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Wilson stepped out of the barn, fresh from makeup and wardrobe. He looked as good as Atley or any of the cowboys. The boots and hat thing was absolutely true; his hotness factor increased by at least five points. Inside, I melted like butter on a fresh-baked biscuit. I couldn’t remember the last time looking at a man made me feel anything like the combination of confusion and excitement that kept me staring at him.
It felt like high school all over again. Should I approach my crush or stay by my locker and wait for him to come to me? Victor decided for me, eagerly ambling ever closer to the barn while I dithered. My horse was no fool. He knew where his stall was.
I pulled Victor to a stop before we got in the way and watched as Wilson got introduced to his horse for today’s ride by a cowboy. Flower was a big, gorgeous palomino mare with a flaxen mane and tail. Someone, probably Atley, had taken extra time grooming her, so she shone like a new copper penny.
As Victor and I edged closer, I could hear Wilson talking with the cowboy about being too old for this shit. But from atop the mounting block, he fit one booted foot in the stirrup and threw his leg over with ease. The movement showcased his ass cupped lovingly by washed dark denim.
Wilson chuckled as he found his balance, and the deep, sexy sound sent a wave of lust through me, coupled with a montage of hot cowboy fantasies. His arms rippling as he lifted hay bales. His lips around a metal canteen. Him pushing me against a barn.
Down, girl. It was one kiss, and I vowed to forget it. Because that was the smartest path to take. As a professional, my commission should come before my hormones.
“I promised you horses!” My overly bright and cheerful tone made me wince. I suppressed the urge to slap my forehead with my palm. Way to play it cool. Dork.
“And you delivered.” Wilson’s eyes darted to me and roamed up and down, then quickly away. It looked like he was right there with me, wandering the halls of metaphorical high school awkwardness. At least I wasn’t alone in this weirdness.
A question from the cowboy helping Wilson adjust his stirrups to the right length drew his attention. I exhaled and sagged in the saddle. It was going to be an exceedingly long day unless we got past this. Fake it till you make it, they said. I’d done it for years, and I could do it today.
I pasted a bright, carefree smile on my lips and started talking without hesitation as soon as Wilson looked my way. “It was all Atley and Blue Star. He agreed the added wow factor of the horses would help with getting this place sold to the right buyer.”
Talking business was an excellent call; Wilson perked up, interested in the property’s history. “It’s been on the market a while?”
“Yes. It’s an extensive property with lots of moving parts; it’s not an easy sale. When the TV people asked about must-see places, I told them they had to get this ranch on camera. It is a special place.”
With the ice broken, the weirdness seemed to evaporate like the puddles after a summer rain. Wilson looked around, soaking in his surroundings.
The dark wood barn had two cupolas on top of its slate roof and room for twenty stalls. The rest of the numerous outbuildings that we could see matched in architectural style, and there wasn’t a blade of grass out of place as far as the eye could see. Blue Star was as impressive as any high-dollar operation in Texas.
While he took in the ranch, I studied him. Stephen had done a great job giving Wilson the ranch owner look. Dark jeans, his new vintage boots, a belt with a shiny buckle, and a wide-brimmed Stetson. He must have felt my gaze on him, because he sat up straighter in the saddle.
“I feel like John Wayne. Tell me that’s what I look like? Because I am so far out of my comfort zone, I might break out in hives. Or fall to my death.” He plucked at the front of his starched shirt with one hand and fidgeted with the reins with the other.
“Yes, very John Wayne.” I refused to tell him about his hotness factor increase. “While I look like a strange mix of Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island and Farrah Fawcett.” I waved a hand over my silly blouse—a red and white gingham affair with short puff sleeves—and the hair-sprayed curls below my hat. “Stephen dressed me for a pageant. Not a day at a working ranch.”
“Would you kill me if I said you look great?” His eyes lingered on the low front of the blouse.
My skin came alive, flushing under the weight of his stare. I fought the urge to squirm in the saddle and hoped that the five pounds of stage makeup hid any blush from his too-preceptive gaze.
“At least he let me keep my hat.” I tugged the brim lower to hide my smile. One compliment from this man and I came unglued. It was like high school. If only I had an algebra pop quiz coming to distract me from all these longings. I needed to block all the sexy, delicious Wilson ideas from my brain before the camera started rolling. It was time to sell a ranch, not seduce my client.
As if Kate could hear my thoughts, she provided the distraction I needed.
“Alright, people, let’s move!” She sat in an off-road-ready Jeep bullhorn in her hand. Like the crew and camera operators, she wasn’t on horseback. It wouldn’t have been practical. Overhead, the whine of a drone drew my gaze, and the weight of my responsibilities in front of the cameras drowned out any lingering Wilson-centered thoughts.
“We’re heading over to the main house. It’s on the other side of the ranch.” I nudged Victor with my heels and started for the trail. “You and I are supposed to hang back. Let everyone get a head start so the drone can get some good footage with no one else in the shot.”
“It seems like you know this property well?” Wilson maneuvered Flower next to Victor. The two horses were old buddies, and they fell into step, ambling up the familiar path in the wake of the production crew.
“I’ve been riding here since I was a kid. I even had a summer job out here and helped with everything from roundups to castrating calves and deworming. Atley and the manager before him have both called me when they needed an extra hand. It’s fun to play cowgirl, and they are happy to have help from a competent person.”
“You love this place?”
“I do. Towns like Elmer wouldn’t exist but for places like Blue Star. People moved to Texas to farm and ranch. This is a huge operation with a lot of history.”
We crested the top of a hill, and I pulled Victor to a stop. This vista provided one of the best views of Blue Star.
“From here, you can see some of the cattle and most of the vines.”
He stood in his stirrups and took in the impressive vista. Cattle dotted the valley in front of us, munching on grass and lounging in the shade of the oak trees. On the next hill, rows and rows of trellises covered with grapevines, bright green with fresh spring leaves, waved in the breeze. It was a Hill Country postcard, complete with yellow and purple wildflowers.
