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She was a pushy little thing. She gave him the once-over, a swift glance up and down his body, and her expression said it all. In faded jeans, a T-shirt and his scruffy boots, he didn’t look like the typical three-piece-suit-and-tie businessman. But then this was Bittersweet, Oregon, not New York City or LA.
“What kind of business?”
He had to get the word out sooner or later. Though he was going to do a little bit of detective work for Ralph, that was only part of his reason for hanging around. The ranch was his real purpose, and now that the sale of the property was a done deal, he saw no reason to keep it to himself anymore. “I bought a spread a few miles outside of town, and I’m hoping to convert it into a working dude ranch.”
Her eyebrows arched up as she slid her shades onto the bridge of her nose again. “You mean for tourists to come down here and round up wild horses, and brand cattle, and, well, do all that macho outdoorsy cowboy thing—kind of like the movie City Slickers?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Not that elaborate, but, yeah, that’s the general idea.” There was a whole lot more to it than that, but he didn’t see any reason to fill her in—or anyone else, for that matter—with the details. Not just yet. Until he was sure of them himself. Besides, she had a way of distracting him. In white shorts and a sleeveless denim blouse, she showed off a tanned, compact body with more curves than a logging road in the Cascade Mountains. The V of her blouse’s neckline gave him a quick glimpse of cleavage between breasts that were more than ample to fit into a man’s palm.
He caught himself at the thought and shifted his gaze back to the truck. Katie Kinkaid’s all-American-girl-next-door good looks were heightened by a bit of raw sensuality that gripped him hard and caused a ridiculous tightening in his groin.
Obviously it had been way too long since he’d been with a woman.
He even noticed the dimple that creased her cheek when she smiled. She was sexy and earthy, yet exuded an innocence and charm that, if he let it, might get under his skin.
“When do you plan to open the doors?” she asked, and he cleared his throat for fear his voice would betray him.
“By early next summer. Soon as the winter snowpack melts.” He wasn’t used to being grilled, wasn’t sure he liked it.
“Where is your ranch, exactly?”
“Outside of town about three miles or so.” He decided to end the conversation before she dug too deep. She was a nosy one, this Katie Kinkaid. If he let her, she’d talk to him all afternoon. “I gotta run.”
“Wait a minute. I’m a reporter with the Rogue River Review—that’s our local paper—and I’d like to do a story about the ranch when you open.”
So that was it. He should have known.
When he hesitated, she barreled right on. “You could think of it as free advertising.” She angled her face upward for a better look at him, and he thought he noticed a hint of defiance in the tilt of that impish chin.
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
“Here—let me give you my card.” Whipping open a small purse, she scrounged around for a second, extracted her wallet and edged a clean, white business card out of a slit behind a picture of her son obviously taken a few years back. “Here. Just give me a call, or I’ll contact you.” She looked up at him expectantly as he flipped the card over and over between his fingers.
“I don’t have anything like this yet,” he admitted. “The deal just went through, but I’ll call you later.”
“Or I’ll call you,” she repeated quickly, as if she thought he was giving her the brush-off. Apparently she was used to being in charge.
“Fine. Nice meetin’ ya.” He slid her card into the back pocket of his jeans and walked to his truck. A black cat that had been sunning himself on the hood perked up his head; then, as Luke opened the driver’s door, the animal shot to his feet and hopped lithely to the ground.
“Oh, come here, Charcoal,” Katie said, bending down and picking up the slinking feline. “That’s a boy.”
As Luke rammed the truck into gear, cranking on the steering wheel, he caught a glimpse of Katie in the rearview mirror. One hip thrust out as she cradled the cat against her chest, dark glasses hiding her eyes, lips tinged a soft peach color, she exuded a natural sensuality that caught a man off guard and squeezed tightly. Too tightly.
His gut feeling about her was simple: Katie Kinkaid was a woman to avoid.
* * *
Katie was still petting the cat, staring down the driveway and asking herself a dozen questions about the enigmatic cowboy who had taken up residence in Tiffany’s carriage house when J. D. Santini’s Jeep roared into the drive. J.D., Tiffany’s brother-in-law and soon-to-be husband, was behind the wheel.
Katie stepped aside as the rig rolled to a stop.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” Tiffany apologized. Her face was flushed, her gold eyes bright as she climbed out of the Cherokee. “We went to the farm, and the kids swam in the lake and…well, we just lost track of time.”
J.D. stretched out of the rig. His grin was wide, a slash of perfect white teeth against a dark complexion.
“Don’t let her kid you,” he said, winking at Katie. “Stephen, Josh and Christina amused themselves and this one—” he slung his arm familiarly over Tiffany’s shoulders “—couldn’t keep her hands off me.”
Tiffany burst out laughing and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Dream on, Santini,” she teased, but she wasn’t able to hide the sparkle in her gaze. She was, without a doubt, totally and gloriously in love.
