woman who spoke little English. Leah caught uno momento, por favor and then Señor Mackey. The girl pointed down the hall so Leah smiled and said, “Gracias,” then headed in that direction.
Instead of finding Wade’s office, however, she walked straight into his bedroom. The decor was unabashedly masculine. From the cream-and-blue curtains to the massive wooden furniture, it emanated strength. The faint smell of toothpaste and aftershave hung in the air. She felt like a fool for blushing as she stared at the rumpled sheets and comforter on the king-size bed, only to have her uneasiness increase when the image of him standing at the sink, shaving, filled her mind.
She quickly returned to the center of the house, ill at ease with her unintentional snooping, to find an office also carrying Wade’s unmistakable stamp. Although the smell of leather and rich mahogany furniture weren’t uniquely male, in this case she had little doubt who usually sat behind the large desk, his dark head bent over papers stacked in seemingly haphazard piles.
Her inspection was interrupted by the excited yips of a beautiful border collie. The dog came into the office and danced around Leah’s legs on dainty feet. Leah couldn’t help but grin.
“Some guard dog you are!” she scolded. The dog was clearly unimpressed, for her hind end only wagged harder as Leah read the metal tag shaped like the state of Texas attached to the collar.
“Where’s the boss man, Spoiled Rotten? Where’s Daddy?”
Rotten’s black-tipped ears perked up, and she raced around the desk to jump into the chair.
“I know this is his office, silly.”
But the collie merely circled in the chair and barked.
“All right, all right.” Refusing to believe she was conversing with a dog, Leah sat on one of the two matching wingbacks facing the large desk. After five minutes, she thought about finding the maid again, but decided that would be futile. After five more minutes of crossing and uncrossing her legs, she finally gave Wade’s stand-in a glare.
“Look, he may be the boss, but that doesn’t give him the right to keep me cooling my heels.”
Rotten just wagged her tail.
With a frustrated sigh, she wrote Wade a note and tore the page from her day planner. She included a business card before placing them in a relatively clear space on his blotter. With a final pat on Rotten’s silky head, she went home.
Her drive was uneventful, but as she neared Austin, Leah began to regret leaving without finding Wade. She couldn’t afford to mess up this opportunity to redeem her reputation, but at the same time, she wasn’t a servant at Wade’s beck and call. She had things to do, and waiting on an autocratic cowboy wasn’t one of them—even if that stubborn cowboy held her career in his hands.
The phone was ringing when she unlocked the door to her office. She glanced at her neat, black-lacquer desk and her floral print couch and armchairs. Elegantly draped white tiebacks muted the bright sunshine, creating an exquisite decor. Oddly, she couldn’t stop the image of dark wood and stacked papers from flashing across her mind.
She almost didn’t answer the persistent ringing—she had planned to use this rare weekend with no events scheduled to catch up on her paperwork, but her conscience prevailed.
“Leah Houston.”
“I thought I told you I wanted to talk with you.”
So much for chitchat.
“You did, and I tried to find you. When I couldn’t, I left a note on your desk.”
“I know, I smelled your perfume.”
Leah couldn’t stop the thrill that ran up her spine.
“I was in the barn,” he continued. “Someone should have told you.”
“The only person I found was your maid, and we had a little trouble communicating.”
“That would be Amalia, my foreman’s daughter. We’re working on her English since she wants to go to college next year.” He paused. “We have a ways to go.”
She was surprised by the dryly affectionate tone in his voice. He already had a habit of doing that...surprising her. She didn’t like it.
“Yes, well, my Spanish is exceptionally rusty, and I’m not psychic, so I apologize for missing you.” Feeling a little silly, she crossed her fingers before saying, “I can come back later this afternoon, if you’d like.”
“No, I’d rather meet without Myra Jo around, and her friends have left.”
She released a silent breath and uncrossed her fingers.
“How about dinner this evening instead?”
She frowned at the phone. So much for luck....
“I don’t—”
“If you’ll give me directions to your place, I can pick you up about eight.”
Leah took a deep breath and held it. As she slowly exhaled, she reminded herself that she had worked with difficult clients before. Sometimes she had to compromise to get what she wanted. Reluctantly, she gave him instructions to her condo.
Although she tried to work, it soon became clear she wasn’t going to get anything accomplished. Her mind wouldn’t stay on task. Visions of Wade—his naked chest bathed in the morning sun, a sardonic twist curving his lips—kept appearing before her eyes. Forty-two-year-old men were supposed to have the beginnings of a paunch and receding hairlines. They certainly weren’t supposed to look as though they could pose for fitness magazines.
With a frustrated sigh, she repacked her briefcase and headed home.
It wasn’t until she was sitting on her bed some hours later, gathering one leg of her panty hose in her fingers and mourning the loss of her lazy evening of air-popped popcorn and channel surfing, that Leah realized how tense she was.
Bra, hose, slip, low-heeled pumps, jewelry—the works—when she could be in old sweats and her favorite holey red socks. She tugged on a rayon coatdress and artfully tucked a silk scarf into the deep neckline. She had no idea what Mr. Mackey had in mind, but this was a dinner meeting, not a dinner date.
She had just clasped her watch around her wrist when the doorbell rang. She checked her appearance in the mirror and smiled wryly at her reflection. He was punctual, she could say that for him.
She opened the door to find her breath taken away once again. Half-naked, he had been nearly indescribable. In creased black jeans, a white dress shirt open at the neck, a sports jacket and boots, Wade was nothing short of yummy. The black Stetson he reached up to remove from his head made him the quintessential cowboy.
And she’d purged cowboys from her fantasy list a long time ago, she reminded herself. She wanted a nineties man, an urbane one, one who treated her as an equal, a partner. Cowboys weren’t known for their modern mind-sets.
It took a stern mental rap to get her hand off the knob and welcome him inside. Her fortitude returned when his gaze raked over her dress and she had the distinct impression she’d lost marks on his tally stick.
“Can
