“There are a lot of ranches. The residents are very attached to the land, and how each property looks.”
Louise shrugged. “They’ll like clean, plentiful, renewable energy even more.”
“I’m on it,” he promised. All he needed was a decent forum to make his pitch, and a place to situate the wind farm. He had the first and was close to getting the other.
Louise paused to look him in the eye. “Everything okay at home? I heard there was some kind of crisis that brought you back to Philly last night.”
Mac thought about the tears—from both females—that had greeted his arrival. “I’m handling it.”
Louise gave him the same look she’d given him two and a half years before. “If there’s anything you need in that respect...” she volunteered.
He ignored the tinge of pity in her manner. Life went on. The difficulty he was navigating was only temporary. “Thanks,” he said quietly, rising from his chair. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The meeting over, he turned and headed out.
Selling a project he could handle. Dealing with the domestic drama on the home front? He could manage that, too, with a few temporary adjustments. It was the pretty owner of Monroe’s Western Wear who was a thorn in his side.
Mac knew she was one of the most respected businesspeople in town. Heck, if you considered the reputation of the boots Erin Monroe made, in the entire state. People listened to her. And not just because she was smart and savvy, warm and hospitable. Or had an enticing figure, honey-blond curls and big green eyes.
They paid attention to her because she was a natural leader. The kind of person who could make something take place. Or not.
If she was as against the wind farm as she had appeared in their brief conversation, he was going to have a tough time bringing North Wind Energy’s biggest project yet to fruition.
But that had to happen—and fast—because making it a reality was the only way he was going to be able to get his home life under control, once and for all.
Chapter Two
Erin was in her second-floor studio, putting the finishing touches on a pair of custom boots to be picked up later that afternoon, when Darcy Purcell, her best friend, part-time employee—and next customer—stuck her head in. “He’s back. And he’s not alone.”
Erin didn’t even need to ask who “he” was. Mac Wheeler had been the source of endless speculation in the two days he had been gone. Partly because he had left town so suddenly that he’d had to cancel half a dozen appointments with landowners. The rest, because he had managed to talk her into allowing him to skip the line and get fitted for a pair of custom boots at triple the asking price. That action alone had cemented his reputation with the locals as a foolhardy Yankee.
After all, no one in Laramie wasted money, if they could help it.
Erin wrapped the boots in tissue paper and put them in a box emblazoned with the customer’s name. “I could care less,” she said, pushing aside the memory of the attractive interloper.
Darcy followed Erin downstairs to the cash register. “Don’t you want to know what I heard?”
“No.” Erin set the boots beneath the counter, then frowned as a sleek black limo with tinted windows pulled up at the curb. The rear door on the driver’s side opened and Mac emerged. His strides long and lazy, he circled around the back of the vehicle, then walked into the rustic interior of her family’s store.
If anything, with his dark hair rumpled and his blue eyes intent, he was more devastatingly handsome than ever. Wearing khaki slacks, a button-up shirt and loafers, he still looked preppy, but a lot more casual and approachable than he had in a suit.
Erin found herself wishing he was still ridiculously overdressed...so she wouldn’t be noticing the big man’s perfectly toned shoulders and chest.
“Your appointment isn’t for another two hours,” she said.
“I know.” He flashed an apologetic grin that did funny things to her insides. “I’ve had some...complications. I was hoping we could get the measuring done a little earlier.”
“I’m sorry.” Erin indicated her happily married friend, glad to have an excuse to wait until her brother was on the premises, and could not only play chaperone, but distract them with his myriad questions and comments. “I have an appointment with Darcy next.”
As determined as ever to get Erin back in the dating game, Darcy promptly volunteered, “I’ll trade with you.”
Mac grinned. “Oh...thanks! I really appreciate that.”
“No problem.” She beamed, sashaying toward the door. “See you both later.”
After Darcy left, he turned back to Erin and pinned her with his gaze. Another shimmer of awareness sifted through her.
Erin thought about the property taxes coming due on the ranch and tried to focus on business. “Have you ever had custom footwear made before?” she asked, gesturing toward the stairs.
He fell into step behind her. “No.”
Trying not to think of his eyes on her behind—how did she know what he was looking at as they climbed the stairs?—she took in an enervating breath and did her best to treat him like any other customer.
She turned at the top of the stairway and smiled. “The first thing is the measuring. If you’ll have a seat—” she led him over to a straight-back chair “—and take off your shoes...”
Mac settled his large frame with grace while Erin pulled up a stool. Heart pounding, she attached a piece of paper to a clipboard and set it on the floor in front of him, then asked him to stand once again.
When he was on his feet, she slipped a hand around his ankle and guided his right foot onto the center of the paper. His socks were as fine a fabric as the rest of his clothes.
“How long have you been doing this?” Mac asked.
Glad to have something else to concentrate on other than him, she picked up a pencil and traced the outline of his foot on the paper. “I started learning the art of boot making when I was twelve. I was eighteen when I made my first pair, all on my own.”
Erin slid another piece of paper onto the clipboard, marked it for the left foot and, holding that foot firmly in place, traced around it, too.
“And now your little brother is learning the art?”
Erin gestured for Mac to sit back down. She picked up his right foot and wrapped the measuring tape around the metatarsal bone just beneath his toes. “Nicholas can measure for the last—the replicated form of your foot that the boot is made to fit. And take orders, if the customer knows exactly what he or she wants, as most cowboys who come in here do.” Erin paused to write down the numbers on the sheet of paper with the outline of Mac’s right foot. “He’s not interested in helping formulate a design or the actual crafting of the boot.”
Mac watched as she measured the middle of his arch. “So it’s just the two of you?”
Erin
