a land of sunshine and buildings bearing Spanish influences.
A state where she never had to worry about her car getting stuck in an uneven patch of ice.
Smiling at Conrad Steele, she made a quick dash into her SUV, dodging the thick flakes of snow beginning to fall from the sky.
Turning the key over in the ignition, her vehicle roared to life. Buckled in, she laid her foot on the pedal. Prayed the car would overcome the ice.
No such luck. The car didn’t so much as move.
Her cheeks warmed with a flush. Conrad Steele, who had been leaning against a post, his Stetson tipped down over his face, covering his salt-and-pepper hair, began moving toward her. Slow, determined steps.
Honestly, getting stuck in snow in such a short amount of time felt like a weird special talent. Though, as she looked at Conrad Steele’s square jaw and those bright blue eyes, she wished this particular talent had manifested at literally any other moment. After her messy divorce, she was done with emotional entanglements. Her job was everything to her now.
He knocked on her window, an easy smile on his lips. “Do you need some help there?”
“I’ve been driving in snow for fifteen years. Thanks, though.”
He nodded, taking a step back. But just one, she noted. He folded his arms, a movement that seemed to accentuate his broad shoulders.
Felicity willed her car to move forward. What was it that they said about the power of thought? If you wanted something bad enough, it would happen. Apparently, her car hadn’t gotten the memo.
Rolling down her window, she locked eyes with Conrad. “Fine. Yes, I would appreciate a nudge.”
His blue eyes lit with a roguish smile. “If you’ll give me your number.”
She stifled the urge to laugh, which would just encourage him. “Aren’t you supposed to keep yourself available for some bachelor auction?”
“You’re not making this easy.”
“Somehow I think you’re a man who’s not interested in easy.” She’d meant it as a simple statement of fact, and yet innuendo hovered between them as tangible as their foggy breaths. Her background in psychology made her all too aware of the power of Freudian slips. “Now can we please nudge my vehicle free?”
He laughed, a sexy, low rumble.
God, he was tempting. From his roguish smile to those broad shoulders. His breath from his laugh fogged the air between them, luring her closer. And for a moment, she considered testing the attraction.
For a moment only.
This man had the look and confidence of a player. And she wasn’t one for games. She’d worked hard to build her life here, and she refused to let anyone unsettle that. She loved her job and hoped an opportunity would open soon for her to shuffle from the foster care system to a full-time position at the hospital.
After her divorce, she’d been determined to commit herself to her work, certain her ability to build long-term relationships had been permanently derailed due to her dysfunctional upbringing.
Her parents had struggled to make ends meet—tough to do when spending all their money on drugs and alcohol. Twice she’d gone into the foster care system when teachers had expressed concerns, only to be returned to the home where she slept under her bed.
However, when her father left her in the hot car to bet on dog races, the cops had found her, and that time, she hadn’t been returned to her parents. The stress of bouncing around foster homes hadn’t been easy, and in a strange, inexplicable way, she’d missed her dysfunctional family. But she’d also appreciated the regular meals, clean clothes, and lack of drug paraphernalia mixed in with her toys. Her messed-up childhood had made her too vulnerable, and she’d married a man who cared as little for her as her parents had. She hadn’t even suspected his drug use until it was too late.
She’d learned well not to trust and wouldn’t start now.
Bracing her shoulders and her resolve, she rested her hands on the steering wheel. “Thank you for the help. I should stop chitchatting and get on the road.”
She made fast work of rolling up the window before gripping the steering wheel, ready—needing—to leave. Still, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the rearview mirror to watch Conrad Steele climb in his truck. He drove forward slowly, his bumper nudging hers ever so gently.
Still, her stomach lurched far more than her vehicle for a man she’d only just met.
Loading the dishwasher, Tally couldn’t ignore how much she’d enjoyed the simple dinner with Marshall.
With my boss, she corrected herself.
None of her previous jobs had included room and board. And more often than not, she worked through lunch to finish early. So she didn’t share meals with others often, and Marshall was a surprisingly good conversationalist for someone reputed to be reticent. Perhaps people mistook his good listening skills for something more aloof.
She closed the dishwasher and couldn’t help but notice how the stainless steel door reflected him working at the kitchen table. He had spreadsheets laid out and his tablet open, his broad hands sifting through.
Why did he insist on working at the kitchen table? He had an office. She’d heard all about what a solitary man he was. Jeannie Steele had warned her that she might need to coax him out of his “cave” to eat.
Tally slid a casserole dish into the dishwasher and shut the door on the half-full load. This man defied understanding on a number of levels.
The silence between them crackled like the sparks popping in the fireplace, drawing her toward the heat.
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Less comfortable silence between them might be a better thing. “What are you working on?”
“Ledgers.”
“Ah, the Steele wealth.” She winced the second she said it. Talking about money was, well, rude. Not to mention out of line since he was her employer.
“It’s actually for the riding school I run. You’re right in thinking I don’t need the cash, but I enjoy it.”
“A school for rodeo wannabes.” She started the dishwasher. “Interesting.”
“Actually, most of my clients are children. There are a few adults as well who didn’t grow up in the saddle and want to learn.”
He grew more intriguing by the moment, showing he was more than a sexy man with broad shoulders and a great butt.
“For an injured guy, you sure stay busy. Did you muck out some stalls one-handed, too?”
Keeping things light seemed the way to go with so much chemistry in the air. The way goose bumps raised on her arms every time he walked past. How the husky timbre of his voice made her heart beat faster. Her instincts said he felt the attraction, too, but there was a world of difference between thinking he reciprocated and openly acknowledging as much.
Leaving
