“Go ahead. Make fun of me. But he wasn’t a man to let on that he cared about the people in his life. It was only okay to be openly emotional about the ranch. I think you hide your softer side like that, too.”
“I used to. When I was younger. But I had a lot to prove back then.”
She slid him a speculative, appraising look. “So what does your softer side care about?”
“Like I said—rodeo.” It was safe to care about that. It was business and only as personal as he cared to get about anything.
“So you’re not really back to prove something?” she asked, looking as if she could see something he couldn’t.
He shook his head. “I’m here to make sure there are championships. That’s all.”
He still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to Dev’s suggestion that he fill in as commissioner. He’d meant to say no and the next thing he knew, he’d agreed.
“Obviously you know I’m interested in having it here?”
He nodded. “Dev Hart told me. We’ve kept in touch. I suppose you already know that he took over the stock business from his dad.”
Taylor nodded. “We still feed and take care of some of his rodeo animals.”
“That’s right,” he said, feeling as if a video in his head was replaying pictures. More to himself than her he said, “I used to work at the gas station in town to earn the ten bucks a ride your dad charged to let me practice on the bulls. That’s how I first met your sister,” he added, then kicked himself.
He thought he’d forgotten all that. Was it the familiar surroundings bringing it all back?
“So what did you and Dev talk about?” she asked, ignoring the personal and turning the conversation back to business.
Fine with him, Mitch thought. He needed to end this stroll down memory lane. “Dev supplies prime stock to local rodeos as well as events all over the country. When I asked him if he had any suggestions for a site to hold the championships, he suggested the Circle S. I have to admit I was surprised—until I heard about your dad’s passing. He wasn’t a big rodeo supporter.”
“That’s not completely true. He raised stock to sell for the events. He just wasn’t happy about me barrel racing. Watching me compete took him away from the ranch.”
He grinned, as a memory flashed into his mind. “You were the quickest little thing I ever saw. Fourteen seconds the last time I saw you ride.”
“I never raced again after that.”
“Why not? You had so much potential.”
“As you said, I didn’t have my dad’s support.” Her frown said there was more, but she closed up tighter than the chute after the bull got out.
“I’m surprised you remembered my time.”
No more than he was. He’d suppressed almost everything that happened back then. But now memories—about her—were surfacing in spite of himself. She’d been a kid back then. But she was all grown up now. And pretty. Too pretty for his peace of mind.
“Your time was the same as your age,” he said.
“I’m impressed,” she commented, looking anything but. In fact she looked as if she was waiting for the other shoe to fall. “Memory by association. Good technique.”
“Is that flattery?”
“Heaven forbid. Your ego’s twice the size of Texas now.”
He laughed, charmed by her straight talk. He’d had enough insincere compliments to last a lifetime. Women came on to him, wanting to hang around for their own selfish reasons. “About the rodeo—”
She leaned back against the counter on the other side of the room. “So Dev told you I’d be interested?”
He nodded. “Said you’ve got a project in the works and it would help you out.” He’d been real curious when he’d heard that.
“You already know the ranch,” she said nodding. “Why do you have to inspect it?”
A good question. His first instinct had been to look elsewhere. But he owed it to the hardworking rodeo kids to find the best location to showcase their talents.
“My memories of the Circle S are from ten years ago, when I was just a kid. I need to see that you can handle the crowd, the animals. That the facilities are in good shape. There’s a lot more to it than putting out the date and time. We have equipment, vendors, supplies, not to mention a budget.”
She smiled. “Spoken like a genuine businessman.”
“If the boot fits—” He shrugged.
Her smile lit up her face like the town square at Christmas. His responding flash of heat took him by surprise. She was so the girl-next-door, kid-sister type. But there was something about her, something different from the sketchy details he remembered.
He studied her more closely. Brown eyes warm and welcoming as expensive brandy looked bigger and more beautiful than he recalled. Her face had softened into a woman’s, along with her body. She was still small, but she’d filled out in all the right places. The cotton shirt she wore emphasized the shape and size of her breasts. She wasn’t stacked like the groupies who had pursued him on the circuit, but she would fit a man’s hands perfectly. She would fit his hands—
He shut the gate on that thought before it had time to form. How she would feel was on a need-to-know basis and he didn’t need to know.
But he couldn’t stop himself from looking. He continued his assessment to her trim waist in khaki slacks that showed off her slender legs. He couldn’t help wondering how she would look in a worn pair of jeans, soft enough to caress her backside like a lover’s hand. He would put money on the fact that she could have every guy in a crowd slack-jawed and bug-eyed. Just an impartial, impersonal observation. Nothing more. She was a woman any man would be proud to have by his side.
Any man but him.
“Would you like me to show you around, or do you want to check out the place on your own?” she asked.
After the thoughts he’d just had, he would be nuts to accept her offer. Common sense told him to go it by himself as he always did. But before he could get the right words out, he heard himself say, “I think it would be helpful if you gave me the tour.”
Helpful to whom? Beneficial to what? Certainly not him. Women had been kicking him in the teeth since he was ten years old. He would much rather have done business with Taylor’s father. At least the man was up-front about the way things were. No surprises. God, Mitch hated surprises.
“Okay,” she said. “My truck is in back.”
“Let’s take mine,” he countered.
“Are you one of those guys who’s prejudiced against women drivers?” she asked, one eyebrow lifted with undisguised challenge.
His gaze snapped to hers and he saw the twinkle there. He grinned, his blood warming to her fire. “What if I am?”
“Then we’ve got more problems than whose truck to take,” she said.
“How so?”
“My last name is Stevens. I’m in charge. And you’re going to have to deal with me.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, as if there was something he should know.
“I’m positive.”
It was the Lord’s honest truth. As much as he wished otherwise, he was looking forward to dealing with her—more than he’d anticipated anything for a long time.
“Good,”