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“Hey, you two! I’m on the clock here. No canoodling.”
“Canoodling?” His eyebrows lifted. “Scarlett’s here?”
Ruefully, Naomi smiled. “That’s what I came to tell you. She’s here to give Legend a checkup. I took him from the corral into his stall to make it easier on her. You know, out of the sun. It’s really hot out there.”
Toby shook his head again. “You mean you walked to the stall and he followed you.”
“Pretty much. What can I say? He finds me irresistible.”
A lot of that going around, Toby thought grimly. His horse loved her, and Toby couldn’t stop thinking about her. Naomi Price was making life on the ranch a hell of a lot more interesting than he would have believed.
“Hello? You coming out or do I have to come in?” Scarlett’s shout was tinged with laughter.
“We’re coming!” Naomi called back and got up. She headed for the front door, then stopped and looked back at Toby.
Through the skylight, sunlight poured down over her like a river of gold. It highlighted the copper streaks in her brown hair and made her brown eyes glow like aged whiskey. Her body was curvier than he’d ever seen it, and the rounded mound of the baby made her seem softer, more alluring than he wanted to admit. She stood there, watching him, the hint of a smile on her face, and everything in Toby tightened into a hot fist.
“You coming?” she asked.
“Nearly,” he muttered, and stood up slowly, trying to mask the signs of his body’s reaction to her. “Yeah. Be right there.”
As soon as he could walk again.
* * *
A few days later, Naomi had her files—folders with clippings and printouts of websites she was interested in—scattered across the dining room table. The room, just like every other one in the house, was perfect. At least to Naomi. The table was a live edge oak, long enough to seat twelve and following the natural contours of the tree it had been made from. The grain was golden and gleaming from countless layers of varnish and polish. A fireplace along the wall was unlit, and in the cold hearth were ivory candles on intricate wrought-iron stands. The windows across from Naomi gave her a view of the paddock and the fields stretching out beyond.
Naomi had the whole house to herself, since Toby was at Clay Everett’s and Rebecca was in Royal doing some grocery shopping. Funny, Naomi used to be alone so much of the time she had convinced herself she loved it. Now that she lived with Toby and had the ranch hands popping in and out and Rebecca to sit and talk to, the house today seemed way too...quiet with everyone gone. On the other hand, she told herself, she could get some of her own work done with no interruptions.
With her new plans for the show, Naomi wanted to line up guests who could come in and demonstrate different ideas. And she knew just where she wanted to start. There was a place in Houston that specialized in faux stone finishes. It was owned and operated by a woman who’d started her business out of her garage. The show would be good for Naomi and good for the woman’s company.
She shuffled through a pile of papers looking for the number, and when her cell phone rang she answered without even looking at caller ID. “Hello?”
“Ms. Price?”
“Yes.” Frowning slightly at the unfamiliar voice, she said, “If this is about a survey or something, I’m really not interested—”
“I’m calling from Chasen Productions in Hollywood.”
Naomi swallowed hard and leaned back in her chair. Panic, curiosity and downright fear nibbled at her. Hollywood? She took a breath, steadied her voice and said calmly, “I see. What can I help you with?”
“My name is Tamara Stiles, and I think we can help each other.”
“How so?” Wow. She silently congratulated herself on sounding so calm, so controlled, when her insides were jumping and her mind was shrieking. Hollywood. Calling her.
“I’ve seen your show, and I’d like to talk to you about perhaps taking it national.”
Naomi lurched up from her chair and started walking, pacing crazily around the long table. This couldn’t be happening. Could it? Really? Her show. On national TV?
“National?” Did her voice just squeak? She didn’t want to squeak. Oh, God, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath and she really wanted to sound professional.
“That’s the idea,” Tamara answered. “Do you think you could come to Hollywood next week? I’d like to meet in person to see what the two of us can come up with.”
Clapping one hand to the base of her throat, Naomi said, “Um, sure. I mean, yes. Of course. That would be great. I’d love to meet with you.” Understatement of the century.
“Fine, then. Give me your email and I’ll send you my contact information. I can arrange for your flight and hotel—”
“Not necessary,” Naomi said, instantly wanting to stand on her own two feet. Sure, it would be nice if a Hollywood producer paid for her travel, but if Naomi did it herself, she remained in charge. They exchanged information, and then Naomi said, “I’ll email you when I have particulars.”
