right foot and pulled as hard as she could. She was about to swing her leg over the saddle when she started slipping back down. Then she felt Rory’s firm hands on her rear end, and next thing she knew, she was sitting on the horse.
Now she wished she hadn’t skipped so many Pilates classes lately.
A minute later they headed off down a path into the great outdoors. The trees formed a canopy around them as they rode. The mountains loomed, harsh and demanding, making her feel incredibly insignificant.
Birds chirped. Wind rustled through the leaves. A stream babbled past. How did people stand the quiet?
Flies swarmed around her and the horse. She wanted to swat at them, but feared she’d fall off if she took one hand from the reins. To keep her mind off the insects and her already screaming thigh muscles, she focused on Rory at the front of their little caravan. The set of his shoulders spoke of his confidence. He moved in the saddle with a casual grace. Everything about him said how comfortable he was in his own skin. Then there was his voice as he tossed out tidbits about the area and its history. Slow, melodic and deep, it wrapped around her like a warm hug.
Rory pointed to the towering oak to his left. “That’s our wishing tree. If you make a wish and circle the tree three times, your wish will come true. Feel free to hop down and make a wish while we’re here.”
Laura and Claire immediately vaulted off their horses, dashed to the tree and circled it three times. “What did you wish for?” Janice called out as she joined her friends.
“I wished to find someone as wonderful as David,” Laura chirped, referring to Janice’s fiancé.
Claire giggled. “I wished Michael would propose.”
Janice dashed around the tree. “I wish that I’ll always be as happy as I am right now.”
Why did people wish for things like that? Only the foolish wished for something impossible.
“What about you?” Rory asked. He’d dismounted, and now stood beside Elizabeth.
Even if she were willing to get off her horse and risk needing Rory to give her another boost into the saddle, the only thing she’d wish for was landing him as a spokesman for the jeans campaign. Wishing wouldn’t make that happen. She’d rely on her business skills to accomplish it.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Come on, Elizabeth, make a wish,” Janice coaxed. “What could it hurt?”
If only her cousin knew.
The remainder of the ride passed in a blur of trees, rocks and mountains. Three hours later, when they returned to the corral, Elizabeth didn’t like the outdoors any better, but she knew her instincts about Rory had been dead on. He’d make the perfect spokesperson for Devlin Designs men’s jeans. He spun a good tale, which would work well in TV commercials, and then there were his looks and the way he moved. A guy either had a presence or he didn’t, and Rory had it in spades.
“I’m a management supervisor at Rayzor Sharp Media. It’s an advertising agency,” she said, ignoring her protesting muscles when he helped her off the horse. “You’d be the perfect model for one of my clients. You have a presence that can’t be taught or faked, while you’re real enough to connect with the average man.”
He laughed. Not a good sign.
“I’m not interested, but thanks for asking.”
“It’s a major national campaign. The exposure would be excellent.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She reached into her purse, pulled out a business card and held it out to him. “You could get a free trip to New York out of the deal.”
“Right now all I’m interested in is getting this horse taken care of,” he said as he reached for the reins.
Her stubbornness kicked up a notch. She couldn’t give up when so much rode on this campaign and Rory’s participation.
“Elizabeth, hurry up,” Janice yelled from the parking lot.
“Lady, the rest of your party’s ready to go.”
Let ’em wait. “Did I mention the job will pay around thirty thousand dollars? Surely a ranch hand like you could use the money.”
Rory pushed his hat off his forehead a bit. Now she had his attention.
Dark coffee-colored eyes peered down at her. The look in those eyes could sell refrigerators to Eskimos. Or hopefully, designer jeans to the average man. Or the average man’s significant other.
Then gravel crunched under car tires, drawing his gaze away from her. When his attention returned a moment later, his interest had vanished.
“Lady, the next tour group has pulled into the parking lot, and I don’t have time for this.”
She held out her card again. “If I agree to leave, will you take my contact info, and consider my business proposal?”
“Deal.” Rory snatched the card out of her hand and shoved it in his shirt pocket. “But don’t count on hearing from me.”
That was okay. She believed in positive thinking. If she sent good karma into the world, good things would return to her. Now if she could only collect by getting Rory to agree to model—because she needed this cowboy or she was out of a job.
* * *
THREE DAYS LATER Rory sat in his worn leather desk chair as the banker he’d known all his life told him he couldn’t approve a second mortgage.
“Rory, if things were different, if we were still a family-owned bank, maybe I could approve this, but I’ve got stockholders to answer to. Twin Creeks carries too much debt to justify another loan.”
He thanked John, reassured him that he understood it was simply a business decision, and hung up the phone.
Rory’s chin sank to his chest. He’d already tried to sell some of their horses, but most folks were having financial difficulties, too. He’d looked for extra work, but there were too many unemployed people out there and no one was adding on help anyway. The second mortgage had been his last palatable choice to get the cash his mom needed. There had to be something he could do—his mom’s life depended on it.
The McAlister family had gone through their savings to pay for the medical bills when Rory’s dad had suffered a heart attack behind the wheel and sent his truck into a ditch, putting him and Rory’s younger brother, Griffin, into the hospital. Then two years ago, when his dad’s heart finally gave out, Rory cashed in most of their stocks to pay for those bills and his dad’s funeral. Now, their mom had gone as far as she could with her cancer treatments and was left with one alternative, which turned out to be experimental—and expensive.
You have another alternative. You just don’t like it.
He pulled open his middle desk drawer, shoved aside some papers and located Elizabeth Harrington-Smyth’s business card.
He twirled it between his fingers as he stared out the window. The snow-capped
