Not That Easy. Radhika Sanghani

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      SLAID SAT DOWN heavily on the rock and twisted the top off his beer. The cold bitterness was exactly what he needed after his visit from Tess today. He looked up at the nearby peaks, noticing the way the setting sun lit up the granite. Something he’d seen almost every day of his life, yet had never taken for granted.

      He liked this rock. His son called it The Thinking Rock because Slaid had come out here a lot after Jeannette had left them, to brood and try to figure out where it had all gone wrong. Now that Devin was a teenager, they came up here together for the occasional heart-to-heart.

      It was up on the edge of their property, where the hills started to give way to the mountains, and it had a good view. He could see his house in miniature below—a low rancher his father had built in classic ’50s style. It wasn’t picturesque like some of the old farmhouses in the area, but big glass doors gave way to all kinds of patios and he liked that mix of inside and out. He never felt removed from the land he loved.

      A motion beyond the house caught his eye. Devin was leading Orlando out of the barn. His son tied the horse to a fence and started brushing the gelding’s smooth gray coat. Slaid knew he should be the one doing that task. Devin had plenty of his own chores to finish and then homework to start. It was just one example of how Tess Cole was already throwing him off his game.

      Tess. The name suited her. Sleek and strong, just like the woman. He’d wondered about her name for the past two years. Wondered, sometimes, if there was any way to find her.

      And now she was here, in Benson, more beautiful than he’d remembered and more unsettling than he could have imagined. Seeing her long, thick, blond hair wound up in that tidy bun today made him remember how it had curtained them as she’d straddled him on the bed, kissing him as if she was ravenous. Her curves in that sexy business suit reminded him of how her breasts had filled his hands, how her hips had moved when she’d ridden him.

      “Hell.” He said it aloud, and the sound evaporated into the empty sky. He took another gulp of beer and felt a twinge of regret when he realized it was almost empty. He probably should have stashed a few more bottles in his pockets before he left the house. If he were a less-responsible guy he would have gone for it. But he was very responsible, usually. Just not that night in Phoenix.

      That night he’d been lonely, recently dumped, and just drunk enough to step out of the confines of his normal behavior and proposition the unbelievably sexy woman draped on the bar stool next to him. For one night he hadn’t been the guy whose wife had walked out on him, or the dad whose kid was tearing up the town with his seemingly infinite reserves of anger. For one night he hadn’t been the dutiful son, responsible for the hopes and dreams of the generations of ranchers who’d left him their legacy. He’d just been an anonymous man, making love to an anonymous woman in an anonymous hotel room, and it had been the hottest night of his life.

      But she wasn’t anonymous anymore.

      What he’d done in their meeting earlier came back to him garnished with a twist of guilt. He’d pressured her to stay—hell, he’d made her stay.

      Maybe he’d done it out of anger. It confounded him that she didn’t remember him. How was it possible that one night could mean so much to one person and so little to another? He’d thought about her countless times, and she’d walked into his office today with no clue who he was. She’d looked at him as if he was a total stranger while she was etched so clearly in his memory. Well, she’d remember him now, all right. Not for their night together—apparently that had been totally forgettable—but for the way he’d been an asshole and had selfishly pressured her to stay in Benson.

      And then it hit him. He didn’t hold all the cards here. She could chat to whomever she wanted about their one-night stand. And it could certainly change his life if she did. He wondered what his constituents would think if they knew what he’d done in Phoenix with Tess—and how much he’d enjoyed it.

      The good people of Benson had elected him mayor almost unanimously. And why not? He was a pretty upstanding kind of guy. A high school football hero, college scholarship kid. Head of the Cattlemen’s Association, a city council member and now, mayor of the town. People thought of him as an up-front, what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. And he was—except for that one night.

      He should have agreed when she’d offered to leave town. It would have ensured that his reputation was never tarnished. Because it wasn’t just his reputation he had to worry about. Being a leader in Benson was family tradition. His grandfather and his dad had both been mayor, and his great-grandfather had pretty much founded the town.

      Maybe he owed his ancestors an apology because he hadn’t been able to let her go. In some bizarre miracle, after two years as a ghost in his fantasies, she was here in Benson. And that had to mean something.

      The problem was, he had no idea how he was going to handle having her in town. He’d promised her it would be easy to keep things professional, but he’d pretended a confidence he didn’t have. All the attraction he’d felt that night in Phoenix was still there, sharpening his senses the moment she’d walked into his office, making him hyperaware of every one of her movements, every seductive curve under that power suit she wore.

      Which made the reason she was here even worse. Windmills. Looking out to the plains beyond his ranch, he tried to imagine them speckled with huge, white turbines and instantly all the wild emptiness was domesticated and destroyed. It was awful enough to imagine—he couldn’t allow it to happen.

      Slaid drained the bottle and stuck it back in his pocket, taking one last look at the view. There was dinner to cook, dishes to clean, homework to help with and a few rounds of a video game to play before Devin went to bed. Then he needed to rewrite the agenda for next week’s city council meeting to make sure the wind farm was on it—there’d be a lot to discuss.

      It would be a busy night, but he kind of liked it that way. Staying busy kept him from thinking too much. He’d learned that trick after Jeannette had left Benson, and it seemed as though he would need it again now that Tess Cole had arrived.

       CHAPTER THREE

      TESS WASN’T PREPARED for a Jeep that looked like an ice sculpture. With a pang of longing, she pictured her underground parking space in San Francisco, where even on the rare frosty morning she never had to worry about a frozen car. Reluctantly she opened her wallet and stared at her rainbow assortment of credit cards, wondering which one she could sacrifice as an ice scraper. The Saks Fifth Avenue card was nice and thick and would work the best, but she didn’t want to risk ruining it. Same with Bloomingdale’s. And there was no way she’d sacrifice Nordstrom—their annual shoe sale was coming up.

      She finally settled for Talbots and started scraping at the frosted windshield. The ice came off in a spray coating her bare skin. “Ow!” she exclaimed and pulled her hand away abruptly, shaking it to try to get the frost off and the heat back in.

      “Don’t tell me you didn’t bring gloves?” The deep voice had her whirling to confront the mayor. He looked warm and comfortable, his thick parka advertising the fact that he was prepared for the weather. The battered leather cowboy hat on his head was one more reminder that she’d left San Francisco far behind.

      “It’s probably seventy degrees at home today,” she said by way of an answer.

      “It’s seventy degrees in San Francisco most days. Didn’t you check the weather report before you drove out here?”

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