You don’t like change, do you?”

      “Not much.”

      “How do you feel about weddings?”

      “I don’t like them at all.”

      “Lovely.” She glanced at him. “Then I’d guess you have no plans to be the life of the party at Tina and Cole’s reception?”

      “Not hardly.”

      “What are the chances you’ll be able to hide your feelings?”

      “I’ll manage.”

      Camera lowered, she turned his way. “What happens when the bridal suites are refurbished and the hotel starts booking complete wedding parties?”

      “Doesn’t make a difference. The hotel guests are all the same to me, and we entertain the guests, period.”

      “You won’t make much of a spokesperson for the Hitching Post.”

      “Good thing I’m not looking for the job, then, isn’t it?”

      She raised a dark eyebrow but didn’t respond to that. Instead, she looked at her watch. “Why don’t we stop in at the kitchen for something to drink.”

      Paz was bustling around the room, and Maria, one of the maids, was assisting her. This close to lunchtime, they were too busy to do much but give him a quick hello. He nodded in return while Jane poured a couple of glasses of iced tea and handed one to him.

      They went through the kitchen door onto the back porch. Over at the corral, he could see the stable hand grooming one of the stallions.

      He took a long swig of tea and leaned against the porch railing.

      He could feel the noonday sun warming his back, spreading heat through him. Better to believe that than admit the truth, even to himself. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of with his reactions. Jane Garland wasn’t his type. Her preference in clothing did nothing for him. He didn’t care for her made-up face or her long nails, and her high-tech toys turned him off. But as he’d already acknowledged to himself, she was a good-looking woman—a sexy, good-looking woman—and standing this close to her would get any man overheated.

      He gulped down another mouthful of cold, sweet tea.

      “I’ll give you a break till this afternoon,” she said. “I don’t want you telling Grandpa I kept you so busy you couldn’t do the job he pays you for.”

      “Excuse the pun, but you really focus on your work, don’t you?”

      “I try to.”

      “How’d you get to be such a perfectionist?”

      She laughed. “You’ve met my father, haven’t you?”

      “Yeah, lots of times.” He took another drink and wished he hadn’t brought up the subject. Not if it was going to lead to a discussion about their parents.

      He didn’t like talking about his mother, who had passed on when he was in grade school. For other reasons, he avoided talking about his dad, the big-shot lawyer.

      “Something wrong with the tea?”

      The question made him realize he was scowling. “No, the tea’s fine. What does your dad have to do with your perfectionism?”

      She shrugged. At her movement, the necklace she wore shifted across the front of her blouse. Sunlight glinted off the silver links, drawing his attention to her curves. Again.

      “He’s an Army general,” she said. “That ought to explain it.” She downed her iced tea and licked the sweetness from her upper lip.

      Almost without thinking, he did the same. Then he blinked and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It wasn’t moisture he was attempting to brush away, but a sudden thought he had no business having.

      “I’d better get inside and see if I can help Paz with anything. Are you done with that?”

      He nodded and held the empty glass out to her. She moved to reach for it, then froze for a moment, her gaze locked with his. They stood so close, it wouldn’t take but a half step to bring their bodies together. Before he could say yea or nay on giving that a try, she stepped back.

      “We’ll meet in the lobby again, around two?”

      Her tone was cool as usual, but had her voice wobbled just a bit?

      Glad to see her return to the house, he stayed there for a minute, leaning against the rail.

      Maybe she’d been right to question his ability to hide his feelings. Which meant he’d better work twice as hard at keeping his thoughts—and his reactions—in line.

      What he questioned was the flare of interest in her eyes...and the wisdom of testing if it was real or his imagination.

       Chapter Three

      Not long after the start of their afternoon session at the Hitching Post, Pete’s memories of the smart-mouthed teen Jane had once been came rushing back full force. A very good thing, as it made him forget the crazy questions that had plagued him since they’d parted that morning.

      She had gone all out with the rearrangement of one of the hotel suites “to catch the right slant of the sun,” and her never-ending orders rubbed him the wrong way.

      He set the stepladder she had requested next to the claw-foot tub in the suite’s bathroom.

СКАЧАТЬ