before owning a company. My mother gave it to me when I was about two years old and owned nothing, not even the wet diaper on my behind.”
The men laughed. Warren nodded at the roll of paper that Jackson was holding. “So what have we here?”
“The final blueprints for your house.” He pointed to various sticks with twine around them. “We’ve got everything marked out, rooms, deck, swimming pool, guest houses and the expansion for your stables. Just wanted to walk you through everything one final time before we get started. If everything meets your approval, we’ll start excavating for the foundation right away. Brandon, the foreman, will keep things flowing smoothly during the days that I’m gone.”
“I’m ready to get started,” Warren said, rubbing his hands in excitement. “Let’s...” The sentence died on his tongue as the sound of hard-hitting hoofbeats caught his ear. As one, the three men turned toward the sound. A lone rider, looking strong and sure in the saddle, was approaching. He wore jeans, an oversize button-down shirt, a cowboy hat and a red bandanna over his mouth and nose. The rider jumped a small bush in the horse’s path effortlessly, standing in the stirrups as the horse landed, then continued to what was his clear destination—them.
“Good rider,” Warren mumbled, clearly impressed.
“A real-life cowboy,” Richard drawled. “You’re going country for real.”
The rider reached them and pulled up on the reins. From his superior position, he peered in silence, eyes shielded with a pair of dark shades. After a few seconds he dismounted, pulled down the kerchief and took off his hat.
The three men stepped back in unison, brows raised, dumbstruck.
Long curly hair tumbled around the rider’s shoulders and lips that at least one man guessed were soft and quite attractive were fixed in a firm line. A slender hand pushed the dark glasses up on her head and the hair from her face. Chocolate orbs framed by curly black lashes seared them with their intensity.
A subtle look of incredulity passed between the men.
He was a she?
Indeed. And a sexy she at that.
But Ms. Sexy did not look happy.
“Charli Reed,” she announced, her eyes narrowed, her stance defensive. “Is one of you the owner of this place?”
Warren stepped forward. “I am. Warren Drake.” He held out his hand, noting a flash of something—recognition, maybe—in her eyes. “Are you my neighbor?”
“I am,” she replied, ignoring his outstretched hand and crossing her arms instead. “And we’ve got a problem.”
Chapter 2
“You’ve got a problem?” Richard, pretty boy and eternal ladies’ man, took a step toward Charli, eyeing her much like a hungry dog would a biscuit. “Well, baby girl...I’m a problem solver.”
If looks could kill, for Richard it would have been time for ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Her eyes slid from him to Jackson and back before returning to Warren.
Richard backed up, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
“I’ve got a problem with your fence. You’ve enclosed the stream that my cows have used for the last ten years. The next water source is two miles away.”
Warren’s first thought was wondering how her cows were his problem. He didn’t have long to wait for clarification.
“That stream is on Reed land.”
Warren looked at Jackson, who gave a slight nod and walked to a large black pickup. “My people had the land surveyed five years ago, when the first vines were planted. The fence was erected based on those specs.”
“I don’t care what the paper says. That stream is for my cows. We need access. You need to move your fence.”
Warren scowled. Who did this gorgeous cup of cocoa think she was? “I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken.”
Jackson returned from his truck with survey in hand. He unrolled it, giving one end to Warren to hold while he held the other and pointed to property lines. “Here is the lake, Ms. Reed,” he said, pointing to the paper. “And here is the Drake property line.”
Charli glanced at the paper and said nothing.
“We had everything double-checked before we erected the fence,” Warren said as Jackson rolled up the proof and placed it under his arm. “Not only against the original paperwork filed at the courthouse, but with another top-rate surveyor.” He crossed his arms, matching her stance. “All of the property within the fence is mine.”
“How many acres is this—” she spread her arms “—property of yours?”
“I can’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Maybe not. But it’s a shame that with all that you own we’re standing here squabbling about a half acre or less that you probably won’t even see, let alone that you’ll need.”
“Be that as it may, it’s my land and my fence.”
A stare-off ensued, during which time Warren took note of a few things: the color of her eyes, her kissable long neck and how even with an oversize shirt he could tell that she was wearing the hell out of that pair of jeans.
“My contractor and I need to get back to work. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes.” Charli spun on her heel, placed a well-worn boot into the stirrup and swung up onto the chestnut-colored stallion in one fluid motion. “You can go to hell.”
Warren watched the trail of dust that followed his feisty neighbor down the winding drive. “You know,” he drawled to Jackson and Richard as she rounded the bend and galloped out of sight. “I think Miss Charli needs to learn how to say how she really feels.”
* * *
Charli used long, strong brushstrokes on the horse’s coat, thankful to have something to do. She was still ticked off—okay, livid—after her encounter with her jerk of a neighbor, Warren Drake. Even after riding hard all the way home, going past her house and giving the horse his head for a good five minutes. After helping the ranch hands round up a herd of cattle, and tossing up heavy bales of hay for the next day’s feeding, there was still enough pent-up frustration for her to go fifteen rounds with a punching bag. Or a neighbor.
For the past two years, ever since she’d returned to the land she loved and regained the reins of her grandfather Charles Reed’s dream to stave off a foreclosure, Charli had been exhausted but content. She’d finally found the peace that had eluded her for the past few years, peace that had first been shattered when her grandfather—her rock—died, and then had further been obliterated by the dissolution of an engagement that never should have occurred. Coming back to the ranch had been like coming home. Most of the old hands still worked there, and treated her with the respect they’d given Charles Reed. The house manager, whom she called her play uncle, Griff, was now the closest thing she had to family and treated her like his own. It hadn’t hurt that all of them had known her since she was knee-high to a gnat, or that
