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An Intimate Bargain
Barbara Dunlop









“Nobody even has to know you’re advising me. It’ll be a secret,” Zach offered.

Abby was having none of it. “So you can blackmail me with it later?” she challenged.

He gave an exaggerated eye-roll. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“How is that ridiculous? You’re blackmailing me now.” Her voice came out more shrilly than she’d intended.

“There’s only one thing I want from you, Abby.”

“Don’t call me Abby.” That nickname was reserved for her family.

His gaze stayed on her, while he obviously regrouped. “How can we make this work?”

“You can go away and never come back.”

He strode toward her, his normally laid-back style instantly bold, confident, purposeful. “I’m definitely not going away, Abigail. And from everything I’ve learned in the past week, you’re the one person I need.”


Dear Reader,

I’ve always been fascinated by the differing roles of family members and how those roles impact people’s lives. It seems once expectations are set, brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers feel honor-bound to meet them.

In An Intimate Bargain, Abigail’s family expects her unconditional support on the family cattle ranch. As an orphan, Zach doesn’t understand her obligations. He only wants her to be happy, so he pushes her to pursue her own secret dreams.

I hope you enjoy the further adventures of the Jacobs and Terrell families in book three of COLORADO CATTLE BARONS!

Enjoy!

Barbara Dunlop




About the Author


BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada’s far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.barbaradunlop.com.


An Intimate

Bargain





Barbara Dunlop
















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my husband




One


The last time Zach Rainer felt this level of anxiety, he was walking out of a Texas group home on his eighteenth birthday. Twelve years later, there was more than just his future at stake.

He’d been navigating the Interstate since dawn in his three-year-old Jaguar convertible with nothing but a stale truck stop sandwich and six cardboard cups of coffee to keep him going. His business partner, Alex Cable, had insisted the road trip from Texas to Colorado would clear his head. Zach should have known better. Thinking didn’t solve problems, action did.

Now he checked himself into the Caspian Hotel in downtown Lyndon, Colorado, and accepted his key to an eighth-floor room. While he pocketed his credit card, his attention was drawn to the mezzanine level that overlooked the atrium lobby. Sharply dressed men and glittering ladies circulated at the top of a grand, curving staircase, while chamber music sounded around them.

He put the room key in his pocket and left his bags with the porter. Tugging the sleeves of his travel-worn blazer, he took the friendly clerk’s advice and started for a sports-bar down the hall. The woman had assured him it would be a lot less crowded there. Though, given his wrinkled shirt and day’s growth of beard, he was guessing she thought he’d fit in better with the sports bar crowd. Not that he cared about making any kind of impression. He was too tired and too hungry to worry about anything more than a hot meal and a long night’s sleep.

Tomorrow morning, he’d drive up into the hills behind Lyndon to the Craig Mountain Brewery and take stock of the place. Craig Mountain was the weak link in DFB Incorporated, the microbrewery conglomerate that he and Alex had grown over the past twelve years. At the same time, Craig Mountain had suddenly become the potential salvation of the entire corporation and the hundreds of jobs that went with it.

At the end of the hall, he entered the dimly lit bar through a lighted archway. He blinked to adjust his eyes, then he zeroed in on an empty table across from the wide-screen television. A basketball game was playing, the announcer’s words scrolling in closed caption across the bottom of the screen, while an eighties rock tune came through speakers high in the corners of the room.

It was Lakers versus Celtics. Neither were teams he followed, but watching the action would help his mind rest up for tomorrow. Production at Craig Mountain was currently ten thousand barrels per year. In order to save DFB, he needed to triple that in the next six months.

As he rounded the polished bar, his attention was snagged by a startlingly beautiful, auburn-haired woman. Perched on a leather chair, she was alone at a table and looked seriously out of place in the casual atmosphere. She wore a low-cut, black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps over her smooth shoulders. It clung to her body in a drop waist, then layered out into a full skirt, ending at midthigh.

Her graceful, lavender-tipped fingers were wrapped around the martini glass in front of her. She was obviously deep in thought, her attention fixed on a spot on the far wall. The flickering light from the television highlighted her compelling hazel eyes. They were streaked with gold, mesmerizing and undeniably sexy. Her hair was pulled back in a wavy updo, a few loose strands artfully arranged at her temples, brushing against dangling crystal earrings.

Zach’s feet came to an automatic halt, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from gaping at her beauty. She glanced up and caught him, drawing back in surprise. He knew what she must be thinking, and immediately opened his mouth to apologize.

But to his surprise, she smiled and nodded a greeting.

Zach might be exhausted and starving, but he still had a pulse. He wasn’t about to walk away from a reception like that.

“Hello,” he offered, seizing the opportunity to ease closer to her table.

“Getting away from the crowd?” she asked, her deep red lips curving into a friendly, open smile.

He nodded. “They told me it would be quieter back here.”

“Well, a different kind of noise anyway,” she acknowledged with a wry glance at the speakers.

Zach had to grin at that. “Not my favorite, either.”

“At least the crowd is thinner.”

“Agreed,” he replied.

“My face was about to crack from all that smiling.”

“You’re smiling now,” he pointed out, taking the final couple of steps that brought him to the chair opposite her. He rested his hand on its back.

“I guess I am.” She tipped her head quizzically, and her beautiful, golden eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember meeting you at the reception.”

Zach knew he was about to be outed as a stranger. He also knew he had about two seconds to figure out a way to prolong the conversation. He boldly pulled out the chair and slid into it.

“That’s because you didn’t meet me.” He took a stab in the dark. “Are you a friend of the bride?”

“What bride?”

Damn. Okay, that was a huge miss. And he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go but the truth. “I confess. I wasn’t at the reception.”

“You mean you’re not here to celebrate Mayor Seth Jacobs’ election victory?”

“I am not,” he admitted, holding her gaze.

She squinted with suspicion. “You have anything against Mayor Jacobs?”

“I do not. I’ve never met the man.”

Her face relaxed at that. Her shoulders drooped a little, and she leaned back into the big, brown leather chair.

Zach knew he was about to get his marching orders. Too bad. He’d have loved to sit here and get to know this woman, even if it did mean forgoing the burger and fries he’d promised his empty stomach.

“So you don’t know who I am?” she asked.

“I’d like to,” Zach immediately put in.

She chuckled. “While I’d prefer it if you had no earthly idea.”

He didn’t miss a beat. His tone went low and intimate as he propped his elbows on the lacquered tabletop and leaned toward her. “I can live with that, too.”

She rested her own elbows on the table, leaning forward, a playful glint now lurking in her expression. “I wasn’t offering to date you.”

“I didn’t think you were.” He quickly backed off. Okay, he’d hoped she was. But a guy could hope without penalty.

“Are you lying?” she asked him.

“I am not.”

She contemplated him a moment longer. “I take it you’re not from Lyndon.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Passing through?”

“Essentially.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to stay long. He hoped tripling production at Craig Mountain proved to be a straightforward proposition, that he could leave the brewery manager with instructions for expansion then get himself back to his corporate headquarters in Houston. He’d left Alex to hold down the fort during a very critical time.

Her sexy fingertips drummed lightly against the table. “So, we could do this?”

“Do what?” He found himself hoping all over again, but he sure wasn’t going to presume a second time.

“Have a casual conversation about nothing that matters. You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed without hesitation. He could talk with her, or do absolutely anything else that she wanted.

Someone entered the bar through the archway, drawing her attention. She tracked the progress of a fiftysomething man as he headed for the bar. After a few seconds, she seemed to relax. She turned back to Zach.

“Waiting for someone?” he couldn’t help asking.

She emphatically shook her head.

His second guess would be that she was avoiding someone. He took a chance on his instincts. “You want to get out of here?”

She seemed to contemplate his words for a long, slow moment. “Yes,” she finally answered. “I believe I do.”

He gestured with a tilt of his head. “I saw an exit door at the far end of that hall. We can probably make a clean getaway.”

“What makes you think I need a getaway?”

He leaned across the table again, dramatically lowering his voice. “You’re acting like someone who needs to lie low for a while.”

She matched his posture once more. “You make me sound like a felon.”

“Are you a felon?”

She fought a grin. “Would it matter?”

“No,” he answered honestly. With her looks and sense of humor, it truly would not.

She chuckled low, drew back and rose from her chair, retrieving a small, black clutch. “Then let’s do it.”

He stood with her. She moved past him, and the exotic scent of jasmine teased his senses.

He inhaled appreciatively then affected a Chicago-gangster drawl. “Act natural, Doll-Face, and stick close to me.”

She matched his tone. “Right beside you … Lucky.”

He couldn’t help grinning to himself as they crossed the bar. He lowered his voice. “You want I should score us a getaway car?”

“We’re only half a block from Main Street,” she stage-whispered in return. “Plenty of hideouts there.”

They ducked into the hallway then hurried for the back exit. Zach pushed the heavy, steel door open, and they crossed the threshold into the late-summer night. The door clanged shut behind them.

“A clean break,” she breathed, pressing her back dramatically against the brick wall.

“Stick with me, Doll-Face,” he rumbled in return, making a show of checking both directions on the quiet street. “I don’t see any gumshoes hanging around.”

“Good to know. But I’m more worried about constituents.”

“Constituents?” He played dumb. “You mean the feds?”

She shifted away from the wall and started down the short block toward Main Street, her high heels echoing on the pavement. “I mean the good people of Lyndon. I don’t want anyone to recognize me.”

“So I’m hiding you from the entire town?” he asked with mock incredulity.

“Only from the people I know.”

“How many people do know you?”

“Several thousand.”

He fought what seemed like a natural urge to fold her hand into his. “You don’t make things easy on a guy,” he grumbled instead.

“You seem pretty good at this,” she responded, glancing up. “You sure you’re not a real criminal?”

“I’m a businessman.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized they made him sound like a character from The Godfather. “A legitimate one,” he added. But that wasn’t much better. “I don’t have so much as a parking ticket,” he finished, hoping he hadn’t scared her off.

“What kind of—” But then she determinedly shook her head. “Nope. I don’t want to know what you do.”

The wind had picked up, lifting the loose strands of her hair. He resisted an urge to reach out and smooth them back. “Can we at least trade first names?”

She hesitated, a look of consternation crossing her face. Then, just as quickly, she grinned. “Call me Doll-Face.”

He paused as they reached the curb, half turning to offer a handshake. “Call me Lucky.”

She glanced at his hand briefly, then reached out to wrap her delicate fingers over his rough skin. “Hello, Lucky.” Her sweet voice seemed to touch a place deep inside him and settled there.

He let their handshake lengthen, having absolutely no desire to let her go.

Abigail Jacobs didn’t usually flirt. She rarely had the inclination and, lately, she certainly hadn’t had the time. But tonight was different. Her life was about to take a dramatic U-turn, and she didn’t want to face the change just yet. Joking with Lucky was keeping the future at bay.

After tonight, she’d no longer be Abigail Jacobs, sister and campaign manager to mayoral candidate Seth Jacobs. She wouldn’t be running the campaign office, picking up the phone to call business owners and reporters. She wouldn’t polish speeches, organize events, manage budgets and head off crises. Tomorrow morning she’d pack away her dressy clothes, turn in her office keys, give up the leased Audi and leave Lyndon City in a dusty, ranch pickup truck.

Growing up, she’d loved her ranch life, the freedom, the fresh air and open spaces. But somewhere along the way, the city had sunk its hooks in her, making her wish for things she couldn’t have. With her sister Mandy recently engaged to their former neighbor Caleb Terrell, and similarly, her other sister Katrina engaged to Caleb’s brother, Reed, her father and mother in Houston working on his stroke recovery and her brother Seth now the mayor of Lyndon, she couldn’t abandon her other brother, Travis, to manage the ranch alone.

Like it or not, the ball was ending, and tomorrow morning Cinderella was going back to the dust and manure of the real world.

“Hungry?” asked Lucky beside her, his coffee-colored eyes warm in the glow of the streetlights.

“Sure.” It had been quite a while since Abigail had eaten. In a rush this morning, she’d skipped breakfast, and she’d been too nervous to eat all day. When the polls finally closed at dinnertime, the entire team had waited with bated breath for the vote count.

Of course, there’d been food at tonight’s victory party, but there she’d been too busy fielding congratulations and questions about her future plans to eat anything. She’d told everyone she was looking forward to going home to the family ranch. After about the hundredth lie, she’d made her escape to the hotel sports bar.

“Steak?” Lucky asked with a nod toward the glowing red sign for Calbert’s.

She shook her head. “Too many people I’ll know in there.”

“Thai?” he suggested, zeroing in on a smaller, lower-key restaurant a few doors down.

“How about a burger from the drive-through?”

Bert’s Burgers, half a block down in the other direction, catered mostly to a teenage crowd. Much as they’d tried to get out the youth vote, Abigail doubted anyone under the age of twenty-one would recognize her.

“We don’t have a car,” Lucky pointed out.

“We can walk to the drive-through and take the burgers down to the lake.”

He arched a skeptical brow. “You sure?”

She nodded.

There were some picnic tables on the lawn by the beach. The election party fireworks finale was planned for later on the waterfront. But it would take place on the wharf at the opposite end of the bay. This time of night, their only company in the picnic area would be the mallard ducks that slept in the marsh.

“Not much of a date,” he noted as they took advantage of a break in traffic to cross in the middle of the block.

She couldn’t help smiling at that. “This is a date?”

“Not in my book.”

“So why are you worrying about the aesthetics?”

They stepped up on the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

“Because you’re wearing a two-thousand-dollar dress, and I’m buying you a burger and fries.”

“Who says you’re buying?”

“I’m from Texas.”

She smacked her hands dramatically over her ears, signaling her unwillingness to learn where he was from. “La, la, la, la—”

He playfully pulled one of them away. “You can already tell that by my accent.”

“Just because you grew up in Texas doesn’t mean you live there now.”

“I do.”

“Quit breaking the rules,” she warned him.

“There are rules?”

“Yes, there are rules. We agreed.”

“Well, the rule in Texas is that a gentleman always buys a lady’s dinner.”

“This is Colorado.”

They came to a halt beside the drive-through window, and he peered up at the lighted menu board. “And this isn’t exactly dinner.”

A teenage girl in a navy-blue-and-white uniform, her hair pulled back in a ponytail revealing purple beaded earrings, slid the window open. “What’ll you have?”

“A mountain burger,” Abigail decided. “No onions, extra tomato and a chocolate shake.”

“Same for me,” said Lucky, extracting his wallet. “But I’ll take some fries with that.”

Abigail decided not to press the issue of payment. What point would she be making? That she was an independent woman? That this wasn’t a date? Date or not, she doubted a five-dollar dinner would make any man feel entitled to so much as a goodnight kiss.

Not that she’d necessarily mind kissing Lucky. She found herself stealing a glance at his profile while he handed the girl a twenty. He was an incredibly attractive man. As tall as her brothers, easily over six feet. He had gorgeous brown eyes, thick, dark hair, full lips, a straight nose, with a square chin that was slightly beard shadowed. He wasn’t cowboy. She’d call it urbane. With an edge. She liked that.

“Cherry turnover?” he asked, turning to catch her staring.

She quickly blinked away her curiosity. “No, thanks.”

“We’re good,” he said to the girl.

The cashier rang their purchase through the register, handing him the change, while another employee appeared with a white paper bag of food and a cardboard tray holding two milk shakes and paper-covered straws.

Lucky took the bag in one hand, the milk shakes in the other. “Lead on.”

“You want some help?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Texans don’t let women carry things?”

“No, ma’am.”

Abigail couldn’t help wondering what he’d think of her hauling hay bales and lumber, and hefting saddles back at the ranch. Then she compressed her lips, determinedly banishing the image. That would be her life tomorrow. For tonight, she was going to be a girlie girl, with makeup, jewelry, horribly impractical shoes and a Texas man who insisted on buying her dinner.

“This way,” she told him with determined cheer.

They headed for the lighted, bark-mulch path that led from the side of the parking lot down to the beach and picnic area. They made their way beneath the glow of overhead lights and the rustle of aspens and sugar maple trees. Her narrow, three-inch heels sank into the loose bark mulch of the pathway. After stumbling a few times, she moved to one side, stopped and slipped off the shoes to stand barefoot on the lush lawn.

Lucky halted to check on her. “You okay there?”

“I’m fine.” She picked up the sandals, dangling them from the straps, the grass cool and soft against her soles.

“Is it safe to walk barefoot?”

“The park’s well maintained.”

He frowned in obvious concern. “I could give you a lift.”

“Is that how they do it in Texas? Haul their women around over their shoulders?”

“When necessary.”

“It’s not necessary. I’ve been running barefoot through this park since I was two years old.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” She began walking, passing him. “But thank you,” she added belatedly, turning to pace backward so she could watch him.

He had a long, easy stride. His shirt collar was open. She could see the fabric was wrinkled, but his blazer was well cut, delineating broad, and what she guessed were well-muscled, shoulders. She wondered if he also had a six-pack.

“You grew up in Lyndon?” he asked.

“I did.”

Technically her family’s ranch was two hours west of Lyndon. But she wasn’t going to fret over the details. Tonight she was a city girl through and through.

“Brothers and sisters?” he asked.

“Both. You?” She didn’t think the question would take them too far down the road to revealing their identities. Mainly, she didn’t want him to know she was the mayor’s sister, and she didn’t want him to know she was really a ranch hand.

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“You were an only child?”

“That’s right. Watch where you’re going.”

She turned her head to discover they were only a few feet from the first picnic table. The grass was about to give way to sand.

“Perfect,” she pronounced, dropping her sandals to the ground and stepping up on the wooden bench seat, intending to perch on the tabletop facing the lake.

“Hold up there.” Lucky swiftly set down the burgers. Stripping off his blazer, he laid it down like a blanket for her to sit on. The simple gesture made her chest tighten.

“Gotta love Texans,” she joked, taking in the breadth of his chest beneath the thin, white cotton shirt. The fabric was tight over his biceps, and she was more willing than ever to lay a bet on him having six-pack abs.

“Can’t have you ruining your dress,” he said.

“So we’re going to ruin your jacket instead?” But she sat down on the warm satin lining.

He shrugged, plunking down beside her, placing the burgers and shakes between them.

A couple of fat mallards splashed and waddled their way out of the water, crossing the pebbles and sand to investigate their presence, obviously on the lookout for bread crumbs.

Lucky handed her a foil-wrapped burger. “The jacket will clean.”

“So would the dress.”

He simply shrugged again.

The wrapper crackled as she peeled it halfway down the thick burger. Then Lucky was handing her a shake with a plastic straw already sticking through the lid.

She transferred the burger to the opposite hand as she accepted the drink, taking a sip of the icy, smooth treat.

“Yum,” she acknowledged, then took a bite of the burger. It was juicy and flavorful, with a fresh bun and crisp condiments. Her stomach rumbled quietly in anticipation.

“I’m starving,” she muttered around the bite.

“Me, too,” he agreed with a nod, digging in to his own burger. “Long day on the road.”

“Long day in the office for me.”

Then they both ate in silence, while a few more ducks made their way over from a small, reed-filled marsh. Abigail tossed them some bits of bun, and they quacked with excitement, wings flapping, orange beaks pecking the ground.

Satiated, she took a long drink of the milk shake and threw the remains of her bun to the birds.

“Better?” asked Lucky, crumpling his wrapper and tossing it into the empty bag. She tucked hers away, as well, and he set the trash behind them.

“Much better,” she acknowledged.

His gaze settled on the black horizon, where the moon was coming up over the mountains, fading the stars that were scattered across the sky. “So, are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“What’s going on here?”

She waggled her cardboard cup at him, pretending to misunderstand his question. “I’m finishing my milk shake.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You must have guys hitting on you all the time.”

Abigail coughed out a laugh. “Not really.”

She’d spent most of her life in dusty blue jeans, hair in a sensible ponytail, face free of makeup while she worked up a sweat on the land. Things had been slightly different during the campaign. But most of the attention had been on her brother Seth, and most of the people she spoke to in Lyndon remembered her as a little freckle-faced, red-haired girl with pigtails and skinned knees.

Lucky gazed down at her. “First of all, I don’t believe you. Second, I’m betting you don’t usually accept dinner invitations from strange men.”

She took a long, noisy slurp, draining the milk shake. “I do when it’s a mountain burger.”

He gently removed the cup from her hand, setting it on the table behind them. “Spill, Doll-Face. Who are you hiding from?”

“That’s a stupid name.” But she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his.

“Then tell me your real name.”

“No.” She was enjoying this anonymity. For a brief space of time, she wasn’t Seth’s campaign manager, or Travis’s stalwart sister and ranch hand. She was her own woman, nothing more, nothing less.

“Then Doll-Face is all I’ve got.” Lucky’s smooth baritone rolled over her like warm honey.

It really was a silly name, but when he said it, it sounded sweet. He reached up and brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead, and her skin tingled behind the touch.

“Don’t do that.” She closed her eyes, hiding her emotion as the incredible sensation slowly ebbed.

“Sorry.”

She shook her head, regretting the sharpness of her outburst. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You had to know I was attracted to you.”

Had to? No. Suspected? Sure. She wasn’t stupid.

After a long moment, he spoke again. “So why’d you come with me?”

She opened her eyes, and it was her turn to drink in the blackened horizon and the sharpening moon. She hesitated to tell him anything remotely close to the truth, but reality had been burning in her brain all evening long, and it seemed desperate to get out. “Because I’m putting off tomorrow,” she told him on a sigh. “It’s going to be a very bad day.”

She expected him to press for details, was already weighing exactly how much she’d say.

But he didn’t ask. Instead, he shifted, and the wooden table creaked beneath his weight. “I hear you.” He paused. “There’s a better-than-even chance that my tomorrow’s going to suck, too.”

Despite herself, he had her curious. She turned to take in his profile. “Yeah?”

He set aside his own cardboard cup. “Yeah.”

“Family?” she probed, promising herself, whatever it was, she’d keep the conversation to generalities.

He shook his head.

“Girlfriend?” she dared, swallowing a sudden lump.

He turned to paste her with a scowl. “While I’m hitting on you? Thanks tons, Doll-Face.”

She tried not to feel quite so relieved. “Gambling, drinking, illness?”

“Business,” he answered, his tone smoothing out. “There’s a problem with my mysterious, yet perfectly legitimate, business interests. But I take it your problem is family?”

“What makes you say that?”

“It was your first guess for me. That makes it top of your mind.”

She took in his expression, seeing warmth and compassion and, yes, a little bit of lust. But she was okay with that. It had taken her two hours to dress up for the reception tonight. It was nice to know somebody appreciated her efforts.

Her first instinct was to evade his question. But for some reason, she wanted to be honest with him. “My family needs me to do one thing,” she told him. “But I want to do something else entirely.”

He canted his head, and he suddenly seemed closer, his chest looked broader, his voice going lower. “Age-old dilemma,” he rumbled.

She picked up his woodsy musk scent, getting lost in his warm, brown eyes, and momentarily lost brain function. She braced her hand on the tabletop, gripping with her fingertips. “I guess.”

“So what are you going to do?”

She blinked. It wasn’t like there was a choice. “Support my family.”

The pad of his thumb passed over her knuckles, sending a kick of reaction up her spine. He gave a small smile. “I’d have guessed that about you, Doll-Face. You seem like the loyal type.”

“What about you?” she managed to say around a drying throat and laboring breaths. Every single thing about this man oozed sex appeal. “What would you do?”

His hand covered hers completely, warm, broad and strong. “I’d make my own choice. I’d do whatever I wanted.”

She was surprised, but also intrigued. “Even if it hurt your family?”

“My family doesn’t need me.”

“Mine needs me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.”

He lifted an index finger to touch the bottom of her chin. This time, she didn’t wave him off. She drank in the sensation of his touch, anticipating the kiss that was sure to come.

What would it hurt?

What could it hurt?

Tomorrow she’d be back in her blue jeans, and men like Lucky wouldn’t give her the time of day. Surely she deserved one single kiss.




Two


Zach figured there was a pretty good chance he was about to get his face slapped. He also figured it was going to be worth it.

He leaned in, anticipating her taste, the softness of her full lips. But a boat horn suddenly blasted from the lake, and Doll-Face abruptly turned away. Then another horn sounded, and another.

Disappointment clenched Zach’s gut, even as light and color flashed in the periphery of his vision. He looked toward the lake in time to see starbursts of color cascading in the skies above.

A cheer went up from the crowd that had gathered far down the shore and out onto the wharf. A few people had also arrived in the park, taking up spots on nearby picnic tables. Zach hadn’t even noticed them.

Doll-Face settled back to watch the show, bracing her hands and locking her elbows, bringing her dress taut against her breasts, highlighting an intriguing dip of cleavage.

Her skin was honey-toned with a tan. Her neck was long and graceful, her face classically beautiful, with big, golden eyes, dark lashes and a wide, sexy smile.

“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s spectacular.”

“It sure is,” he agreed, gaze fully on her, still desperate to lean down and kiss her mouth. Her auburn hair was slightly mussed. Wisps had worked their way free from the updo, along her neck and forehead. He had a sudden vision of her lying back on a white pillowcase, naked, thoroughly kissed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow.

He gave himself a shake.

“Oooh,” she sang, smiling. Then she glanced up at him. “You’re missing it.”

He wasn’t missing a thing. But he turned to look at the fireworks anyway. “Part of the election celebration?”

“It is,” she said. “I should be standing out there on the dock with a glass of champagne in my hand, toasting my—”

He waited, but she didn’t add anything to the end of the sentence. “You want to go drink some champagne?” he felt compelled to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was join the crowd down the beach.

“No. I was just wondering if anyone noticed I was missing.”

“Did you have a date at the party?” That could easily have been the end of her sentence. Toasting with her boyfriend? Was that what she’d meant to say?

He glanced reflexively at her left hand. No ring. At least she hadn’t been talking about toasting with her fiancé.

“No date,” she assured him.

He scanned his way from her knees to her breasts, along her neck, returning to her face. Bursts of light danced off her skin, reflecting in her gorgeous eyes. His voice went husky. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She met his gaze for a long moment, while he tensed, waiting. Then she shook her head. “Not since Russell Livingston, senior year.”

“How old are you?”

“How old do I look?”

“Young enough that I should ask.”

She grinned. “I’m twenty-six.”

He did the math. “So you haven’t had a boyfriend in four years?” He found that absolutely impossible to believe. What on earth was wrong with the men of Colorado?

“Not a steady one.” She gave a little lift of her chin. “How about you?”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

She threw an elbow to his rib cage. “You know what I mean, Lucky.”

He steadied her arm with his hand as she rocked back. “Nobody serious.”

She resettled her bare feet on the picnic-table bench. “Since when?”

He reluctantly removed his hand from her arm, shrugging as he took in the glinting copper polish on her toenails. Sexy. How had he missed that up to now? “Since forever.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“I’ve never been in love,” he confirmed. He’d never had the time. Not that he’d be likely to recognize it if it happened. He’d had no role models, no examples of romantic love in his formative years. He supposed he loved Alex like a brother. But that was a completely different thing.

“Me neither,” said Doll-Face. She contemplated the fireworks display for a minute. “But both of my sisters are in love.”

“You have two sisters?”

“And two brothers.”

“Are your parents still together?”

Her expression faltered for a second, but then she nodded, voice a little quieter. “Yes, they are. And they’re still very much in love.”

“Sounds like a perfect family.” Reflexive resentment flickered inside Zach. But he quickly tamped it down. He wouldn’t wish his tough childhood on anyone, least of all this delightful, beautiful creature in front of him.

She laughed. “We’re a long, long way from perfect. But there’s a wedding coming up. A double wedding.”

“Both sisters?” he guessed.

“I’ll be the maid of honor.” Then she sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “And me, the oldest.”

“Oh, that’s not good.” Zach shook his head in mock concern. “Tragic, really. Pitiful.”

“Isn’t it?”

“An old maid at twenty-six.” He clicked his cheek. “What will the neighbors say?”

Her laughter tinkled. “They’ll probably introduce me to every eligible bachelor they can lay their hands on.”

Zach knew she was probably right. And he didn’t like that image. He had a sudden urge to curl an arm around her, pull her close, tell her to stay away from all those no-good bachelors.

“Funny,” she continued, her gaze back on the fireworks. “Marriage has never been a goal of mine.”

“Mine, neither,” Zach agreed, ridiculously relieved. It was silly, stupid even. He didn’t know the woman’s name, yet he didn’t want to think about her with other men.

“What is your goal?” he prompted. The gasps of the crowd and the pops of the rockets once again penetrated his conscious, reminding him of where they were.

She shrugged her slim, bare shoulders. “A career, maybe.”

“What kind of career?” This line of conversation definitely beat talking about her future boyfriends.

“Lately I’ve been thinking about event management, or maybe business.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“History. Don’t you dare laugh.”

Did she mean at the impracticality of studying history? “I’m not laughing. I don’t even have a college degree.”

She waited for him to continue. There was no judgment in her expression.

“Where I come from,” he found himself explaining, “high school graduation is about as far as kids go.”

“Did you graduate high school?”

“I did.” He paused. “But would you care if I hadn’t?” He was honestly curious.

“I don’t think it’s your education that matters. It’s what you do with it.”

He couldn’t agree more.

With the exception of their accountant, DFB Incorporated didn’t have a single employee with a college degree. Mostly because they were all foster kids. They’d grown up in group homes, like him, or in a series of short-term, single-family placements. They’d learned to avoid emotional attachment to their caregivers and had spent their childhoods in survival mode. None of them had family ties. None would have had a single penny of support, even if they had wanted to go to college.

“If you want to use your history degree to go into business,” he told her, “I’m all for it.”

She smiled, and his chest tightened. “Thank you.”

He drew a couple of hard breaths. He’d never wanted to kiss a woman quite this badly. But people could see them, and she was trying to keep a low profile. “What kind of business?” he forced himself to ask again.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Well, if you start your own, expand slowly. Make sure you don’t overleverage.”

“Is that what you did?” There was an astute intelligence in those golden eyes. It was as if she’d suddenly shifted modes, staring frankly, seeking information.

Okay, that really shouldn’t strike him as sexy.

“We grew fast,” he told her, shifting his attention to the lake in order to keep from grabbing her right here in front of everyone. “When you hit a certain size, all of a sudden there are a whole lot of moving parts. We ended up with a weak link. And I’m here to fix it.” It seemed silly to stay so oblique. “You want me to tell you what the—”

“No!” It was her hand on his arm more than her words that shut him up.

He glanced down at her slim fingers, the lavender polish, felt the heat through the thin cotton of his shirt, and thought about all the other places he’d like her to touch him.

“It’s better this way,” she assured him.

It would be better with her in his arms.

The sky suddenly lit up with the fireworks finale. The crowd oohed then aahed then cheered madly as the sky went dark.

“Whatever you want,” Zach told her, meaning it in all possible ways.

Abigail knew the evening had to come to an end. It was after three in the morning. They’d been talking for hours, and she was nearly asleep on her feet as they approached the front entrance of the Caspian Hotel.

Except for the doorman, the place was deserted. He tipped his hat, gave them a welcoming smile and opened the glass-fronted, brass-trimmed door so they could enter.

Lucky slowed his steps and motioned with an outstretched arm for Abigail to go in first. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing through the empty lobby. A front-desk clerk glanced up from her computer screen. Seeing they had no luggage, so obviously weren’t checking in, she nodded a greeting and went back to typing on the keyboard.

They crossed the vast lobby toward the bank of elevators, while Abigail struggled for something clever or memorable to say. But everything she came up with sounded either trite or ridiculous.

Lucky pressed the call button, and an elevator door immediately slid open. She wanted to tell him she’d had a great time. No, not a great time, an amazing time. A time that she wished she could repeat again someday. But she knew that was impossible. He was leaving town. And she was going back to her real life. And she didn’t even know his name.

He pressed eight, then lifted his brows in her direction.

“Same,” she confirmed, her voice raspy over her dry throat.

Their gazes locked, and the air in the elevator seemed to thicken with anticipation.

The door slid shut.

“Imagine that,” Lucky observed.

Abigail’s skin tingled. She felt heat rush up from her toes to her scalp. She’d never, ever, not even once, had a one-night stand. But she was tempted tonight.

The elevator pinged to a stop.

The door slid open.

She exited first, turning left down the hallway, wondering what she could say, if she could say it, if she could possibly, actually bring herself to do it.

He fell into step, the heat from his body seeming to swirl out to touch her.

“Eight-nineteen,” he told her, extracting his key card, slowing to a stop.

“Eight-twenty,” she responded, stopping beside him.

He glanced down.

She looked up.

Her heart pounded hard against the inside of her chest. A roaring sound filled her ears. And her lungs labored as she moistened her dry lips.

He cocked his head ever so slightly toward his hotel-room door. “I’m thinking there’ll be a bottle of wine in my minibar.”

Abigail tried to make her head shake no, but somehow the message got scrambled. “Red or white?” she rasped instead.

“Either. Both. Whatever you want.”

She knew she should say good-night and leave. This was her last chance. If she walked into that hotel room, she would throw herself into Lucky’s arms, damn the consequences.

She couldn’t tell him no. But she couldn’t bring herself to say yes either.

He slipped the key into the lock, and the indicator light turned green. He pushed down on the handle, released the latch and yawned the door wide open.

Abigail took one step then another into his room, her shoes whispering against the thick carpet. The door whooshed shut behind them, clicking with finality.

From behind, Lucky gently touched her shoulder. He turned her, backed her slowly against the closed door, one hand tunneling into her hair, the other coming around her waist, pressing their bodies together while his lips came down on hers. They were firm, hot, moist and tender.

She gave in to the sensation, immediately kissing him back, grasping his arms, steadying herself against the steel of his biceps. She opened wide, welcoming his tongue, marveling at his sweet taste, his masculine scent and the feel of his thighs hard against her own.

He broke the kiss, speaking huskily against her lips. “I’ve been dying to do that all night long.”

“Are we crazy?” she felt compelled to ask, lips hot and swollen, desire permeating every cell of her body.

He captured her gaze once more. “I don’t particularly care.”

She couldn’t help smiling at that. “Am I going to sound preposterous if I say I’ve never done anything like this before?”

“You haven’t done anything yet.”

“I’m about to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Glad to hear it.” He kissed her again, longer and deeper, his fingertips finding their way up her spine.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, tipping back, abandoning herself to the passion building inside her body. She was an adult woman. She wasn’t reckless, and she wasn’t foolish. She’d thought this through, and she wanted to be with Lucky tonight.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, smoothing his hand along her shoulder. He pushed her shoulder strap out of the way. Then he tenderly kissed her shoulder and eased the other strap down. “Amazing,” he mumbled, kissing his way along her neck. The back of his knuckles brushed the tip of her breast, and she sucked in a breath in response. “I am the luckiest guy on the planet.”

“Is that why they call you Lucky?”

He stilled, lips brushing against the tender hollow of her neck. “You’re making a joke?”

“I am,” she offered without a trace of apology.

He kissed her again, more firmly this time, drawing her tongue into his scorching mouth. “Well, I’m not going to keep calling you Doll-Face.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head.

“You sure about that?”

“I’m sure.”

His hands slid their way down to her wrists, and he backed her tighter against the door. “Okay. Then that’s pretty hot.”

She tipped her chin. “You’re pretty hot.”

“I’m about to get hotter.” His eyes turned to molten chocolate, and a split second later he was kissing her mouth, harder, deeper. One hand slipped up her back, finding her zipper, pulling it down. The tight bodice gave way.

In return, she reached for his shirt buttons, plunking the disks through the open holes, revealing his chest, running her fingers over his bare skin.

He gave a tug on her dress, and it slid to the floor, freeing her bare breasts and pooling in a heap around her feet.

He drew back, his breath whistling out. “Where have you been hiding all my life?”

“Colorado.” She pulled his shirttails out of his pants, and stripped the shirt off his shoulders.

He was absolutely magnificent, and they both stilled, staring at each other in silence.

He lifted his broad hand, cupping her face with his palm, leaning in ever so slowly. Her eyes fluttered closed. She inhaled deeper. Her lips parted, and she eased toward him, twining her arms around his neck, feeling his heated skin press tight against her breasts, as his lips came down in a tender kiss that drew itself out for long minutes.

His free hand slipped over the curve of her hip. There, his fingers paused, slipping beneath the strand of her panties. His other hand slid up to cup her breast. Her nipples instantly beaded, and his palm closed around her. His kisses grew more insistent, longer, until they were both gasping for breath.

He kissed her neck, dipping to a breast, drawing the taut nipple into his mouth. Her hands fisted hard, and she moaned at a sensation she’d never experienced. What was he doing? How was he doing it?

Cool air replaced the heat of his mouth, and she loved the contrast. He switched to the other breast, causing cascades of desire to roll through her.

She needed to do something.

She was just standing here.

She ran her palms up his chest, feeling the burn of his skin, testing the muscles she knew would be steel hard. Then she worked her way down, over the six-pack of his abs, to the waistband of his pants, popping the button and lowering his zipper.

He grabbed her wrist. “I want this to go slow.”

“Sure,” she agreed, even though her mind screamed for speed. She brushed her knuckles against him.

“You want it slow?” he growled.

“No.”

He stilled for a second. Then he hoisted her into his arms. “Good.”

He turned in the foyer, cutting across the oversize room, past the sofa, the armchair and television. He set her on her feet next to a king-size bed.

His hands went to his waistband, stripping off his pants and everything else.

She kicked off her sandals and dispensed with the panties.

She straightened, and they both stilled.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and she felt the edge of her mouth draw into a smile.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She dared to reach out, tracing her index finger along his smooth, warm chest. He looked even better out of his clothes than he had in them, and that was saying something.

He took a half step forward. “Is this a dream?”

“I sure hope not.”

“Things like this. Things like you don’t happen in real life.”

“I’m real.”

“You’re amazing.”

Impatient, she took his hand, backing her way to the bed, where she sank down.

His gaze stayed molten on her naked body as he extracted a packet from his wallet and dropped the wallet to the floor.

“I can make this slow,” he offered again.

She shook her head. “You’re my torrid one-night stand.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered.

She smiled saucily in return. This was the only time she was ever going to do this, and she was going to get it right. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He cupped his hands beneath her arms, lifting her, pushing her farther onto the bed, laying her back. His voice was a deep baritone, rumbling through her. “Seriously. Where in the hell have you been all my life?”

She didn’t have time to answer because his mouth came down on hers. His body covered her own, pressing her against the soft mattress.

He toured her body with rapid but thorough kisses, while she explored the contours and angles of his. Within minutes, they were face-to-face, him on top, staring into each other’s eyes in the dimly lit room.

He flexed, and she moaned, welcoming him inside, arching her back, wrapping her legs, as he set an insistent rhythm that made her head tip back and her eyes close tight. Desire overwhelmed her, and she gripped the comforter, straining for his kisses, her toes curling as he inflamed the passion at her core.

Time lost all meaning. Her body felt somehow weightless. Reality contracted to the feel, the scent and the sound of this man. His ragged breath murmured in her ear. His damp body scorched her skin. And she dragged his essence into her lungs, holding it tight, imprinting it on her subconscious so she could relive it over and over again.

She held on as long as she could, not wanting it to end. But it was a losing battle. A pulse began deep inside her, building to a tidal wave of ecstasy. She clung tightly to him, her cries mingling with his groans, as she crested for an eternity, the intense rush leaving her limp and gasping.

Her chest rose and fell against Lucky’s comfortable weight. He braced himself on his elbows, rising slightly above her, sweat glistening his brow, breath fanning from between his parted lips.

They stared at each other in silence.

“That was …” His breathless voice trailed away.

She was similarly struggling for words. “It was,” she agreed.

His smile widened. “Somehow we both seem to know just the right thing to say.”

A small chuckle formed in her chest. “What do you usually say?”

He smoothed her hair behind one ear. “I have no comparables. You have no comparables. You are one of a kind, Doll-Face.”

“That was an awfully good line,” she acknowledged.

“It wasn’t a line.”

They both fell silent, their breathing synchronizing.

His tone when low and intimate. “Should I ask if it was good for you?”

It was the best sex she’d ever had. Hands down.

Without waiting for an answer, he shifted, taking more of his own weight. “You want that wine now, or are you ready for breakfast?”

Abigail glanced to the digital clock glowing on the night-stand. It was four-thirty in the morning. She blinked against grainy exhaustion. “It’s pretty much a toss-up between night and morning, isn’t it?”

He eased onto his side, propping himself on his elbow, one thigh staying angled across her legs. He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek. “I’d like it to still be night.”

She drank in the sensation of that intimate touch. “I’d like it to still be dinner.”

He eased closer. “So we can start our evening all over again?”

She pretended he might have it wrong. “Yeah. Sure. Well, that and the mountain burger.”

Closer still, he brought his teeth gently down on her earlobe. “Liar.”

“Egomaniac.”

“Am I wrong?”

She played dumb. “About what?”

He glanced at the clock. “About us wanting to stop time.”

She sobered. Then she shook her head. He wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t change anything. “It’s a stolen night,” she reminded him. They both had places to go and things to do.

“When do you have to leave?”

“Early.” She was meeting her brother at the campaign office to close things up before she drove back to the ranch.

Lucky cradled her cheek, placing a long, tender kiss on her swollen lips. When it ended, his arm eased around the small of her back. “But not yet?”

“Not yet,” she agreed, desire rising inside her.

He kissed her again, and again, longer and sweeter each time.

“Tell me your name,” he demanded.

She shook her head.

“I need to know.” He drew back, obviously determined to withhold more kisses until she answered.

Instead, she reached up, slipping her arms around his neck.

He tensed against her pull, resisting, but then he gave in, allowing her to bring him in for a kiss. She twined her naked body around his.

“Oh, Doll-Face,” he groaned, capitulating to their passion. He wrapped his strong arms fully around her, holding her close and igniting a new burn deep inside.

“There you are, Abby.” Abigail’s oldest brother, Seth, mayor-elect of Lyndon City, zeroed in on her as she entered the campaign office on Main Street.

Cardboard boxes covered every available surface, stuffed with leftover posters, flyers, buttons and campaign literature. Half a dozen campaign volunteers were carting boxes and other materials out the back door to waiting pickup trucks, while the staffers who would form the core of Seth’s mayoral staff clicked away on their laptop computers or talked on telephones.

Seth tucked a pen into his shirt pocket as he moved across the storefront shop toward her. “I didn’t see you at the fireworks last night.”

“Weren’t they great?” she asked, avoiding any further explanation of where she’d been.

“The good folks of Lyndon know how to do it up right,” he agreed.

She gave him a quick hug. “The good folks of Lyndon are excited about their new mayor.”

Seth pulled back with a grin. “The display was planned weeks before the votes were cast.”

She winked at him. “But I’m sure they’d have canceled if you hadn’t won.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “Since we both know you’re not naive, I’m going to assume that’s blind loyalty talking.”

“That’s supreme confidence talking.” She patted him on the shoulder as she glanced around the messy office. “You need any help here?” She was more than a little anxious to get herself out of town. Last night Lucky had said he was just passing through Lyndon. He might very well have left town already. But she didn’t want to risk running into him.

She’d sneaked out of his hotel room and back to hers as soon as he fell asleep last night. Though the soft bed, the thick quilt and Lucky’s warm, strong body had been powerful draws, she hadn’t wanted to risk facing him in the morning. Better to leave things on a high note. A very high note. Wow, had that ever been a high note.

“Abby?” Seth prompted, waving his palm in front of her face.

“The financial records?”

“What about them?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

Seth peered at her curiously. “I just asked if you could do a double check on the donation receipts. And Lisa needs a hand with the database.”

At the sound of her name, Lisa Thompson glanced up from a crowded desk in one corner of the room. “I want to make sure we have a clean backup copy before I delete all the information from the laptop. I’m planning to use it in the mayor’s office, so I have to get rid of all the campaign records.”

“Happy to help out,” Abigail agreed, telling herself the odds of seeing Lucky were low, particularly if she was hidden away in the back of the campaign office. She made her way across the room, weaving around the mess of chairs, desks, boxes and trash bins.

Seth’s cell phone rang, and he moved to a quiet corner near the back exit to answer the call.

Lisa, blonde, petite, freckled and perky, tracked Abigail’s progress from her office chair.

She waited until Abigail sat down and spun the chair, then she wheeled herself to face her. “So, what happened?” she demanded in a conspiratorial undertone.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s blatantly obvious you got laid last night.”

“What?” Abigail blurted, glancing swiftly around, making sure nobody could overhear them.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Lisa smacked her palm down on the padded arm of Abigail’s chair.

“I did not—”

“And don’t you dare lie to me either.” Lisa rocked back and crossed her arms over her gray Colorado Lions T-shirt, green eyes narrowing. Her voice stayed low. “Your cheeks are flushed. Your eyes are glowing gold. And there’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there at the party. Plus, you disappeared before ten last night, and I never saw you again. Neither did anyone else. Now, give.”

Abigail hesitated. She wanted to lie, but she knew she was trapped. Lisa had her dead to rights.

Obviously taking Abigail’s silence as an admission, Lisa grinned and leaned closer still. “Details, please.”

Abigail sent a worried glance toward Seth. “Don’t you dare tell—”

“I’m not going to tell anybody. I’m not a gossip.”

Abigail knew it was true. Lisa would be Seth’s executive assistant in the mayor’s office, in part because of her brilliance and hard work, but also because they’d learned she was the soul of discretion. She and Abigail had become quite close over the course of the campaign.

“So, what happened?” Lisa hissed. “Who was he?”

“Nobody you know.”

“How can you say that? I know lots of people. I’ve met half the town in the last three months.”

“He’s not from here.”

“Ooh.” Lisa’s eyes sparkled. “Where’s he from? What’s he do? What’s his name? Is he hot?”

“I don’t know.”

Lisa drew back. “You don’t know if he’s hot?”

“I don’t know his name,” Abigail admitted sheepishly. “I don’t know what he does. And I don’t know where he’s from.”

Lisa’s mouth opened, then her expression turned positively gleeful. “You had a one-night stand with a stranger?”

Abigail lowered her own voice even further. “Yes.”

Lisa’s hand tightened on Abigail’s arm, as if to hold her in place. “Was he hot?”

“Yes.” Hot didn’t begin to describe Lucky. In fact, even now, Abigail’s body responded with an embarrassing level of arousal at the mere memory of Lucky naked, laconic, gazing at her with that lazy half smile.

“You go, Abby!”

“Shh.”

“Yes. Of course. Wow. No wonder you don’t want to tell Seth.”

“I don’t want to tell anyone.”

Lisa gave a series of rapid nods. “Got it. But if you don’t know his name, how are you going to see him again?”

“I’m not.” Abigail wouldn’t. She couldn’t. No matter how much she wished she could.

“But if he’s hot and, well, if the look in your eyes is anything to go by, maybe you want to—”

“Lisa, look up the definition of one-night stand.”

“One-night stands can turn into something else, you know.”

Abigail coughed on a laugh, seizing on the chance to turn the tables. “Actually, I wouldn’t know. Would you?”

Lisa wrinkled her nose in the air. “No. Not that there’s anything wrong in it. Not with the right person. You know, in the right circumstance.”

“Last night was the right circumstance.” Abigail wasn’t going to regret last night. She refused to regret last night.

She’d never met a man remotely like Lucky. The memory of his voice made her tingle, and the thought of his kisses brought a flood of desire. Her real world was closing in fast, dragging her back into its clutches, while the exhilarating escape with Lucky secretly pulsed just below her skin. She’d lock it away where no one could see, but where she could pull it out to relive that treasured night over and over again.

Fall was on its way to Lyndon Valley. Work on the ranch would begin in earnest now, starting with the roundup. But when the wind howled down from the Rockies, or when she was bone tired out on the range, she’d remember the feel of Lucky’s strong arms around her, the heat of his body against her, his whispered words, his endearing sense of humor and the way he’d made her feel like the only woman in the world.




Three


The Craig Mountain Brewery was tucked in the mountains above the picturesque shores of Lake Patricia, an hour north of Lyndon City. Built of stone and mortar, around 1850, in the style of British castles, Craig Mountain had started life as a manor house for a British lord, a remittance man, a reprobate whose family had paid him handsomely to leave England and never return.

The brewery manager, Lucas Payton, shared the story of Lord Ashton with Zach while the two men made their way along the covered pathway that connected the original castle, which was now mostly offices, to the newer industrial complex housing the warehouse and brewery, with its tanks, filtration systems and bottling line.

“They say Ashton bribed a railroad official for information on the planned railway line,” Lucas continued, tone animated. “Whether the official didn’t know the real route, or he simply lied for reasons of his own, nobody ever found out. But he took the money and left the state, while Ashton built his house a hundred miles in the wrong direction.”

“You a history buff?” asked Zach.

Lucas had worked for DFB for three years now. The two men had met on several occasions when Lucas traveled to Houston for company meetings. But they’d always talked shop, and it had always been amongst a larger group of people.

“You know how it is,” Lucas answered, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “I’m an orphan. So I’ve adopted somebody’s else’s ancestors.”

“Never thought to do that,” said Zach. Interesting, though, choosing a family history based on interest and convenience instead of strict genealogy.

Like all DFB employees, Lucas had come through the foster care system. When Zach and Alex founded the company, they’d promised each other it would be for the benefit of orphans like themselves, people who had no families and few chances in life.

“You should prowl through the top floors of the castle sometime,” said Lucas, pulling open a door to the cinder-block warehouse. “There’s some absolutely fascinating stuff up there.”

“I’m not going to have time for that.” Zach stepped inside the cool, dim building, and the familiar tang of hops and malt hit his nostrils. Supplies were stacked twenty feet high on steel shelving, on either side of a wide aisle that bisected the big building. A forklift rumbled unseen in the distance, its backup alarm sounding intermittently with the whir of the tires and hydraulics.

“Going right back to the big city?” asked Lucas. “I suppose there’s not much to keep you here.”

“Not much,” Zach agreed, even as his mind slipped back to last night and the incredible encounter with Doll-Face.

When he woke up this morning, the sexy and mysterious woman had already slipped out, leaving him there alone. He’d told himself to let it go. She didn’t want to know him, and she sure hadn’t wanted him to know anything about her.

It was disappointing, and for a few seconds he’d been tempted to hang around town looking for her. But orphans learned one lesson very early in life. Anything good could be snatched away in a millisecond. It was probably better that it had happened fast this time. Something told him, given half a chance, he could have fallen dangerously hard for the beautiful, intelligent, engaging woman.

He came back to the present as Lucas started through the center of the warehouse.

“It’s not the renovation costs that’ll get you,” said Lucas, turning the conversation back to the reason for Zach’s visit. “And there’s plenty of room to expand out back toward the hillside.”

He pressed a red button on the wall, and a big overhead door clattered its way open. He pointed outside to the vast gravel parking lot, past two semitrailer trucks that were positioned for unloading. “We can build a new warehouse over there, free up some space for more production. The bottling plant and the brewery will have to stay put, but we’d have some options around the coolers and the fermenters.”

“If it’s not the renovation costs, what is it that’ll get me?” asked Zach, used to cutting directly to the chase.

“The water,” said Lucas.

“Something wrong with the water?”

“We’ve maxed out the water license. I asked around after your call on Friday, and it’s going to be tough, if not impossible, to get permission to increase our usage.”

This was very bad news. Zach frowned. “Why?”

“Moratorium on water-use licenses all across the region.”

The unique underground springwater of Craig Mountain was a key ingredient in the beer. The springwater was also the cornerstone of the marketing campaign for C Mountain Ale, the most popular brand in DFB’s iconic Red, White and Brew six-pack.

Red, White and Brew contained one beer from each of DFB’s six breweries, and it was taking their international markets by storm. Production was already on pace for the new orders at the other five breweries in Montana, California, Michigan, South Carolina and Texas, but Craig Mountain had to catch up.

“The water-rights battle has been going on for months. It’s the ranchers versus everyone else, and the ranchers are a very powerful lobby group.”

“We’re miles and miles from the nearest ranch.” Zach gestured through the big doorway. “How can our water use possibly impact them?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Lucas, shaking his head. “People have grazing rights nearby. There’ll be no new water licenses. No variances to existing water licenses. No temporary permits. Nothing until the new regulations are drafted and they go through the state legislature.”

Zach swore.

“You got that right.”

Zach smacked the heel of his hand against the doorjamb. He gritted his teeth. Then he straightened and squared his shoulders. “All right. Who do I talk to?”

“Beats the hell out of me. I do beer, not politics.”

“Well, who does politics?”

“You could try a lawyer. Someone local, maybe.”

Zach nodded. He supposed that was a logical place to start. “Who do you use locally?”

Lucas gave a shrug. “We’ve never had any legal problems.”

“Are there law firms in Lyndon?”

Or maybe he should fly back to Denver. If this moratorium thing was broader than the immediate Lyndon area, he might as well go to a big firm with plenty of capacity.

And his clock was ticking. If the Craig Mountain Brewery construction didn’t get started in the next couple of weeks, they’d end up with a shortage of C Mountain Ale, and they wouldn’t be able to fill their spring orders for Red, White and Brew. That would most certainly mean the downfall of DFB.

“There are definitely law firms in Lyndon.” Lucas answered the question. “Sole proprietorships mostly. And I don’t know if they’ve been involved in the issue. Honestly, if I was going for the greatest concentration of knowledge on this, I’d be going to the Ranchers Association.”

“Didn’t you just say they were on the other side?”

“I did.”

“So, then, that would be a foolish move.”

“Well.” Lucas scratched the back of his neck. “If you don’t want to go to the Ranchers Association, you can try Abigail Jacobs.”

“Who’s she?”

“The daughter of one of the ranching families. I was told she has an encyclopedia for a brain and a passion for the water-rights issue.”

“She’s still the enemy.”

“Maybe. Technically.”

“So she’s not going to help us.”

“You can always get creative. You don’t have to tell her exactly what you’re looking for. Just meet her and, I don’t know.” Lucas looked Zach up and down. “Tell her she’s pretty or something, take her out for dinner and a movie, then ask a lot of questions.”

“You want me to romance the information out of some unsuspecting woman?”

“If she’s a research geek, maybe she hasn’t had a date for a while.”

“Did we not give you an ethics quiz before we hired you?”

“I had a dysfunctional upbringing.”

“So did I, but I still have standards. I’m going with the lawyer.” The clock might be ticking, but Zach had absolutely no intention of lying to this Abigail Jacobs for his own ends.

The Jacobs ranch covered thousands of acres in the Lyndon Valley of western Colorado. As it had become more prosperous, Abigail’s grandfather, and then her father, had purchased more and more land. The main house was two stories high, with six bedrooms, overlooking the Lyndon River to the east. To the west the Rockies rose, their peaks jutting to the blue sky behind the three main barns, several horse corrals and a massive equipment garage.

Staff cottages and two low bunkhouses snaked along the riverbank, forming a semicircle around the big cookshack that welcomed cowboys and farmhands with wholesome food and pots of brewed coffee any time of the day or night. Born and raised here, Abigail knew there were many things to love about the Jacobs ranch, and she now spent her days reminding herself she could be happy here. She climbed the front stairs, the summer day’s sweat soaking through her T-shirt, dampening her hairline and wicking into the band of her Stetson. As she started across the porch, she heard male voices through the open living-room windows. The sun was slipping low in the hot August sky. The breeze had dropped to nothing. And a dozen horseflies buzzed a lazy patrol pattern beneath the shade of the peaked porch roof. She slapped her hat against her leg, brushed the excess dust from the front of her jeans, then checked her boot heels for mud.

The voices grew louder, more distinct. One was her brother Travis. The other was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“And you expect us to help?” Travis demanded.

“I could have lied,” the other voice returned reasonably. “But in the interest of—”

“Is that supposed to impress me? That you stopped short of lying?”

“I’m not looking to impress you.”

Wondering who her brother was arguing with, Abigail moved toward the door. In the week since she’d returned to the ranch, there’d been a steady stream of friends and neighbors stopping by, expressing their congratulations on Seth’s victory and inquiring about Abigail’s father, who was expected home from the Houston rehab center in the next few weeks.

“Lucky for you that you’re not,” scoffed Travis.

“I just want some information, and then I’ll be on my—”

“You’ll be on your way right now.”

“Not before I talk to Abigail.”

Abigail stopped short. Who was that?

“Abigail’s not here.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

“I don’t think so.”

Well, whoever it was, he wasn’t going to have to wait long, and it was going to be a pretty short conversation. Abigail had a hot shower in her sights, followed by dinner and maybe a nice glass of Shiraz. Then she was falling directly into bed. She wasn’t exactly out of shape, but it had been several months since she’d done full-time ranch work, and her long shift on the oat field today had been exhausting.

“Nobody gets to Abby unless they go through me,” Travis stated.

From the entry hall, Abigail could picture her brother’s square shoulders, his wide stance, the hard line of his chin. He was endearingly, if unnecessarily, protective. She pushed down the door latch with her thumb and silently opened the door.

The unknown man’s voice came from around the corner, inside the big living room. “Craig Mountain’s new usage will be negligible in the scheme of things.”

“And what better way to set precedent?” Travis responded. “You’re the thin edge of the wedge.”

“I’m brewing beer, not setting precedent. It’s one little underground spring.”

“It’s still part of the aquifer.”

Abigail dropped her hat on a peg by the door and raked back her damp, dusty hair. Her ponytail was definitely the worse for wear. Then again, so were her dirty hands and her sweaty clothes. But she was back on the ranch now. And she wasn’t looking to impress anyone. So who cared?

During the local-water-rights hearings a few months ago, she’d listened to every argument in the book. It wouldn’t take her long to send this guy packing.

She rounded the corner. “Hey, Travis.”

Her brother scowled.

The broad-shouldered man in the expensive business suit pivoted to face her.

As he did, she went stock-still. Her stomach plummeted to her toes, while waves of sound roared in her ears. “Lucky?”

His dark eyes widened.

“Lucky what?” asked Travis, glancing from one to the other.

Abigail’s brain stumbled, and an exaggerated second slipped by. “Lucky I got here when I did,” she managed to say on a hollow laugh.

Where on earth had he come from? What was he doing standing here arguing with her brother?

Before she could formulate any kind of question, Lucky stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Zach Rainer. You must be Abigail. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Mr. Rainer was just leaving,” Travis put in with finality.

“I own the Craig Mountain Brewery,” Zach continued, his voice betraying none of the recognition evident in his expression.

“I … uh …” Her throat closed over. “I’m Abigail,” she managed to rasp, giving his hand a perfunctory shake. The sizzle of his brief touch ricocheted up her arm.

“Then you’re the woman I’m here to see. I understand you have some expertise on the regional-water-rights issue.”

Travis stepped forward. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“I’d like to talk to Abigail.”

“But Abigail wouldn’t like to talk to you.”

“I think Abigail can speak for herself.” Lucky raised his brow.

She struggled to shake off the shock. So far, he was keeping their night a secret. Although she had to find out what he was up to, and quickly.

“It’s okay, Travis,” she said with a quick glance to her brother.

“No, it’s not okay. He doesn’t get to waltz in here and—”

“I’m not out to harm you.” Though Lucky was responding to Travis, he kept his gaze fixed on Abigail.

“You’re a liar,” said Travis.




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