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“And the working environment has gotten nicer since the diner changed hands. The new owner is great. I even have a 401(k) now,” Marta announced proudly, hands flying from one dispenser to the next, prepping for the dinner crowd with practiced ease.
The thought of a savings account had Fleur rethinking her need to work in a kitchen.
“Really? Who owns the place these days?” Unfolding the application again, she smoothed out the wrinkles as she studied the paper for a clue to the new management.
Behind her, the old-fashioned doorbell chimed. Marta’s expression brightened.
“Here’s the owner now,” she offered in a cheery voice, gesturing toward the entrance.
Fleur turned expectantly.
And any hopes of her luck changing took a nosedive.
Seeing the imposing frame and chiseled features of the most unfeeling bastard she’d ever met, her chances for a job expired on the spot.
Marta, unaware, continued, “Do you remember Drake Alexander from your time in Catamount? He’s our local rodeo star.”
Fleur seemed to hear the words as if they were spoken from far away, her full attention locked on the man responsible for driving her from town five years ago. He’d always disliked her. Then, when she’d started dating Drake’s younger brother, the enmity had redoubled.
Five years hadn’t changed her nemesis.
Dark eyes and dark, waving hair that framed a face full of angles—sharp cheekbones, square chin, straight blade of a nose. He was slim hipped and broad shouldered, dressed all in black right down to the Stetson he clutched in one hand. No doubt, he was an excellent-looking man on the surface, except that all Fleur could see in front of her was a cold heart.
Even his smile looked more like a baring of white teeth as he spoke. “Miss Colorado Silver Spurs and I are well acquainted, Marta.”
Fleur’s grip on the work application tightened so hard the form crumpled in her fist. Which was just as well. Better to have her dreams go belly-up than subject herself to this man again. She jammed the ruined paper into the pocket of her jean jacket. Vaguely, she registered Marta saying something near them—but her focus remained on the man who’d broken up her engagement to his brother.
“How unfortunate to see you again, Drake,” she said mildly, reminding herself she’d prepared for this moment. She’d understood that running into him again in this small town was inevitable. Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about seeing Colin in town since her former fiancé had relocated to Montana. “But at least now I know to avoid this place while I’m in Catamount for the summer.”
“Hoping to recapture the old glory as rodeo royalty? Or are you leaving the field clear for newcomers?”
He wasted no time returning to their old antagonism. But then, that way it was easier for her to deal with the complicated feelings this man had always stirred inside her.
“I might ask you the same question. I hear your rodeo days are as far in the past as my pageants. But as much fun as it would be to chat about all the ways you torpedoed my life, I have places to be.” She hitched the strap of her purse higher on one shoulder and turned toward Marta. “It was nice seeing you again, Marta.”
Breezing past the tall, rangy form of Drake Alexander with a cool disdain at odds with the fiery anger inside her, Fleur shoved open the door of the Cowboy Kitchen and vowed never to enter the building again.
Inside the Cowboy Kitchen, Drake dropped into the booth closest to the door and told himself not to look out the front window to see where Fleur Barclay had gone.
Unfortunately, his eyes were already glued to her slender frame as she glided between the parked cars to wrench open the reluctant door of a compact rust bucket old enough to be a certifiable antique. Not exactly the ride he would have expected for the former rodeo queen, but then nothing about Fleur played to type.
Damn, but she looked more incredible than ever.
No amount of beauty, though, could cover a greedy heart. He resented her for trying to trap his younger brother into marriage, after dating only a couple of months. And even before then, he’d found plenty of reasons to avoid her.
But there was no denying that Fleur turned heads. His included. With endless legs and lips so full they launched torrid fantasies before she ever opened her mouth, Fleur appealed to him as much as she ticked him off. It was an awkward combination that meant he’d kept his distance from her. Especially when she was seven years younger and firmly off limits when they’d repeatedly run into one another on the rodeo circuit.
Until he’d found out about the sudden unwise engagement to his brother when she’d been just twenty years old. As de facto head of the Alexander family since his parents’ deaths, Drake took his role in protecting his siblings seriously. So he’d told Fleur exactly what he thought of her marriage ploy. And within days, her engagement to his brother had ended, and Colin—blaming Drake for the split—had moved to Montana. Drake had hoped the anger his brother felt about his interference would fade, but in five years, Colin hadn’t returned home once.
Now, watching Fleur step into her vehicle, Drake eyed the way her short blue skirt hugged her hips. A trio of silver necklaces caught the June sunlight where they dangled on the front of her plain white T, a fringed jean jacket the only nod to her old rodeo queen days.
A heavy mug clunked down onto the table in front of him, breaking his reverie. Marta stood beside his booth and filled the stoneware cup from a steaming glass pot, releasing the scent of coffee into the air.
“I would have given my right arm to be the national Miss Silver Spurs,” she informed him with a sniff. “The horsemanship skills in that competition are very well respected.”
“I’m sure they are,” he acknowledged, guilt nipping his conscience. “I meant no offense to the rodeo pageants—”
“It sure sounded like you did,” Marta shot back, her former sunny smile nowhere in sight. “Do you have any idea how many good works those women are involved in for their communities if they win?”
