“Thank goodness. Those are not faces I would enjoy seeing over the dinner table every night.”
“So you are a guest here, too. No?”
The odd turn of phrase elevated Carly’s investigative antennae. Did she detect a wisp of an accent? She checked him out one more time. He looked like a cowboy. But then this was a dude ranch. Anybody could buy a hat and boots.
“I’ll be staying for a while.” She thought of herself as more of a prisoner than a guest.
“And you are not too happy about that?”
“Long story.” A humiliation she did not care to share with anyone, certainly not a gorgeous man who exuded class. She bent to retrieve her bags, but the cowboy was too quick for her.
“Allow me.”
Carly gawked at the perfectly vee’d back moving away from her, a bag under each arm. Since when did cowboys talk so cultured? And walk with the erect bearing of a soldier and the smooth grace of someone born to privilege? Cowboys slouched. Or strutted.
But not so this guy. She had a quick vision of servants and valets and bellboys rushing to accommodate his every wish. And women lined up to ride in his fancy Italian car.
She didn’t care if he wore spurs and chaps and shouted, “Yee-haw.” This fella was no more a cowboy than she was. An aristocrat, no doubt, with blood bluer than his eyes. The smell of money and privilege teased her senses as much as his designer cologne.
She turned up her nose. Guys like this thought they were so hot. He’d probably expect her to fall all over him, flirt and generally make a nuisance of herself. And maybe, just maybe, he’d drop a crumb in her lap.
Carly didn’t worry about that in the least. She might fall on him, but not out of attraction. Not Carly. She’d been ignored by the best and dumped by the worst. No big deal.
Hiking her torn shirtsleeve, she followed the man across the gleaming oak floor to the horseshoe reception desk. A mouse of a woman awaited her.
“I’m Carly Carpenter.”
The skinny woman whose name badge read Macy shoved a pair of enormous black plastic glasses toward her nose.
“Of course, ma’am. We were expecting you.” She pushed a form across the desk. “Please sign this and you’ll be set to go. The second floor is our guest area. You are in room number—” she squinted at the key in her hand “—three. Just down the hall past Mr. Gardner. I see the two of you have already met.”
“I guess you could say we bumped into each other.”
Lowering Carly’s bags to the floor, the man flashed his million-dollar smile. Carly decided not to notice. She was off men like feathers off a plucked chicken. Permanently.
He extended a well-groomed hand. No dirt under those fingernails. “I am Luc Gardner.”
Carly placed her hand in his. She, with hands long enough to have been a concert pianist, was dwarfed by a blond god in cowboy boots. An interesting sizzle of awareness shimmied up one arm. That would not do at all.
“And I am Carly Carpenter, klutz deluxe. Look out for the shine on those boots. If I’m anywhere near, they’ll be toast.”
He smiled, and somewhere an orthodontist rejoiced. “Toast? As in breakfast?”
Carly blinked twice. What kind of guy didn’t understand American idioms?
A lightbulb came on inside her head.
“You’re not American.”
“As you would say, busted.” The corners of his ocean blue eyes crinkled, but she detected a flicker of reservation. Had he not wanted her to realize the obvious?
But Carly had no opportunity to probe further. An elf of a woman bounded down the staircase to the right, long stained-glass pyramids swinging from her earlobes, brown curly hair flying around her shoulders.
“Hi, Luc. So sweet of you to play bellhop. I don’t know where those ranch hands have gotten off to.” A fleeting pucker came and went, replaced by an impish grin. “Out playing cowboy, I imagine.” Then she stuck out a hand toward Carly. “I’m Teddi Benedict and you must be Carly Carpenter.” Before Carly had a chance to answer, Teddi whipped around toward the mousy little receptionist. “Macy, did you tell them about tonight’s barbecue for Carson and the trail ride in the morning?”
Carly’s head swirled as fast as the woman’s colorful gypsylike skirts. This must be one of the Benedicts.
“Today’s my brother’s birthday.” Teddi flashed a grin. “And we’re celebrating with a bash at seven o’clock. A great way to get acquainted with the staff and the other guests.”
“Oh. Well. That’s…good.” Just what Carly didn’t need. To have to make nice when all she wanted to do was go up to her room and fall into a hot bath and a long depression.
“Here you go.” Teddi shoved a piece of paper that looked like something of a schedule into Carly’s hand. “Everything you need to know is right there. Now, Luc, sweetie, would you mind carrying Carly’s bags up the stairs for her?”
No one had carried anything for Carly since Harold Watersnout in the fourth grade. And he’d only done it then so she’d teach him to whistle through his front teeth.
But the man with the designer smile, the continental bearing and athletic body inclined his head and hoisted her bag and laptop one more time. “It would be my pleasure.”
An exaggeration, no doubt, but Carly gave him points for good manners. Carrying a guest’s suitcase couldn’t be a normal occurrence for a Greek god.
Investigator’s curiosity—at least that’s what she told herself—drove her to watch him. Long, athletic, jean-clad legs carried Mr. Golden Gorgeous up the staircase.
She tugged at the neck of her ripped shirt.
My goodness, it was warm in here.
Everything about her new acquaintance screamed wealth and privilege, the kind of man who normally left her as cold as a tile floor on Christmas morning.
But something about the pseudo cowboy intrigued her. Purely detective’s instinct.
What was a man like Luc Gardner doing on an Oklahoma dude ranch?
She shrugged once more to hike the torn sleeve back into place. She was a detective. She’d find out soon enough.
As she clumped up the rather narrow staircase behind him, Carly did her best not to drool. The man was scary handsome. Fairy-tale handsome. And Carly was a realist who did not believe in fairy tales.
“Room three, isn’t it?” He paused outside the door a few feet down the gleaming wood-floor hallway.
“Yes.”
He extended his hand. She stared at him like an idiot for a full minute before understanding that he wanted to unlock the door for her.
Flattered,
