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An ice cream shack sat to the left, and two big barns took up quite a bit of land on her right.The south, she heard in Blake’s voice. His hearty, deep chuckle accompanied the words, because he did everything in proper directions, and she used her left and right. For him, things were universal. For her, it was her perspective.
Her stomach swooped as she pulled into an available parking space, one of only a few. Things seemed very busy at the ranch today, and she hoped with everything inside her that all of these cars didn’t belong to prospective pastry chefs.
She wasn’t sure how that was possible, as Chestnut Springs wasn’t exactly a hotspot for the culinary arts. She’d left this small town for precisely that reason in the first place.
Still, her legs shook as she went up the steps—again lined with flowers attached to lariats—and to the big, heavy double-doors of the lodge. Those hadn’t changed either, though someone had stained them a different color since the last time she’d been here.
She didn’t need to knock, and she didn’t. She went right inside, the scent of coffee and chocolate meeting her nose. Blake had joked that his daddy never went anywhere without a coffee mug in his hand, and it was obviously someone’s birthday today, because a small card table had been set up several paces inside the building. It bore two half-eaten pans of brownies, and three melting cartons of vanilla ice cream.
Definite life and activity buzzed here, but no one sat at the desk just inside the door. It wasn’t quite check-in time, and it wasn’t even close to mealtime, which she knew were two of the busiest times here at Longhorn Ranch.
She didn’t see a row of chairs with people waiting in them, their legs bouncing nervously while they held a manila folder with their life’s credentials. Gina swallowed as she gripped her folder tighter, wishing she had more directions than just “come on out anytime.”
Out where? The interviews could be happening somewhere else, and Gina wouldn’t know. She hadn’t gotten Todd’s number, and she glanced around nervously, the war inside her raging.
She wanted to see Blake.
She didn’t want to see him.
She wanted to hear his voice.
She’d rather bury herself alive than hear his voice.
“Ma’am?” someone asked, and Gina blinked her way out of her inner struggles. “Can I help you?” A cowboy stood there—where he’d come from, Gina would never know—his smile genuine and soft at the same time. He wasn’t a Stewart, and that only added a gold star to his stature.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m here for the pastry chef interviews?”
“Oh, sure,” the cowboy drawled. “They’re in the back, by the kitchen. I’ll take you.” He started weaving past the huge dining hall on the right, where the lodge fed their guests two square meals each day. On her left sat a variety of desks, some with cowboys at them, but most without.
They were probably all outside at this time of day, tending to cattle or fields, because while the Texas Longhorn Ranch was first and foremost a dude ranch, it was also a functional cattle ranch. Just on a very small scale compared to others surrounding Chestnut Springs.
No one seemed concerned about the dripping ice cream, and Gina wanted to rescue it. She told herself to ignore it as she followed the man in the red plaid shirt.
Blake would never wear red and black. He was more of a blue and yellow type of cowboy, and Gina schooled her thoughts. She really had no idea what kind of cowboy Blake Stewart was anymore.
“Thank you,” a man said, his voice diving deep into Gina’s chest. “We’ll call you.” She knew that voice. She’d heard that voice whisper her name right before the man it belonged to kissed her, and she’d heard that voice beg her to come back to him here in Chestnut Springs.
Around her, or maybe beside her, a woman moved.
“That’s the last one,” Blake said from somewhere beyond Gina’s sight. He stood in front of the red-plaid-shirted cowboy, a sigh slipping from his lips. “No one good. Daddy’s not gonna be happy.”
“I’ve got one more,” the man who’d greeted her at the door said.
Before Gina could yell that she’d made a mistake and run for the exit, he stepped out of her way.
“You do?” Blake asked, his words warping in her ears.
Their eyes met, and the whole world froze. Gina took in the glorious cowboy in front of her.
Blake Stewart. He still had deliciously dark hair, with long sideburns that connected to a full beard. He stood tall and tan and trim, and wow, he’d bulked out a lot in the shoulder department over the years.
His thick eyebrows drew down, breaking the spell over time. “Regina Barlow,” he said, not forming her name into a question.
Her heart thundered through her chest, sounding like the hooves of a hundred horses sprinting over dry ground.
“What are you doin’ here?”
“She came to interview,” the other cowboy said.
