of the very smallest cabins. And the one next to hers. She blew out a breath. “That will have to do. He can’t expect to drop in like this and have the whole world stop just for him. Check to make sure the cabin sparkles and then send one of the other wranglers up the trail after Jean. I’ll go out and try to keep him busy until she gets back.”
With a last quick stir of the chili—and a heartfelt wish that she were wearing something a little more presentable than jeans and a T-shirt with her favorite female country band on the front—she headed for the gathering room.
It didn’t matter what she was wearing, she assured herself. He was probably a rich old man who only wants to play cowboy, who wouldn’t notice anything but the ranch unless a stampede knocked him over. He had to be. Why else would his company go to so much effort to buy the Lost Creek Guest Ranch?
The ranch consisted of a dozen small guest cabins and the main ranch house that served as lodge and dining hall. The centerpiece of the split-log house was the huge two-story gathering room, with several Western leather couches set up in conversational groups, a huge river-rock fireplace and a wide wall of windows overlooking the beautiful Salt River Mountain Range.
At the doorway Cassie found the new owner standing with his back to her, gazing out at the mountains.
Okay, she was wrong.
This was no pudgy old cowboy-wannabe, at least judging by the rear view.
And what a view it was.
She gulped. Instead of the brand-spankin’-new Western duds she might have expected, the new owner wore faded jeans and a short-sleeved cotton shirt the same silvery green as the sagebrush covering the mountains. Dark blond hair touched with gold brushed the collar of his shirt and broad shoulders tapered down to lean hips that filled out a pair of worn jeans like nobody’s business. The long length of faded denim ended in a pair of sturdy, battered boots built more for hard work than fashion.
Whoa, Nellie.
By sheer force of will she managed to rein in her wandering thoughts and douse the little fire of awareness sparking to life in her stomach. What in the world was the matter with her? She wasn’t the kind of woman to go weak-kneed at a pretty, er, face. She just wasn’t.
Standing in a hot kitchen all day must have addled her brain. Yeah, that must be it. What other excuse could there be? She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced this mouthwatering, breathless, heart-pumping reaction.
On some weird level, she supposed it was kind of comforting to know she still could. For a long time she’d been afraid that part of her had died forever.
Still, it was highly inappropriate to entertain lascivious thoughts about her new employer, tight rear end notwithstanding.
She pasted on what she hoped was a friendly, polite smile and walked toward the man. “Hello. You must be from Maverick Enterprises,” she said. “I’m Cassidy Harte, the ranch cook. I’m afraid you caught us by surprise. I apologize for the delay and any inconvenience. Welcome to the Lost Creek Ranch.”
Oddly enough, as soon as she started to speak, the man completely froze, and she saw the taut bunching of muscles under the expensive cotton of his shirt.
For one horrified moment, she wondered if he was going to ignore her. When she was within a half-dozen feet of him, though, he finally began to slowly turn toward her.
“Hello, Cassie.”
The world tilted abruptly, and she would have slid right off the edge if she hadn’t reached blindly for the nearest piece of furniture, a Stickley end table that, lucky for her, was sturdy enough to sustain her weight.
She couldn’t breathe suddenly. This must be what a heart attack felt like, this grinding pain in her chest, this roaring in her ears, this light-headedness that made the whole room spin.
Even with the sudden vertigo making her feel dazed and disoriented, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. In a million years she never would have expected him to show up at the Lost Creek Guest Ranch after all this time.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” her former fiancé and the man who had destroyed her youth and her innocence asked her with that same damn lopsided smile she’d fallen in love with ten years before.
She gulped air into her lungs, ordered oxygen to saturate her brain cells once more. Still gripping the edge of the oak table, she finally forced herself to meet his gaze.
“What are you doing here, Zack?”
Zack Slater—ten years older and worlds harder than he’d been a decade ago—angled his tawny head. “Is that any way to greet me after all these years?”
What did he want from her? Did he honestly think she would embrace him with open arms, would fall on him as if he were a long-lost friend? The prodigal fiancé?
“You’re not welcome here,” she said, her voice as cold as a glacial cirque. She had ten years of rage broiling up inside her, ten years of rejection and betrayal and shame. “I don’t know why you’ve come back but you can leave now.”
Get out before I throw you out.
For just an instant she thought she saw the barest hint of a shadow creep across his hazel eyes, then it slid away and he gave her a familiar, mocking smile. “Funny thing about that, Cass. Welcome or not, I’m afraid I won’t be leaving anytime soon. I own the place.”
Her heart stumbled in her chest as instant denial sprang out. “No. No, you don’t.”
“Not yet, technically. But it’s only a matter of time.”
Owned the place? He couldn’t. It was impossible. Fate couldn’t be that cruel. She wouldn’t believe it.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing this time,” she snapped, “but you’re lying, something we both know you’re so very good at. How stupid do you think I am? Maverick Enterprises is buying the Lost Creek.”
Again he offered nothing but that hard smile. “And I’m Maverick Enterprises.”
She wouldn’t have been more shocked if he’d suddenly picked up the end table still supporting her weight and tossed it through the eighteen-foot window.
Zack Slater and Maverick Enterprises? It wasn’t possible. Jean had done her research before she agreed to sell the ranch. She might be in her seventies but she wasn’t some kind of doddering old fool. According to the papers provided by the lawyer who had brokered the deal, Maverick had more investments than Cassie’s oldest brother had cattle—everything from coffee-houses to bookstores to Internet start-ups.
The one common thread among them was that each business had a reputation for fairness and integrity, things the man standing in front of her would know nothing about.
“Nice try, but that’s impossible,” she snapped. “Maverick is a huge operation, with its fingers in pies all over the West.”
“What’s the matter, Cass? You don’t think a money-grubbing drifter who could barely pay for his own wedding might be the one licking the apple filling off his fingers?”
She scowled. “Not
