Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

Jennifer McCallum: Whitehorn’s little darling has started kindergarten—just like every five-year-old. Except Jennifer isn’t just any school-age tot—she’s an heiress with a trust fund that might prove tempting to folks with bad intentions….

Ross Garrison: As a lawyer, he’s got to protect little Jennifer’s interests. But as a man, Ross knows getting close to the girl’s sweet teacher could lead to consequences a confirmed bachelor isn’t ready for!

Lynn Taylor: It isn’t every day a plain Jane like Lynn is swept off her feet by a prince. Now the rumors are flying that prim Miss Lynn is about to compromise her virtue for a certain irresistible lawyer….

Cinderella’s Big Sky Groom
Christine Rimmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHRISTINE RIMMER

came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a salesclerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves, who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.

For Betty Lowe, a dear friend and dedicated reader.

This one’s just for you, Betty.

Contents

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

Chapter One

Lynn Taylor set down her pencil. “Sara?”

The child, the only one of Lynn’s kindergartners who hadn’t left for the day, lifted her shining blond head from the picture she’d been working on.

“What time is it?” Lynn asked.

Sara turned to look at the clock on the wall above the chalkboard. “Little hand on the twelve. Big hand on the two….” Her expression turned grave as she processed that information. After a moment she ventured cautiously, “Ten minutes after twelve?”

“That’s right.”

A sunny smile burst forth. “That means my mommy’s coming real soon to take you for your birthday surprise.”

“Yes, she is. And I think you’d better—”

“It’s a big surprise, Miss Taylor.”

“I know. Your mother told me. And so did you. Several times.”

“And I can’t tell you anything more.”

“You told me that, too.”

“Because Mommy said you have to wait. That’s what it means, when you get a surprise. You wait and wait.”

“Yes, and I think you’d better—”

“It’s like at Christmas, when you have a big present and it’s under the tree and your mommy won’t let you even tear off just a little bit of the pretty paper to see what’s in there. And every morning you get up and you look at it and you know you can’t open it till Christmas. And that kind of makes you a little bit mad, because you want to know what it is so bad. But you are etcited, too, because you know it’s something real special in there, maybe a great big doll or…everything for a puppy that would grow up to be just like Jenny’s dog, Sugar.”

“Sara—”

“You know, I mean, your mommy couldn’t put a puppy in a box for all that time, so it would just be the puppy bed and some puppy food and bones for him to chew on. And your mommy would be keeping the puppy someplace safe so that, when Christmas morning came, you could—”

“Sara.”

The child caught herself—finally. “Uh. Yes, Miss Taylor?”

Lynn mimed pulling a zipper across her lips.

“Oh. Okay.”

“I think it’s time you put your picture away and got ready to go.”

“Yes, Miss Taylor…but you know what?”

“What?”

“I really hope I get a puppy someday.”

“And maybe you will. But right now—”

“I know.” She giggled. “Zipper my lip.”

“That’s right.”

Holding her drawing in one hand, Sara flipped up her desktop with the other—then peeked around the top at Lynn. “And put my coat on.”

“Yes.” Lynn closed her lesson plan book and stuck it in her top desk drawer as Sara tucked her drawing away, shut her desk and pushed her chair back.

Right then, there were three strong taps on the door that led to the outside hall. Sara chirped out, “I’ll get it! It’s probably Mommy….” She shoved her chair into place under the desk and darted for the door, grasping the steel knob and giving it a hearty push.

The door swung outward on its hydraulic hinge and a chilly gust of October wind blew in, ruffling the loose papers on Lynn’s desk. Lynn saw them start to fly. With a low laugh, she put her hand over the stack. “Come on in and close that—”

“It’s not my mommy,” said Sara. “It’s a man.”

Lynn looked up—and right into a pair of dark, uncompromising eyes.

Her gaze moved down, over strong cheekbones and a well-shaped nose. Along a square jaw and a chin possessed of an absolutely perfect masculine cleft. His clothing—a chocolate-brown sport coat, dark slacks and tooled boots—spoke quietly of money. Lynn knew who he was. Ross Garrison. Whitehorn’s new lawyer. Lynn had never actually met him, but she’d seen him around town. And her younger stepsister, Trish, was his secretary. Since Trish lived with Lynn, Lynn had heard all about him, in gushing, adoring detail.

Another gust of wind blew in. Lynn shivered. And found her voice. “Mr. Garrison, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, please. Come in. And let Sara close the door.”

He stepped into the classroom. Sara pulled the door shut. Lynn took her hand off the stack of papers and stood. Resisting the urge to smooth out her plain wool skirt, she moved around from behind the desk.

“I’m looking for Lynn Taylor,” the lawyer announced. “The woman at the office said—”

“You have the right room. I’m Lynn.”

He extended a large, tanned, beautifully shaped hand. At first she thought he wanted to shake. But no. He was holding a business card. She took it.

As the card changed hands, his gaze ran over her in a cursory fashion—and then went straight on by.

Lynn glanced down at the card. It was cream colored, of thick, linenlike stock, rich and rough textured under the pad of her thumb. His name was in gold ink: Ross Garrison, Attorney-at-Law. In smaller black print, in the lower left-hand corner, she saw the address and phone number of his law office on Center Street.

She looked up at him once more. He was still gazing past her—and scanning her classroom, as if inspecting it for flaws. Those dark, knowing eyes took in the chalkboards and the wall displays of alphabets and brightly colored numbers.

“An attractive setup,” he said.

“Thank you.” She waited for him to say why he’d come.

But he didn’t. Instead, he began prowling her room, scrutinizing the October calendar, with its border of black cats, witches’ hats and autumn leaves. He paused at the student storyboard, where the little booklets her students had made with such care and bound with bright yarn dangled from pushpins. Finally he stopped by the far wall, opposite her, and stared out over the study-group arrangement of the desks.

“Yes,” he said, rather officiously. “This is very good.”

Lynn turned to Sara, who was standing—silent for once, and rather wide-eyed—by the door. “Go on into the coat nook, honey, and put on that jacket. Get your pack, too. Make sure you’ve got your snack box and your art supplies. Your mom should be here any minute.”

Obediently, Sara trotted off toward the small anteroom, where the children hung up their coats and stored their personal belongings in individual cubbies.

Once Sara was gone, Lynn asked cautiously, “Is this…something about Trish?”

The lawyer left off examining her room and deigned to look at her again. There was nothing in his eyes. Not even a glimmer of interest at the mention of her sister’s name. This was somewhat bothersome to Lynn, as she knew that Trish had big plans for the man. Plans that included a white gown, a veil with a long train and a walk down the aisle of the Whitehorn Community Church.

“No,” he said. “This has nothing to do with my secretary. She’s your stepsister, isn’t she?”

Lynn gave him a tight, careful smile. “I can see you’ve done your homework.”

He shrugged. “Your sister likes to talk. I’ve heard all about you.” More, she guessed from his tone, than he’d wanted to know. “I’ve also heard a lot about your other stepsister, Arlene, and Arlene’s husband and their children. And about your stepmother. I believe her name is Jewel.” He looked weary. Trish’s prospects for marriage with this man looked dimmer by the second.

In fact, judging by his tone and his expression, Lynn couldn’t help wondering how long her sister would have her job. Trish wasn’t much of a typist. And if she talked about her personal life when she should have been working, her future with Ross Garrison, Attorney-at-Law, did not look especially secure.

Lynn suppressed a sigh. “Well, if you’re not here about my sister, then why are you here?”

He moved a few steps, until he was standing beside her desk. He looked down at the desk blotter, at the stack of In boxes in the corner, at the pen stand, which was shaped like a shiny red apple.

Feeling a need to protect her own space from his prying eyes, Lynn moved to the other side of the desk and confronted him across it. “Mr. Garrison?”

He looked up again. “Hmm? Oh.” And the corners of his mouth lifted. It was a stunning smile. Easy and casual. Charming and a little rueful. “Sorry. Lawyer’s habit. Observation.”

Lynn did not smile back. She considered herself a patient, forgiving soul as a rule, but she’d had about enough of this man looking over her room as if he owned it, and not answering her when she asked what he wanted. “Why are you here?”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve come about Jennifer McCallum.”

Jenny, Lynn thought, feeling more wary—and more protective—by the second. Jenny had been through more trouble and tragedy in her five short years than some endured in a lifetime. Lynn had a definite soft spot for the child, as did almost everyone in Whitehorn.

“I’m the new attorney for the girl’s estate,” Ross Garrison said. “And I’ve also been named a trustee.”

“You’re taking Wendell Hargrove’s place?” She allowed her disapproval to come through in her tone.

One dark eyebrow inched upward. “I intend to do a better job than Hargrove did, I promise you.”

“I should hope so.” Wendell Hargrove had once been greatly respected in Whitehorn. For a number of years he’d represented the Kincaid estate, to which little Jenny was now the primary heir. In the end, though, he’d stolen from the clients he was supposed to be representing, including Jenny. He was serving time in prison now.

Ross Garrison glanced down. The stack of In boxes was right by his hand. Idly, he ran a finger along the rim of the top box. His watch caught the overhead light and gleamed dully. Silver? No. Platinum. The man actually owned a platinum watch.

Whitehorn, Montana, wasn’t exactly the sleepy cow town it had once been. But platinum watches were still few and far between in those parts.

The lawyer looked up again and into Lynn’s eyes. “I’m just doing my job, Miss Taylor. Working up Jennifer McCallum’s file. With an estate of this size, it’s important that I cover all the bases, get a firm grip on what I’m dealing with here, for the good of my client. In future, decisions will have to be made concerning investments. And also concerning possible changes in the terms of the trust. I want to be sure I approach those decisions with my eyes open. I want, sincerely, to do the best I can by Jennifer. I’ve interviewed her doctor and her adoptive parents in depth and—”

“Now it’s time to talk to her teacher.”

“Exactly.”

They regarded each other across the width of the desk. It was the strangest moment. Perhaps because there seemed to be so much unexplainable tension in it. Or maybe because, for the first time, Lynn felt he was actually looking at her. Closely. Probingly…

“Jenny? You want to know about Jenny?”

Lynn turned at the sound of Sara’s voice. The child stood in the entrance to the coat nook. She had on her red jacket, and clutched her dark blue pack, partially unzipped and hanging open. Inside, Lynn spotted the edge of a hot-pink art supply box—which she knew belonged to Jenny McCallum. Those two were forever trading things. Lynn would bet a gross of number-two pencils that Sara’s neon-yellow art box had gone home in Jenny’s pack.

“That’s right, Sara,” Ross Garrison said. Lynn had to give him credit. She’d said Sara’s name only once—Let Sara close the door—and he had remembered it. “I’m here to learn all I can about Jenny McCallum.” He smiled that too-charming smile of his.

His smile and the sound of her name were all the encouragement Sara needed.

“Jenny is my best friend in the whole, wide world,” she announced. “She’s smart and she has blue eyes and blond hair, just like me. We look like sisters. Everybody says so. And we really like that, because we both wish we had a sister—or even a brother. But we don’t. But Jenny does have a dog. Her name is Sugar. And I want a dog. I really do. A puppy all for my own. And tomorrow night I’m going to Jenny’s house to have a sleepover. Her mom said we might even go out to the ranch—the Kincaid ranch. We might get to pet the barn cats and feed the horses some apples and—”

“Sara.” Lynn pantomimed zipping up her mouth.

Sara got the message. She pressed her cute pink lips together—but then the outside door swung open again and she crowed, “There you are, Mommy!”

Danielle Mitchell slid inside and shut the door. Grinning, she sketched a bow at Lynn. “Your fairy godmother has arrived…and what’s this? Legal troubles?”

“Mrs. Mitchell, how are you?”

“Just fine. And didn’t I tell you to call me Danielle?”

“Yes, you certainly did.”

Lynn glanced from her friend to the lawyer. She hadn’t realized they knew each other. But then again, this was Whitehorn. Everybody knew everybody. It had always been that way.

“So what’s up?” Danielle demanded of Lynn.

Garrison answered for her. “Just gathering information. I’ve been hired to represent the Kincaid estate, and that means Jennifer McCallum is now one of my clients.”

“You’re here to interview Lynn about Jenny?”

“That’s right.”

“And there’s not much to say,” Lynn put in firmly. “Jennifer is doing just fine. She is happy, intelligent, outgoing and unstintingly adored by one and all.”

Garrison gave her the raised eyebrow again. “Unstintingly?”

Lynn felt…irritated, that was it. Irritated by this too-good-looking big-city lawyer, who had waltzed into her classroom, looked around as if he owned the place, acted bored to death at the mention of her sister—who might be a bit flighty, but nonetheless had stars in her eyes when it came to him—and then began giving her the third degree about Jenny. “Yes. That’s what I said. Jenny is unstintingly adored by everyone.”

“My, my,” Danielle muttered under her breath. “Feeling feisty today, aren’t we?”

Lynn shot her friend a quelling glance, then turned on Garrison again. “She’s a lovely child. And one of my two best students—Sara here is the other one.” She glanced at Sara, who granted her a big, proud smile.

Ross Garrison was not smiling. “Miss Taylor. We both know that Jennifer’s been through considerable trauma.”

“Yes. She has. And in my opinion, none of her troubles have damaged her in the least.”

Garrison did not look convinced, but he did allow, “Fine. If you say so.”

“I do.”

“All right.”

“Good.”

Those dark eyes stared into hers again, taking her measure. Lynn stared right back at him. Finally he said, “Listen, I really would like to talk with you in a little more depth about this.”

Danielle chuckled then. “You’ll have to wait your turn, Ross. Lynn’s going to be busy for a while. But you could meet her at the Whitehorn Beauty Salon—say, about five?”

Lynn blinked and whirled on her friend. “The Whitehorn Salon? Wait a minute. You didn’t say anything about taking me there.”

Danielle looked way too pleased with herself. “It was a surprise, remember?”

“But…” Lynn couldn’t help sputtering. “But…the beauty shop? For five hours?”

Danielle waved a hand. “Four and a half, actually. Your appointment’s at twelve-thirty.” She glanced at the clock. “And we’d better get going or we’ll be late.”

“But Danielle—”

The other woman cut her off by speaking to Garrison. “Like I said. Whitehorn Salon. Five o’clock. She’ll be there.”

Lynn sputtered some more. “No. No, wait, I—”

“Five o’clock, then,” said Ross Garrison. And before Lynn could finish objecting, he strode to the door, pushed it open and left in a swirl of brisk autumn air.

Chapter Two

The moment the door closed behind the lawyer, Lynn demanded of her friend, “Why did you tell him where to find me?”

“Why not? He just wants to get up to speed about Jenny.”

“Well, I know, but…”

“But what?” There was a very suspicious gleam in Danielle’s eyes. “Are you scared of him, or something?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, I have to say, sparks certainly seemed to be flying between you two.”

“They were not. Not in the least. A man like that is never going to look twice at someone like me.”

“There you go. Underestimating yourself again.”

“I am not. I’m just stating a fact. And I’m not looking twice at him, either. He’s—” She cut herself off as she realized that Sara was standing right there, taking all this in. “Never mind. I just…well, I told him all there is to tell. You heard me.”

“Oh, come on. Let him do his job. He seems…very conscientious. And after Wendell Hargrove, Jenny deserves a lawyer who’s looking out for her interests instead of robbing her blind.”

Sara was still staring up at them. “Mommy. Jenny’s not blind. She can see just fine.”

Danielle smoothed her daughter’s unruly bangs back from her forehead. “It’s just an expression, honey. Jenny had a bad lawyer who took some of her money. But now that bad lawyer’s gone to jail.”

“And that man who just left, he’s a lawyer, too?”

“That’s right. He’s Jenny’s new lawyer.”

“Is he a good lawyer?”

“Yes. I’m sure he is.”

“What’s a lawyer, anyway? And how come, if Jenny’s got one, I don’t?”

Danielle glanced at the clock. “We’ll have to talk about that later. Right now, we need to get going.”

To the Whitehorn Salon, Lynn thought with a considerable degree of dread. “Danielle, I don’t know about this…”

“I do. Did you bring the red dress?”

“Danielle. I really don’t think—”

“Come on. Just answer me. Did you bring the dress?”

Lynn was a little embarrassed about that dress. She’d bought it on a shopping trip to Billings just two weeks before, a shopping trip where she’d intended only to replace a few of the practical skirts and blouses that were now three sizes too large. She hadn’t meant to buy a dress like that. It had cost too much and it wasn’t the kind of thing she’d ever actually wear, anyway.

“Lynn. The dress? Did you bring it?”

“Yes. I brought it.”

“And those red shoes, too?”

Lynn huffed out a breath. The shoes had two-inch heels. Lynn was five-nine in stocking feet. She always wore flats. What in the world had possessed her to buy a pair shoes that would only make her look even taller?

“The shoes, Lynn?” Danielle asked for the second time with clearly diminishing patience.

“Yes, all right, I brought the shoes, too.”

“Good. Get ’em and let’s go. You can ride with me and Sara.”

“I can take my own—”

Danielle grunted. “No way. You’ve got that rabbity look around the eyes. You might just drive on home instead of where I’m taking you.”

“Danielle…”

“Stop arguing. You’re coming with us and you can pick up your Blazer later.”

“But Danielle. To the beauty salon?”

“Yes. To the beauty salon. You’ve lost, what? Twenty-five pounds?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

“I am proud of myself.”

“Good. Because you look great. And for your birthday, I intend to make sure we put the finishing touches on your transformation.”

“I just don’t know about this.”

“Get that dress and those shoes and let’s go.”

Lynn was still trying to protest when Danielle pushed her into the padded stylist’s chair and the salon’s owner, Gracie Donahue, whisked a big purple hairdresser’s cape around her neck.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. This is all just too much….”

“It is not,” said Gracie’s daughter, Kim, with whom Lynn had gone to school—and who was now in town on a visit from San Francisco, where she worked in a very exclusive salon. “I’m in on this, too. And I am the best at what I do. You’re going to look fabulous when we’re through. All the cowboys for miles around will fall in love with you.”

Lynn stared at her own reflection in the mirror. No one to fall in love with there. True, her clean-scrubbed face was slimmer than it used to be. She actually had cheekbones now. But she still looked as ordinary as a loaf of white bread. Also, right at the moment, her brow was furrowed and her mouth all pinched up. “Oh, I don’t like this….” It came out on a whimper.

Kim laughed. “Wait till we’re finished. First, a deep-pore cleansing. Then the mud mask. Manicure. And pedicure. The hair, of course—and full makeup, once your pores have had a chance to settle down from the cleansing and the mask.”

That didn’t sound particularly comforting. “My pores have to settle down?”

“Yes. And they will. We have plenty of time. You’ll walk out of here a new woman.”

“I’m just fine the way I am.” She wished she sounded more convincing.

“Of course you are. But there’s always room for improvement.”

“It’s too much….”

Kim gave a delicate snort. “You already said that.”

Lynn caught Danielle’s eye in the mirror. “You know you can’t afford all this.” Danielle was a single mom on a limited budget. “It will be far too expensive.”

Gracie put her plump hands on Lynn’s shoulders. “Listen.” Lynn stiffened. Gracie’s warm fingers pressed a little more firmly. “I mean it.”

Sara piped up then. “Miss Taylor, you have to sit still if you want to get your surprise. You have to let them make you beautiful, just like Cinderella. Remember? When her fairy godmother came and got out her magic wand and sang the ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ song and Cinderella’s hair got so pretty and her raggedy dress turned into a magic ball gown and the little mouses turned into horses and the big pumpkin turned into—”

“Honey.” Danielle shook her head.

Sara put her hand over her mouth. “Oops.”

Gracie said, “There are some coloring books in the cabinet under the table in the waiting area. Maybe Sara would have some fun with them?”

“Coloring books?” Sara asked with interest.

Danielle shot her friend a reassuring smile. “Relax.” Then she took her daughter’s hand. “Let’s go check them out.”

Danielle led her daughter away and Gracie faced Lynn in the mirror once more. “Now. Are you listening?”

“Yes, but—”

“Hush. Are you listening?”

Lynn gulped and nodded.

Gracie said, “I’ve lived in Whitehorn all my life.”

“Well, Gracie, I know that.”

“And I went to school with you,” Kim added.

Lynn felt defensive. “What are you getting at?”

“The truth,” said Gracie. “That’s what you get from your hairdresser, if you’re lucky. A decent cut and a little honesty. We’ve all watched you over the years, so quiet and unassuming and sweet, letting that Jewel and her two spoiled darlings run right over you.”

Lynn’s defensiveness increased. “Please don’t speak ill of my family.”

Gracie tightened her grip on Lynn’s shoulders again. “I’m not speaking ill of them. I’m only speaking the truth. I know you love them. And I’m sure they love you. In their own selfish ways. And that’s great. That’s fine. But the truth is, you’ve never allowed yourself to shine, now, have you?”

“I don’t really see how—”

“How much weight have you lost in the past six months?” Grace demanded.

Lynn gulped again. “It really hasn’t been in the past six months. It’s been longer.” Since her father had died two years before, actually. Because she’d been so sad, and not felt much like eating. And then later, as her grief had faded, the calorie-laden junk foods she had once craved no longer held such strong appeal. “It’s just…taken everyone a while to notice, I guess.”

“Well, however long it’s taken, you are lookin’ good. And after today, you’re going to look even better. And you don’t have to worry about Danielle’s pocketbook, because Kimmy and I are going in on this birthday present, too. Understand?”

“But—”

“Understand?”

Lynn gulped again.

Gracie and Kim looked at her sternly.

And then, in the mirror, she watched a smile tremble across her own mouth.

Why, she thought, I want this. I truly do. I’m ready for this. It’s my twenty-fourth birthday, and Gracie Donahue is right. It’s about time I let myself shine.

Danielle appeared in the mirror again, on Gracie’s right side. Lynn looked from Kim to Gracie—and to her friend last of all. Danielle winked at her.

Lynn sucked in a long breath. “Okay. Wave that magic wand.”

Gracie squeezed her shoulders one more time and then let go.

“And thank you.”

The three behind her chair chorused, “You’re welcome,” in unison.

“And…well, I’m still pretty nervous.”

“It’s all right,” said Gracie. “Be nervous. But stay put until we’re done with you.”

It took over an hour just for the facial. Then they started on her hair: a foil wrap first. Then they did her nails, both manicure and pedicure, as promised. Several other customers came in during the process. Lynn knew most of them. They smiled and greeted her, and didn’t seem at all surprised that plain Lynn Taylor had suddenly decided to spend a whole afternoon being primped and pampered.

Lynn had a nice little nap under her mud mask. And then she sat under the dryer with the coloring goo and bits of foil stuck in her hair and read a magazine from front to back. She went to the back room briefly, to remove her panty hose, then stretched out in the stylist’s chair while Gracie filed and painted her nails, top and bottom. Once her nails were dry, she made another quick trip to the back room, to put her stockings and her shoes on again.

When she emerged, Gracie led her to the chair once more. Lynn settled in with a contented sigh, wondering why she’d never given herself permission to do this before. Even if the makeover didn’t “take,” she thought with a secret smile, she might do this again just for the sheer relaxing enjoyment of having other women tend to her. It was so soothing, so leisurely, lying there with her eyes closed, hearing their laughter as they talked and joked about their jobs and their men, as they discussed their children and their dreams for them. The gentle, firm touch of skillful hands took all her cares away as they massaged in the mud mask, twisted her hair into the bits of foil—and later, rubbed shampoo into her scalp, then fluttered around her head, snipping away at the freshly highlighted strands.

Finally Kim turned her so that she couldn’t see the mirror. “Don’t look again until I’m finished.”

Kim went to work with a blow dryer and a styling brush. When Lynn’s hair was styled to her satisfaction, she slid an elastic band around Lynn’s head, to keep the hair out of the way. Then, with light, deft strokes, she applied the makeup that Gracie and Danielle, hovering near, declared brought out those newly discovered cheekbones of hers and made her lashes seem longer, her eyes a much deeper blue.

Even little Sara had been allowed to come near again by then. “You look so beautiful, Miss Taylor,” she said, sighing. “Just like I said. Like Cinderella. All you need is your ball gown and your glass slippers. And your prince. You’re really going to need a prince. He can take you to the ball and you can dance until midnight—when both hands are on the twelve. And then, when midnight comes and your horses are just about ready to turn into mouses again, you can run down the palace steps so fast that one of your glass slippers will fall off and the prince will have a way to find you later, when—”

“Sara,” said Danielle tenderly. She gave her daughter the zip-up-your-lip signal and the child subsided.

Finally Kim took the headband away and removed the hairdresser’s cape. She brushed Lynn’s hair back into place, spritzed on a light mist of holding spray. Then she dabbed perfume along the curve of her neck and at each wrist.

“What is that?” Lynn asked, sniffing.

“Poison.”

“What?”

Kim chuckled. “This perfume is called Poison. Deadly name, killer scent.”

Lynn sniffed again. “It is nice.”

“Would I steer you wrong?”

“Don’t look yet,” Danielle commanded when Kim set the amethyst-colored bottle of scent aside.

Kim showed Lynn a diagram—a drawing of a woman’s face, marked in the places where foundation, blusher, eye and lip color should be applied. She also offered a small box of makeup samples. “These are the products I think you should use. I’ve done you for evening. For daytime, just tone down the blusher, go light on foundation and skip the shimmery eye shadow. Go with that subtle blue-gray.”

Lynn murmured her thanks and tried to turn toward the mirror.

Danielle grabbed the arm of the chair. “Not yet.” She held out Lynn’s brown shoulder bag. “Put that stuff away first, so you won’t forget it.”

So Lynn put the diagram and the box of samples into her purse. “Now may I see?”

“Soon.” Danielle produced a red scarf.

Lynn raised a skeptical eyebrow at that scarf. “This is getting very silly.”

“Indulge us.” Danielle tied the scarf over Lynn’s eyes—carefully, in order not to muss her makeup or her hair. “Now come on. Give me your hand.”

Lynn felt Danielle’s fingers close around hers.

“Step clear of the footrest,” Danielle instructed. “Good. Now, come this way….”

Lynn knew where Danielle was leading her—to the small back room, where her red dress and red shoes were waiting. She followed obediently, trusting the clasp of her friend’s soft hand.

When they reached their destination, Danielle said, “Wait right here.” She released Lynn’s hand. Lynn heard the door close. Then Danielle returned to her. She helped Lynn remove her cardigan sweater, her blouse and her wool skirt.

“I’m feeling really pampered about now,” Lynn said as Danielle pulled the kitten-soft cashmere sweater dress over her head.

Danielle gave a low, musical laugh. “That’s the point.”

“I’m sure glad you came to Whitehorn.”

“I kind of like the place myself.”

Danielle had moved to town two years before, right around the time Lynn’s father had died. Lynn had met her at the Whitehorn library, where Danielle had found a twenty-hour-a-week job right away. They’d liked each other on sight. The friendship had just seemed to happen, so naturally.

And they’d grown even closer the past two months, with Sara in Lynn’s class and Danielle taking on the job of Room Mom. Danielle often came in during class time to help out with special projects. She also tended to linger after school when she came to pick up Sara, helping Lynn with her room displays, with restocking art supplies and planning class events.

“I don’t want you ever to move away,” Lynn said softly.

“Don’t worry. I don’t intend to.” Danielle’s voice sounded brisk, but Lynn didn’t miss the undertone of sadness.

Her friend was thinking about her husband, probably—the husband who had never been to Whitehorn, at least not as far as Lynn knew.

Danielle was now seeking a divorce. She was always vague about the details, would only say that it hadn’t worked out. But Lynn sensed her friend still loved the man. From the few things Danielle had said about him, Lynn knew that once Danielle had been a very happily married woman. A woman deeply in love.

What would that be like? Lynn wondered as Danielle gently pushed her down onto the small cot in the corner and knelt at her feet, to slide off her brown flats and slip on the red shoes.

What would that be like?

To fall, as the saying went, truly, madly, deeply in love? Would it be worth the price, if a woman ended up like Danielle, starting over in another town, without the man she loved so much at her side?

Lynn reached out. Her hand touched Danielle’s silky hair. Within the darkness of the blindfold, Lynn pictured Danielle’s face, looking up at her, hazel eyes bright.

“A good friend. The best,” Lynn whispered.

And Danielle whispered back, “You get what you give.”

You get what you give. True words. But not absolute. Knowing Danielle, Lynn couldn’t imagine she’d ever given her husband a moment’s heartache. And yet, clearly, heartache had been his ultimate gift to her.

Maybe it was better to be like Lynn. Still a virgin on her twenty-fourth birthday. With no prospects of “truly, madly, deeply” anywhere in sight.

Then again, Danielle did have Sara. The adorable little chatterbox must go a long way toward making up for the heartache.

“Ready to see your new look?” Danielle asked. All traces of sadness had vanished from her voice. Now she sounded excited, anticipatory.

“I hope it’s just half as good as you’re acting like it is.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Lynn felt a sort of shimmer go through her body. A shimmer of anxiety—and of giddy expectancy. She held out her hand to be led back to the main room of the salon.

There was a full-length mirror on the wall opposite the door to the street. Danielle made Lynn wait, still blindfolded, while Gracie moved a potted fern out of the way.

Then, at last, Danielle untied the scarf, whipping it off with a magician’s dramatic flourish. “Voilà!”

Everyone, including little Sara, began clapping and squealing.

“Do you love it?”

“Isn’t it perfect?”

“You look incredible.”

“Miss Taylor, you are so pretty!”

Lynn could only stare.

It was…magic. Real-life magic.

She didn’t look like some glamorous, over-made-up stranger, as she had secretly feared that she might. She looked…exactly like herself.

Only better. A hundred times better. Everything was…enhanced. Made brighter. As if she had somehow been fuzzy before. A picture out of focus, now brought stunningly clear.

So very clear. Her skin glowed. Her hair shone. Her eyes were bigger, brighter, bluer than blue.

And the rest of her…

She couldn’t believe it.

She turned, looked over her shoulder. The rear view was perfect, too. The red sweater dress clung lovingly to every newly slimmed-down curve, and the silver threads, woven so subtly through the cashmere, gleamed like tiny diamonds—or maybe a sprinkling of starlight—from the downy wool.

And the shoes. Why, the shoes didn’t make her look too tall at all. She was tall. Why not make the most of it?

“Is that really me?” she heard herself whisper, turning and facing her reflection again.

“It’s you!” crowed Sara. “Miss Taylor, it’s really, really you! You’re just like Cinderella, all ready for the ball.”

Lynn couldn’t help but agree. All those fairy-godmother jokes aside, she honestly did feel as if someone had cast a spell over her.

“This is…just magic.” A wistful laugh escaped her. “Now all I need is for my prince to show up.”

Lynn had barely finished speaking when the bell over the street door gave a jangle and Ross Garrison entered the salon.

Chapter Three

Ross Garrison was not a man who gaped.

But it took all the considerable self-control he possessed not to gawk like an idiot when he walked into the Whitehorn Salon and caught sight of Jennifer McCallum’s teacher for the second time that day.

It couldn’t be the same woman.

But it was the same woman.

Amazing.

Not that she hadn’t possessed a certain wholesome, shyly dignified appeal before.

But now…

Now she was downright tempting.

Whoever had fixed her hair had worked wonders. Before, it had been a little longer, hadn’t it? And a sort of brownish-blond color. Now it just brushed her shoulders and seemed shot with moonbeams. And those blue eyes. He’d thought them rather attractive before. He’d been struck by the way she had looked at him—with a careful reserve and with challenge, as well.

But now, enhanced as those eyes were with subtle shadows, they could take a man down to drowning.

He wanted to look away.

But he couldn’t.

And Lynn couldn’t look away, either.

Was this some dream she’d stumbled into? A heady, intoxicating dream, where suddenly a man like Ross Garrison stared at her—at her, plain, dependable Miss Taylor—as if she had captivated him?

Looking twice, that was what he was doing. Looking twice at her.

And maybe it was foolish of her. Foolish and shallow and silly.

But she liked the way he looked at her. She felt all fizzy and sparkling. Like a bottle of champagne with the cork just popped. And so…powerful, suddenly. In a purely female way.

Twenty-four years old today, she thought. And as of today, her entire experience with the opposite sex had consisted of awkward dates in college with boys as shy as she’d always been. But at that marvelous, special moment, Lynn Taylor was a siren. Her beauty could sink ships. Ross Garrison’s stunned, frankly admiring stare told her so.

Speak up, damn it, Ross said to himself. All right. The kindergarten teacher has gotten to you. But you’re no tongue-tied cowhand.

In his most self-assured tone, he broke the silence that had descended on the women at his entrance. “It’s five o’clock, Ms. Taylor.”

The little girl, Sara, grabbed her mother’s hand and gave it a tug. “I thought you said he was a lawyer.”

“Shh, honey, not now…”

“But we don’t need a lawyer right now, Mommy. We need a prince.”

All the women laughed at that—except the schoolteacher, whose glowing face turned a sweet, flustered pink. One of the two women Ross didn’t know, probably the hairdresser, muttered under her breath, “I’d say he’ll have to do,” which caused another flurry of chuckles.

Danielle told her daughter, “I think you’d better go on back to your coloring books.”

“But—”

“Go on now, Sara.”

“Oh, all right.” The little girl went over to a table in the corner and sat down.

Once the child was out of the way, all the women turned and looked at Ross again. He felt thoroughly outnumbered. And this wasn’t a place where a man would feel all that comfortable, anyway. Maybe it was the excess of dried flower arrangements. There seemed to be one on the corner of every table, and they hung in wreaths and swags on the walls. Lace curtains draped the windows. The place smelled of women, too: perfume and powder, shampoo—and under everything, the harsh ammonialike scent of hair dyes and permanent waving solutions. He had no intention of interviewing Lynn Taylor there.

Dinner, he decided right then. He’d take her to dinner. At that new restaurant on State Street. Over a leisurely meal he could get past the hostility he’d sensed in her during their first meeting at the school. He’d get her to open up to him, get her really talking about the child he’d been hired to represent.

Oh, come on, Garrison, taunted a cynical voice in the back of his mind. This is a fifteen-minute interview and a request for a short written report. You can do that over coffee at the Hip Hop Café across the street.

Ross tuned out that cynical voice. He gave the gorgeous blonde in the red dress his easiest, most casual smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Lynn hesitated. But not at the idea of leaving with him. Somehow, her reluctance to meet with him had faded away. She was thinking that she ought to change back into her regular clothes.

But no. She just couldn’t bear to do that. Not right yet. Perhaps silver-threaded cashmere and two-inch red heels were unsuitable attire for a brief meeting with Jenny’s new lawyer. But right then, Lynn didn’t care.

She was keeping the dress on and the magic going. None of it was real, anyway. It was a dream she’d stepped into, a spell woven by the skilled hands of Gracie and Kim. She wanted to hold on to the magic. Just for a little while…

“You go on,” Danielle was saying. “I’ll bring you your other clothes tomorrow when I pick Sara up after school.”

Gracie and Kim chorused their encouragement.

“Yes, you go ahead….”

“You go on, now….”

Danielle marched to the door and lifted Lynn’s coat off the coatrack. “Here.” She handed it to the lawyer, who obligingly held it open for Lynn to put on.

What else could she do?

She approached him, slid her arms into the sleeves and pulled it around herself, overly conscious of the light brush of his hands as he settled the garment onto her shoulders, thinking foolishly that even in heels she wasn’t quite as tall as he was.

Danielle held out her purse. She took it. Ross Garrison opened the door again. He waited for Lynn to go through ahead of him.

And then she and the lawyer were standing on Center Street, side by side. A cold wind was blowing down from the Crazy Mountains north of town. Lynn shivered a little and wrapped her coat more closely around herself.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starved.” And she was. She’d skipped lunch altogether. Forgotten all about it. But now that he had mentioned it, she was ready to eat. The Hip Hop was just across the street and two doors down. It was a charming little place, where everyone in town felt at home. She started toward it.

But Ross caught her elbow. “Come on. My Mercedes is just over there.”

She didn’t argue. His touch had distracted her, sending a sweet, zinging thrill along her nerves, making her shiver again—but this time not because of the wind.

He led her down the street about a hundred feet and then helped her into that Mercedes he’d mentioned, which was actually an SUV, of all things. She hadn’t known that you could get a sports-utility version of a Mercedes, but there she was, sitting in the lovely leather seats, running her hand along the gleaming woodwork on her passenger-side door.

“It’s not far, but we might as well drive,” he said as the engine purred to life.

Ross took her to the State Street Grill, Whitehorn’s newest and nicest restaurant, which had opened just last summer. There were hardly any other diners so early on a weekday evening, but he asked for a quiet corner table nonetheless.

And it was a lovely corner, shadowy and private. In the center of their table a single rose emerged, velvety-red, from a crystal vase. A pair of tall white candles flanked that rose. The waiter lighted them when he brought the wine list.

Ross studied the list and then glanced up at Lynn. “Any preferences?”

“I’m not much of a wine drinker, as a rule.”

He was smiling—almost. “But you’ll make an exception this once, won’t you?”

Not wise, she chided herself silently. A glass of wine is the last thing you need right now….

But what she said was, “Well, to tell you the truth, it is my birthday.”

That almost-smile deepened. “Seriously?”

She nodded.

And he said, “Then we’ll have champagne.” The waiter hovered at his elbow. Ross turned to him and said the name of something French.

A few minutes later, he was lifting a flute glass full of the golden, bubbly stuff. “To you, Ms. Lynn Taylor. Happy birthday.” She held up her own glass until it met his with a bright-sounding clink.

The fizzy wine shimmered down her throat and made a warm glow in her stomach. They took a minute to order—appetizers, salads and the main course. Then the waiter disappeared.

Ross leaned toward her across the table. “So tell me…”

She set her glass on the snowy cloth, made a low, questioning sound.

“This new look of yours…”

She was not a woman prone to teasing, but right then, teasing seemed to come to her as naturally as breathing. She raised one newly reshaped eyebrow. “New look?”

He chuckled. “What? You didn’t think I’d noticed?”

She confessed with a small laugh, “I noticed. That you noticed…”

“Good. We’re clear on that much.”

“Yes, I suppose we are.”

“Then what brought on this change?”

She sipped again, felt that lovely fizziness slide down her throat. “It’s my birthday present from Danielle. And Gracie and Kim, too.”

“Gracie and Kim. They would be the other two women, in the salon?”

“Yes. The owner and her daughter.”

“And what did the little girl mean, with that remark about the prince?”

Funny, she’d felt her cheeks flame back in the shop when Sara had announced so bluntly, “We need a prince.” But she didn’t feel the least embarrassed now.

She told him. Simply and directly. About how Danielle had called her early that morning with birthday greetings and instructions to be ready after class, to bring her new red dress and red high-heeled shoes. “She wouldn’t tell me then what the surprise was going to be. She only said, ‘Just call me your fairy godmother.”’

“As in Cinderella?”

“That’s right. It got to be kind of a joke. Me as Cinderella. And Danielle and Gracie and Kim as my fairy godmothers, waving a magic wand over me. Then, once they’d worked their magic, I said that all I needed was a prince.”

“Then I showed up.” The candlelight gleamed, two spots of soft gold, in his dark eyes.

“Um-hmm. Right on time.”

“But not a prince.” He put on a look of great regret. “Only a lawyer…”

Lynn picked up her flute again. “Sometimes a girl has to make do with whomever shows up.”

“Whomever,” he repeated. “You just proved you’re still a schoolteacher, after all.”

She sipped. “Yes. And I’m warning you…”

“Don’t tell me. At midnight, you turn into a pumpkin.”

“Much worse. At midnight, I give you a pop quiz.”

“I see.”

“Then I make you recite your ABCs.”

“And then?”

She considered. “Times tables. Yes. Right up through ten times ten. And from there, I’ll want to see how you do at conjugating verbs.”

“It sounds terrifying.”

“It would be. But luckily for you, we’ll have said good-night long before then.”

“Yes. Luckily for me…”

They shared a long look. A much too intimate look.

Lynn reminded herself that they were only here to talk about Jenny.

But then, before she could say anything to get them going on the topic of her student, their appetizers appeared.

He asked her where she went to college.

“Montana State,” she replied. “Major in education, minor in English. How about you?”

He said he’d gone to Princeton on a scholarship. “I was miserable there. Didn’t know anybody. They’d all come from Ivy League prep schools. To them, I was just a cowboy, manure still on my boots, fresh out of high school in Billings.”

“But you stuck it out.”

“Damn right. Then I went on to law school in Colorado.”

“And got your law degree when you were—what?”

“I took the bar exam when I was twenty-four.”

“That’s pretty young, isn’t it?”

“I knew what I wanted. To make it and make it big. I hired on with Turow, Travis and Lindstrom, a major Denver law firm, right away.”

Trish, who spent her lunch hours at the Hip Hop collecting every tidbit she could on Ross Garrison, had mentioned that he’d come from Denver. “And then?”

His eyes turned cold. “I worked my way up the food chain.”

“At Turow, Travis and—?”

“Lindstrom. Right. I advanced there with alarming rapidity. I was twenty-eight when I made partner. It was an unheard-of accomplishment.” The irony in his tone matched the chill in his eyes, making it seem that the “accomplishment” he spoke of was actually nothing of the kind.

Lynn had the strangest urge—to reach across the table. To lay her hand over his. To say something gentle and understanding, something that would bring warmth to his eyes.

She kept her hands to herself. And he finished, “I stayed with the firm until a little over a year ago, when I decided it was time for a change.”

Time for a change, she thought, and knew there was more to it than that. Trish had mentioned a divorce. A broken heart Trish intended to mend…

Lynn studied him across the table, admitting to herself that, beyond this foolish and dangerous game of flirtation she was playing with him, she had started to like him, to respond to him on some deeper level—which she knew she shouldn’t allow herself to do.

He was too rich. And too sophisticated. And even though he seemed to have zero romantic interest in Trish, her sister had set her sights on him. Trish would never consider Lynn any kind of competition. But still, there would be nothing but trouble in the family if Trish thought Lynn had dared to make a play for him.

And yet, here she was in this fancy restaurant, drinking champagne with him. And flirting. Showing off her smart mouth, as Jewel always used to say whenever her usually self-effacing stepdaughter had the bad judgment to let that particular side of herself shine through.

They should talk about Jenny.

And they would, of course. Very soon. But really, there was no great hurry. She raised her glass to her lips and sipped more champagne.

A few minutes later, the main course arrived. Filet mignon. Fork-tender. It literally melted in her mouth.

She’d just swallowed the first scrumptious bite when Ross warned in a whisper, “Don’t look now, but I think—yes. She’s spotted us.”

“Who?”

“Lily Mae Wheeler. She’s headed our way. I’ll give you a little free legal advice.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell her anything, unless you want the whole town to know.”

Lynn had no time to reply. Lily Mae was upon them. “My Lord, Lynn Taylor! Honey, I hardly did recognize you.” Lynn smiled gamely up at Whitehorn’s most notorious gossip. “You look sweet as a heifer in a field of new clover. I love your hair.” Copper bracelets jangling, Lily Mae patted her own teased and heavily sprayed coiffure, which was auburn at the moment. “Maybe I should try blond again. What do you think?”

“I do like the auburn,” Lynn said judiciously.

Lily Mae left off patting her hair and patted Lynn’s shoulder instead. “Sweet, sweet girl. You always say just the right thing.” False eyelashes batted Ross’s way. “And hello, Mr. Garrison. How are you this brisk October evening?”

“I’m just fine, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“Enjoying that beautiful new house of yours?”

“I am. Very much.”

“It’s up along Route 17, isn’t it? On Black Bear Lake.”

“Yes.”

“I confess, Winona Cobbs has told me all about it. She has to drive by there to get into town.” Winona Cobbs lived in a trailer out at the end of Route 17. She ran her own peculiar enterprise there known as the Stop ’n Swap. She kept bees and was considered by many to possess psychic powers. She was also almost as big a gossip as Lily Mae.

Lily Mae forged on. “And I heard you’ve been hired by the Kincaid estate.”

“That’s right,” Ross said.

Lily Mae clucked her tongue. “Wasn’t that just a terrible shame—about Wendell? There are many who don’t believe it now, but once, Wendell Hargrove was an honorable man. It was after his dear wife, Alice, died that the trouble started. He just couldn’t cope with the loss. He developed that gambling problem. And then he—well, I suppose you know all of this.”

“I’ve heard the facts, yes.”

“And now you’re representing our Jenny.”

“That’s right.”

“You do a good job for her, now.”

“I will, Mrs. Wheeler. I promise you.”

Lily Mae turned on Lynn again. “Hon, I mean it. Your face. Your hair. That gorgeous dress. I do truly love to see a woman make the most of what she’s got. And when that woman is you, well, all I can say is, it is about time.”

Lynn murmured a thank-you; it seemed the safest way to go.

Lily Mae spotted the ice bucket and the bottle nestled in it. “And what’s this? Champagne?” Her painted-on brows went so high, they threatened to vanish beneath the hard fringe of hair on her forehead. “A special occasion?” She waved a carmine-tipped hand, causing more clattering. “Never mind. Of course it is. It’s always a special occasion when an eligible man and a beautiful single woman enjoy a fine meal together…although I must admit, I had thought—” Lily Mae actually cut herself off. “But never mind about that.”

“About what?” Lynn asked, regretting the question immediately.

But Lily Mae surprised her. “Oh, nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing, and Lynn knew it. She could see the truth in Lily Mae’s over-made-up eyes. The sweet-hearted gossip knew that Trish was after Ross. How could she not know? Who other than Lily Mae would Trish have been pumping for information about the new lawyer in town?

“Really, hon. It was nothing at all,” Lily Mae repeated. “Sometimes I do run on, and that is a plain fact.” Then she chuckled. “And now I am going to leave you. I’ve a dear friend in town from Billings for the night. She’s in the Ladies right now. I’ll tell you what, I won’t even interrupt you again to introduce her, because I can see that the two of you want to be alone.”

Lynn opened her mouth to protest that remark, but Ross caught her eye before she spoke. She read his look: What’s the point?

She had to agree with him. Lily Mae Wheeler would think what she wanted to think. And anything Lynn said to her would only give her an excuse to stay and chat longer.

“Enjoy those filets,” said Lily Mae. “Don’t they just turn right to butter inside your mouth?”

“Yes,” Lynn agreed. “They’re delicious.”

With a last jingling wave, Lily Mae trotted off.

Ross watched her go. After a moment, he said, “You’ll be relieved to know the hostess is leading her to a table in the far corner, behind a pillar. She won’t be flashing all those capped teeth and shaking her bracelets at us through the rest of the meal, after all.”

Lynn felt she had to speak up on Lily Mae’s behalf. “She has a good heart.”

Ross shook his head. “But we’ll be an ‘item’ by tomorrow. When she gets to her regular table at the Hip Hop and starts spreading the news.”

And what will Trish say when she hears?

Lynn decided not to think about that. It would work out. She’d explain to her sister that they’d needed to talk about Jenny. Which was the truth.

Ross picked up his fork again. “It doesn’t matter, does it, what Lily Mae Wheeler thinks or says? We know the real situation, after all. And it’s not as if we’ve been caught doing anything but enjoying a meal together.”

Their eyes met. She sighed. “You’re right. There’ll be a little talk. And then, when we don’t see each other again, the talk will die down.”

“Right.” He said the word very low. And then, for several nerve-racking seconds, he said nothing more, only looked at her, making her pulse pound too fast and her face feel overly warm.

At last he shrugged. “Being talked about is the price you pay for living in a town like Whitehorn, where everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

“Exactly.” Carefully she cut a bite of meat and slipped the delicious morsel between her lips.

Ross watched her. He liked watching her. Liked it way too much.

Yes. Too much. Those were the operative words here. He liked watching her too much, was enjoying himself too much.

He should call a halt right now.

This was not going to go anywhere. Lynn Taylor might seem a temptress tonight, but he knew damn well that she was an innocent at heart.

She didn’t want what he wanted, which was to sit here for another hour or so and look at her some more. To listen to her slightly throaty voice, to catch an occasional whiff of that enticing perfume she wore.

Then, when they’d lingered over the meal for much longer than they should have, he wanted to take her home. To his bed. Where he would enjoy her all the more.

Until the night was over. At which time, he would want her to go back to her own life and leave him to his.

And she would want…what? He couldn’t say for sure. But hadn’t she just as much as told him she was looking for a prince?

Ross Garrison was no prince. And nothing was going to happen between him and Lynn Taylor.

Looked at from just about any angle, seducing her would be a fool’s move.

He’d seen the way Danielle Mitchell treated her. And those two hairdressers, too. Even Lily Mae Wheeler. Everyone in Whitehorn loved Lynn Taylor. They all seemed to feel protective toward her.

He had a practice to build here. And seducing the town innocent was not going to help him create trust with potential clients.

He should eat his steak, ask his few questions about his young client, pay the check and take the woman back to her car.

Unfortunately, though, for some insane reason, he couldn’t bear to let her go. Not quite yet.

She glanced up from her meal and asked softly, “You do like it here in Whitehorn, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do.”

“You said you were raised in Billings?”

“Right.”

“Why didn’t you move back there, when you were…ready for a change?”

“I have no family there anymore. My folks have been dead for several years now.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“One of each. But we’re not close. And they’ve moved away, too. My sister lives in Salt Lake City. And my brother’s in Southern California now. Works for some electronics firm, I think.”

She picked up her water glass. Her champagne flute was empty. He checked the bottle—empty, too. “I’ll order another one.”

“No.” She drank, set the water glass down. “Better not.” He upended the bottle in its bucket of ice as she started to slide her napkin in at the side of her plate.

He could see the end of the evening in those eyes of hers.

“Dessert,” he said. “You have to have dessert.”

“Oh.” Her eyelashes fluttered down, then lifted again. “No more. Really.” A busman appeared and whisked their plates away.

Ross waited for him to leave before coaxing, “It is your birthday, after all. And they have something really special here. Dark chocolate truffle cake. It’s my own personal weakness, I have to admit.”

“Truffle cake.” She considered. And she did it charmingly, tipping her head to the side, touching the tip of her tongue to the corner of her lip for an instant, as if she could actually taste a bit of chocolate there.

What would it feel like, to touch his own tongue to those lips of hers? Good, he imagined. Very, very good…

She drew in a breath. “No. I’m not hungry anymore. Not hungry at all.”

He should have just let it go at that. But he didn’t. “So what? It’s chocolate. Eat it for…the pleasure of it. And because it’s your birthday.”

She stared at him. Awareness, and of much more than the temptation of chocolate, seemed to weave itself around them like a net of silk—or like the silver threads in that dress of hers, subtle, but so damn seductive.

Then she blinked. “No.” Her voice was firmer now. “I really don’t want dessert.”

Time to call for the check. But he didn’t. “Well, you’ll wait for me, won’t you, if I want some?”

“Of course.”

“Coffee?”

“I’d love some.”

He signaled the waiter and whispered in the man’s ear.

“What did you tell him?” she demanded when the waiter had hurried off.

“Guess.”

She laughed again. God, he really did like the sound of her laugh.

“I know what you did. You told him it was my birthday, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, Ross…”

It was the first time she’d called him Ross. He liked the way his name sounded on her lips. Liked it far too much.

“You can blow out the candle,” he said. “And I’ll eat the cake.”

Three waiters appeared, singing the birthday song.

They marched to the table, and put the slice of cake with its single candle in front of her. The song ended. Delicately she blew out the flame.

“Happy birthday!” the waiters chorused one more time.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, giggling like a kid and clapping her hands.

The waiters served the coffee, then made themselves scarce.

Lynn plucked the candle from the cake, set it on a side dish and slid the plate across to him. “There you go. Indulge yourself.”

He picked up his fork. “You sure you won’t have any?”

“Don’t you start in again.”

“Just one little bite…?” He pressed the side of the fork down through the layers of chocolate shavings, snow-white icing, dark cake, and that impossible, silky whipped-truffle center. “I’m telling you, this tastes as good as it looks.” He held up the fork.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Do you ever quit?”

“Never. It’s not in my nature.”

She looked at the fork and the bite of cake balanced there. “If I taste it, will you leave me alone?”

“Unless you beg me for more.”

“I won’t.”

It sounded to him like a challenge. An utterly erotic one.

A challenge he had to keep telling himself he would not accept.

“Yes or no?” he dared in return.

And she did it.

She leaned forward. He gave her the cake, watching those soft lips open to take it in.

Her eyes closed. “Umm.” Her mouth moved as she tasted it, savored the heady mix of rich flavors. She swallowed.

“More?”

“No, thank you.”

He held her eyes for a moment, that silken web of awareness spinning, dizzily now, all around them. And then he lowered the fork and took a bite for himself.

Enjoy it, Garrison, he told himself. Imagine you can taste her, in the cream and the chocolate, on the silver prongs of this fork. It’s all you’re going to have of her. Because she’s not going to beg for more. And you’re not going to push her.

You want only a single night.

And she…

She’s looking for a prince.

Too soon, the cake was nothing but a few crumbs on a china plate. He signaled for the check and signed for it. The waiter brought her coat, started to hold it up for her.

Jealous of every last touch, Ross rose from his chair. “Here.” The waiter handed it over.

Lynn stood and he helped her into it, as he had once before, in that shop with all the women watching, taking longer this time than he needed to, because the scent of her, the reality of her, was right there—too close, and much too tempting. His knuckles brushed cashmere and burned.

Silently he called himself a number of crude names.

He was hard. Had been since the moment she took his fork into her mouth. Fully aroused, like some green kid who couldn’t keep it down even in public. At least his jacket covered the bulge.

Once she had the coat on, he put his hand at the small of her back, under the pretense of guiding her toward the door. But she didn’t really need guiding. She knew damn well where the door was. He put his hand on her so that he could feel her, the softness, the womanflesh of her, under all the layers of clothing that protected her from him.

The hostess murmured, “Have a nice evening, Mr. Garrison,” as they passed the reservation podium.

He nodded. “Good night.”

They were out the door, standing on the street in the darkness with the icy Montana wind blowing down from the mountains, before he remembered that he’d yet to bring up the matter of Jennifer McCallum.

Chapter Four

She turned to him, clutching her coat against the chilling fingers of the wind. “I wonder if you could drive me back to the school. I left my Blazer there.”

“Wait a minute.” He sounded every bit as offhand as he’d intended to. Not at all the way he felt, which was way too aroused. Too hungry—and not for filet mignon or truffle cake. For her.

He wanted to reach for her, right there. To yank her body against his, shove his hands into her moon-silvered hair—and finally taste that mouth that had teased him so thoroughly with throaty laughter and clever words. That mouth, which had taken cake straight from his own fork.

“Brr…” She hunched her shoulders down into her collar. “Wait for what?”

“We still haven’t talked about my client.”

She started to speak, then saw the two cowboys ambling toward them on the street. The men were dressed in regulation Whitehorn: worn jeans, battered boots, sweat-stained hats and shearling jackets. Lynn smiled at them, murmured two names in greeting.

The men stopped in their tracks. They stared at Lynn, mouths slightly agape. Ross would have laughed—if he hadn’t wanted to kill both of them with his bare hands. He knew what they were thinking. He’d thought it himself. She looked good. Too damn good. Like something a man could start in with and never get enough of.

One of the cowboys gulped. “Uh, Miss Taylor?”

She laughed that throaty, maddening laugh. “Yes, Eddie, it’s me.”

“Well. Uh. Hi, there.”

They both tipped their hats.

“Hello yourself,” she said. She asked the other one, whose name was Tom, how his sister was doing.

“Lindy’s feelin’ better now, Miss Taylor.”

“Well, I’m pleased to hear that. You tell her to take it easy. Pneumonia’s nothing to fool with.”

“I will, Miss Taylor. I surely will. And you have yourself a nice day…I mean, night.”

“Thank you, Tom. Same to you.”

They both tipped their hats again, this time in Ross’s general direction. He gave them a curt nod. And then—finally—they went on by.

She turned to him. “It always makes me smile. This is only my second year as a teacher at Whitehorn Elementary, but still, everyone in town, even the people I went to high school with, call me Miss Taylor.”

It didn’t seem all that damn funny to him. Those cowboys had better call her Miss Taylor, as far as Ross was concerned.

She was still smiling. “Tom and Eddie work the Birchley place. That’s north of town, between the No Bull Ranch and the—”

“I know where the Birchley spread is.” He didn’t, not really. And he also didn’t need to hear another word about Tom and Eddie, who should learn not to stare at a woman as if they damn well had never seen one before.

She moved a step away from him. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” He fisted his hands at his sides—to keep them from reaching out and pulling her back. “Not a thing.” He dragged in a slow breath and ordered the bulge in his pants to subside.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. And we really do still have to talk.”

“Well, I know, but—”

“We could stop by my house….” Once the suggestion was out, he could hardly believe he’d made it.

And apparently, neither could she. “Your house?” Her enchanting face showed both dismay—and excitement.

“It’s not that far. You can have one last cup of coffee. Then I’ll take you home.”

“I…” She hesitated. He knew with heart-stopping certainty that she would tell him no. But then relief hollowed him out as she finished, “I’ll still need to get my Blazer.”

“Fine, then. I’ll take you back to the school as soon as we’re finished.” He glanced at his watch. Still early. Good. “It’s only a little after seven. You’ll be home by eight-thirty—nine at the latest.” One more hour. Or two. No harm in that.

Yes, all right. It was playing with fire. But damn it, he hadn’t felt like this in…

Come to think of it, maybe he’d never felt exactly like this in his life. And he’d been alone for too long now. Had he been lonely? All right, maybe he had. He’d thought he wanted it that way. But tonight, just for a little while, he only wanted this magic to continue.

Magic. Yes, that was the word. All the talk of fairy godmothers and spells had gotten to him. She had gotten to him, with those innocent blue eyes and that red dress, her tart tongue and that maddening perfume.

He knew himself. Knew that whatever this feeling was, it wouldn’t last. But for right now, for an hour or so, he just didn’t want to let her go.

Lynn’s thoughts were moving along similar lines. She knew as well as Ross did that going to his house was taking this risky flirtation one step too far. But still…

It was her birthday. Her special, magical Cinderella birthday. Tonight, for the first time in her life, she was living a fairy tale. She was Cinderella at the ball, Sleeping Beauty awakened and ugly-duckling-turned-swan all rolled into one.

Don’t let it end yet, she kept thinking. Not yet. Oh, not quite yet…

He put his hand at her back, as he’d done in the restaurant. She felt that touch through every fiber of her being. “Come on,” he said. “It’s too cold to stand here on the street a minute longer. Let’s go.”

The house was five miles northeast of town, perched on a rocky ledge that led down to Black Bear Lake. A soaring structure of rough-hewn spruce logs and tall, gleaming windows, it was surrounded by stately fir trees.

Ross led her inside, took her coat and purse and put them in the closet near the front door. Then he ushered her into a massive great room, where the floor-to-ceiling fireplace was made of big smooth stones—collected from the eastern slopes of the Rockies, he told her. There was a mantel of sorts, a heavy wooden shelf, built into the stones. And a big clock on the mantel. A clock that said it was 7:36.

Ross took a minute to open the fireplace insert and strike a match to the logs already laid over kindling within.

As she waited for him to light the fire, Lynn admired the room. Overhead, huge logs formed the spokes of a giant arching wheel. The furniture around her looked inviting. It was upholstered in deep brown leather and jewel-toned chenille. Out the big windows, through the lacy branches of the firs, she could see the darkly gleaming waters of the lake.

He offered coffee. “Or maybe you’d prefer brandy?”

She decided on the brandy. The very idea of it was just so lovely and decadent. She’d never been a woman who drank brandy. Until tonight.

At the far end of the room, and at a right angle to the fireplace, there was a long bar that divided the kitchen from the dining area. Ross went around behind the bar and took a bottle from a cabinet. From the rack overhead he removed two big balloon-shaped glasses, the kind made just for sipping brandy.

Once he’d poured them each a glass, he gave her a tour. He led her first to his downstairs study with its own library of gold-tooled leather books, then through two bedrooms off the great room, each with its own private bath—and finally up the wide rough-hewn stairs and down a hall.

They glanced into two more bedrooms. Then came the master suite, which was almost as big as the great room downstairs and faced northwest.

Lynn followed him into the room, where rich-colored kilim rugs covered the hardwood floors. His bed was king-size, of heavy, dark wood. In the sitting area the leather chairs were deeply tufted, finished with nailhead trim. Western art and a few rare-looking Indian tapestries adorned the rough-textured walls. Right then, the huge windows showed only the stars and the shadowy forms of the Crazy Mountains in the distance. But in daylight, the view of blue sky and snow-capped mountains would be breathtaking.

She murmured, “Oh, Ross. It’s just beautiful.”

He gave her his rueful smile and ran a forefinger along the surface of a mahogany table. “Dusty, though. My housekeeper is as useless as my secretary.” He didn’t realize his mistake until the words were already out.

Just like that, the lovely mood fizzled and faded.

Ross’s smile faded, too. He shook his head. “That was a stupid thing to say.”

Lynn felt as if a large hand had reached out and shaken her, jarring her cruelly from a sweet and impossible dream. What in the world was she doing here, in a rich man’s bedroom after dark, a glass of brandy in her hand?

She heard herself asking, “Is Trish…really all that bad?”

He didn’t immediately reply, but from the grim set of his mouth she could guess what he was thinking. Finally he allowed, “She’s only—what? Twenty-two? That’s pretty young.”

She knew she should let it go at that. But somehow, she couldn’t. “You didn’t answer my question.”

His expression turned pained. “Look, I—” He paused, then admitted, “I’m sorry. I know you’re loyal to your sister. But the simple fact is, she’s not working out.”

It was much worse than that, though Ross didn’t say so.

The real truth was, Trish Taylor was driving him right up the wall.

He probably should have known the girl was hopeless from the first. But then, he was accustomed to working in a major firm, where Personnel carefully screened applicants before he ever talked to them.

At first meeting, she’d seemed bright; she’d lacked experience, but he’d thought she would learn fast. And she was attractive. When he’d interviewed her, she’d worn a nice dark blue business suit; her looks, he’d decided, would be a real plus in terms of an office image. How could he have known that as soon as Trish Taylor had the job, she’d go back to the too-short denim skirts and the dangling Lily Mae Wheeler-type earrings she obviously preferred?

And her office skills?

She didn’t have any. The girl had graduated from business school in Bozeman. Her résumé had claimed she knew shorthand and typed sixty words a minute. Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to decipher her shorthand after she took it. And he’d seen her type. He could type faster, using only two fingers. She was always losing files—in her desktop computer and in the row of legal-sized file cabinets that lined the wall to the right of her work area.

Lynn was looking down into the amber depths of her brandy. “Maybe if you talked to her…?”

God, he did not want to discuss this with her.

But she wouldn’t give it up—any more than she would look into his eyes right then. “Ross. Have you talked to her?”

“Yes. I have.”

He’d talked to Trish, all right. More than once. A week ago he’d finally told her frankly that she’d better concentrate harder on her work—or look for another job. It hadn’t done any good.

Ross knew the main problem; he’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to know it. Trish Taylor had a flaming crush on him. Instead of doing her job, she spent her working hours gazing off into nowhere with dreamy eyes, blushing every time he asked her to bring him a file and scheming over new ways to get him chatting about his private life.

Secretary falls for boss. The oldest cliché in the book. Except the way the cliché usually went, the secretary actually knew how to type. And she also had the tact and grace never to let her feelings show unless she received some indication that they might be returned. Not so with Trish Taylor.

And Lynn still wasn’t looking at him.

“Are you going to stare into that glass forever?” he asked, trying for a light tone and not succeeding all that well.

Lynn made herself look into his eyes again.

This is totally inappropriate, she told herself. Inappropriate and unacceptable. I should not be standing here in this man’s bedroom, sipping his brandy, while he tells me he’s going to fire my sister any day now.

“I think we’d better go back downstairs.” She spun on her heel and headed for the hall.

“Lynn.”

She froze, but she didn’t turn around.

He spoke to her back. “There is nothing at all between your sister and me. I’m her boss and she’s my employee. And that’s all.”

“It’s none of my business.” She tried to start walking again.

And again he said, “Lynn.”

“What?” She whirled back to face him then, glaring.

“Do you believe me?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters.”

She lifted her chin, drew herself up to her full five foot eleven in heels. “Why?”

“I might not be the prince you’re looking for, but I would never have brought you here if there was something going on between your sister and me.”

She kept glaring at him. She wanted so badly to be angry with him. But she wasn’t, not really. At least, not any angrier than she was with herself. She drew a calming breath and let it out slowly. “You shouldn’t have brought me here. And I shouldn’t have come.”

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