Betting on the Cowboy. Kathleen O'Brien

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      JUST WHEN GRAY thought Rowena must have changed her mind about interviewing him, the front door finally opened.

      But the elegant blonde knockout who stood there, smiling coolly, wasn’t Rowena. No way Rowena could have changed that much, not even after sixteen years, not even after the mellowing experience of falling in love and getting married. Gray considered himself a connoisseur of beautiful women, and even when he was only thirteen he’d understood that Rowena’s fiery good looks weren’t a product of cosmetics, clothes or hairstyles. She was all dramatic, gypsy bone structure and primal energy.

      And, of course, there was the problem of the coloring. She might have dyed her hair, but no way even contact lenses could transform Rowena’s flashing eyes, which had been the color of melted emeralds, into this cool pair of iced-sapphire blue.

      Cool. Ice.

      The words triggered something. He dug around in his psyche for a couple of seconds, then pulled it out. Aw, heck. Wouldn’t you know it would be one of the guilty memories, one of those inexcusable episodes from his angry years? He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply. Some more rotten than others.

      This one really reeked. God, he’d been such an ass back then.

      But at least he recognized her now. This was the middle Wright sister, Bree. She’d been his age, so they’d been in the same class, but she hadn’t been in his group. She had hung with the student council crowd, the prissy, overachiever girls who had annoyed the heck out of him in those days.

      He wouldn’t ever have guessed that she’d grow up to be so gorgeous. When their mother was killed and the Wright girls left town, the middle sister had still been in that awkward stage, unsure what to do with anything she possessed, from her thick, nearly white hair to her long, gangly legs.

      But she knew now. From crown to polished toenail, she was slick and citified and possessed a distinctive eastern seaboard chic. The look might still be a bit icy—alabaster skin, blue suit to match her violet-bluebell eyes, sleek Grace Kelly French twist showing off expensive pearl earrings. But she somehow managed to pack a visceral wallop, even so.

      “Hi, Bree,” he said, hoping his surprise—and his more pleasantly primitive reactions—weren’t too obvious. “I assumed you probably were a partner in the dude ranch, but I didn’t realize you had moved back to town, too.”

      “Hello, Gray.” She smiled politely, all professionalism and poise. “I haven’t moved back. I’m just here for a visit, and to help out a little with the soft opening, if I can. Most of the time, I’ll be a partner in name only.”

      “That’s a shame,” he said. And he meant it. He would have enjoyed spending time with a woman this attractive—assuming she wouldn’t scuttle his chances of getting the job.

      He wondered if it was even remotely possible that she’d forgotten about...the ice.

      He had to laugh at his own wishful thinking. No, it was not even remotely possible she’d forgotten. But perhaps she would want to pretend she had. Her whole bearing announced that she had more than her share of pride.

      “I’m so sorry we kept you waiting.” She took a step forward, putting one foot onto the porch, which surprised him. They were going out, not in?

      Suddenly, from somewhere in the house behind her, a strange, high-pitched noise rang out. He glanced over her shoulder, wondering what on earth could have made such a sound. But her face remained utterly impassive, not even a twitch revealing that she’d heard it.

      Man, she was good. He wouldn’t want to have to play poker with her. Their gazes locked, and he blinked first. After a couple of seconds, he actually began to wonder whether he had imagined the sound.

      She stepped across the threshold, pulling the door shut behind her, and gave him another smile. “Rowena is running a bit late for the interview, so she asked me to show you around the ranch. We’re all very excited about the plans for Bell River, and we think you will be, too.”

      She didn’t wait for him to agree, but moved on down the stairs without looking back, taking his cooperation for granted—which made sense, of course. After all, she was the boss lady and he was just a hired hand, assuming he got the job.

      Mr. Minimum Wage. Still, Gray wasn’t complaining. The view he got while she walked ahead of him was pretty spectacular. It made him think like a college kid...it made the phrase “Boss Lady and the Hired Hand” suggest all kinds of interesting, if idiotic, possibilities.

      God, what a sleazeball that made him sound like! Good thing she couldn’t read his mind. He had to laugh at himself, proving his grandfather right about how unprofessional and self-indulgent he was.

      “One day, son, you’ll learn that real life is not all about games and girls.” Gray’s grandfather’s face, as he stood in Gray’s college dorm on Gray’s nineteenth birthday, had been rigid with fury. He’d just realized that Gray wasn’t going to cave in to his demands to come home for the summer, not even at the risk of losing the Harper Quarry millions.

      The old man never had been able to tolerate being thwarted. He’d run his cold eyes over Gray’s expensive suit, and then over the equally expensive red dress Gray’s girlfriend was almost wearing.

      “If you honestly believe you can make your own way, without the safety net of the Harper name, you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot of growing up.”

      Gray had yawned and gone back to knotting his tie. He and Carla had reservations at nine, and she was eyeing him appraisingly, obviously wondering if he had the starch to stand up to the old tyrant.

      So Gray had met his grandfather’s gaze in the mirror and grinned. “Oh, dear. Will I have to become like you?”

      His grandfather’s mouth had tightened. “You couldn’t be like me if you tried, you insolent whelp. But, like it or not, if you’re going to be poor, you will have to get serious. You will have to get focused. And by God, for once in your spoiled life, you will have to get dirty.”

      Well, the old man hadn’t been lying about that, as Gray had soon discovered. But he’d been wrong to assume that getting dirty would bother him. He’d thrived on it, actually, and kept himself so focused that it had been a very, very long time since Gray had found any female special enough to take his mind off “real life.”

      The subtle stirring of interest Bree Wright had just set in motion...well, frankly, it felt darn nice.

      Still, she was talking, and he should be listening. He caught up with her and kept his eyes sensibly on the path as they made their way toward the stables. He tried to pay attention as she detailed the ranch’s horsemanship program.

      They had built fifty stalls, she explained, because, though they had only twenty horses at the moment, the plan was to increase to fifty head within a year. They also had three ponies for young riders and a “bring your own mount” option for guests who preferred a familiar seat.

      “Nice,” he said appreciatively as they entered the large, well-designed stables and heard the soft nickering of the animals. He gazed down the wide, clean walk between the stalls. Half a dozen horses poked their heads out, and his practiced eye evaluated them quickly. All excellent specimens, as far as he could see.

      Bree didn’t seem inclined to take him in any farther, though he was itching to get a closer look. Apparently this СКАЧАТЬ