The Rancher's Marriage Pact. Kristi Gold

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      That confirmed her supposition that he was a Calloway sibling, although she couldn’t recall any mention of him in any of the press releases she’d recently read. “Actually, we just met today.”

      Worth winked. “Well, if he doesn’t treat you right, you’re welcome to come to Padre Island with me. I’m a helluva lot more fun.”

      And way too young for her, Paris decided. Plus, she had always been attracted to brown-haired men, like the one seated not far away.

      Dallas pointed at the door. “Get out, Worthless. Ms. Reynolds doesn’t need you coming on to her.”

      Worth backed toward the exit with hands held up, palms forward. “All right. And when you find out where the hell you left your sense of humor, let me know.”

      With that, the younger Calloway son winked at Paris again before striding out of the room.

      “I apologize for his behavior,” Dallas said as he resumed holding cowboy court from his place behind the desk.

      Paris dropped back down into her designated chair. “No need. He seems relatively harmless.”

      “He’s a skirt chaser, according to his mother, and I’ve seen more than enough evidence of that fact.”

      The identity of Worth’s mother didn’t require a lot of guessing. “Is that Jenny?”

      “Yeah, my father’s third wife. Maria is the second.”

      “And your mother is?”

      Dallas’s gaze drifted away for a moment. “Gone. She died when I was pretty young.”

      “I’m sorry, Dallas.” And she sincerely was. “I’m sure that’s been really difficult for you.”

      “Not so much,” he said. “I barely remember her. Now let’s get back to the reason why you’re here.”

      Being summarily dismissed wasn’t all that surprising to Paris. Most men clammed up when it came to emotional issues, including her own father. “Well, as I was saying, I’m a commercial interior designer, and since it’s apparent you’ll need my services soon, I’m here to apply for the position.”

      He frowned. “Why do you believe I need an interior decorator?”

      She wasn’t certain if he was kidding, or he really didn’t have a clue. “Look, I saw an article in the San Antonio paper about this Texas Extreme project and how you’re going to cater to people who want to enjoy the whole high-risk rodeo experience.” Though she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to do that. “I also read about your plans to build a lodge to house your guests, and that’s where I come in. I would like the opportunity to oversee the design of that lodge.”

      “We haven’t even broken ground yet,” he said. “In fact, we haven’t seen the final plans from the architect.”

      That could definitely work to her advantage. “All the better. If I’m involved in the beginning, then I can make suggestions that will only enhance the guests’ experience. I have extensive knowledge in hotel design. I have a strong attention to detail and—”

      “Ms. Reynolds—”

      “Paris.”

      “Okay, Paris, first of all, these guests are wannabe cowboys. They don’t need a fancy room. They only need a bunk and a bathroom. Hell, they might be satisfied with an outhouse and a creek.”

      The thought made her shudder. Yet he had made a good point, darn it. Still... “What if some of them want to bring their wives? Women have much higher standards. What if some of the wives or girlfriends want to participate, too?”

      He mulled that over a moment before addressing her again. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

      Now she was getting somewhere. “Have you given any consideration to the kitchen? You are having one installed, aren’t you? Or will you be roasting marshmallows and wieners?”

      He favored her with a sexy grin. “That’s a thought.”

      “Seriously? A wiener roast for every meal?”

      “Maybe that’s not a great idea. But the kitchen doesn’t have to be all that elaborate. Just the basics.”

      He truly didn’t grasp the concept of hospitality. “How many people do you plan to house at one time?”

      “Fifty if we’re at capacity, but we want to be able to accommodate more in the future.”

      “Feeding fifty hungry men and/or women will require more than a four-burner stove, a side-by-side refrigerator and a single oven. You’ll need commercial-grade appliances, plenty of prep space—”

      “I understand what you’re saying,” he said, effectively cutting her off. “But we don’t plan to open for business for a year, maybe longer if we can’t get all the facilities set up by then. Not only do we have to build the lodge, we have to build a new arena and catch pens, plus a first-aid station and acquire rodeo stock. I wouldn’t even need you for a good six months.”

      She would be destitute in two months. The unwelcome sense of extreme anxiety came home to roost, prompting Paris to make a final plea. “Again, you would be better off hiring me now than fixing something later. That will only cost you more money. I could meet with the architect before the plans are finalized. I could take care of all the details from the ground up. Besides, I live in San Antonio and since that’s only an hour and a half away, that’s convenient for us both. And I’m going to work cheaper than many firms you might decide to hire, but I don’t do cheap work or cut corners. To be perfectly honest, you can’t do better than me. And most important, I really, really need this job.”

      He tilted his head again and eyed her suspiciously. “If you’re so good at it, why is that?”

      She’d gone too far with the tirade, and probably blown any chance at the opportunity to oversee his project. Yet she was somewhat bolstered by the fact he hadn’t kicked her out...yet. “Due to personal circumstances beyond my control, I’ve been forced to start over, but I won’t bother you with the details. I would like to show you my work.”

      As she drew a breath, Paris fumbled for the briefcase resting on the floor and lifted it up. “I have my portfolio right here if you care to take a quick look.”

      Dallas sat in silence for a few moments while Paris’s pulse raced out of control. “I’m sure you’re more than qualified for the job,” he finally said, “but like I told you, I don’t see the need to hire a decorator—”

      “Designer,” Paris corrected without regard to helping her cause.

      “Hiring a designer right now doesn’t make much sense to me.”

      Plagued with the bitter taste of defeat, Paris stood. “Fine, but you should be aware, in six months, I might not be available.” She might even be in jail. Or worse—living with her folks on a potato farm in Idaho. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

      Dallas came to his feet and rounded the desk. “One question СКАЧАТЬ