do me plenty of good.” This was her first book, and she intended to do it right.
“Then I guess I’ll see you around.” He sent her a pulse-jarring look, right before he walked away, leaving her staring after him.
Like a fresh-faced schoolgirl with a crush.
* * *
Matt cursed the situation he was in. Of all the beautiful blondes who could have shown up at his ranch, did it have to be someone who was working for his dad? Someone who was prying into the past? Who was writing a book that was going to unmask the chaos in his life? The last thing Matt wanted was to be publically identified as Kirby Talbot’s son. Damn his dad all to hell.
And damn Libby, too.
Yesterday when she arrived, Matt had gotten a hot, sexy, zipper-tightening reaction to her. So much so, he’d given her the cabin next to his. Normally he didn’t work the front desk or place his guests. But he’d just happened to be there when she’d come in, so he’d handled the transaction.
Honestly, though, he didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish by putting her next to him. For all he knew, she could have been in a relationship. Sure, she seemed single from the way she’d been checking him out, but he knew better than to lust after one of his guests.
Cripes, he thought. Besides being his father’s biographer, she was widowed with a kid. This was the nightmare of nightmares. He’d gotten his heart broken by the last widow, the last blonde, who caught his eye. He missed Sandy. He missed her children, too. Two adorable little twins girls.
Matt had wanted so desperately to be a father—a good, kind, caring dad to Sandy’s girls. He wanted to give them what his old man had never given him.
Love. Affection. Attention.
But after the divorce, she’d taken the twins and moved out of the area. She didn’t think it would be healthy for her or the girls to keep seeing him. Sandy had only married him to soothe the loss of the man she really loved. The guy she’d buried.
How was he supposed to compete with that? Sandy’s memories of her other husband had always been there, floating like a ghost between them. Matt’s mixed-up marriage, which lasted all of six months, had been a crushing failure. He thought that he could help Sandy through her grief, that he would become her hero and the new husband she couldn’t live without.
A year had passed since the divorce, and just as he was starting to lick to his wounds and move on, in walked another young widow, except she was working for his dad.
Oh, yeah. This was a nightmare, all right. Was he supposed to avoid Libby while she was here, to walk away from her at every turn? Considering how long she would be hanging around, that wasn’t going to be an easy feat.
He could ask her to leave. This was his ranch, after all—he’d started the business from a trust account Kirby had set up for him. Of course, it wasn’t as cut-and-dried as that. After Matt got the ranch established, making it a tremendous success, he returned the money to the trust, making sure his dad knew that he no longer needed or wanted it. By now, Matt was wealthy in his own right.
Initially, he’d acquired a lump sum on his twenty-first birthday, based on a deal that had been negotiated when he was a baby, as part of a child-support settlement. His mom had agreed to the terms, which required her to keep Matt’s paternity a secret.
Disturbing as it was, the contract had never restricted Kirby from speaking out. Only Matt’s mother had been silenced, and she’d taught Matt to stay silent, as well, to never tell anyone who his father was. And now, all these years later, Kirby wanted to blow all that out of the water.
Matt headed to his private barn, preparing to saddle one of his horses and ride into the hills, taking a trail that was unavailable to his guests. He often carved out time for himself, and today in particular he wasn’t in the mood to socialize, not with what Libby had sprung on him.
Unfortunately, when his mom returned from her trip, she would probably support this damned book. She’d already been encouraging Matt to make peace with his father, to accept the olive branches Kirby had been offering.
He kept walking, and just as he entered his barn, he turned and saw Libby strolling up behind him.
Holy hell.
Half annoyed, half intrigued and a whole lot confused, he let his gaze roam over her. She’d actually followed him out here, and without him even knowing it. “When I said that I would see you around, I didn’t mean this soon.”
“Really, you didn’t? Oh, silly me.” She grinned, two perfect dimples lighting up her face.
He wanted to grab her by that fringy top of hers and shake her till those dimples rattled. But he wanted to kiss her, too, as roughly as he could, curious to know if she tasted as feisty as she looked.
“Yeah, silly you,” he shot back.
She was still grinning, still being cute and clever. “I’m prone to getting the last word, and you left me standing there like a dolt.”
He had no idea what that meant. “A dolt?”
“A stupid person.”
Matt was the stupid one, wishing he could kiss her. “Working for Kirby doesn’t exactly make you the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”
“Funny, I’m wearing chandelier earrings, and they’re pretty bright.” She tapped the crystal jewels at her ears. “I made them myself.”
Way to change the subject, he thought, enticed by how sparkly she was. “Okay, so you got the last word. Will you leave me alone now?”
“Nope.” She spun around in a pretty little pirouette, making her fringe fly. “I think you should dance with me.”
He blinked at her. “You want me to two-step with you? Here? Now?”
“No. Tomorrow night.” She glanced down at her feet. Her silver glitter boots were as flashy as her earrings. “At the hoedown.”
Right. The weekly barn dance at the ranch. “I don’t always go to those.” Sometimes he preferred to stay home, letting his guests kick up their heels without him. “And dancing with you sounds like a dolt of a thing to do.”
“Come on. Take a chance.”
He wasn’t making any promises, especially to her. “I might show up, and I might not. But just so you know, the house band isn’t allowed to play Kirby’s music. Or Tommy’s, either. So don’t get smart and make any requests.”
“I won’t. But doesn’t the band wonder why the Talbots are off-limits? Or why they have to turn down requests for their songs?”
“My ranch. My rules. And there are plenty of other artists they cover. Traditional, bluegrass, honky-tonk, alternative, outlaw. They play it all.” Except for the badass Talbots. Their brand of outlaw twisted Matt’s gut.
She bounced in her boots. “Dancing with you is going to be fun. Think how easily we’re going to become friends.” She teased him, “Or frenemies, if you prefer.”
“I just told you that I
