a slight smile on Hank’s lips as he listened to his daughter go on. The same smile had been on his face when he’d praised Janie’s singing. Clearly he was indulging the girl and didn’t want to correct her exaggerations. Dozens of horses? Hundreds of cattle? Ten thousand acres? Janie must have meant one thousand, though Gemma found even that number hard to imagine.
Still, it was sweet the way he was humoring the young girl, and one thing that wasn’t overstated was Janie’s pride and love for her father. The refrain that had haunted Gemma’s childhood whispered through her mind once more as she contemplated the love Hank clearly held in return for his daughter.
What if...?
Shifting in his chair, Hank said, “All right, Janie, enough. Gemma doesn’t want to hear about all that.” Beneath that rancher’s tan, a hint of embarrassed color was darkening his cheekbones.
“But Gemma said she wanted to go horseback riding and—Hey, Dad, you should take her!”
Now it was Gemma’s turn to feel uncomfortable. “Oh, Janie, that’s sweet of you to offer, but your dad’s here on vacation. With you.”
“I know, but I’m signed up for all kinds of stuff through the hotel this week. My dad’s not. He’ll be all alone.”
Gemma glanced over at Hank, expecting another half grin at his daughter’s somewhat-dramatic statement. Only he wasn’t smiling, and Gemma realized the truth in his daughter’s words. The slight reticence she sensed about him was more than the rancher’s simply being the strong, silent type. This was a man who’d been hurt in the past.
Was it the divorce? His ex-wife’s remarriage? Was he still in love with her?
Gemma’s heart cramped a little at the thought, even though the feeling—any feeling for this man—was preposterous. They didn’t even know each other and had barely exchanged more than a few words. And though he hadn’t come straight out and said so, he’d made his views on city folks crystal clear. But if Gemma wanted to truly experience Rust Creek Falls, having a local as a guide would help. And if he happened to be a gorgeous cowboy with eyes as blue as Montana’s Big Sky, well, that certainly wouldn’t hurt!
“I’m sure Gemma can find a trail guide who can take her riding,” Hank told his daughter.
“But, Dad!”
Gemma was glad for Janie’s instant objection as it kept her from making one of her own. She didn’t want some hired tour guide. She wanted...
Oh, no. Not going there, Gem!
“You have to take her. You’re the best!” Janie was saying.
Hank opened his mouth, but Gemma beat him to the punch. “I did come all the way to Montana for my very first horseback ride. Seems only right that I should have the chance to learn from the best.”
As Gemma held Hank’s gaze, that same small shiver of awareness raced down her spine. She didn’t know what was happening between the two of them, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that for a city girl from Manhattan and a Montana cowboy—sorry, make that Montana rancher—she and Hank Harlow had more in common than anyone might think.
* * *
“Is that what you’re wearing to dinner tonight?” Janie asked as Hank stepped out of his side of the suite. The room was decorated with the same upscale Western decor as the rest of the hotel—all warm shades of rust and brown, hardwood floors, rough-hewn furniture and even a river-rock fireplace in the shared living space between the two bedrooms.
His daughter was seated on the couch, parked in front of the oversize television, remote in hand. But she flicked the television show off as she pushed to her feet and eyed him with a frown.
Hank glanced down, trying to see what had his little girl making that face. His long-sleeved checkered shirt was buttoned properly, his brown leather belt was pulled through all the loops and his dark denim jeans were zipped.
“What else would I wear?” he asked his daughter. He could dress in the dark, pulling clothes from his closet while completely blind, and end up with an outfit exactly like the one he had on.
Short-sleeved button-down shirts for summer, long sleeves for spring and fall, and a few sweaters thrown in for winter, along with his leather duster. Add in his most comfortable boots and his favorite hat, and there wasn’t a place in Rust Creek Falls where he wouldn’t meet the dress code. That was assuming Rust Creek Falls actually had any restaurants where a dress code was required—which it didn’t.
“You should, I don’t know, wear a tie or something.”
“Now, Janie, you know that I do not own a tie.” It was something of a joke between them—how some kids bought ties for Father’s Day. Last year Janie had bought him a pair of spurs. The year before that, it had been a snakeskin hatband. Before that she had given him a new pair of work gloves. Always something he could wear, but never, ever a tie.
“I know, but I bet Gemma’s gonna dress up.”
Hank doubted the big-city beauty knew how to dress down. Even if she tried to fit in, he imagined her hat and boots would be some designer brand and color-coordinated as well. Like the way her purple toenail polish, complete with tiny, delicate painted-on flowers that were practically works of art, had perfectly matched her oversize floral-print tote bag.
It was a ridiculous thing for a grown man to have noticed. Even worse to have his interest caught by such a detail. But like the rest of Gemma Chapman, the delicate, feminine touch fascinated Hank more than he wanted to admit.
He was simply out of practice when it came to the opposite sex. It wasn’t like women walked around the Bar H in flip-flops all the time. Hell, it wasn’t like many women walked around the Bar H period.
“Sorry, kiddo, but this is the best I brought with me.”
Janie sighed. “You’re supposed to dress up when you go out on a date.”
“Whoa! Hey, no one said anything about this being a date. It’s dinner.” Between two total strangers who were complete opposites and a preteen chaperone. Although even with those built-in safeguards, Hank wasn’t sure why or even how he’d ended up agreeing to share a meal with Gemma Chapman.
The conversation had started out innocently enough when Janie, who always seemed to be starving even though they’d all snacked on chips and popcorn by the pool, asked about their plans for dinner. Or rather Gemma’s plans for dinner.
“I was thinking about checking out a place I read about online. I’m guessing the two of you have heard of it. It’s called the Ace in the Hole?”
“The Ace?” Gemma Chapman at the local cowboy bar? Alone? On a Saturday night? “Uh, no, ma’am. You don’t want to go there.”
Her dark eyebrows rose at that—though Hank wasn’t sure if the move was in reaction to his slipping and calling her “ma’am” or from telling her not to go. “Why not? It sounded like fun. A real Western experience.”
The bar had its moments and was certainly popular enough, but on a Saturday night the place could get more than a little rowdy with just-been-paid and partying cowboys—all of whom would be more than happy to show Gemma a “real Western
