thing about living in a small town, Amanda thought, as she came to a halt not three seconds after turning away from Scott, was that everybody knew your business before you did. Amanda would bet if her house caught on fire, her neighbors would be the ones to call 911.
Such was the case now, for as sure as she wore a C-cup, that was Stephanie Prichart coming up her drive.
Not now, Amanda thought. Not when she was still trying to come to grips with the fact that Scott Beringer had kissed her, and she’d liked it. Not when her heart had melted at his “I’d buy you ten Thumpers” comment. Not when all she wanted to do was escape to the house and try to figure out just what it was about the man that seemed to get under her skin.
But there was no mistaking the green Camry pulling to a halt before her house. Nor the wide smile on the face of the blond driver.
Amanda tried not to groan.
There wasn’t anything wrong with Stephanie. Amanda had known her since Fisher-Price days. It was just that Stephanie was so…so Carol Brady. Perpetually happy, always giggling—not laughing, but giggling—she was the type of person that you liked, but that you had a hard time tolerating sometimes. Like now. This morning, to be exact, because Amanda knew the moment Stephanie opened her car door that she’d somehow found out about Scott’s presence.
Well, Amanda supposed it was hard to miss a helicopter.
“Darn,” she said as the door opened.
“Amanda,” Stephanie trilled. As clichéd as it was, trilled was the only word one could use to describe the way Stephanie spoke. Like Snow White sucking some serious helium.
“Amanda, you naughty girl. Why didn’t you tell me you had a houseguest?” Stephanie looked toward Scott as if his presence was a complete surprise. Hah.
Blond, petite, entirely too Silicon Valley to suit Amanda’s taste, Stephanie approached, her over-bleached teeth smiling as her designer boots sounded as if they were munching the gravel drive. Cruncha, cruncha, cruncha.
“Stephanie, how nice to see you, too.” It wasn’t really, not now, but Amanda managed to smile. Though she wished she hadn’t because smiling pulled the skin tight around her lips, which were overly sensitive thanks to Scott’s kiss.
Stephanie had a close-up view of that skin because she came forward and gave her a hug. That was the thing about Stephanie, no matter how nosy and annoying she was, you just had to love her. She gave the best darn hugs.
“Why haven’t you been by to visit?” she asked upon drawing back, her green eyes darting from Amanda’s eyes, to Scott, then back again.
“Oh, you know. So many men, so little time.”
Stephanie lifted her brow, looking back at Scott.
“I meant bulls, Stephanie, not human men.”
Stephanie giggled. Amanda tried not to wince.
“Who’s this?”
Amanda didn’t want to do it. She really didn’t, but she had no choice but to turn back to Scott, who was holding the reins of the horse she’d abandoned, and said, “Stephanie, this is Scott Beringer.”
Of course, Stephanie had likely already known that. There’d probably been a APB put out the moment his helicopter had landed. See, that was the thing. Everyone knew everyone’s business, but the trick was to act as if you didn’t know the other person’s business.
Stephanie echoed, “Scott Beringer,” in a gushing voice. “The Scott Beringer?”
“Yes, Stephanie,” Amanda said. “The Scott Beringer.” And something about the way Stephanie stared at Scott, as if he were God’s gift to Stephanie’s pet charities—of which there were many—made Amanda say, “You know, corporate raider. Company downsizer. Robber baron.” Which made Scott and Stephanie both swing their gazes around to her, Scott going so far as to lift his brows. Amanda felt her face color like a barbecue with lighter fluid squirted on top.
“Just kidding,” she said, because it wasn’t like her to be so mean spirited. Man, he’d really rattled her with his kiss.
Stephanie, however, was oblivious to the sexual undercurrents going around. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Beringer,” she said. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”
Which made Amanda’s own brows lift. She had? From whom?
“Amanda, you should have told me Mr. Beringer was a personal friend of yours.”
Personal friend? Hah. As if. But Amanda didn’t contradict her, because if there was a chance Stephanie didn’t know about Scott stealing her father’s ranch out from under them, Amanda wasn’t going to enlighten her.
Then Scott came forward, or at least he tried to. He didn’t know anything about horses, Amanda suddenly recalled, because he walked forward as if Fancy—the horse Amanda had abandoned in her kissed-senseless daze—would automatically follow, which she didn’t, and Scott got jerked back to the point he almost fell backward when the reins grew taut.
He recovered quickly, stopping, shooting Fancy a dogmeat look before smiling at Stephanie and saying, “Nice to meet you, Ms. Prichart.”
“Oh, it’s Stephanie,” she trilled. “Call me Stephanie.”
“And you can call me Scott.”
“Scott,” Stephanie corrected, the two smiling at each other as if they were members of a mutual admiration society.
“Did you want to come inside, Stephanie?” Amanda asked. “I was just about to make breakfast.”
“Are you in town to escort Amanda to the barn dance tomorrow night?” Stephanie asked as if she hadn’t heard her. But Amanda knew she had. What was more, Amanda knew the question was a ploy to lead the conversation toward said barn dance.
“Stephanie, no—”
“Barn dance?” Scott asked, his brows lifting again.
Amanda almost groaned. She almost grabbed the well-meaning Stephanie by the arm and dragged her inside. But she couldn’t. Not without being a wee bit obvious. And not without Scott realizing she didn’t want Stephanie to talk about the barn dance, which in turn meant Scott knowing about it. Which in turn would indicate that she was scared he’d come to it. Which would make her seem a coward—
“Yeah,” Stephanie said brightly. “A barn dance. It’s tomorrow, at the Los Molina Hall. Everyone’s invited. The whole town usually comes, even the kids.”
“Stephanie, I’m sure Scott doesn’t want to go to our little get-together.”
“Actually, I do.”
Which made Amanda groan. Inwardly, of course.
“Great,” Stephanie said. “There’s a silent auction. And it’s a potluck, but I’m sure Amanda was planning to bring something, weren’t you, Amanda.”
“Actually, I’m not sure I can go—”
“Of
