Page 27 of Her Boss, Her Rancher: Sunrise On The Ranch

“I wasn’t going to... That’s a lie. I was going to lay into you for blowing off this morning’s meeting.”

“Had other things to do.”

“Yesterday you talked about wanting to protect this way of life and not allow it to become some five-dollar pony show. If you’re serious about that, or if you want the right to chew me out over how I handle this project, you have to show up to the meetings. Otherwise, as far as I’m concerned, you’re giving me and your family carte blanche to do what we determine is best. In that case? You’ll keep your complaints to yourself. Clear enough for you?”

He stepped into the tack room and hung the halter on the appropriate peg before stepping into the doorway and leaning against the door casing. “Why would I bother complaining? It’s not as if you’ll be here that long. I can hold my tongue till you’re gone, then make the changes that I think need making.”

Her eyes went wide. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Instead of trying again, she flung the hat in her hands at him, Frisbee-style. “Go to hell, Covington.” Spinning on her heel, she stalked away, her T-shirt tucked into Wrangler jeans so snug they left him wondering if he’d find a panty line if he ran his fingers over her rear.

Then reality struck. She’d thrownhis hat.He snatched it up and started after her. “Emma, hold on.”

She didn’t stop, slow down or acknowledge him in any way.

“Why are you so upset?”

“Because I deserve respect—fromallof you.” She met his gaze head-on. “And instead? Eli questioning me when we first arrived, Ty making excuses for the contractors’ wolf whistling and you...” She trailed off and looked away. “Enough said.”

“Why did you? Lie, that is,” he clarified when she shot him a quick, confused look. “Last night, you lied to Eli.”

Gesturing to the hat with her chin, she said, “Might pick that up before the dirt makes it unsalvageable.”

Spinning on her heel, she left him standing in the barn, hat in his hands.

9

EMMA’SSMALLBEDROOMwindow was open halfway to let the late-afternoon breeze into the cool basement room. So when the dinner bell sounded, sharp andloud, she came out of her skin.

“Gah!” she shouted, scattering papers and nearly tossing her laptop.

“Dinner’s ready,” said a familiar male voice through the screen.

Cade.

She fumed silently. He’d done it on purpose. That was fine. The old adage, what goes around comes around, would catch him with his pants down someday.

“Right. Run with that. Ignore the pants-down part, though,” she muttered. Untangling her crossed legs and nest of pillows, she slid off the little twin bed and began gathering her reports, predictions, charts and graphs from the floor. The work represented forecasts in business, advertising efficacy, projected budgets and, above all, the goals for the grand opening in a few days.

The front door slammed and heavy footfalls sounded above her.

“You can ‘Cotton-eye Joe’ to the kitchen for all I care, Stompy McFee.” She flipped him a one-bird salute and took all her materials to the small desk.

Ignoring the voices upstairs, she settled in to work on the guest list. She wanted a folder for each individual who had been invited, the company he or she represented, how Emma might work in potential opportunities to connect with them in future and further promote the dude ranch. This list was her last chance to keep her business. If the event flopped, if she didn’t make enough contacts, she’d have nothing when she confronted Michael about his subpar work product and the company’s resulting losses. If she fired him, he’d take his own failures and label them hers. He’d be able to make it appear to both her professional peers and client list that she’d become lackadaisical in her work ethic and output, and the company would suffer. She’d lose everything.

The firm knock on her bedroom door had her flinging papers again as she spun. She let out a foul curse as the door opened.

Cade stood there, two dinner plates in hand. “Thought you might enjoy a little company while you worked through dinner.”

“Is it that obvious I’m skipping out on having a full-blown confrontation with you and your brothers over—” she glanced at the dinner plates “—meat loaf?” she asked, lightly.

He slipped into the room and nudged the door with his hip, pushing it shut but not bothering to latch it. “No, it was only obvious you were still working.”

“You didn’t have to bring dinner down.” Emma set the paperwork on the edge of the desk and dropped onto the end of the bed, accepting the proffered plate. She bit her bottom lip before looking up and offering a tentative smile. “I’m glad you did, though. I appreciate the company.”

“No reason to relegate yourself to your bedroom just because we’ve all been behaving like jerks.” He settled into the desk chair, ankle resting on his opposite knee as he tucked a paper towel in the neck of his shirt. “Sorry about that, by the way. I’ve talked to Eli and Ty. You shouldn’t meet with any more resistance.”

Unwilling to check a gift horse’s teeth, she opted to accept the kind gesture. It was true that part of her had holed up in the bedroom to work instead of subjecting herself to questioning and being made to feel she was nothing more than an evil, tolerated necessity. That part of her was the cowardly, vulnerable part she hated. Another part demanded she stick this out and prove to everyone, herself included, that she could, and would, do this.

“For what it’s worth, I appreciate that.” Emma glanced around the room, taking in the paraphernalia of a childhood spent among family and friends. “I can’t imagine Eli would ever leave this.” The yearning in her voice nearly choked her.