Mountain Country Cowboy. Glynna Kaye

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      He didn’t talk much, for one thing. Nodded occasionally. Asked a question here and there. And left her uncharacteristically prattling on to fill in the silence. It didn’t help either that she was all too aware of him as he strolled along beside her, her senses on high alert. To her annoyance, the faint, clean scent of his soap and the occasional good-natured chuckle that rumbled from the depths of his chest sent her heart galloping.

      Disgusted with her involuntary reaction—a betrayal of women everywhere who’d been lured in by charming men with a penchant for punching—she hugged the clipboard to her chest. The crew would be arriving shortly to feed and groom the animals. Maybe that everyday routine would settle this unfamiliar edginess. “Any other questions?”

      “I’m interested,” Cash ventured with an earnest look, “in learning more details of what your grandmother shared regarding an events contractor coming to check things out. How do you anticipate that will affect what goes on in this particular aspect of the Hideaway?”

      “We learned of the company’s interest in including us as a possible venue for small-event gatherings maybe two weeks ago.” Ideas for the visit were being bandied about. Nothing solidified. “I’m sure Luke will go over the financial reports with you as they relate to our seasonal trail riding offerings, hayrides and sleigh rides, but as Grandma may have mentioned, we’re still recovering from that nationwide economic downturn several years ago. With the help of an influx of artisan newcomers, Hunter Ridge is getting there, but hasn’t quite bounced back yet.”

      He nodded. “She touched on that.”

      “My brother Grady’s bringing in wildlife photographers for workshops. But this is an opportunity for a considerable number of other small-group bookings if we can get a thumbs-up through this contractor. They claim that more and more of their big city clients are looking for unique, intimate venues for gatherings.”

      “Gatherings such as...?”

      “Corporate retreats. Club getaways. Family celebrations—you know, milestone anniversaries, birthdays, graduations. Reunions. That kind of thing. The forest and wildlife we have in abundance here, along with our cabins, cookouts and trail rides would be a big part of the draw.”

      He folded his muscled arms—not that she was noticing.

      “I seem to recall there was some of that here when I was a kid.”

      “Oh, there was, but this would be a more focused endeavor. Targeting that type of clientele to a greater extent for a more reliable source of income than sporadic group bookings provide.”

      He tipped his head thoughtfully. “Guests at the last place I worked had higher standards than dudes used to. Everyone likes to brag that they’ve been roughing it, but there’s not a whole lot of roughing it in reality these days.”

      She laughed. “Glamping, you mean?”

      That was the latest global trend—“glamorous” camping. Getting off the beaten path in luxury.

      “No offense, Rio, but while the Hideaway provides clean, well-cared for accommodations with a homey touch, they don’t exactly fit the definition of luxurious unless you’re visiting from a Third World country.”

      Thanks for pointing that out, Mr. Herrera.

      “Well, that’s something we’ll be discussing in-depth next week.” She kept her tone deliberately light, determined not to take offense at his critical comment. “We’ll be considering what upgrades or alterations might realistically be required to meet the needs of a slightly different type of guest.”

      “You’ve researched this company and asked for a profile of their clients? Have an idea of the caliber of venues the company is currently booking?”

      Rio took a steadying breath. Gave him her best smile.

      “I’m sure Grady or Luke have either done that or will be doing it soon.” Neither had mentioned it, though. She’d been gone a week, however, and would no doubt be brought up-to-date at Monday night’s weekly business meeting—of which Cash would now be a part. “But we have time on our side. The company’s been candid with us that they’re evaluating numerous potential sites in the West and Southwest this summer. We’re one of many. They ballparked the Hideaway visit for late July. Maybe not until August.”

      “But don’t you think—”

      “Dad!”

      Relieved at the interruption, she turned to where a wide-eyed Joey was still sitting on the bale of straw, now surrounded by three attentive barn cats.

      “I think they want to eat me, Dad.”

      Did the giggle from the too-solemn boy warm his father’s heart as much as it did hers?

      She handed the clipboard to Cash, then trotted the length of the wide passage between the stalls. When she reached Joey, she swiftly scooped up a yellow tabby. “These fur balls don’t want to eat you. They’re waiting for you to give them a treat.”

      Extending her arm behind him to lift the lid on a small plastic box attached to the wall, she pulled out a handful of kitty treats. She gave one to Joey, who tentatively held it out to the cat in her arms. It made short work of the treat, crunching happily away. The other two jumped atop the bale with the boy.

      He smiled again. “They all want some.”

      As the cat in her arms leaped to the floor, she sensed Cash coming up behind her and held out a treat to him. But when he shook his head, she handed the remaining goodies to Joey.

      “Look, Rio,” Cash said, his voice low as he pulled her aside. “I’m sorry if I came across as disparaging of the Hideaway. That wasn’t my intention. It’s just that I’ve spent the past several years catching a glimpse of the lifestyles of the rich and not-so-famous, and it’s been an eye-opener.”

      “I imagine so.” Obviously he didn’t think the Hideaway could meet those lofty expectations.

      “I do have ideas, though,” he continued with a nod to her clipboard still in his hands, “that may be in keeping with the integrity and history of the place.”

      Cash hadn’t been on the premises twenty-four hours and he already had ideas?

      Annoyed at his presumptuousness, she tried to ease her clipboard from his fingers. They had business to attend to.

      But he didn’t relinquish it.

      She gave it a tug. He held fast.

      Looking into his amused eyes—he’d no doubt noticed the spark of irritation in hers—she fought back the urge to jerk it out of his hands. “May I have my clipboard, please?”

      “You may.” He leaned in slightly. “But only if you forgive me for sharing my opinions. I get the feeling that, in spite of the future role I’ll be playing here, you think I’m stepping out of bounds—Princess.”

      Heartbeat sprinting, to her irritation she couldn’t draw her gaze from his. Out of bounds. That’s definitely where he’d stepped. “I—”

      “So it’s not a vicious rumor,” a man’s voice СКАЧАТЬ