in between.” She hesitated, and then said with pride, “I own my own company. I call it Winners Wear, and our motto is ‘For Those Who Try Their Best.’”
“Nice.” He nodded. “I like it. But running your own company seems like a lot of responsibility.”
“It is. I really shouldn’t have left New York. I have a million things that need tending to.”
She fished around in her purse, pulled out her daily planner, slid out a gold pen and reviewed the list of items she needed to discuss with Mrs. Dixon.
She made notes until the light faded. “Could you turn on the overhead light?” she asked Clint.
“Sorry. It’s broken. Why don’t you sit back and enjoy what’s left of the ride?”
She had no choice, now did she? She put her planner away and stared out the window.
They pulled into the Gold Buckle just after sundown. She couldn’t see much of the grounds in the dusk, only the welcoming indoor lights of several small log cabins strung along a brook that glistened in the moonlight.
“This looks just like a real ranch,” she said.
“It is a real ranch.” Clint slowed down and made a right turn. “Mrs. D said to put you in the Homesteader Cabin and that she’ll try to come by later to give you a proper welcome, along with something to eat. That all right with you?”
“Fine. Maybe we can have our meeting then.”
“I thought you were tired.”
“The sooner I meet with Emily, the sooner we can take care of business.”
Clint pulled up in front of one of the log cabins, the second one from the end. In the glow of the porch light by the cabin door, Susan could see two rocking chairs. Large pine trees loomed behind the structure. If there were snow, it’d look like a Christmas card. She wondered if the guests in the other little cabins were at dinner or snuggled up inside.
Susan felt a little thrill of excitement zip through her when she caught the scent of horses on the breeze. She remembered the riding lessons she’d taken one summer in White Plains—a gift from her father when she was twelve. Her mother had protested, but her father had insisted.
“Susan needs to have some fun, Rochelle,” he’d told her mother in one of his rare moments of strength. “And you know how much she loves horses. I’ll take her on the train, wait for her and ride back with her.”
Those were the best six Saturdays of her young life. After that, her father was gone again, escorting a tour group to Europe. He never managed to stay with them for very long.
Shaking off the sad thoughts, she gathered up her planner and her purse as Clint turned on the overhead light.
“Must be working after all,” he said, giving her a wink.
He’d lied to her. The light never was broken. He’d just wanted her to look at the scenery. He’d manipulated her, and she didn’t like that, but if he hadn’t, she would have kept her face in her planner and missed the beauty of this country.
Clint got out of the truck. He walked her up the stairs of the cabin, his hand holding her elbow lightly. That was polite and gentlemanly of him. He opened the door with a large key and flicked on the light.
She glanced around the room and spotted a phone. “Can I make long-distance calls?”
“That phone only rings to the main office in case of emergency.”
“I can’t live without a phone. Thank goodness I have my cell.” She flipped open her phone. “Why can’t I get a signal?”
“It won’t work around here. Too many mountains surrounding us. But Em and Dex have a phone in the office you can use.” He gripped the door handle. “I’d better haul your luggage in.”
“Where’s the bell person?”
“I guess that’d be me. We all pitch in around here.”
Susan turned around and found herself forehead-to-nose, toe-to-toe with Clint Scully. He grabbed her elbows to steady her.
His eyes studied her face, and then his gaze traveled down to her breasts. She probably should have been offended, but in truth she was flattered. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her that way. He seemed to see right through her, reaching down to a part of her that hadn’t been touched in years. The same heat that had licked at her insides before flared again.
He cocked an eyebrow as if he was wondering what she’d do next.
She held her breath, wondering what he’d do.
It’d been a long time since she’d been with a man, and being so close to Clint reminded her of that fact.
She’d given up on men a while ago. They just couldn’t understand that her company came before they did.
Yet Clint was very, very tempting, and very different. If his scorching gaze was any indication, he was as attracted to her as she was to him.
He gave his hat a tug. “I’ll go get your luggage. Why don’t you relax?”
“Thanks, Clint.” She offered her hand, to shake his. “For everything.”
He raised her hand an inch from his lips. “My pleasure, Susan.”
Surely, he wouldn’t…No one did that anymore.
Clint did. A whisper of warm air and soft lips brushed the back of her hand, and she melted like polyester under a too-hot iron.
Clint Scully was one interesting man.
Trying to gather her thoughts, she listened to the dull sound of his boots fade as he walked down the stairs of the porch. Then she explored the cabin.
The walls were tongue-and-groove knotty pine, varnished to a shine. Lace curtains on the window gave it a homey touch. Brightly striped Hudson’s Bay blankets slashed bits of color around the cottage. It was open and airy with high ceilings and chunky log furniture with bright cushions in a Native American arrow design.
A huge stone fireplace took up most of one wall, and a pile of wood was stacked on a circular stand nearby. She looked for the switch that would make the fireplace spring to life.
“It’s the real thing,” Clint said, appearing next to her with her luggage. “I’ll show you how to start a fire if you’d like.”
“I think I can figure it out.”
She thought how nice it would be to sit before a real fire at night and read a book. She hadn’t had time to read a book in ages. That was something else she’d been missing.
“I’ll leave these here, then I’ll see about getting your dinner,” Clint said.
She walked him to the door and felt all warm and fuzzy when he tweaked his hat and disappeared into the dark night.
Susan Collins, CEO, hadn’t felt warm and fuzzy since mohair was in fashion.
Clint grabbed a frosty cold bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge in his travel trailer and set it on the countertop. In three steps, he was inside his bathroom checking his appearance in the mirror above the sink.
Clint bought the thirty-foot trailer from Ronnie Boggs, a down-on-his-luck cowboy who was quitting bull riding. He remembered pulling out his wallet and handing Ronnie more than double his asking price. Ronnie refused to take all that, but Clint wouldn’t take no for an answer and stuffed the money into the tough cowboy’s pocket.
Clint towed it from event to event wherever he was working. He liked the privacy and the quiet, and the fact that he could cook his own meals and relax in his own surroundings. Besides, if he stayed in a hotel, the riders would give him the business.
Whenever he was at the Gold Buckle Ranch, which was every summer