his stepdaughter. Only child. He married the mother about three years ago, I think.”
“How about Jesse Lane?”
Brett shook his head. “Don’t know any Lanes. They aren’t locals. It might be that new guy who has the trailer north of town.”
“Elena and Lexi Moreno.”
“They’re related to the Hernandezes.”
“Ramon and Lily?”
“Hardworking families. The Hernandezes work for the Landaus. The Morenos have their own place.”
“So I have cousins in the classroom, as well as brothers and sisters,” Claire said musingly. “Okay. Rudy Liscano.”
Brett smiled slightly. Everyone knew Rudy. Everybody liked Rudy. “Rudy’s another cousin to the Hernandezes and the Morenos. His dad works for the county-road department. He’s the one you yell at when you blow a tire.”
“I see. How about Rachel Tyler?”
“Her family has the oldest ranch in the area. They raise nice horses.”
“Dylan Masterson?”
“I’m not certain. The Mastersons aren’t local. I think they own some businesses somewhere and are out here escaping. I know they built a hell of a place on the other side of town.”
“You mean, that A-frame?”
“That’s it.” Brett drained his glass. “I think she’s an artist or something.”
“And Toni Green.”
“Her mom works at the bar. They live in the rooms over the bar.” Brett had been invited to see those rooms before the latest boyfriend had taken up residence, but he’d declined the invitation. “I think she’s escaping, too, but for a different reason.”
Claire flipped her notebook shut. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t give you all that much information.”
“I just want enough to understand where my kids are coming from, and I didn’t want to ask Bertie. I think the ones who are ranch kids for real probably have different references and values than the imports.” She refilled their glasses without asking. “In one of my college classes, the prof said that home visits were a must in order to understand your students, but…I think in a community like this, visits might be seen as nosiness unless the families invited me.”
“You’re right,” Brett agreed.
“So, I decided to rely on hearsay.”
“Then you should hit the post office and the mercantile.”
“You gave me what I need.” She leaned back in her chair, studying him in that steady way of hers. Her lips curved slightly. She had a really nice mouth. “So, tell me again, Brett. Why is it that we can’t socialize?”
Brett felt his own mouth tighten.
Claire shrugged. “Hey. You’re the one who laid down the rules. I was just wondering why.”
And then he saw that he’d probably made a major tactical error. He’d already figured out from their first few encounters—and from the fact that she’d taken a teaching assignment in Barlow Ridge—that Claire was a woman who loved a challenge. And that was exactly what he’d given her. Stupid move.
“I didn’t say we couldn’t socialize. I said I wasn’t much on socializing.”
“You seemed to do okay at the wedding, except with me.”
“Claire.”
She raised her eyebrows, making her green eyes even wider beneath her pearly lavender eye shadow. He frowned, annoyed at the way she shook his concentration. “We can socialize, but it has to be on a certain…level.” She tilted her head inquiringly, but Brett had a suspicion that she knew exactly what he was referring to. “You were coming on to me at the wedding.”
“A little,” she agreed, totally missing his point.
“We can’t…I mean, we’re practically related, and I don’t want to create a situation.”
“Wow.” Claire took a careful sip of wine, her expression maddeningly calm. “You certainly extrapolate things out, don’t you? That’s almost like jumping from a simple hello into marriage.”
“No. It’s not.” He didn’t like the way she made him feel foolish for a perfectly logical statement of fact.
“Well, I think you’re dodging stones that haven’t even been thrown.”
“I like to err on the side of caution.”
“That’s not what I hear,” she said softly. “Rumor has it you were a wild guy back in the day.”
“Where’d you hear that?” he asked in an equally quiet tone.
“Around.”
“Regan?” Damn, he hoped not. He didn’t want Claire to know his story. But she and Regan were sisters.
“No. Actually, a couple of women were discussing you in the bar when I went in for a sandwich yesterday. You were a rodeo star, according to them.”
“Yeah. I was.”
Too close for comfort. Those rodeo days had ended up being the dark point of his life, and he wasn’t going to discuss them. Period.
Brett slid the cork back into the bottle. Rudeness and tactlessness seemed to be his best strategies. He pushed the bottle across the table toward her. “I was kind of in the middle of something when you came.”
She nudged it back toward him before she stood. “You keep it.”
“You’ll probably need it more than me.” He picked up the wine and pressed it into her hands.
“Thanks for the help, Brett. See you around.” A few seconds later, the screen door banged shut behind her. Brett watched her walk down the path for a moment, admiring the subtle swing of her hips beneath the swirly skirt in spite of himself.
Claire Flynn was not going to be good for his peace of mind.
CHAPTER THREE
CLAIRE GAVE HERSELF a good talking to as she walked home across the bristly hay field. Once upon a time she’d berated Regan for dating the wrong kind of man—which was truly a case of the pot calling the kettle black, since Claire also tended to pursue guys for the wrong reasons.
She liked to attain the unattainable.
It was a bad habit, and one she was trying to break herself of. Being attracted to Brett Bishop was not a step in the right direction, since she suspected her interest in him was sparked solely by his corresponding lack of interest in her.
But
