sorry.” She looked miserable, and she kept glancing back toward the road as though she half expected Gypsy to make a miraculous recovery and show up at the gate, ready to be let in.
John was fairly certain that wouldn’t happen. “It’ll be okay. I’ll call my brother, Landon, and tell him what’s happened. We’ll get everything taken care of, and I’m gonna go get you that glass of water.” He went inside and fixed two glasses of ice water, called Landon and gave him a heads-up on the situation then walked back out to find Lightning, his hound dog, sniffing Dana’s expensive shoe. “All right, boy. She’s had a bad enough afternoon already. Don’t even think about it.”
“Think about what?” Dana asked.
Lightning, only slightly younger than Gypsy, raised a droopy eye, moved to one of the porch rails and proceeded to do his business.
John nodded toward the dog.
Dana sputtered on her water with a little laugh. “Oh, I see.”
“I’d kind of expected to welcome you to the ranch a little more appropriately.” He took a long drink of water, the cool liquid hitting his parched throat like a balm, almost as refreshing as having a stunning woman sitting on his front porch. “Don’t suppose hitting a cow and walking a mile in high heels would send you running to the hills, would it?”
Her eyes glittered above her glass and the corners of her mouth turned up as she took another sip. “As long as you don’t want to banish me to the hills for killing your cow.”
“As I said, Gypsy was probably ready to go. She may have even gone out to the road with a death wish, hoping someone would put her out of her misery.” He took another drink of water. “Her arthritis was pretty bad.”
She looked suspicious. “Are you serious?”
He grinned. “Nah, just trying to make you feel better.”
She gave him a full smile, and he noticed she was even prettier when she smiled. “Well, it worked.”
“Good.” He finished off his water, nodded toward her nearly empty glass. “Want more?”
“No, thank you.” She relaxed in the rocker and leaned her head back, her blond hair tumbling past slender shoulders.
John took in her appearance again. Even a sweaty mess, Dana Brooks made his pulse kick up a notch. She was taller than he’d imagined, merely a few inches shy of his six-two, and her eyes were bluer than the photos depicted. Her bio on the internet said she was twenty-six, two years younger than John, but she had a softness to her complexion, a tenderness to her features, that made her appear even younger. But her eyes, those inquisitive Caribbean-blue eyes, appeared wiser than her years, studying everything around her as she sat on the porch.
In fact, while he studied her, she visibly took in her surroundings—the porch, his dog, the fields, grazing livestock and the other colorful cabins lined up along the pond’s edge. Then she drew her attention back to John. “Is this where you live?”
He knew about her high-rise apartment in Chicago and how it overlooked Lake Michigan and the ritzy art district. “This is it. But don’t worry, I’m not putting you in one of the fishing shacks.” He cleared his throat. “Fishing cabins, I mean. Gotta get used to that.”
She shook her head. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean for your family to provide accommodations. I made a reservation at a hotel in town.”
“Yeah, but Georgiana, my brother’s wife, said she wouldn’t accept your staying in a tiny hotel room when you could stay out here on the farm. Plus, if you want to see the place firsthand, you might as well stay here.” He grinned, thinking about Georgiana’s insistence that their guest stay on the ranch. “There’s only one hotel in town—I’m sure you figured that out. Or if you want to get specific, there aren’t any hotels in town. We have one bed-and-breakfast, and that’s it.”
“Yes, the Claremont Bed-and-Breakfast. That’s where I made my reservation.”
“Naturally we know the owners, Mr. and Mrs. Tingle. So Georgiana gave them a call and told them you wouldn’t need a place to stay, after all.”
Her mouth opened slightly, surprise filling her expression. “She canceled my reservation?”
“Not exactly. I mean, they’re waiting for you to call and officially cancel it, but she did tell them you’d be staying on the farm.” He leaned against the porch rail.
Her hands ran up and down the length of her glass, ice cubes rattling with the movement, as she apparently accepted the way things ran in Smalltown, U.S.A. Quite the contrast from Chicago, no doubt. “I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”
He stopped short of laughing out loud. “You’ve already killed our oldest cow—can’t get much more of a burden than that.”
Her mouth fell completely open this time, and John set his laugh free. Then, seeing her shocked expression, he sobered as best he could.
“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t tease you until you get to know me better. You aren’t a burden—you’re company. We tend to think a lot of our guests, and that’s what you are. And you’ll have to take it up with Georgiana if you’re planning to turn down her offer. But trust me, she’ll put up a decent fight. And I’m sure you can tackle the best of city slickers in a boardroom, but you haven’t seen anything like Georgiana Cutter when she has her mind made up.” He shrugged. “In my opinion, you should just go ahead and concede. I’m just sayin’.”
Her hands stopped fidgeting with the glass, and she laughed. “I’ll think about it.” She leaned forward and took another look at the line of fishing shacks bordering one side of the pond. “So, is this where your dude ranch guests will stay? In these cabins?”
“No, our fishing camp guests stay here, so they can be right by the pond. Makes it easier for them to start fishing at the crack of dawn, when the bream and crappie bite best. I’m living in this one, so they’ll have someone handy if they need anything. For the dude ranch, we’ll have campsites by the creek that flows by the hiking trails. I’ll show you when we tour the ranch.”
She scanned the vast pond. Cattails bordered the ends and dark green lily pads dotted the banks with an occasional white lily balancing on top, the scene peaceful and still beneath the afternoon sky. “No one’s fishing,” she said. “You don’t have any guests here now?”
“Nah, it’s barely March. Fish don’t start biting much until nearly April, so right now we only have guests on the weekends. Most of them are here more to relax than because they’re die-hard fishermen. But reservations are already picking up for next month.”
“So you have some guests coming in tomorrow, on Saturday?”
“All cabins filled but mine.”
She twisted in the rocker, eyed the pond and the colorful row of cabins. “This is really lovely.”
Her compliment was sincere, and he immediately felt a sense of pride in the Cutters’ first tourist venture. Hopefully the dude ranch would also hit the mark. “Thanks. We’re fairly excited about the rentals and reservations.”
“Well, your business plan for the dude ranch was impressive. I’m sure the one you did for the fishing camp was, too.”
