these days? He’d been wet the last time she’d seen him. But right this minute, she thought he looked awfully good. Better than good. In fact, better than he had ten years ago. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Wasn’t his hairline supposed to recede? Not only didn’t he have forty square miles of forehead, but his hair was thick and she couldn’t detect a single gray hair in the sandy color. It was cut conservatively short. She knew it would curl with a bit more length.
A man his age should have at least the beginnings of a beer gut. He had to be pushing thirty. Surely his belly had gone doughy. But one glance at his white shirt tucked into the waistband of his soft, worn Wranglers confirmed that his abdomen was washboard firm. And his long sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, right where she thought a man’s sleeves ought to be. It was a look that got her every time.
Okay. Get a grip. There was some good news. She was no longer a lovesick fourteen-year-old. She didn’t care about him anymore. They would probably touch on her embarrassing confession of ten years ago followed by that impulsive kiss, chalk it up to high school hormones, then forget about it.
“So you don’t remember the last time we saw each other?” she asked fishing to find out what, if anything, he recalled.
“Should I?” He looked thoughtful.
“I guess not.”
He didn’t remember. Wasn’t that good news? Then why was she flirting with annoyance that her all-around most humiliating moment wasn’t important enough for him to store in his memory?
He shook his head. “All I can say is you’ve really changed.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you. Your hair is different.”
Of course he would remember her long, straight, unflattering mousey-brown hair. After two years at Texas A&M, her roommate had helped her find a flattering hairstyle and shown her that lipstick was good for more than writing messages on the bathroom mirror. Finally Taylor had taken her first step in the struggle to repair the confidence that a few moments with Mitch had destroyed. And her social life had soared from there. Right until a year ago when her fiancé dumped her for the woman who had once dumped him. That had reminded her how fragile her confidence truly was.
Mitch studied her thoroughly. Was there an appreciative sparkle in his eyes? Was that a glow spreading through her? A direct reaction to his subtle but nice words? Doggone it! She thought she’d prepared herself for him. Why could he still get to her? She’d worked so hard to nurture a spine along with her self-esteem. Two minutes facing Mitch Rafferty, once known as Texas’ most eligible cowboy, and the glow he generated threatened to melt her backbone into slush.
She realized he was still on the porch. “I didn’t mean to keep you standing out there. Please come in. Where are my manners?”
In the manure heap along with her self-confidence.
His boots rang on the wooden floor as he stepped inside. “Thanks.”
One word, just a single syllable, but uttered in his deep voice and it was enough to shake her up as surely as a tumble from a stubborn horse.
She shut the door, closing out the beginning of May warmth. It wasn’t hot yet, not like it would get in August. But she’d set the inside thermostat to keep the interior comfortable. She didn’t want to give him any reason to thumbs-down her ranch for the event. Getting even with her would be reason enough. But only if he remembered, and knew how much she was counting on a go-ahead.
He stood in the entryway, sliding his black Stetson through his hands as he looked around. A frown drew his eyebrows together. What was he thinking, she wondered. Her glance swept the area. To her right was the living room with the flagstone fireplace that dominated the large square area. Two blue and green plaid love seats, with a simple oak coffee table between, sat in front of it.
To her left was what her family had always called the parlor, also with a large fireplace, this time brick, and a new, expensive, state-of-the-art reclining sectional in front of a big-screen TV. Beyond that was the dining room and the kitchen. The dark wood floor extended throughout all the rooms on the first floor. The house had been built in the 1930s and the land it stood on had been in the family for several generations. The money she’d spent on new furnishings was part of her plan to see it stayed that way.
“How’s Jen?” he asked.
She should have known he was remembering the other member of her own generation. Her sister. Before she could prevent it, there was a dull pain right near her heart. “Jensen is fine. She works in Dallas,” she added.
Best let him know up-front that he wouldn’t be seeing a lot of her. At least not in Destiny. In case that was why he’d come back.
“A lawyer?” he asked.
“She specializes in family law.”
She tried like crazy not to let it bother her that he remembered Jensen had always talked about becoming a lawyer. No doubt they’d told each other all their hopes and dreams. He’d barely recognized her, but remembered that Jensen had always wanted to be an attorney. Even though she’d broken his heart by eloping with someone else. Did he still not want to see or talk to anyone named Stevens?
“So what have you been up to for the last ten or eleven years?” she asked to fill the silence.
His gaze settled on her. “Rodeo. At first.”
“I heard you gave up your scholarship.”
“Seemed like the thing to do at the time.” He frowned and the thundercloud expression on his face took her back to that night by the pool.
She wanted to bite her tongue. In all these years, she hadn’t managed to activate the mechanism in her brain that would refine or remove anything stupid on the way to her mouth. Or maybe it was Mitch Rafferty who deactivated it. She never could think straight around him.
Nervously she tucked a bothersome strand of hair behind her ear. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen? Can I get you a glass of iced tea?”
“I’d like that.”
She held out her hand for him to go first and he found his way as surely as if he’d been there only yesterday. She hated herself for noticing that the back of him was almost as impressive as the front. Broad shoulders tapered to his trim waist. His backside, hugged by impossibly soft and worn denim, was practically a work of art. And that was strictly objective female appreciation for an above average looking man. Because she had no feelings for him whatsoever.
But when her hormones subsided, she noticed that he limped slightly. She recalled reading a small blurb about an injury, but the celebrity magazine articles mostly proclaimed that his playboy points matched his impressive rodeo stats. Was there more to his story? Probably. The fact that he was acting commissioner of the high school rodeo association was a clue.
The fact that she wanted to hear every last detail just made her a candidate for crazy. She needed him to look at the ranch and tell her it would work just fine for his purposes. Then she prayed that he would go away and never come back. But she’d opened her mouth and offered him iced tea. Taking back the offer probably wasn’t the best strategy to win friends and influence people.
The kitchen was arranged
