ceremonial only.
Jeff interrupted the momentary silence. “If we’re finished raking Case over the coals, I have a serious subject to bring up. Shouldn’t we be worried about all the ranches and other parcels of land that have been sold in Royal lately? And almost all of it to a single buyer? Does anybody but me think it’s a little odd?”
Mac shrugged. “I’m not really concerned. A number of people were demoralized by the storm or too strapped for cash to rebuild. It sounds like they’re getting good offers and the chance to start over somewhere else.”
Parker’s brow furrowed. “I hadn’t heard about this.”
Case nodded. “Nolan Dane is back in town and is representing a company called Samson Oil in these acquisitions. It doesn’t make sense to me, though. Why would an oil company be interested in the land? The tracts he’s buying up were checked for oil decades ago.” Nolan was raised in Royal, but had been gone for a long time.
“Maybe they’re planning to use some of the newer technology and hoping to get lucky,” Mac said.
Jeff shook his head. “Nolan seems like a decent guy, but I’m not a big fan of lawyers, particularly when someone else is hiding behind that lawyer’s legal speak.”
“We should give him the benefit of the doubt,” Parker said. “At least as long as the people selling are getting a fair shake. It seems to me that Case will be in a perfect position to keep tabs on this kind of thing.”
Case glanced at his watch. “Speaking of my upcoming lifestyle change, I have an appointment in forty-five minutes to interview my new domestic assistant.”
“Is that the politically correct term these days?” Jeff seemed dubious.
Parker scrawled his name on the check, charging it to his club account as was their custom. “I think Case is trying to convince himself that a woman won’t ruin his carefully preserved chaos.”
Mac nodded, his grin broad. “I never met a woman yet who didn’t want to domesticate a man. No matter how old she is.”
Case lifted an eyebrow. “I am the newly elected president of a venerable organization whose members have run this town for over a century. I think I can handle a housekeeper.” He stood, and his friends followed suit.
Mac shook his hand. “You can count on me in the days ahead, sir.”
Case grinned. “Bite me.”
Parker saluted. “Happy to serve under your command.”
Jeff bowed. “Mi casa es su casa if you need a place to hide out.”
“Everybody’s a comedian.” As Case said his goodbyes and headed out to the parking lot, he reminded himself what a lucky man he was. He had a ranch and land he loved, a wide circle of friends, and now the respect and a nod of confidence from his peers who had voted for him.
If he could iron out this housekeeper thing, no pun intended, his life would be under control.
* * *
Mellie Winslow took in the sights as she made her way down the long driveway leading to the B Hive Ranch. Case Baxter’s fields and fences were immaculate, several varieties of placid cattle grazing peacefully as far as the eye could see. She envied him the order and success of his thriving operation.
Though her own small business, the Keep N Clean, was doing well, it couldn’t compare to the prosperity of this massive endeavor. Case must be an extraordinarily busy man—hence his request for a housekeeper.
Mellie knew that a good word from Case Baxter could be a boon to her business. What she didn’t know was whether or not Case would accept her proposition.
When at last she pulled up in front of the charming ranch house that had housed generations of Baxter men and their families, she noticed something odd. Apparently, Case’s cattle received more attention than did his aging home.
It would be an exaggeration to say the place looked run-down. That wasn’t it at all. But the two-story white ranch house with blue shutters seemed tired. Although the wraparound porch was large and appealing, no flowers were planted at its base. No colorful cushions bedecked the porch swing. No toddler bicycles or teen sports equipment lay scattered about the yard.
Although the B Hive Ranch had been in the family for decades, everyone in Royal knew that Case’s parents had both died young, and Case was an only child. It would be sad to see the place end up in other hands if Case had no heirs.
It was a possibility, though. Case was in his midthirties and apart from—or perhaps because of—his youthful marriage, which had ended badly, he showed no signs of settling down.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Mellie reminded herself that this was not her first rodeo. Keep N Clean had just celebrated its eighth anniversary. Mellie herself was a seasoned businesswoman. There was no need to feel intimidated by the power and stature of Case Baxter.
She didn’t know him well. Really only in passing.
Hopefully, that was about to change.
Along with her stylish tote that served as purse and catchall, she picked up a navy-and-lime-green folder that she now handed out to all prospective clients. Though the expense of producing the upscale advertising materials had been wince-worthy, she hoped the professional presentation would take her expanding company to the next level.
For some reason, she’d expected someone other than the owner to answer her knock. But only seconds passed before the tall blue-eyed man with dark brown hair opened the door and swung it wide.
He greeted her with a polite smile. “I’m Case Baxter. I’m assuming you’re here for the interview?” He filled the doorway, lean and long and wildly handsome.
Mellie shook his hand, feeling his large, warm fingers momentarily squeeze hers. Wow. His photograph in the newspaper didn’t do him justice. His short hair was neatly cut, though an unshaven chin gave him a rakish air. His clasp was not a second too long. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But her heart beat faster.
He was the perfect specimen of a Texas male. He wore faded jeans that molded to his body in interesting ways...scuffed hand-tooled cowboy boots, a cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up and an expensive watch that looked as if it could pick up cable channels on Mars.
She found her voice at last. “I’m Mellie Winslow. I own Keep N Clean.”
Case frowned slightly. He didn’t invite her in. “I thought I was interviewing a prospective housekeeper.”
“Well, you are,” she said, squirming inwardly. “The truth is, Mr. Baxter, I’ve been expanding my business. Things are going very well. But when you called asking for help, I decided I wanted to take this job myself.”
“Why?”
It was a valid question. She decided that honesty was the way to go. “May I come in so we can talk about it?”
“I supposed so.” He led her into the adjoining dining room, where a large formal table groaned beneath the weight of stacks of mail. In the few places not covered by papers,
