“Is this about the hope chest?” Suzanne asked

“Yes,” Grammy said. “I want you to take yours home with you today.”

“But there’s really no need. I’m not even dating anyone.”

“Your love life will change soon,” Grammy said with a wink. “Take a look through it.”

Even though her cousins and sister claimed their hope chests had some kind of magical power that had given them hints as to their future husbands, Suzanne didn’t believe it. She worked with facts and figures, not superstitions.

Suzanne opened the wooden chest and pushed aside layers of gold tissue paper, unearthing a white lacy Stetson, a pair of white Western lace-up boots and a lace ribbon choker.

Suzanne laughed outright. Grammy must have made a mistake when she’d put these things inside. Perhaps she’d meant them for someone else. Suzanne was a city girl. High heels and plunging necklines were more her style.

In fact, she’d use the choker to strangle herself before she’d marry someone who wanted a cowgirl bride. Wouldn’t she?

Dear Reader,

This month Harlequin American Romance delivers favorite authors and irresistible stories of heart, home and happiness that are sure to leave you smiling.

COWBOYS BY THE DOZEN, Tina Leonard’s new family-connected miniseries, premieres this month with Frisco Joe’s Fiancée, in which a single mother and her daughter give a hard-riding, heartbreaking cowboy second thoughts about bachelorhood.

Next, in Prognosis: A Baby? Maybe, the latest book in Jacqueline Diamond’s THE BABIES OF DOCTORS CIRCLE miniseries, a playboy doctor’s paternal instincts and suspicions are aroused when he sees a baby girl with the woman who had shared a night of passion with him. Was this child his? THE HARTWELL HOPE CHESTS, Rita Herron’s delightful series, resumes with Have Cowboy, Need Cupid, in which a city girl suddenly starts dreaming about a cowboy groom after opening an heirloom hope chest. And rounding out the month is Montana Daddy, a reunion romance and secret baby story by Charlotte Maclay.

Enjoy this month’s offerings as Harlequin American Romance continues to celebrate its yearlong twentieth anniversary.

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Have Cowboy, Need Cupid
Rita Herron

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my mother for teaching me to love country music and my sister for making me appreciate a cowboy.

Also, to Paige & Scott for inspiring the cowboy wedding with their own real one.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling for kids for romance, and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romantic hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225 or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.

Dear Suzanne,

You are a very special granddaughter because you go after what you want in life. When someone tells you no, you fight that much harder. And if you see someone in need, you are always there to encourage them to achieve their dreams.

You were the youngest of the family, the last symbol of your mother and father’s love. You were the baby, but unfortunately you weren’t babied for very long. When your mother died, you had to grow up fast. Your father thought his heart had been ripped out, but it ticked strongly inside you. You became his strength when he thought he had none left. You added a much-needed spark of joy to the quiet household, and you showed us all that even through grief and sadness, we must still strive for life.

But you never let yourself cry. You built an invisible wall, a tough veneer that sometimes keeps others from entering the closed doors to your heart. Sometimes, my dear, we have to tear down walls and clean out the cluttered attic to move forward. Sometimes we have to cry before we can free our souls to find that one perfect soul mate.

I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who can give you all the joy that a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

P.S. Inside the hope chest you will find something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Rebecca tossed her bridal bouquet straight at Suzanne, but Suzanne jumped aside so she wouldn’t catch it. So, how did it land in her hands anyway?

And why did she have this odd pang in her chest? This twinge of sadness. Of envy. A feeling of desperation, as if she would never find a man who would look at her with adoration and unbridled passion in his eyes the way Thomas did Rebecca. Or the way her other cousins’ husbands looked at them.

Maybe because your latest boyfriend just dumped you like the rest of the guys you dated.

Why did all those men keep dumping her? Did she have some big sign emblazoned on her forehead that said, Can’t Love This One?

Sure, she knew how to attract a man, to cast the line and throw out the bait. A little flirting here. A smile there. Throw in some hip movement, and voilà, they chased her like flies after honey. But once they sampled a taste of the nectar, she never could quite keep them for more than a few quick bites.

The wedding drowned out her thoughts as everyone rushed past the white folding chairs, food-laden tables and the gazebo to see the bride and groom off on their honeymoon. The scent of freshly cut grass and wildflowers seemed to warm the cool air, the first signs of spring evident in the tulip bulbs sprouting along the mountaintop. Fading sunshine dappled golden rays over the happy couple as they stopped to laugh at the words Just Married painted on the back of Thomas’s Porsche. Then Thomas folded Rebecca into his arms and kissed her, stirring a round of cheers and applause, and another bout of heart-sickness rippled through Suzanne.

Drat. She did not need a man to be happy. She was managing fine on her own. Right?

“Have fun on your honeymoon!” Mimi shouted.

“Take lots of pictures,” Alison yelled.

“Be happy,” Grammy Rose hollered.

“Drive safely!” Hannah called.

Laughing and waving, Rebecca and Thomas climbed in his Porsche convertible, streamers and tin cans trailing behind the car compliments of her uncle Wiley.

Suzanne’s father, Bert, strode up beside her, his ruddy face even pinker from emotions. A rarity for her father since his life normally revolved around work and making money. “That boy better take good care of Rebecca,” her father said.

Suzanne tucked her hand in her father’s bent arm. “I’m sure he will, Dad. They look totally in love.”

Her father angled his head to study her. “What about you, baby? Are you happy?”

Suzanne frowned, surprised by her father’s question. He usually didn’t venture anywhere near such personal territory. “Of course,” Suzanne replied automatically. She had a great job, a great condo, everything she wanted. Didn’t she?

She stroked the delicate gold cross tucked between her breasts, the one her mother had given her before she’d died. “Always wear this and feel my love,” her mother had whispered.

Suzanne had felt her love then, but she’d been angry that her mother was leaving her. Had she felt loved by anyone since? Sure, Rebecca loved her, and so did her father, but a man?

“Anyone special in your life?” her father asked, glancing at the bouquet. “A boyfriend I don’t know about?”

“Dad, well…no, not now.” Suzanne coughed nervously.

His graying eyebrow rose a fraction. “How about your boss?”

“James?”

“Yes, you and Horton seem to get along pretty well.”

Suzanne frowned. “We work well together, but that’s all there is to our relationship.”

Her father’s newest wife, Eleanor, coasted toward them, pearls dripping from her earlobes and neck, her pale-blue silk dress shimmering in the orange glow of the sunset. “Not everyone finds the romantic kind of love, Suzanne. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a good partnership.” He sipped his champagne. “You’re a smart girl. You’re going places in this world. Just keep that in mind and find someone who’ll help you achieve your goals.”

Her father kissed her goodbye, then curled his arm around Eleanor and headed toward her grandmother. Suzanne watched carefully, just in case he crossed paths with her uncle Wiley and the two of them got into one of their brotherly arguments. Although her father had promised to behave himself and not spoil Rebecca’s wedding, Suzanne had become his self-appointed guard dog.

Her mission was accomplished when she saw him veer toward his Mercedes. Suzanne’s gaze dropped to the bouquet in her hands, one finger tracing the edge of a delicate rose petal as she sniffed the heavenly fragrance. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she should consider the fact that she might not have a soul mate.

A few minutes later, when the crowd had dispersed, Suzanne found her grandmother in the homey kitchen. “I’m leaving now, Gram.”

“Come into the parlor first, dear,” Grammy Rose said.

Suzanne’s stomach flip flopped. “Is this about the hope chest?” Rebecca and her cousins had already warned her.

“Yes, I want you to take yours home today.”

“But, Grammy, there’s really no need. I’m not even dating anyone.” Suzanne followed her grandmother into the nostalgic parlor filled with antiques, silver-framed photos of family members and scrap-books overflowing with memorabilia marking the special days in her grandchildren’s lives. For some reason this room always brought a surge of emotions—feelings both happy and sad at the same time. Maybe it was the reason she’d opted for such modern decor in her own apartment. No frou-frou or sentiment…

“Your love life will change soon,” Grammy said with a wink. “Now, I’m going to clean up in the kitchen if you want to look through the hope chest before you go.”

Suzanne gulped, the telltale twinkle in her grandmother’s eyes hinting that she was up to something. But even though her cousins and Rebecca claimed their hope chests had some kind of magical power that had hinted at their future husbands, Suzanne did not believe any of the nonsense. She worked with facts, figures and business deals, not superstitions or aphorisms. In fact, she would open the chest and look inside just to dispel her grandmother’s romantic notions.

The ornately carved heart etched in the fine-grain wood was beautiful, she admitted, as was the fine gold latch and the soft burgundy velvet inside. Still, trepidation filled her as Suzanne pushed aside the layers of gold tissue paper. A small white envelope lay on top, trimmed with roses. She thumbed the seal open and unfolded a piece of lilac-scented stationery, her grandmother’s loopy handwriting scrawled across the page.

Dear Suzanne,

You are a very special granddaughter because you go after what you want in life. When someone tells you no, you fight that much harder.

And if you see someone in need, you always encourage them to achieve their dreams.

You were the youngest of the family, the last legacy of your mother and father, the last symbol of their love. You were the baby, Suzanne, but unfortunately you weren’t babied for very long. When your mother died, you had to grow up fast. Your father thought his heart had been ripped out, but it ticked strong and determined inside you. You became his strength when he thought he had none left. You added a much-needed spark of joy to the empty, quiet household, and you showed us all that even through grief and sadness, we must still strive for life.

But in your own sadness, you never let yourself cry. You built an invisible wall, a tough veneer that sometimes keeps others from entering the closed doors to your heart, from truly seeing inside. Sometimes, my dear, we have to tear down walls and clean out the cluttered attic to move forward. Sometimes we have to cry before we can free our souls to find that one perfect soul mate.

I wish for you happiness, true love and a man who can give you all the joy that a partner can.

Love you always,

Grammy Rose

P.S. Inside the hope chest you will find something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

Suzanne blinked, a heaviness lodging in her throat. Good heavens alive, she was not the weepy type like Rebecca. She cried over TV commercials, but Suzanne never cried. Not even when her mother had died….

No, she’d had to be tough. And she always would be. Tough and focused. She did not need all this sappy stuff. And unlike Grammy Rose’s implication, she didn’t have attics to clean out or walls to tear down, real or emotional.

Hoping to dispel the burgeoning well of unwanted feelings pressing against her chest, she shifted the tissue paper and unearthed a book on gardening and a set of crocheting needles. Suzanne laughed, relief spilling through her. Just as she’d thought—the items didn’t suit her personality. She had a black thumb and couldn’t even sew on a button, much less crochet.

Next she found a small black-velvet ring box. Her breath caught. She opened the delicate case and smiled at the note—“Sometimes, the simple things are the best.” Her grandmother’s very own gold wedding band winked at her beneath the Victorian lamplight. It was beautiful and so special that she would cherish it and keep it forever. But if she were getting married, she’d choose something much more showy. A big diamond solitaire or a huge sapphire with cut diamonds around the side. Or maybe an emerald.

Shaking her head at her own thoughts, she dug deeper into the hope chest, her eyes widening at her next discovery. A white lacy hat, shaped like a Stetson, with a white lace band and back bow, trimmed with silk roses, baby’s breath and a feather. Next, came a pair of white Western lace-up boots, with hook-and-eye closures, two-and-a-half inch heels, narrow toes and a lace inset. And last but not least, a lace ribbon choker, adorned with iridescent flowers and dangling beads.

Suzanne tossed her head back and laughed outright. Grammy must have made a mistake when she’d put these things inside. Perhaps, she’d meant them for her cousins Angie or Caitlin. Suzanne was a city kind of girl. High heels and plunging necklines were more her style.

In fact, she’d use the choker to strangle herself before she’d marry someone who wanted a cowgirl bride.

Chapter One

Six Weeks Later

“Will you marry me, Suzanne?”

Suzanne gasped as her boss, James Horton, placed a dark-blue velvet box on top of the white satin tablecloth. They were seated at a table overlooking the lush gardens of the Cove at Chattahoochee, one of the most exclusive restaurants in Atlanta, and had just finished their gourmet meal of prime rib and salmon. Although romantic couples were plentiful in every corner, Suzanne and James had met to celebrate the closing of another megamillion-dollar deal completed by Horton Developers, not for a romantic tryst. At least that had been the plan.

Moonlight filtered through the picture windows, mingling with shades of greenery and the pinks and whites of the azaleas just starting to bloom. Red roses adorned all the tables, and a violin player strummed a classical tune softly in the background. Outside, the sound of the Chattahoochee River drifted through the sultry breeze, the pounding of water against rocks mimicking Suzanne’s rapidly beating heart.

“I…I don’t know what to say, James.” Suzanne glanced into James’s pale-green eyes which were twinkling mischievously, searching for some hint that he might be joking. Had some connection bubbled up between them while she wasn’t looking? Granted, the atmosphere was romantic, the food and wine exquisite, and during the past few weeks, James had been extra solicitous of her when they’d wined and dined their clients, but marriage? She had never guessed he had the big M on his mind.

Sex, yes, although they hadn’t yet consummated their relationship. But a long-lasting, loving relationship with mortgages and shared bank accounts? No, she definitely had not been prepared for a proposal.

James gestured toward the ring box, the deep laugh lines around his mouth twitching as he gauged her reaction. He had known she would be surprised, had counted on it. “Go ahead, open it. I think you’ll like my selection.”

Drawing in a calming breath, Suzanne tiptoed shaky fingers across the white linen and snagged the box, the soft velvet caressing her fingers. Tiffany’s?

The moment she opened the box, her eyes widened with shock. A stunning sapphire flanked by diamond baguettes winked at her in the dim light. It was the exact ring she would have chosen for herself.

“Well, what do you think?”

Suzanne hadn’t expected sentiment, but his pragmatic voice surprised her. “It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.”

“You had me nervous for a minute.” He pointed to the sapphire with a manicured finger. “There was a lovely emerald, but I thought this one suited you. It’s your birthstone, right?”

“Yes. It’s…perfect.” She finally dragged her eyes from the shimmering stone to his face again. Softly chiseled features created a boy-next-door look, but a cutthroat businessman, not a tender heart, lay beneath. James was handsome, his suits tailored, his shoes imported Italian leather, his drive for success impressive. He was worldly, sophisticated, well-bred, well-mannered and well-off.

Everything a woman could want.

And there were lots of women in Atlanta who wanted him.

So, why was she even hesitating?

He took the ring and slipped it on the ring finger of her hand. “We have so much in common. We enjoy our work and we make a fabulous team, you have to admit that, and we like the same kinds of music and art and opera, and…” He hesitated, shrugging. “All in all, I think together we can take Horton Developers to the very top.”

Suzanne frowned. All the things he’d said were true, but… Had she expected skyrockets to explode when a man proposed? A proclamation of undying passionate love to glide from his lips? She and James had never had that kind of relationship. Her father’s words echoed in her ears—Some of us don’t ever find that hot romance, but that doesn’t have to keep you from having a good partnership. Find someone who’ll help you achieve your goals.

“You don’t have to answer me right now,” he said. “In fact, as in any deal, you should take a few days to think it over.”

She stared at the ring, then back at him, then back at the stunning sapphire. Did he really want to marry her or was he worried about losing her as a business partner?

He snapped the box lid closed and shifted deftly back to business. “Now, let’s talk about how we can persuade Rafe McAllister to sell his ranch.”

“MOTHER, THERE’S NO WAY I’m going to sell the Lazy M.” Rafe McAllister winced at the worried expression on his sixty-year-old mother’s wrinkled face. Her hand felt so frail in his, her pallor like buttermilk, her voice as weak as a child’s.

“I know you don’t want it to happen, son, but I also know we’re in trouble here.”

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek to keep from showing his reaction. “It’s true, but we’ve had rough times before, Mom. We made it then and we’ll make it now.”

“That was before your daddy passed on, God rest his soul….”

Amen to that.

“Now…” She let the word trail off, fidgeting with the handmade quilt tucked over her shoulders. Another bout with her rheumatoid arthritis had sent her to bed three days ago.

Her implication stung him. Now what? She thought he was incompetent? That he could never live up to Frank McAllister’s name?

If only his mother knew the truth….

But he didn’t want to hurt her. And she would be hurt if she knew about her husband’s betrayal. Frank McAllister had gambled away most of their life savings in a damn poker game. The rest had been used for the numerous women he chose to entertain when he was away. And then there was Rafe’s mother’s medical bills, which their insurance had not covered due to the fact that Frank hadn’t made the last few monthly payments. Frank’s indiscretions had forced Rafe to hang on to the family legacy as if it had been sewn with brittle thread.

The Lazy M meant everything to Rafe, and he’d go down fighting for it or die trying.

“I have to meet with Slim Wallace in Sugar Hill today to discuss refinancing the loan,” Rafe said, interjecting a confidence into his voice he didn’t feel. “Get some rest, Mom, I’ll be back later.”

She nodded, her gnarled hands tracing over the log-cabin pattern of the quilt. He kissed her cheek, then strode from the room, the problems mounting in his mind. He needed a new tractor, the fences had to be mended and he had to buy more cattle to expand the operation. Better feed would help his stock, too.

But everything took money.

The one thing he was plenty short of.

He jumped into the ugly purple pickup truck he’d won from Wiley Hartwell at his New Year’s Eve bash, dusted off his jeans with one hand while he started the engine and slid it into gear. Maybe he’d find some help in Sugar Hill. Maybe he could sell this embarrassing grape-colored monstrosity for enough to spot a second mortgage. After all, small towns were supposed to embrace its own and help one another.

Hopefully the old-time values still held true, and he could avoid that heartless shark of a land developer who wanted to steal his property and turn his ranch into a damn shopping mall.

SUZANNE’S CONVERSATION with James played over and over in her head as she drove to Sugar Hill. Do whatever it takes to get that land, James had told Suzanne. And when you do, there’ll be a big bonus waiting for you. And a promotion.

Suzanne had salivated at his promises. She had been working as an assistant for so long that she’d almost given up hope of moving up the chain of command. But today James had not only talked of a wifely partnership, but he’d mentioned a vice president position. As VP, her financial future would be secure, and she would have the respect of everyone at the company.

Especially since she had steered James toward the development opportunities near Sugar Hill.

Perhaps the mention of the promotion was one reason she had hesitated at James’s proposal. She did not want to marry into the position; she wanted to earn it. To say she deserved it, not that she’d landed the position by sleeping with the boss.

The busy crowded streets of Atlanta faded behind her as she left the expressway and steered her sports car toward Sugar Hill. The suburbs flanking the city and mini shopping centers finally gave way to farmland and more sparsely populated areas, turning green with the approaching spring. The quiet melody of cows mooing and crickets chirping replaced city traffic noises, the sun setting in a rainbow of colors.

James had laid out his plans for the gigantic multistore shopping mall with its neighboring strip shopping centers and businesses, and of course, homes and apartments which would undoubtedly crop up once people discovered jobs in the area. The development would boost the economy of Sugar Hill, as well, the reason Suzanne had suggested looking at the area. James had narrowed the choices for the project down to three parcels of land, but Rafe McAllister’s ranch was the largest and offered easiest access to the main highway. Basically the Lazy M was the property James really wanted.

And James always got what he wanted.

She wouldn’t let him down this time, either.

Although she had joked with Rebecca about approaching Rafe McAllister, Rebecca had warned her that she’d heard he’d been a troublemaker in school. He was also stubborn and had staunchly refused James’s previous generous offers.

The rancher had fallen on hard times, though, and was in big trouble financially. As always, James had done his homework. He had full financial reports on the man as well as personal information that would tip the scales and convince Rafe to sell. Something about Rafe’s father’s shady past.

Suzanne sincerely hoped none of that information had to be used to persuade McAllister. She understood big business but she hated the dirty side of it. Still, selling the Lazy M to Horton Developers would not only benefit Rafe, but the development would help Sugar Hill’s economy. Once people discovered the charm the small town offered, coupled with its proximity to a major shopping mecca, they would flock to live there. Uncle Wiley’s business, Alison’s bridal shop and Mimi’s and Rebecca’s bookstore/café would all benefit.

Excitement bloomed in her chest at the possibilities. No matter how stubborn Rafe McAllister was, she had to win him over to her way of thinking.

RAFE’S MOTHER ALWAYS SAID that when it rained it poured. Well, it was hailing cats and dogs as far as Rafe was concerned. Before he’d left for the bank, two of his best steers had escaped. Finally he’d received a call from the sheriff’s department that his most prized animal was standing in the middle of a six-lane highway creating a ten-mile traffic jam. Before long he and his hired hand had lured the stubborn animal back to the pasture. It had taken two hours and two hundred dollars of fencing material to repair the damage. Not to mention what it had cost his leg. His old injury throbbed like the devil.

Then, when he’d finally arrived at the bank three hours late for the meeting, an already-ticked-off Slim Wallace had turned down his loan and given him thirty days to catch up on his payments—or else. Rafe had gone straight to the newspaper and placed an ad to sell the purple truck, but Georgiana Hamilton had laughed, knowing that selling the sissified vehicle was a long shot. Then he’d run into Old Man Perkinson who owned the drugstore and learned his credit had expired. No more of his mother’s medication without cash.

What else could go wrong today?

Deciding to nurse his troubles with a beer, he strode into the Dusty Pub. Country music blared from the jukebox, peanut shells discarded on the floor crunched beneath his boots, and the clatter of beer mugs and laughter rang above the hum of voices. All in all, it was a usual Saturday night. Old cowpokes hovered over the scarred wooden bar, three or four younger ranch hands shot pool in the back corner, cracking jokes and eyeing the women, and cigarette smoke mingled with the scent of perfume from the handful of females who graced the joint.

Johnny Wakefield, the thirty-something bartender, slid a cold mug overflowing with beer onto the counter. Rafe nodded his thanks, his gaze catching sight of a tall female in tight, crisp new jeans and platform shoes sauntering from the ladies’ room toward the bar. She slid onto a stool at a small round table in the corner, her sexy butt hugging the vinyl just the way a man would want to hug her. Her too-tight lacy shirt spelled sex appeal, her designer jeans and shoes spelled money, and the slight tilt to her dainty nose spelled sophistication.

What the hell was she doing in the Dusty Pub?

“Her name’s Suzanne Hartwell,” Johnny offered before he could even ask. “Her daddy’s some highfalutin doctor in Atlanta.”

And she probably lived off Daddy’s money. That explained the attitude. He’d seen it before.

“Every man in the place has been drooling over her since she strutted in.”

“I’ll bet.” Like she would give any of them the time of day. “What’s she doing here anyway? Come slumming in the country?”

“Her sister Rebecca lives in Sugar Hill. Wiley Hartwell’s her uncle.”

Somehow this woman didn’t look related to that outlandish uncle of hers, though. And he’d met her sister, Rebecca, in that bookstore. She was pretty but quiet, sort of shy.

Not like a siren waiting to be noticed. And Rafe had noticed. Any red-blooded male would.

Especially a bad-boy bachelor at heart. In fact, he liked slow country music, fast women and wild horses—not necessarily in that order.

She pivoted on the stool, and his gut clenched as if one of his horses had kicked him. Following on cue, his leg throbbed, a reminder of just how dangerous their kick could be, too.

A heart-shaped slender face with dark exotic eyes stared back at him, her small, pink lips curling into a sexy smile. Raven hair hung past her shoulders like a thick, silky mane, adding to the sultry enchantment of her almond-shaped eyes. She was trouble with a capital T, the kind of woman he’d normally avoid.

The kind who had burned him in the past.

“What’s the lady drinking?” his traitorous mouth asked.

“White wine.” Johnny chuckled. “’Course, first she asked for one of them fancy drinks, a Cosmopolitan or something. When I told her we didn’t have that, she wanted something called Sex on the Beach. Imagine her asking for something like that in Sugar Hill.”

Rafe’s mouth quirked up. Yeah, she might get more than she’d bargained for. Not that he knew exactly what Sex on the Beach was.

“Finally settled for wine.”

“Send her a glass from me.”

Johnny laughed again. “I figured you’d be the only one bold enough to actually try and pick her up.”

Rafe nodded, in spite of the fact that his brain was screaming at him to leave her alone. Bold or stupid? It was a fine line. The men in the bar would probably be laughing in a second when she snubbed her nose at him.

But to his surprise, Suzanne Hartwell accepted the drink, then shocked him even more by crooking one of her long slender fingers for him to join her. He tipped his Stetson in reply, then ordered a second beer and strode toward her, his heart pounding like a runaway stallion.

His day had just gotten a whole lot better. Maybe he could forget his money troubles for the night. After all, even if Suzanne Hartwell was out of his league, a simple flirtation might ease the sting from his godawful day.

Chapter Two

Suzanne’s fingers tightened around the stem of the wineglass as Rafe McAllister slowly strode toward her. She would do as James suggested—keep her part in the company a secret until she got to know Rafe. Thanks to James’s extensive report, she had known just where to find him. The Dusty Pub, a little honky-tonk on the edge of town.

She had never seen such a powerful man or one with such wicked intent in the bold set of his walk. Jet-black hair, shaggy and unkempt, curled around the bottom of his neck, and his high cheekbones accentuated his solemn expression. She tried to get a peek at his eyes, but they lay hidden beneath the brim of his black Stetson. Instinctively she knew they would be as dark and brooding as the aura of masculinity surrounding him. Rafe McAllister was a real-life cowboy.

A denim workshirt hugged his broad shoulders, the top two buttons undone so dark curls of hair whorled in the opening. His hands were large and callused, a testament to the fact that he worked outside, and even white teeth gleamed against his tanned face as he offered her a lopsided smile. A smile meant to seduce and disarm a woman from all her defenses.

She sipped her wine, working to swallow, as her gaze drifted south. Dusty, worn jeans strained against muscular thighs, and cowboy boots that looked ancient showcased his devil-may-care stride. There was no denying that he was a well-made man.

He cleared his throat, his voice a low, sexy rumble as he tipped his hat in a gentlemanly gesture, “Howdy, ma’am. Rafe McAllister.”

Suzanne fought a nervous chuckle at his drawl, but looked up into his eyes and stifled her laughter. Just as she’d imagined, they were dark and serious, but amber flecks streaked the irises, the golden brown the color of the whiskey her father drank at bedtime. With a shiver, she remembered that scotch went down as smooth as silk, but then sparked a burning all the way through your toes.

She uncurled hers where they had turned under from his hot gaze. “Hi, I’m Suzanne Hartwell.”

“I heard.” He gestured toward the bartender. “Every man in here knows your name, sugar.”

She did smile this time. “It’s always nice to be noticed.”

He laughed, a thick throaty sound that made her heart flutter. Mercy me, Suzanne thought, mimicking Grammy Rose’s favorite expression. Rafe McAllister was nothing like the rancher she’d expected. She could easily see how he’d earned his troublemaker image years ago. In high school, every mother within a hundred-mile radius had probably warned their daughters away from the man.

The country music continued to wail, a song about looking for love in all the wrong places that described her disastrous dating life in a nutshell, while Rafe slid onto the barstool, spreading his legs outward causing one of his knees to rest against her thigh.

Suzanne resisted the urge to move. Rafe McAllister was not supposed to affect her this way. After all, she needed the upper hand with him, not the other way around.

Plus she was almost engaged, wasn’t she?

He propped his elbow on the battered wooden tabletop. “So, what brings you to Sugar Hill?”

You. Suzanne bit back the truth. “I stopped in to visit some of my relatives. My sister, Rebecca, runs the bookstore, she just got married a few weeks ago. How about you? Do you live around here, cowboy?”

He nodded. “I own the Lazy M Ranch right outside of town. I’ve met your uncle Wiley.”

She grinned. “Everyone knows him.” She ran a finger along the rim of her glass. “Hey, didn’t you win that purple pickup truck on New Year’s Eve?”

“That would be me.” For the first time since he’d sat down, his smile faded slightly.

“You don’t like the truck?”

He lifted his broad shoulders into a shrug. “It runs great, and it’s loaded on the inside. But the color…”

“Not what a rancher would have chosen.”

“Exactly.”

“You could have it painted.”

“Probably will.”

He finished his beer and she waved to the bartender to bring him another. “My treat this time.”

“No.” He placed a hand over hers before she could reach for her wallet.

“It’s just a beer,” Suzanne said, surprised at the stubborn thrust of his chin. “It is the twenty-first century. Women buy men drinks all the time.”

“Maybe in the city,” Rafe said in a gruff voice. “But not in Sugar Hill.” Pride laced his voice. Now she understood him. He was the old-fashioned, Southern-bred type with barrels of macho pride that would make it difficult for him to admit defeat and sell out.

So, why did a seed of admiration stir inside her? Because she understood about pride. Still, most of the men she’d dated thought nothing of going dutch or letting her buy dinner and drinks. In fact, in some ways, sharing the bill had become the norm.

He shoved a twenty on the counter and indicated for Johnny to freshen her drink, as well. Suzanne tried to drag her eyes away and focus on the patrons. Locals were heading to the dance floor, two-stepping and line dancing to the popular melody, laughing and flirting. Rafe’s knee jerked up and down in time with the music as if he enjoyed the country tunes. Suzanne had always thought country music too twangy. Songs about cheating wives and sick dogs howling in the back of pickups with sawed-off shotguns lodged over the cab were just not her cup of tea. Give her Elton John or Dave Matthews any day.

Forget the music. Make chitchat, Suzanne. You’re here to get him to talk about himself. He has no idea you already know half of his life story. “So, Rafe, you have a big spread around here?”

He nodded, tilting the beer mug up for a sip, once again drawing her attention to the strong muscles in his jaw. “A few hundred acres. I raise some cattle. Got a few cutting horses, too.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn to ride.”

“Really?” A chuckle rumbled from his chest, mischief dancing in his eyes as he angled his head and swept a look over her. “Well, sugar, come on out to the Lazy M. I’ll be glad to saddle a mare and teach you.”

She met his challenge with a teasing look of her own. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Do you want to dance?” Suzanne clenched her glass in midair, hardly able to believe she’d just blurted out that invitation. But dancing with the man might ease her tension and help her refocus. She’d come to Sugar Hill on a mission; she couldn’t let this sexy bad boy sidetrack her. He probably collected women like a little boy collected toy cars, then threw them away the minute the paint faded.

Hunger flared in Rafe’s eyes. Good. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling flashes of desire. The realization sent need soaring through her like an aphrodisiac.

The music mellowed from a fast tune to a slow, sultry melody, and several more couples joined those on the dance floor, their bodies tucked tightly together. Still, he hesitated. His gaze caught her ring. “That depends. I don’t encroach on another man’s territory.”

Suzanne bit her tongue. “No one owns me, Rafe.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “All right, then.” He offered a massive hand and she slipped hers inside, then allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. His hard boots clicked on the wood planks as he pulled her into his arms and began to lull her into the rhythm of the song. She thought she’d detected a slight limp for a minute, but it disappeared so quickly she decided she’d imagined it.

Suzanne had gone clubbing with her girlfriends and James at the trendiest spots in the city, but she had never been as hypnotized by a song as she was in Rafe’s arms. They circled the dance floor, his big body moving seductively against hers, denim-clad legs brushing denim, the warmth of his breath whispering against her neck as he held her close. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and at five-seven for the first time in her life she felt small next to a man.

This was not going as planned.

She was supposed to be talking to him, learning his weak spot, and moving in to find out how to trap him into selling his land. Not falling under some kind of hypnotic spell.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered roughly.

He felt like heaven, too. Suzanne closed her eyes and forgot about the land deal and the fact that yesterday another man had proposed to her.

Because for just a moment she wanted to savor being in this man’s arms and not think about work.

RAFE THREADED his fingers through the long strands of Suzanne’s silky hair, his breath locking in his chest.

A fierce need to possess her overcame him, unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

She was soft and sensuous and had the voice of a vamp. And God help him, he could get lost in those exotic brown eyes. They were like a sea of hot chocolate, rich and dark and mesmerizing.

But holding her was all wrong.

She was a Hartwell, the niece of a well-known town member, the daughter of a prominent Atlanta doctor. A rich, well-bred girl with more money and more education than him. For goodness’ sake, the damn sapphire ring on her hand alone could pay for all sorts of farm equipment, not to mention that her hands were delicate, uncallused, and she was used to men with hands that weren’t hardened or dirt-stained from the land. And damn it, she didn’t seem like the footloose and fancy-free type that slept around, either.

And right now he had nothing to offer any woman except a one-night stand.

Suzanne Hartwell would undoubtedly want more. He knew her type. Driven by career, not family. She wanted the nice things in life. Things he had no way to give a woman.

Plus, her daddy would probably kill him if he found her dancing with a run-down cowboy in a dive called the Dusty Pub.

As if to cement his reservations, the door to the bar opened and in walked Slim Wallace, the man who’d told Rafe in no uncertain terms today that he was going to lose everything. Slim’s words scraped over his consciousness like a razor over raw skin—You might as well declare bankruptcy. Let me take over the ranch and move on, Rafe. It’s too late.

Damn it. It wasn’t too late. The Lazy M was his ranch. His legacy. The land had belonged to his father and his daddy before him and his daddy before him. Somehow they had all managed to hold on to the place because the McAllisters believed that if a man had land, he had a place to build a life. Without it, a man couldn’t survive.

And he would not be the one to let it all go.

He suddenly realized the music had stopped. Suzanne had stilled in his arms and was looking up at him with big doe eyes, her expensive perfume so intoxicating he’d pulled her to him in a viselike grip. He glanced down in horror, immediately releasing her. He could not drown his sorrows in her soft, tempting body.

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked in a low voice.

He shook his head. His problems were his own. A woman like Suzanne Hartwell would never understand.

They had shared one dance. That was all they would ever have.

SUZANNE STOOD on the dance floor alone in stunned disbelief as Rafe slipped out the barroom door. After that soul-hugging dance, he had mumbled a hasty apology and a goodbye, claiming he had forgotten something he needed to do, then run for the door as if she had suddenly pulled out handcuffs and tried to arrest him.

Had something really come up? Something to do with his ranch? His sick mother?

She tried not to think about the ailing Mrs. McAllister.

The thought resurrected memories of her own mother, those last few days of her illness stirring the hot pot of emotions that always simmered close to the surface at the thought of her.

Refusing to allow the pot to boil over, she wove through the crowd and found her table, then slumped down on the bar stool, wishing she’d had more time with Rafe.

To pump him for information, she told herself. Not to dance or hold him or dream about finding heaven in his arms.

Steepling her hands tent-style and leaning her head into them, she closed her eyes and shut out the images that swirled through her mind, steeling herself back in control. She hated feeling vulnerable. James had taught her to attack, to go in for the kill, to eliminate the human element of a business situation, evaluate all the data, make a decision and move on it. Her father used the same approach.

The technique had always worked for her before.

She wanted to earn her promotion. She would use the tried-and-true methods to do so now, and forget emotion, and the way Rafe’s lips might taste.

Just as soon as the memory of his hands on her waist and his breath on her neck subsided.

“You want another drink?” Johnny asked.

Suzanne shook her head. “No, I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Stick around and we can hang out after I shut down.”

Suzanne’s gaze shot to his.

“I promise not to run out on you like Rafe. Poor guy’s got a lot on his mind today.”

Okay, he had offered the bait and she was fishing. “Why, did something happen?”

“Heard Wallace turned down his loan. It’s just a matter of time before he loses the Lazy M.”

And Horton Developers would be there to save him, Suzanne thought. It would be the best thing for both of them.

“Has he spoken to anyone about selling the property?” Suzanne asked.

Johnny shrugged. “Some big developer from Atlanta, but he turned him down flat. Can’t stand the thought of a big mall going in where his cattle have grazed all his life. Supposed to be a town meeting to discuss the proposed development in the morning.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, some of the town’s all for it, but others think it’ll bring sin and crime to Sugar Hill.”

Oh, heavens, didn’t they see the good the development would bring to their little town? That change was not always negative, but progress meant positive things for the people and community?

“Where is this town meeting going to be held?”

“City hall. Noon.”

Suzanne smiled and patted his hand, then stood and said goodbye. “Thanks, Johnny. The drinks were great.”

She’d stay over in Sugar Hill tonight and be at that town meeting tomorrow. She wanted to hear what everyone had to say.

Especially the sexy cowboy with the whiskey-colored bedroom eyes.

Chapter Three

As usual, Rafe rose early the next morning, knowing he had to finish his chores and clean up before lunch to make it to the town meeting by noon. He and his two hands, Bud and Red, had finished moving the cattle to the east grazing pasture, then Bud and Red stopped to repair the fencing that had been torn down by the last ice storm along the northern border of his property. Rafe rode Thunder, his prized stallion, across the rolling hills toward the ranch house, the fresh scent of hay and dirt soothing to his weary state.

He had not slept well the night before.

Dreams of dancing with Suzanne Hartwell had haunted his sleep. He could still smell the sultry essence of her expensive perfume and feel the satiny softness of her hair tickling his chin. And those subtle curves. Oh, at first she’d looked like a bony model, but beneath those stiff designer clothes, he’d sensed a softness that had melted into the hard planes of his own body. A softness and passion that had turned him inside out. Unbridled hunger, sass, spunk—Suzanne Hartwell was no shy, wimpy female. Pampered and spoiled, yes. But defenseless and naive—no way. Making love to her would be like taming a wild horse, he imagined. Or dancing with the wolves.

The reason she was off-limits.

Rich, city women could never understand the kind of life he led, the love of the land, the adrenaline that kept him alive as he worked with his hands. The pleasure that pumped through him as he listened to the night sounds of the farm, the cows, the crickets, the blissful quiet of a hot summer’s night. The primitive raw power he thrived on by living off the land, by mastering a wild stallion.

Yep, Suzanne Hartwell was the wrong kind of woman to play footsie with. She was not a nature-loving, horse kind of girl, but a mall-loving, diamond-studded piece of eye candy. He should never have indulged his wanderlust by flirting with her, should never have held her in his arms.

Hell, he didn’t have time to indulge himself with any woman right now, especially one like her. His ranch needed major work. And now with his mother’s health failing, the inside of the house was deteriorating, too. Maria, the Hispanic woman he’d recently hired to help out, was nice enough, but she’d dyed all his undershorts pink. Apparently she didn’t have a good grasp of laundry skills.

Pink undershorts were the least of his worries.

Hopefully, some of the townsfolk would rally to his side against the idea of the new development. At least stalling the project would help get that developer off his back for a while. Maybe then Slim Wallace would cut him some slack. Knowing Rafe had a buyer made it way too easy for Slim to play hard-ball and lower the ax on Rafe. Sell, Slim had told him. Sell it and get out of debt.

Then where would Rafe be?

He would have nothing. His hands tightened on the horse’s reins as he let Thunder guide him over the ridge. His land stretched for miles, the lush green North Georgia mountains rising in front of him, the thick pines and hardwoods and apple houses in the distance a reminder of his heritage. He had grown up here, ridden this same stretch with his grandfather and listened to his stories of the old pioneer days of his forefathers. He wanted to pass that heritage along to his son one day.

Today he would fight for himself and the preservation of Sugar Hill. Let Suzanne Hartwell have the city. Hopefully, she’d already gone back to Atlanta, with its fancy shops and smog and traffic, where she belonged.

“YES, JAMES, I’m almost there.” Cell phone in hand, Suzanne squinted through the high noon sun as she drove toward city hall. “I’m right on time for that town meeting.”

“Good. I want a full report so we know what we’re up against, especially if those small-towners protest the development,” James said. “Have you met Rafe McAllister yet?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’s bending any?”

“It’s too early to tell.”

“Well, I know you, honey. You can charm the pants off any man.”

If he didn’t charm her pants off first. Annoyance hit her as James’ comment sank in. “James, you aren’t suggesting…?”

“No, of course not, that was just a figure of speech.”

“Good. Because I have no intention of seducing some man just to steal his property from him.” Of course, seducing him for pleasure had crossed her mind the night before.

Quickly, Suzanne tried to change the subject. “How about Forrest Anderson? Did he agree to sell?”

“Yes, but his neighbor Will Samuels refused. And we need both properties to have enough land to complete the proposed site.” James sighed. “Even if they agreed, neither piece of land is as nice as McAllister’s or as convenient to the interstate. I can already envision the houses we could build on that side of the mountain.”

“The property is pretty spectacular,” Suzanne admitted, although she still couldn’t imagine moving out to the country. She liked the bustle of midtown, the art shows and theaters and nightclubs. Although, the traffic definitely got on her nerves. Where would James want to live if she accepted his proposal and they married? His home in Buckhead was nice but cold, and far from homey.

The sapphire ring sparkled from her right hand where she’d decided to wear it until she made a decision. So far James hadn’t pressured her for an answer to his proposal. And she didn’t expect him to, not until this deal was settled.

Business always came first with James.

Not that she could blame him. He had a fortune riding on this project. She hung up with him and studied the fading chipped paint of some of the downtown area. Alison’s bridal shop, Weddings to Remember, had been freshly painted, and the Hotspot, Mimi and Rebecca’s bookstore/café had new awnings, but some of the other buildings desperately needed facelifts. The new development would definitely boost the economy and enable the locals to update their own businesses. She mentally added the argument to her list as she parked in front of city hall. Already cars, SUVs and minivans overflowed the parking lot. Slim Wallace, the head of the bank, raced in, yanking at his baggy trousers.

As soon as she entered the meeting room, she felt the tension in the air. Her uncle Wiley stood at the front of the room, clad in his signature lime-green jacket and checkered pants. Cousins Hannah, Mimi, Alison and their husbands occupied front row seats. Her sister Rebecca and Thomas sat behind them, and locals filled the other rows of chairs. A few she recognized from her short visits into Sugar Hill, but most were strangers.

The hair on the back of her neck suddenly prickled, and she glanced to her left. Standing against the far back wall, looking tall and imposing in his dusty jeans, with his black Stetson tipped low on his head, stood Rafe McAllister. And from the dark stare he slanted her way, he didn’t look pleased to see her.

WHAT THE HELL was Suzanne Hartwell doing at a Sugar Hill town meeting?

Rafe glared at her, irritated that she’d gotten under his skin. She had no reason to be here, no right to get involved in the town’s business.

No right to stir his libido and make him want things he couldn’t have.

The mayor, Orville Lewis, a portly man with a bald spot as big as Rafe’s fist, called the meeting to order. “We’re here to discuss the future of Sugar Hill,” Mayor Lewis said.

“You mean the demise,” Carter Anderson, the owner of the local dry cleaners, yelled.

His comment started everyone talking and shouting and arguing at once.

“We have to put a stop to this land developer coming in and taking over our town!” an elderly man shouted.

“I moved here to get away from the city. There’s too much noise and traffic in Atlanta,” a middle-aged man in a gray suit said. “And now folks want to build a big mall that will draw crowds out here.”

“Cars’ll be clogging our roads, blowing exhaust into the air and bringing all kinds of derelicts around,” a frail woman in a pink knit dress exclaimed.

“But it would be nice not to have to drive two or three hours to buy school clothes for the kids,” Mrs. Ludwig, mother of five, argued.

Myrtle Lowercrust, the children’s church choir director stood up. “The kids won’t have the country air to breathe and the space to run and play.”

“Be a bunch of cookie-cutter houses and apartments everywhere,” her sister, Ethel, added.

“But we’ll have movie theaters and restaurants to choose from, and maybe even a nice dance studio that will offer some culture to this backward town,” another woman protested.

“Our town is not backward.” Hannah Hartwell Tippins placed a hand over her rounded belly. “We have good hometown values. And safe streets for the children.”

“Some progress is good,” Rebecca’s husband, Dr. Thomas Emerson, pointed out. “Maybe we could compromise and find a happy medium. I’m sure you people want the best medical care available.”

“We have a good hospital,” Alison pointed out. “And Brady runs the medical helicopter service for emergencies.”

“I want my kids to smell fresh air and see the wildflowers on the mountains in the spring,” Rebecca said. “Not have high-rises and concrete blocking the views.”

Wiley Hartwell flapped his arms like a peacock. “We don’t need strangers coming in, starting up businesses that will take away from our own. My car dealership, the local hardware store, they’ll all be run off by corporations and chains.”

“You men are just worried about your wallets,” Wanita Rivers, Rafe’s mother’s friend, said. “Maybe we women would like to dress in style for a change, not have to shop at the outlet mall for last year’s throwaways.”

“Think about the jobs a new mall would bring,” Vivian Hartwell said.

“Yeah, then all our kids wouldn’t have to leave Sugar Hill to find jobs,” a young mother shouted.

“My filling station would probably pick up business,” Eke Turner added.

“But with it comes more crime,” Jake Tippins, Hannah’s husband and now town sheriff, pointed out.

The mayor beat his gavel, yelling for order, but the women from the Prayer Wagon burst through the door, then stomped across the crowded room, bouncing homemade protest signs and banners in the air. “Stop the development! Leave Sugar Hill be.”

Jean Ann Tucker, spokeswoman for the group, raised a bull horn. “We don’t want this mall. It’ll bring sleazy nightclubs and strip joints and those awful bars where people get shot!”

Anita Haynes flopped a hand dramatically over her bosom. “There’ll be raping and pillaging in the streets!”

Rafe grinned to himself, grateful for all the drama queens. He opened his mouth to voice his opinion when Suzanne Hartwell suddenly shot to the front of the room. What the hell was she doing?

HEAVENS ALIVE! Suzanne had heard enough. These people were about to create a panic like nothing she’d ever seen. “You’re imagining the worst, when you should consider all the benefits this development will offer.” Suzanne kept her voice calm, well aware half of the town was shooting daggers at her while the other half nodded her on.

“Many positive things result from a new development. While petty crimes might increase slightly and a few nightclubs might spring up close to the mall, they’ll be so far out of town they won’t detract from the culture of Sugar Hill. The retail jobs the various establishments would offer and tourists they would attract would be invaluable. Just think of the tax revenues and employment opportunities. Construction, security positions, opportunities for web designers, buyers, decorating firms, the list is endless. And don’t forget that the town’s economy has been sliding the last few years. All the downtown stores need updating. More people moving to town would be a major boost to the economy. Consider the advantages you can give your children with added revenues. You can finally put computers in the schools and modernize the classrooms.”

Rafe McAllister stalked toward her, propped his hands on his hips and glared down at her. She was certainly passionate about her arguments, but she was on the wrong damn side of the issue. “You don’t even live in this town, Ms. Hartwell, so why do you think you have the right to tell people what to do?”

A few patrons in back amened his comment. Suzanne twisted sideways, jerking her head to stare into his eyes. He towered over her, but she refused to let him intimidate her. “Half of my family lives here, Mr. McAllister. Besides, I’m simply pointing out things to help everyone make an informed, rational decision.”

“Your opinion doesn’t matter,” Rafe said, jamming his face angrily in hers. “So why don’t you flit back to the city you love so much, and let the people who live in this town decide what they want?”

“Here, here,” a few angry locals shouted.

“Let’s have some order,” the mayor yelled, slamming his gavel down again. “I say we table this discussion for now. Everyone has brought up some interesting points. I’ll appoint a committee to explore all sides, and we’ll reconvene in a week to discuss it further.”

The crowd applauded, then began to disperse. Rafe pulled Suzanne outside. “Why are you nosing in here when this is none of your business? You don’t live or work here.”

Suzanne tensed, glancing down at her arm where his fingers held her. Had he figured out she was working for Horton Developers?

Part of her wanted to admit the truth about her intentions, to lay her cards on the table, but the other part wasn’t prepared for his wrath. She needed to focus before she revealed her part in the development. She needed to get to know him better and find that weak spot.

If he had one.

Landing this promotion would give her the independence and the financial security she wanted. And she’d make her father proud, something she’d strived for all her life. She couldn’t let Rafe interfere because he was too stubborn to realize that change was good.

“I suppose you’re so simpleminded that you’d return to the way the town was a hundred years ago. Forget the cars and electric appliances, let’s all drive wagons and wash our clothes by beating them on the rocks!”

“Simpleminded? You think ranching is simpleminded work?”

He stepped forward, planting the hard wall of his chest against her. Fury blazed in his eyes as he pinned her still. “Just who do you think you are? Do you even have a job or do you let Daddy pay your bills?”

Suzanne’s breath wheezed out, but she didn’t back down. “My father does not support me, Mr. McAllister. I work…in an office and raise money for charities.” Not exactly a lie. She did help her father host several charity parties.

“You have no idea how beautiful the mountains are around here, do you?” His gruff voice skated over her nerve endings, his words evoking images of him and mountain peaks, riding off into a sunset, bareback and bare chested.

Good Lord, what in the world was wrong with her?

“The mayor has given everyone a week to think about this. Did you know it’s my property that developer wants to destroy?”

“Really?” Suzanne played dumb.

“Really.” Rafe’s fingers were still wound tight around her arm. “I dare you to come out and see my spread, ride across the land, smell the air and the mountains and then advocate turning my ranch into a damn shopping mall.”

“All right, I will.” Suzanne aimed her seductive smile at him. The dare would be a piece of cake. While she was riding the land, she’d be able to point out all the advantages to selling. And before the week ended she’d have him eating out of the palm of her hand.

There was no way she’d lose a dare to this infuriating man. Or anything else.

No matter how sexy he was….

Chapter Four

Rafe stared at the puffy white clouds billowing in the velvety blue sky of North Georgia, breathing in the smell of the grass as his hand tightened around the wooden sign he’d just finished carving. After he and his ranch hands had finished their morning rounds, Bud had suggested boarding horses and offering riding lessons as a way to increase the cash flow. Although Rafe agreed it was a decent idea, the thought of teaching irked him. As a teen, he had spent endless grueling hours working on a dude ranch, aiding the snobby, rich girls who’d wanted to learn to ride but who had balked at the smell of a horse and the feel of his hands on them after hours. And asking them to muck out a stall had been the kiss of death.

That was what the hired hands were supposed to do. His hands.

Except for one blonde, Cecilia. She had a way of making a man want to do the dirty work for her. Cecilia hadn’t minded his hands on her at all. In fact, she’d liked playing with fire, and had danced the flame right underneath her father’s patrician nose, teasing her father and him with her bold defiance. But her walk on the wild side had burned Rafe. Bad.

He’d been weary of that type of woman ever since.

The noonday sun beat down on him as he grabbed a hammer and strode down his long driveway to the mailbox beside the road. He drove the post into the ground and angled it so anyone driving by could read it. The newspaper ad started today, as well.

Filling his lungs with fresh, clean air, he gazed out over the two hundred acres of green pastures. The scents of hay and horses and grass filled his nostrils like an aphrodisiac. The only thing that smelled sweeter was a woman.

Suzanne Hartwell.

He hadn’t slept for thinking about her all night. And that damn expensive perfume.

A perfume that would make a rational man senseless. He slammed the hammer against the post to dig it in more securely. Why the hell had she stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong?

Would she take him up on his dare?

He hoped not. He hoped she climbed in whatever kind of fancy car she drove and hightailed it back to Atlanta, leaving him to deal with his troubles. He did not need a distraction like her around.

Yet, she was a Hartwell, and if he swayed her to his side, maybe she could convince the rest of the Hartwell clan to protest that developer’s ideas and keep that blasted mall away from Sugar Hill.

Not a bad plan.

He pounded the hammer again, but heard a motor and looked up, curious as to who owned the automobile zooming toward his place. With his ranch situated on the outskirts of town, he rarely had visitors. The composure he’d been trying so hard to assimilate disintegrated when he spotted sassy Suzanne Hartwell veering toward him in a sporty little silver Miata, her ebony hair blowing in the wind.

SUZANNE SCANNED the picturesque view of the mountain ranges that served as a backdrop for Rafe McAllister’s ranch, her mind already envisioning the hub of cars and visitors to the mall that would replace the old farmhouse and the shabby-looking barn. Adrenaline surged through her in a giddy roar as she imagined the designer shoe shops and dress boutiques. The barn would make a perfect location for the rustic outdoor company which would sell recreational equipment and clothing, camping, fishing, hunting and backpacking supplies as well as the climbing wall and skateboarding center already in the design phases.

And Suzanne’s favorite—an old-fashioned carousel with hand-painted horses and buggies, which would sit center stage to the eatery like a giant music box. In her mind’s eye she could see the beautiful swirls of color as the horses spun around, the excited shrieks of the children as they climbed onboard for a ride. And of course, the huge eatery would offer a wide variety of meals and refreshments to entice customers to spend more time and money, which equaled more revenue for the town. Everyone would benefit.

On closer scrutiny, the house’s wraparound porch—with its swing and rockers—looked idyllic, like a Norman Rockwell postcard, but the house obviously needed repairs. Perhaps the construction company could renovate the house, turn it into a restaurant that served country meals, adding small-town ambience to the tourist’s day of shopping. She made a mental note to add the idea to her list of suggestions to give James as she stopped in front of Rafe McAllister’s mailbox and the homemade sign advertising for boarders and offering riding lessons.

He must be seriously distressed over his finances or he wouldn’t have resorted to such lengths to make a dollar. She had to convince him that Horton Developers had come to rescue him not destroy his life. She pumped the brake, and the Miata rolled to a stop beside him. Tucking her windblown hair behind one ear, she smiled and said, “Hi.”

He tipped his battered black Stetson, those dark enigmatic eyes skating over her with less than approval.

Suzanne wet her lips. “I came to take you up on your invitation.”

“Excuse me?”

She jutted her chin up in the air. “To see your place. I believe it was a dare.”

A small smile tugged at his firmly set lips. Rafe McAllister might be attracted to her physically, but she sensed that for some reason, he didn’t like her or particularly welcome the attraction.

The realization stung, but she shrugged it away. She hadn’t come here to get him to like her, anyway; she would simply schmooze enough to parlay the heated discussion they’d begun at the town meeting into a congenial business deal that would leave everyone happy and satisfied.

And elevate her a rung on the corporate ladder.

“Then drive on up to the house and we’ll get started.”

Suzanne gestured toward the passenger seat of her car, stuffing the tags to her new designer Stetson lying on the leather seat into the console. “Climb in, cowboy, and I’ll give you a ride.”

He shot a skeptical look toward the gray leather. “Take longer for me to fold my legs in and out of that matchbox than it will for me to walk.”

And just like that, he expressed his disapproval of her car as well. Suzanne barely resisted the urge to gun the engine and spit gravel and dust in his face as she cruised behind him. He walked up the drive with long easy strides, ignoring her. However, she noticed the occasional tightening of his mouth and realized the slight limp she’d detected at the bar that night was real. It obviously still caused him pain.

Instead of retaliating against his rudeness, though, she opted for saccharine sweetness and pure male flattery. “You do have long legs. How tall are you, Rafe?”

He smirked as if he knew what she was doing and didn’t intend to fall for it. “Six-three.”

“With the boots.”

“Without.”

Big hands. Big feet. Big everything. Including a big bad attitude.

She was going to have her hands full with this one.

Seconds later she parked beside the house and climbed out, chasing after him as he headed toward the barn. The pointed toes of her spit-shiny, red-and-black handcrafted boots pinched her feet as she dodged the pockets of horse dung scattered along the fence and tried to keep up with him.

HOW THE HELL could one saucy little woman make him feel like horse manure? Especially one wearing too tight, brand-spanking-new designer jeans, and a fifty-dollar red-and-black-plaid shirt that matched those silly looking dress-for-show snakeskin high-heeled boots? She probably had a Porter Wagner fringed jacket in the trunk of that pea-size thing she called a car.

And while she smelled like sweetness and jasmine, he smelled like dirt and cattle.

Damn it, he’d seen the look of condemnation on Suzanne’s face as if she thought his home was an eyesore that should be bulldozed down and landscaped with cookie-cutter condos and manicured lawns. Lawns barely big enough to hold a lounge chair much less house a neighborhood barbecue. He’d read about cul de sac parties in the suburbs where the homeowners congregated with cheap grills so they could watch their kids play in the streets because they didn’t have anyplace else to do so. He would not allow his property to be turned into one of them.

No, the Lazy M wouldn’t become a cluster of department stores, chain restaurants, gas stations catering to endless yuppies stealing out to the country to pollute the air with the exhaust from their overpriced SUVs.

Had she noticed his limp?

Hell, it shouldn’t bother him. He didn’t care about impressing Suzanne Hartwell with his manliness. He simply wanted to prove to her she was wrong about what the town needed.

Trying to gather his wits and cool his temper, Rafe led her out into the pasture to show her firsthand one of the many wonders of ranch life—the beauty of horses running in the wild before a natural backdrop of lush green mountains covered with dogwoods and wildflowers. A palomino and a black-and-white paint galloped across the hills, their long manes dancing in the wind. His own black stallion raced behind them at a thunderous pace. Rafe stopped and leaned on the edge of the fencepost, a peacefulness enveloping him as he watched the animals chase across the open space.

“They are beautiful,” Suzanne said in a breathy voice that startled him. A voice that was breathy from running to keep up with his gait, not from wanting him, he reminded himself.

He steeled himself against a reaction. “Just got the palomino and the paint in to break. The Stallion’s mine. Name’s Thunder.”

“Figures.”

He arched a brow.

“Big man needs a big horse.”

He chuckled, but the breeze lifted her hair and tousled it across her face, bringing with it a softer fragrance than the perfume she’d worn the evening before. Must be her daytime perfume.

“I guess you’ve ridden horses all your life.” She smiled up at him, eyes twinkling, as if she was oblivious to the torture she rendered men.

“Since I could walk.”

“I wanted a pony when I was small, but my dad said they were too dangerous.”

“They are that.”

“Dad was slightly overprotective.” She leaned her chin on the top of her hands, which were resting on the wooden fence slats. “I always figured it was because my mom wasn’t around, but maybe it was his nature.”

He cut his gaze toward her, waiting to see if she offered more, remembering how his own father had encouraged him to get right back on that horse after his accident.

“Mom died when I was young.” She frowned as she watched the horses. “Cancer.”

He shifted on the balls of his feet, wincing at the hint of pain in her voice and ignoring the stab of muscles contracting in his lower left leg. His mother might not be in the best of health, but at least she was alive. Hell if he knew what to say, though. He wasn’t good at comfort or talk. “I’m sorry.”

Her thin shoulders lifted slightly. “Thanks, but it was a long time ago.”

Only, it felt like yesterday, he thought, detecting a hardened edge to her voice. An edge that warned him not to cross the line and pry.

An edge that made him want to.

She was tough, he realized, not the weepy sort. Independent to a fault. Like the horses he tamed.

His admiration for her rose, as well as protective instincts that he had no business feeling.

“My grandfather used to say that a man’s job was to protect a woman,” he offered. “Guess your father was just doing his job.”

Suzanne laughed, a light throaty sound that brushed his nerve endings with desire. “You were born in the wrong time period, Mr. McAllister.”

“Why’s that?” Irritation sliced through him as he pulled himself up straight. “Because I believe in tradition.”

“Because you hold on to the past.”

He crossed his arms and glared down at her. “Maybe you let it go too easily.”

She righted herself, her height still slight compared to his imposing frame. It didn’t seem to faze her. “I look toward the future.”

He lowered his voice to a husky whisper, “You fill your life with material things that don’t really matter.”

“I see the value in change,” she whispered in return, “new technology, improved medical techniques.”

“You think traffic, smog and kids who are so bored they resort to drugs to entertain themselves are good things?” He made a clicking sound with his teeth. “That’s selling out your soul for a buck, Suzanne.”

“The advantages override the flaws, Rafe.” A spark of anger brightened the inky depths of her eyes, and the sun’s golden rays left amber flecks in her hair as she scowled at him. Her spunk sent an undercurrent of awareness zinging through him.

He had thought there was nothing more beautiful than horses running free over the mountainside, nothing more dangerous than a wild one, fighting to run free. He suddenly realized he was wrong.

Suzanne Hartwell was both heartstoppingly beautiful and wild. And far more dangerous.

Doing the only smart thing he could, he turned and walked away from her. “Come on, let me give you your first riding lesson. Once you feel the mare beneath you and experience the heavenly places he can take you, you may change your mind.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.