a fit of sheer procrastination, Paris took a few moments to study the area with a designer’s eye. Aside from the usual office equipment behind the counter, she discovered typical Western decor—burnt-orange-and-white cowhide chairs set about the waiting area, massive stone fireplace with a heavy wood mantel, a set of horns hanging above said mantel. She moved closer to read the bronze plaque below the sad symbol of human cruelty to find it etched with “Prize twelve-point buck bagged by J. D. Calloway.”
Lovely. Just lovely. She supposed she should be thankful dear J.D. had only saved the horns as a souvenir and not the poor deer’s entire head.
More than ready to see this spontaneous plan through, Paris turned back to the counter and reached for the bell with a trembling hand. But before she could pick it up, a tall, dark-haired man emerged from an entry at the far end of the office, looking as if he had walked right out of an Old West time warp and into the future. He kept his attention trained on a document clasped in his rather large and masculine hands as he strode toward her, the jingle of spurs echoing against the beige walls, providing her the prime opportunity to do a comprehensive inspection. He was every bit a cowboy, from the top of his tan hat to the tip of his brown leather boots. He wore a faded blue shirt and equally faded blue jeans, yet the large silver belt buckle drew her immediate focus. She noticed the word Champion before her gaze traveled lower to a place no self-respecting, professional woman should go.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
At the sound of the incredibly deep voice, Paris’s attention returned to the cowboy’s face, her cheeks flaming from mortification. “Uh, actually, I’m...” Heavens, the impact of his silver-blue eyes caused her to forget her name. She’d seen several photographs of him, yet none had done Dallas Calloway justice.
He reacted to her momentary mental lapse with a half smile, revealing a deep dimple creasing the left of his whisker-shaded jaw. “Are you lost?”
“Not really,” she managed to say although in a sense she did feel a bit lost. “I’m Paris Reynolds.”
He leaned over the counter and offered a hand. “Dallas Calloway. What can I do for you?”
That question was as loaded as a shotgun. But since this man could hold the key to her future financial security, she had to regain her composure. “I’m here about your new venture.”
Before he could respond, a petite woman dressed in a plain tailored floral blouse covering faded jeans, her silver-and-brown hair twisted into a braid, strode into the room and pulled up short when she caught sight of the pair. She eyed Paris with suspicion as she made her way to Dallas’s side. “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying.”
Paris had the feeling no one crossed this woman and lived to tell about it. “I’m not selling anything but my services.”
She huffed. “For your information, my stepson doesn’t have to pay for it.”
When awareness dawned, another bout of embarrassment plagued Paris. “You’ve definitely misunderstood my motives. I’m here to discuss a business proposition.” Not that the explanation sounded much better, evidenced by the woman’s raised eyebrows.
“Stop jumping to conclusions, Mom,” Dallas interjected. “I’m fairly sure that’s not what she’s selling.”
The woman propped a hand on her hip and sneered. “Dallas deals on a daily basis with females who come here under the guise of business.”
“Oh, so true, Maria,” came from behind Paris. “Our stepson is a regular chick magnet.”
Paris turned to find a pretty middle-aged blonde dressed in a chic coral sundress, standing at the front door. Apparently the place was rife with the now-deceased J. D. Calloway’s wives. Determined to get off on the right foot with this one, she held out her hand and smiled. “I’m Paris Reynolds.”
The blonde returned her smile and shook her hand with much more gusto than Paris expected. “I’m Jenny Parks Calloway, J.D.’s third wife.”
“Not officially,” Maria added in a sour tone.
Paris assumed there must be a story behind that comment, but chose to remain silent and await the fallout between the feuding former spouses.
It came out in Jenny’s intense frown. “Please forgive the second missus. Sometimes Maria forgets her manners. What shade on the color chart is your blond, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Paris’s hand immediately went to her hair. “I wouldn’t know. I’m actually a natural blonde.”
Jenny chuckled. “Oh, so am I.”
“And I’m the queen of Texas,” Maria said with a smirk.
Ignoring the other mother, Jenny turned her smile back on Paris. “By the way, I love, love, love your suit, sugar.”
Paris grasped to find a return compliment. “Thank you, and I love your bracelet.”
Jenny twisted the diamond and silver leaf bauble around her wrist. “And thank you. I picked this up at a silent auction at the art center in San Antonio last month.”
Unbelievable. “Really? I was there, too.” But she hadn’t had the funds to bid. She’d been there to drum up business. An unsuccessful plan that had led her to this remote ranch.
Jenny laid a hand beneath the strand of pearls at her throat. “A small, small world it is.”
“Way too small if you ask me,” Maria grumbled.
Jenny sent her another scowl. “No one asked you, Maria, and no one appreciates your attitude or your sarcasm. You really should learn some Southern decorum.”
“I think we all can work on that,” Dallas chimed in as he opened the half door built into the counter. “Ms. Reynolds, if you’ll follow me to my office, we can get away from all this verbal sparring and you can tell me what you need.”
“But make it quick,” Maria added. “He has work to do.”
“Oh, hush,” Jenny replied as Paris stepped through the opening. “He’s not too busy to entertain a pretty girl. Also, their names go so well together—Paris and Dallas. Sounds like a match made in heaven.”
“Sounds like an airport flight schedule,” Maria muttered.
“It’s high time he meets a nice girl, Maria,” Jenny added. “Don’t forget what’s coming up at the end of the week and we both know what that means.”
If only Paris knew what that meant. Regardless, she could tell Dallas wasn’t comfortable with the conversation when he rushed toward an opening to his left without responding.
With her mind riddled with confusion, Paris followed Dallas down a lengthy corridor, all the while unsuccessfully trying to keep her eyes off his derriere. She found the way he dangled his arms at his sides, his perfect lean build and the roll of his hips quite fascinating.
Good grief. Evidently the lengthy amount of time she’d been without male companionship had her falling head over common sense over some cowboy. Okay, not just any cowboy. An extremely gorgeous, rich cowboy who had succeeded at everything he’d tried, from rodeo to ranching, according to what she’d
