more private and we should be able to talk without interruption.”
“It’s fine,” she answered, sliding onto the red vinyl seat. Looking around, Fee noticed that although the bar and grill was older and a little outdated, it was clean and very neat. “What’s the special here?” she asked when Chance took his hat off and slid into the booth on the opposite side of the table.
“They have a hamburger that’s better than any you’ve ever tasted,” he said, grinning as he placed his hat on the bench seat beside him. “But I’m betting you would prefer the chef’s salad like most women.”
His smile and the sound of his deep baritone sent a shiver coursing through her. The man’s voice alone would charm the birds out of the trees, but when he smiled, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he could send the pulse racing on every female from one to one hundred.
Deciding to concentrate on the fact that he had correctly guessed her lunch choice, she frowned. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she didn’t like him thinking that she was predictable or anything like other women.
“What makes you think I’ll be ordering the salad?” she asked.
“I just thought—”
“I can think for myself,” she said, smiling to take the sting out of her words. “And for the record, yes, I do like salads. Just not all the time.”
“My mistake,” he said, smiling.
“Since it’s your recommendation, I’ll have the hamburger,” she said decisively.
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asked, his smile widening. “I don’t want you thinking I’m trying to influence your decision.”
“Yes, I’m positive.” She shrugged. “Unless you’re afraid it won’t live up to expectations.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re really something, Felicity Sinclair. You would rather eat something you don’t want than admit that I was right. Do you even eat meat?”
“Occasionally,” she admitted. For the most part she lived on salads in L.A. But that was more a matter of convenience than anything else.
When the waitress came over to their booth, Chance gave the woman their order. “I can guarantee this will be the best hamburger you’ve ever had,” he said confidently when the woman left to get their drinks.
Curiosity got the better of her. “What makes you say that?”
“They serve Big Blue beef here,” he answered. “It’s the best in Wyoming, and several restaurants in Cheyenne buy from our distributor. In fact, my cousin Dylan and I made a deal when he decided to open a Lassiter Grill here to serve nothing but our beef in all of his restaurants.”
“Really? It’s that special?”
Chance nodded. “We raise free-range Black Angus cattle. No growth hormones, no supplements. Nothing but grass-fed, lean beef.”
Fee didn’t know a lot about the beef industry, except that free-range meat was supposed to be healthier for the consumer. But she did know something about Dylan Lassiter and the Lassiter Grill Group.
A premier chef, Dylan had started the chain with J.D.’s encouragement and had inherited full control of that part of the family business when J.D. died. Dylan was well-known for serving nothing but the finest steaks and prime rib in his restaurants, and Fee was certain that was why every one of them bore the coveted five-star rating from food critics and cuisine magazines. If he was confident enough to serve Big Blue beef exclusively in his restaurants, it had to be the best. And that gave her an idea.
“This is perfect,” she said, her mind racing with the possibilities. “I’ll have to give it a little more thought, but I’m sure we can use that for future Lassiter Grill advertisements, as well as the spots about the Lassiter family.”
“Yeah, about that,” Chance said slowly as he ran a hand through his short, light brown hair. “I don’t think I’m right for what you have in mind for your ad campaign.”
Her heart stalled. “Why do you say that?”
He shook his head. “I’m not a polished corporate type. I’m a rancher and more times than not I’m covered in dust or scraping something off my boots that most people consider extremely disgusting.”
“That’s why you’re the perfect choice,” she insisted.
“Because I’ve stepped in a pile of...barnyard atmosphere?” he asked, looking skeptical.
Laughing at his delicate phrasing, she shook her head. “No, not that.” Now that she’d found her spokesman, she couldn’t let him back out. She had to make Chance understand how important it was for him to represent the family and that no one else would do. “Not everyone can identify with a man in a suit. But you have that cowboy mystique that appeals to both men and women alike. You’re someone who will resonate with all demographics and that’s why they’ll listen to the message we’re trying to send.”
“I know that’s what you think and for all I know about this kind of thing, you might be right about me getting your message across to your target audience.” He shook his head. “But I’m not real big on being put on display like some kind of trained monkey in a circus sideshow.”
“It wouldn’t be like that,” she said earnestly. “All you’ll have to do is pose for some still pictures for the print ads and film a few videos that can be used for television and the internet.” She wasn’t going to mention the few personal appearances that he might have to do from time to time or the billboard advertising that she had already reserved. Those were sure to be deal breakers, so she would have to spring those on him after she got a firm commitment.
When he sat back and folded his arms across his wide chest, she could tell he was about to dig in his heels and give her an outright refusal. “What can I do to get you to reconsider?” she asked out of desperation. “Surely we can work out something. You’re the only man I want to do this.”
A mischievous twinkle lit his brilliant green eyes. “The only man you want, huh?”
Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. She was normally very clear and rarely said anything that could be misconstrued. “Y-you know what I meant.”
He stared at her across the table for several long moments before a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Come home with me.”
“E-excuse me?” she stammered.
“I want you to come and stay at the Big Blue for a couple of weeks,” he said, his tone sounding as if he was issuing a challenge. “You need to see how a working ranch is run and the things I have to do on a daily basis. Then we’ll talk about how glamorous you think the cowboy way of life is and how convincing I would be as a spokesman.”
“I didn’t say it was glamorous,” she protested.
“I think you referred to it as ‘the cowboy mystique,’” he said, grinning. “Same thing.”
“Is that the only way you’ll agree to do my PR campaign?” she asked, deciding that staying in the huge ranch house where the wedding
