his mouth. The second was dressed in a dinosaur T-shirt, jeans and athletic shoes. The third man wore jeans, cowboy boots, a Western shirt and a gray Stetson.
As the auctioneer described the property and the county auction requirements, she saw another man, one she hadn’t noticed before. He’d parked on the county road some distance from the proceedings and now stood, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the front of his pickup truck, his battered Western straw hat pulled low against the sun.
He’d obviously just come to watch. He was dressed in work boots, jeans and a white T-shirt that called attention to his tanned, muscular arms. There was a toolbox in the back of his truck and a construction logo of some kind on the cab, but she couldn’t make out the name from where she stood.
“If everyone’s ready, let’s begin,” the auctioneer said, drawing her attention back to the front.
The cowboy glanced over at her as the auctioneer began the bidding. He was good-looking enough to make her do a double take.
“I can’t believe anyone would buy that house,” Ethel Winthrop whispered behind McKenna.
“Not everyone cares about a house’s history, Ethel,” her husband whispered back.
“Who would like to start the bidding?” the auctioneer inquired.
When no one responded, the auctioneer started the bid high and had to drop the price when there were no takers.
McKenna waited as the man on the cell phone bid along with dinosaur-shirt man and the local rancher. The cowboy hadn’t bid either, she noticed, apparently waiting as she was. Or maybe he’d just come to watch.
As the price rose, the man on the cell phone quit bidding and left. It had come down between the rancher and dinoshirt man when the cowboy jumped in. McKenna feared the men were going to drive the price up too high for her.
The rancher quit. It was down to the cowboy and the dino-shirt man when McKenna finally bid.
The cowboy shot her a look and raised her bid.
She bid two more times, dino-shirt dropping out, so it was just her and the cowboy. One look into his dark eyes and she realized he was enjoying himself—at her expense.
“The young woman has the bid,” the auctioneer said after they’d gone back and forth.
Time seemed to stop, and then the cowboy tipped his hat, his dark eyes flashing. “It’s the lady’s.”
McKenna couldn’t believe it.
The auctioneer closed the bidding. Edgar Winthrop stepped up to congratulate her and ask her what she planned to do with the house as the remainder of the small group dispersed.
“I’m going to live here,” she said and saw his wife’s expression.
“Not alone, I hope,” she said.
“Ethel,” the husband said in a warning tone.
“Edgar, she should know about that house,” the elderly woman insisted. “If she moves in and then finds out…”
The husband took his wife’s arm. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. All houses have a history, Ethel.” He smiled at McKenna. “I wouldn’t concern yourself with local gossip. What’s past is past, right?”
McKenna smiled, too excited to care about the house’s history. Anyway, she figured the woman was referring to the troubled boys who’d lived on the place when she was a girl. They couldn’t have been any worse than she and her sisters.
“Congratulations, I’m sure it will make you a fine home,” Edgar said.
“I’m sure it will, too,” she agreed.
He tugged at his wife’s elbow, but Ethel grabbed McKenna’s sleeve. “If you need us, we live up that way as the crow flies.” She pointed north.
“Thank you,” McKenna said as Edgar Winthrop took his wife’s hand and led her toward their car.
“You remember what I said,” Ethel called over her shoulder.
“I will, thank you.” She turned, looking for the cowboy who’d given up the bid to her, but he’d apparently left right away.
As she moved up to the porch to take care of the paperwork, she noticed the man who’d parked on the road and watched from a distance also leaving. While she couldn’t see his face in the shadow of his Western straw hat, she had the impression he was upset.
IF NATE DEMPSEY HAD been superstitious, he would have gotten the hell out of Whitehorse the moment he’d seen the blond cowgirl again.
When he’d seen her in the small crowd that had gathered for the auction, he’d hoped she was here out of curiosity and nothing more. Ultimately he’d hoped that no one would bid on Harper House or that the minimum bid would be too high and that the house would remain empty just long enough for him to finish what he’d come here to do.
But that hope had been shot to hell the moment the young blonde began to bid. He’d seen her interest in the house when she’d come around the place before.
When she kept bidding, he knew she was determined to have Harper House.
When the dust settled, the bidding done, the blonde had the house. McKenna Bailey. He’d discovered he’d been right about her living nearby. Her family owned the ranch adjacent to the property. The Bailey girls, as they were known in these parts, had a reputation for being rough-and-tumble cowgirls with a streak of independence that ran as deep as their mule-headedness.
McKenna Bailey had proven that today.
Not the kind of woman who would be easily intimidated.
But as he drove away from Harper House he knew he had to find a way to make sure McKenna Bailey didn’t get in his way. He’d waited so long to end this, and now she had unknowingly put herself in the middle of more trouble than she could imagine.
He cursed the way his luck was going as he raced north toward the small Western town, ruing the day he’d ever laid eyes on Whitehorse, Montana—and McKenna Bailey.
BY THAT EVENING McKenna was actually in the mood for a date—even a blind one—as she walked into Northern Lights restaurant. She was still floating on air from the excitement of her purchase earlier that afternoon, although she hadn’t had much time to look the place over after signing all the papers.
She couldn’t wait to take her horse out and ride her property.
Northern Lights restaurant had been opened just before Christmas by McKenna’s friend Laci Cavanaugh and her fiancé Bridger Duvall. It was the place to eat in Whitehorse. The fact that her date had chosen it gave McKenna hope.
She was instantly disappointed, though, when she was told by a young waitress she didn’t know that Laci wasn’t working tonight and that Bridger was swamped back in the kitchen.
“Are you dining alone?” the waitress asked.
She certainly hoped not. As she glanced around the restaurant,
