Cowboy for Hire. Marie Ferrarella

her poise—at least on the surface. Only her father knew how to chip away at that veneer to get to the frightened little girl who existed just beneath that carefully crafted surface.

      To be fair, her father had been just as demanding of her brother, Conrad. But Conrad had been far more rebellious than she ever was. He absolutely refused to be bullied and left home for parts unknown the moment that he turned eighteen.

      She would have given anything to go with him, but she was only fourteen at the time, and Conrad had enough to do, looking after himself. He couldn’t take on the burden of being responsible for a child, as well.

      At least that was what she had told herself when he’d left without her.

      So Connie resigned herself to remaining in her father’s world, desperately treading water, determined to survive as best she could. Not only surviving, but vowing to one day make her father realize how wrong he’d been about her all along. It was the one thing that had kept her going all this time.

      The only thing.

      Was it her imagination, or were the occupants of the diner looking at her as if she were some sort of an unknown entity?

      She inclined her head in her companion’s direction, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You weren’t kidding about not many tourists passing through this town. These people really aren’t used to seeing strangers walking their streets, are they?”

      Finn’s mouth curved ever so slightly. “Forever’s not exactly on the beaten path to anywhere,” he pointed out. Although, even if Forever was a regular bustling hotbed of activity, he could see this woman still turning heads wherever she went.

      “That’s becoming pretty clear,” Connie whispered to him.

      “Been wondering when you’d finally step in here,” the thin, older woman with the somewhat overly vibrant red hair said as she sidled up to the couple to greet them. “What’ll it be for you and your friend here, Finn?” she asked, nodding her head toward the other woman. “Table or counter?”

      Connie was about to answer “Counter,” but the man the hostess had referred to as “Finn” answered the question first.

      “Table.”

      The woman nodded. “Table it is. You’re in luck. We’ve got one table left right over here.” So saying, the redhead led them over to a table near the kitchen. There was only one problem, as Connie saw it. There was a man still sitting at it.

      Connie regarded the other woman. “But it’s occupied,” she protested. Did the woman think they were going to join the man?

      The woman appeared unfazed. “Hal here finished his dinner,” she explained, indicating the table’s lone occupant. “He’s just a might slow in getting to his feet, aren’t you, Hal?” she said, giving her customer exactly ten seconds of her attention. Then she looked around for the closest waitress and summoned her. “Dora.” She beckoned the young blonde over. “Clear the table for Finn and his friend, please.” She offered the couple just a hint of a smile. “I’ll be back to get your orders in a few minutes. Sit, take a load off,” she encouraged, patting Connie on the shoulder. And then she added, “Relax,” and turned the single word into a strict command.

      Dora was quick to pick up and clear away the empty dinner plate from the table. Within two minutes, Dora retreated, and Connie realized that she and the cowboy were left alone with their menus.

      Connie was only mildly interested in glancing over the menu and that was purely out of a curiosity about the locals’ eating preferences. As always, eating, for Connie, took a backseat to orientation.

      She decided to begin with the very basics. Names. Specially, his name. “That woman, the one with the red hair, she called you Finn.”

      “That’s because she knows my name,” he replied simply. Finn had a question of his own to ask her. “But I don’t know yours.”

      “I didn’t tell you?” The omission on her part surprised her. She’d gotten so caught up in getting her operation set up and hopefully rolling soon in this tiny postage-stamp-size town that common, everyday details had slipped her mind.

      “You didn’t tell me,” Finn confirmed, then added with yet another, even more appealing hint of a smile, “I’m not old enough to be forgetful yet.”

      Not by a long shot, Connie caught herself thinking. Just for a moment, she got lost in the man’s warm, incredibly inviting smile.

       Get back on track, Con. Drooling over the employees isn’t going to get this project done—and it just might mess everything all up.

      One way or another, she’d been lobbying her father for a chance to show her stuff for a while. Now that she finally had it, she was not about to allow something as unpredictable as hormones betray her.

      “My name is Constance Carmichael,” she told him, putting out her hand.

      “Nice to meet you, Ms. Carmichael.” Her hand felt soft, almost delicate in his, he couldn’t help thinking. His hand all but swallowed hers up. “I’m Finn Murphy.”

      “Like the bar?” she asked, trying to fit two more pieces together.

      “Like the bar,” he confirmed.

      “My father’s Calvin Carmichael,” Connie added.

      She was accustomed to seeing instant recognition whenever she mentioned her father’s name. The second she did, a light would come into people’s eyes.

      There was no such light in the bartending cowboy’s eyes. It prompted her to say, “He founded Carmichael Construction Corporation.”

      Still nothing.

      Finn lifted his broad shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug and apologized. “Sorry, ’fraid it doesn’t ring a bell for me.”

      That was when it hit her. “I guess it wouldn’t,” Connie said. “The corporation only erects buildings in the larger cities.” The moment she said it, she knew she had made a tactical mistake. The man sitting across the table from her might take her words to be insulting. “I mean—”

      Finn raised his hand to stop whatever she might be about to say. “Forever is