Stranded With The Rancher. Rebecca Winters

the Big Apple up to sheep country.”

      “I work for Rockwell Food Business Magazine, based in Manhattan as a contributing writer.”

      “I read it regularly.”

      She sat up. “You do?”

      “It and a dozen other publications that keep abreast of news in the meat industry. Depending on how long you’ve been writing for them, I might have read one of your articles.”

      His grandfather’s words rang in her head. Among other things, he’s a sheepman and knows it all.

      Alex lay back down, surprised by her own stupidity. Everything was making sense, including the fact that his grandfather read her article thoroughly before asking questions.

      “Last Saturday I flew out to Colorado to talk to some sheep ranchers at the Wool Growers Association convention in Montrose. After a few days I flew to Casper to attend a similar convention there. The people in charge told me the best person to ask for information was Royden Fielding.”

      “Grandad would have liked to be there, but he needed me to take him, and I had to be up here.”

      If he had attended that convention, Alex would have met both of them there. But it hadn’t happened that way. The thought of not meeting Wyatt Fielding bothered her in a way she didn’t understand.

      “I called and set up an interview this morning, then flew to Jackson Hole.”

      “And you were spared having to spend a wild night in Whitebark.”

      She smiled. “Being up here on a mountain with sheep, fighting rain and gale-force winds, is what I’d call the real Wild West. I came to pick your brains about lamb.”

      He burst into that rich kind of male laughter she loved. “Before I knew you wrote for that particular magazine, I thought you might be a photographer my grandfather sent up so you could get some spectacular photographs of the mountains.”

      “There’s a thought.” She clutched the pillow. “So, when do you fight fires?”

      “Several times a week when I’m back in town. But I also have a ranch to run.”

      “Your grandfather wasn’t exaggerating about you.”

      “He always exaggerates,” he corrected her.

      She could believe it, but she also knew that for Royden the sun rose and set with his grandson. “Before we say good-night, do you mind telling me what you did today before I arrived?”

      “Is this for research?”

      “Yes.” Well, that and she wanted to know everything about him.

      “We brought down the last four hundred head of ewes and rams over rough mountain terrain and streams from the ten-thousand-foot level where they’ve spent the summer. Once we start down, they wander off if you’re not chasing them every second. They get lost, caught in shrubs and trees, nearly drown and can fall off cliffs on the way.

      “Considering the ewes are pregnant, that makes the journey down more treacherous. If the lamb lovers of this world knew what we go through, they’d pay us billions for the privilege of being served lamb chops and roasts at the dinner table.”

      “Can I quote you on that?”

      “Why not? Now, I don’t know about you, Alex, but I’m exhausted. Let’s sleep on the subject, and tomorrow I’ll answer all your questions after we have breakfast and I check the herd with Pali.”

      He had to be worse than exhausted. She turned on her other side, away from him, so she wouldn’t be tempted to talk anymore. Alex’s mind filled with pictures of him chasing her instead of sheep all over creation, until oblivion took over.