well about my attention to detail. But I’m a bit distracted just now.”
Cabot figured that was the truth. The wedding dress was a big clue.
“Well—” Michelle gave him another jump-in-anytime look. “The job is for a summer camp counselor. The owner runs a program for kids at his ranch, and duties include activities, sports and whatever else comes up. General pitching in as needed.”
“I can handle that,” the bride said. “I love kids.”
“I’m not sure you’re what he had in mind.”
“Who?”
“The rancher who’s looking to hire,” Michelle responded. “You’re probably overqualified.”
“I just want to work.” Cabot saw something vulnerable and fragile in her expression. “These days a lot of people are taking jobs they’re overqualified for and happy to have them.”
She was right about that, he thought. Although the job he needed to fill was more suited to a young college kid or recent graduate, he’d posted the sign in the diner window later than he usually did. Camp was starting soon and most people who wanted summer work had already lined something up. That meant he couldn’t afford to be as picky as usual.
Michelle folded her arms over her chest and looked the woman up and down. “Even your average employee doesn’t go formal to apply for work.”
“So you noticed the wedding dress.” The bride’s tone was deliberately casual, as if she always showed up for a job interview in a long white gown. “I guess I stand out like a fly in milk.”
“Pretty much,” Michelle agreed.
The woman was plucky, Cabot thought. He’d give her that. Taking a sip of cold coffee, he listened intently, interested to hear what she had to say.
“The truth is, I ran out on my wedding.”
“Really? Could have fooled me.” Cabot knew he should have stayed out of this conversation but just couldn’t resist. “So you broke some poor guy’s heart.”
She met his gaze and took his measure. “And you are?”
“Cabot Dixon. Couldn’t help overhearing. So, why did you run?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s a lying, cheating, scumbag weasel dog.”
“That sounds bad,” he said. “But I have to ask—couldn’t you have said something to him before he showed up for the wedding?”
“Probably I should have. My sister warned me, told me he hit on her, but I was stubborn and didn’t believe. Then I caught him kissing one of my bridesmaids at the church. It seemed like an excellent time to let him know the marriage probably wasn’t going to work out.” She clenched her teeth and a muscle jerked in her delicate jaw. “I hate it when my sister is right.”
“Jerk,” Michelle said, the single word dripping with disgust.
Cabot had to agree.
“I gave him back the ring with a fervent wish that he’d choke on it, but dealing with the rest just then was—” The bride sighed and the movement did amazing things to a chest that suddenly didn’t seem so lacking. “I grabbed the truck keys and left. Drove all night and this looked like as good a place as any to stop.”
“It is a good place, honey.” Michelle patted her hand and gave him a glance that begged him to take over.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Katrina Scott. Kate.” She glanced between him and Michelle. “Why do you keep looking at this guy?”
“I keep looking at this man because he’s Cabot Dixon, the rancher who put the Help Wanted poster in my window. Take over anytime.” Michelle settled a hand on her hip and met his gaze. “In my humble opinion, Kate is just your type.” To the bride she added, “He’s a sucker for hard-luck cases.”
“I know you mean that in the nicest possible way,” he said to Michelle.
“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.” She smiled at the bride and said, “My work here is done. By the way, I’m Michelle Crawford. It’s nice to meet you, Kate. Welcome to Blackwater Lake, Montana.”
“Thanks.” After the other woman left, Kate turned to him. “You could have said something about being the rancher in question before I spilled my guts.”
“You were on a roll,” he said.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not a hard-luck case. And I don’t suppose there’s a chance that you could overlook or forget everything I just said?”
“Probably not.”
“I didn’t think so.” She sighed.
“So Katrina. Like the hurricane.”
“I came first and I’m pretty sure my parents named me after a Viking queen or at the very least a Swedish princess.”
He laughed. She was quick-witted. He liked that. But Michelle was probably right about her being overqualified. He would guess her to be in her late twenties and likely on a career path that had been interrupted by running out on her wedding. Although by the looks of the ancient truck out front, she didn’t have much money.
“Nice dress.”
“Thanks. I plan to burn it.” She smoothed a hand over the curve of her hip.
The gesture drew his attention and suddenly his mouth went dry. This was a pretty strong reaction and he didn’t much trust the feeling, but there was no reason to read anything complicated into it. He was a guy and she was a pretty woman. That was all. But she was looking to work for him and he was looking for a reason to turn her down.
“You need a job.”
“It would help me out.”
She had pride. He understood and respected that.
Cabot pushed his empty plate and coffee cup away. “Like Michelle said, it’s really a nowhere job.”
“Just where I want to be.”
“The kids’ activities include sports—basketball, baseball, soccer.”
“I’m athletic.” He noted conviction in her voice, not so much in her expression.
He couldn’t tell about athletic, but she looked as if she was in great shape. “I’m offering minimum wage, and that’s not much more than gas money for a college kid who’s willing to work.”
“I’m obviously not a college student but definitely not afraid of hard work. And money buys gas whether you’re in school or not,” she said. “I’m sensing hesitation on your part and just want to say that you’re not seeing me at my best right now.”
He had to disagree with her on that. What he saw was pretty darn nice,
