rancher who resembled Dan’s uncle, a sweet but crotchety old cowboy who reminded her of Robert Duvall when he’d played in Lonesome Dove or Open Range. But nothing had prepared her for the tall, dark-haired visitor who stood on the porch.
The man, whose expression revealed that he was just as surprised to see her as she was to see him, didn’t look anything like the grizzled Texan she’d envisioned just moments before. At first glance, he bore enough resemblance to Antonio Banderas to be his younger brother—all decked out in Western wear, of course.
A sense of awkwardness rose up inside, and she tried to tamp it down the best she could. She might be dressed like a barefoot street urchin in a pair of gray sweatpants, an old NYU T-shirt and no makeup to speak of, but she was actually an accomplished woman who’d performed on Broadway several times in the past—and would do so again.
“I’m Catherine Loza,” she said. “You must be Ray…?”
“Mendez.” His voice held the slightest bit of a Spanish accent, which made him all the more intriguing.
She reached up to flick a wild strand of her sleep-tousled curls from her eyes, only to feel something papery stuck to her face. She peeled it off, and when she looked at her fingers to see what it was, she spotted a child’s butterfly sticker.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. How had that gotten there?
It must have been on the bedspread or pillow, and she’d probably rolled over on it.
Determined to shake the flush from her face and to pretend that her ankles weren’t bound together with duct tape, that her brain hadn’t been abducted by aliens, Catherine forced herself to step forward and reach out to shake the neighboring rancher’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ray. Eva said you’d be coming to dinner tonight. Please come in.”
The handsome rancher’s smile deepened, lighting his eyes, which were a vibrant shade of green.
As he released his grip on her hand, leaving her skin warm and tingling, he lifted a lazy index finger and peeled another sticker from her face.
Her lips parted as he showed her a little pink heart.
“You missed a couple of them,” he said.
Huh? A couple of… what?
He removed a gold star from over her brow and a unicorn from her chin.
Catherine blinked back her surprise, as well as her embarrassment. Then she swiped her hand first over one cheek and then the other, discovering that either Sofia or Stephen had decorated her face while she’d slept.
Goodness. What else had the twins done to her while she’d been asleep? Surely they hadn’t used their Magic Markers on her, too?
She hadn’t felt the least bit self-conscious in years, but it all came rushing back at her now. She must look like a clown. What must the man be thinking?
Calling on her acting skills and her ability to ad-lib on stage, she gave a little shrug, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. “Well, what do you know? The sticker fairies stopped by while I napped.”
Ray tossed her a crooked grin, humor sparking in his eyes. “You’ve got to watch out for those fairies, especially on the Walker Ranch. There’s no telling what they’ll do next.”
“I’m afraid he’s right about that,” Dan said as he entered the living room. “Our younger twins can be little rascals at times.”
Before Catherine could respond, Dan greeted his friend with a handshake, then invited him to take a seat, suggesting that she do the same.
But there was no way Catherine wanted to remain in the living room looking like a ragamuffin, so she said, “I’d better help Eva in the kitchen.”
“I was just in there,” Dan said. “And she has everything under control.”
Catherine didn’t care where she went—to the kitchen, her bedroom or the barn. All she wanted to do was to disappear from the handsome rancher’s sight until she could find a mirror before dinner.
“Well, since Eva doesn’t need my help, I’ll just go freshen up.” She lobbed Ray Mendez her best, unaffected smile. “It was nice meeting you.”
“The pleasure was mine.”
The sound of the word pleasure on the lips of a man who not only resembled a Latin lover but sounded like one, too, was enough to knock her little Texas world off its axis.
And until she flew back to Manhattan, she’d do whatever it took to keep her feet on solid ground in Brighton Valley.
One screwed-up world was more than she cared to handle.
Ray Mendez had no idea who Catherine Loza was, why she’d been napping this late in the afternoon or why she’d been included to have dinner at the Walkers’ ranch. He watched her leave the room, turn down the hall and walk toward the bedrooms.
The minute she was out of hearing range, he turned to his neighbor and friend. “You’re not starting in on me, too, are you?”
“Starting in on you? What do you mean?”
Ray crossed his arms and tensed. “Is this dinner supposed to be a setup?”
Dan looked a little confused by the question—or rather the accusation. “A setup? You mean, with you and Catherine? No, I wouldn’t do that.” Then he glanced toward the kitchen, as if realizing his pretty wife might have had a plan of her own.
But why wouldn’t she? Every time Ray turned around, one of the women in town was trying to play matchmaker.
“Eva called and asked you to dinner because we hadn’t seen you in a while,” Dan said. “Why would you think we had anything else in mind?”
“Because ever since word got out that my divorce was final, the local matchmakers have come out of the woodwork, determined to find the perfect second wife for me. And the last thing I’m looking for right now is romance. I’ve got my hands full trying to run my ranch from a distance and finish out the term of the previous mayor.”
“Has it been that bad?” Dan asked.
“You have no idea.”
“For the record,” Dan said, “Catherine is a great woman. She’s beautiful, talented and has a heart of gold. But she’s just visiting us. Her life is in New York, and yours is here. So it would be a waste of time to try my hand at matchmaking.”
That was a relief. Thank God Ray’s friends hadn’t joined every marriage-minded woman in town—or her well-intentioned best friend, mother or neighbor.
He unfolded his arms and let down his guard.
As he did so, he glanced down the hall just as Catherine returned with her hair combed, those wild platinum curls controlled by a clip of some kind.
She’d changed into a pair of black jeans and a crisp, white blouse—nothing fancy. She’d also applied a light coat of pink lipstick and slipped on a pair of ballet flats.
For
