Wrangling The Rich Rancher. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      “Like me?”

      “You’re not a regular guest.”

      She followed his lead, moving in sync with him. “No, but I’m still a real person.”

      Too real, he thought, too warm and pliable in his arms. Now all he wanted was for the song to end. Finally, it did, leaving him with a knot in his chest. The last time he’d danced this close to a woman was with Sandy, when he’d still believed he could make his marriage work.

      He hastily asked, “Do you want to go outside and catch a breath of air?”

      “Why? Do you think it’s getting warm in here?”

      “Warm enough.” He needed to stop holding Libby, to stop swaying to romantic songs. But more ballads were on the way. He knew the band’s set.

      He escorted her onto the patio, where hay bales draped in blue gingham served as seats. They sat next to each other in a secluded spot. He glanced up at the starry sky, then shifted his gaze back to her. She was as bright as the night, with her silver boots and shimmery earrings.

      As she settled onto the hay bale she adjusted the hem of her skirt, keeping it from riding farther up her thighs. It made Matt wonder what she had going on under that flouncy garment. Cute little bikini panties? A seductive thong? Whatever her undies were, they were none of his business.

      None whatsoever.

      “I almost stood you up,” he said. “I went to the local watering hole before I came here, and that’s where I was going to stay. But I changed my mind.” He hadn’t even finished his beer. He’d just tipped the gnarly old bartender and left. “I guess I wanted to see if you’d be waiting for me.”

      “Truthfully?” She tugged at her hem again. “I started to worry that you might leave me hanging.”

      “So you’re not as self-assured as you claim to be?” To him, she still seemed like a force to be reckoned with.

      “Mostly I am. Only with you, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But it worked out nicely, I think.”

      “What did? Us dancing together?”

      “Yep.” She smiled, disarming him with her dimples.

      He turned away, staring into the distance, the darkness. Sandy’s smile wasn’t as girlish as Libby’s. She didn’t have blue eyes, either. Hers were a brownish hazel. Aside from being blondes, they didn’t look that much alike. But they had other things in common, like the way they made him feel. That, and the fact that they were both widows.

      He returned his gaze to hers. “You should have never come to my ranch, sneaking in, pretending to be a guest.”

      “How else was I supposed to get to know you? If I would have called ahead and told you who I was and what my agenda was, you wouldn’t have agreed to see me.”

      “You’re right. I wouldn’t have.” He paused, then asked, “Have you been to Kirby’s place? Or Kirbyville, as everyone calls it.”

      “Yes. It’s a spectacular compound. That’s where I’ll be going when I leave here. He wants you to visit him there, too.”

      “So he keeps saying.” Matt couldn’t stand the thought of her going back to his dad. “Now that you’re here, I’m not going to send you away. I considered it, but it didn’t seem right, somehow.”

      “Thank you. You’re a fascinating man. You intrigued me from the start.”

      “You wouldn’t be saying that if I wasn’t Kirby’s bastard.”

      She frowned. “Why do you keep calling yourself that?”

      “Because that’s what I am. And it’s how Kirby always made me feel, sweeping me under the carpet when I was a kid. He never even—” Matt hesitated, stopping himself from opening up more than he already had. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this, giving you material for your book.”

      “I can’t just take our conversations and use them, not without getting a signed release from you. The publisher is being very strict about that. I need to interview you properly, to record you and quote you accurately.”

      She expected to record him? Fat chance of that. “So anything we say without the release is off the record?”

      “Yes. But if you don’t let me interview you, everything in the book that pertains to you will come from Kirby or your brothers or whoever else mentions you. That’s all I’ll be able to write about you.”

      “I don’t want you writing about me at all.” How many times did he have to tell her that? “I just want to be left alone.”

      She replied in a gentle tone, “This book is an amazing opportunity for me, and I’m going to write it, no matter what. But my heart is in the right place. I’m not trying to hurt or sensationalize you.”

      “It sure seems that way to me. The sensationalize part, anyway.” He didn’t think that she’d set out to hurt him, even if her actions would be doing just that. “Do you know the mess Kirby’s biography is going to make of my life? I won’t have any privacy after my paternity is revealed.”

      “It’ll cause some attention at first, but Kirby said he’ll hire a PR team to help you manage it. He doesn’t expect you to weather it by yourself.”

      “Gee, how gracious of him.”

      “I understand that you’re angry about the way he treated you. But your paternity shouldn’t have been kept a secret to begin with. If Kirby had acknowledged you from the beginning, you would already be known as his son.”

      “That’s a moot point all these years later. If he wanted to be my father, he should have manned up back then.” Matt didn’t have any patience for his dad’s newfound interest in him. His old man should have forewarned him about the book, too, instead of sending a pretty little writer to do it.

      She went silent, letting him brood. A moment later, she said, “I was thinking of taking a shuttle into town tomorrow, then renting a car while I’m there. Unless you’d be willing to drive me. You could be my guide.”

      “Sorry, but I’m going to pass.” He didn’t want to show her around his hometown. He figured that she just wanted to go there to try to learn more about where he’d grown up. “But I’d be glad to escort you back to your cabin now.”

      “The dance isn’t even over yet.”

      “It’s getting close. This is the last song.” He could hear the music drifting outside. “They always end with a Texas waltz.”

      “It sure is pretty.”

      As pretty as it got, he supposed. Just like her. “So, do you want me to give you a ride back to your cabin?”

      She tucked a strand of her lemony hair behind her ear. “Sure, I’ll go with you.” She lifted her feet off the ground, tipping her toes to the sky. “It’ll make me feel like a rodeo queen, riding beside the handsomest cowboy in the land.”

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