Lured by the Rich Rancher. Kathie DeNosky

      Staring down at her, it was all he could do to keep from covering her lips with his and kissing her until the entire neighborhood was thoroughly scandalized. His heart stuttered when he realized she looked as if she wanted him to do just that.

      He wasn’t sure how long they continued to gaze at each other, but when he finally had the presence of mind to lift her onto the seat, he quickly closed the truck door and walked around to climb in behind the steering wheel. What the hell was wrong with him? he wondered as he started the engine and steered away from the curb. He’d never before been so completely mesmerized by a woman that he forgot what he was doing. Why was Fee different? What was it about her that made him act like an inexperienced teenager on his first date?

      “I still don’t understand...why you insisted on coming to get me,” she said, sounding delightfully breathless. “I could have driven...to the ranch.”

      “You could have tried,” he said, focusing on her statement instead of her perfect coral lips. “But that low-slung little sports car wouldn’t have made it without drowning out when you forded the creek. That’s why I suggested you leave it here. If you need to go somewhere, I’ll be more than happy to take you.”

      “When we drove to the ranch for the wedding, I don’t remember anywhere along the way that could happen,” she said as if she didn’t believe him. “The roads were all asphalt and so was the lane leading up to the ranch house.” She frowned. “I don’t even remember a bridge.”

      “There isn’t one,” he answered. “Most of the year it’s just a little slow-moving stream about three or four inches deep and about two feet wide,” he explained. “But July is the wettest month we have here in Wyoming. It rains almost every day and the stream doubles in size and depth. That little car sits so low it would stall out in a heartbeat.”

      “Why don’t you build a bridge?” she demanded. “It seems to me it would be more convenient than running the risk of a vehicle stalling out.”

      He nodded. “Eventually I’ll have the road to my place asphalted and a culvert or bridge put in. But I only inherited the ranch a few months ago and I’ve had other things on my mind like cutting and baling hay, mending fences and moving cattle from one pasture to another.”

      “Hold it just a minute. Your place?” She frowned. “You don’t live on the Big Blue ranch?”

      “I’ve never lived anywhere else,” he admitted. “I just don’t live in the main house.”

      “There’s another house on the ranch?” she asked, her tone doubtful.

      “Actually there are several,” he said, nodding. “There’s the main house, the Lassiter homestead where I live, as well as a foreman’s cottage and a couple of smaller houses for married hired hands.”

      “The only buildings I saw close to the ranch house were a couple of barns, a guest cottage and a stable,” she said, sounding skeptical.

      “You can’t see the other places from the main house,” he answered. “Those are about five miles down the road where I live.”

      “So I won’t be staying with Marlene?” she inquired, as if she might be rethinking her decision to stay with him.

      “Nope. The actual ranch headquarters is where we’ll be staying,” he said, wondering if Fee was apprehensive about being alone with him. She needn’t be. He might want to get to know her on a very personal level, but he wasn’t a man who forced his attentions on a woman if she didn’t want them.

      Frowning, she nibbled on her lower lip as if deep in thought. “I was led to believe that the main house was the ranch headquarters.”

      Chance almost groaned aloud. Nothing would please him more than to cover her mouth with his and do a little nibbling of his own. Fortunately, he didn’t have time to dwell on it. They had arrived at the stop he’d decided to make when he learned she didn’t have a pair of boots.

      Steering his truck into the parking lot at the Wild Horse Western Wear store on the northern outskirts of Cheyenne, he parked and turned to face her. “My uncle built the main house when he and my late aunt adopted Sage and Dylan. That’s where we have our family gatherings, entertain guests, and Lassiter Media holds corporate receptions. The actual ranch headquarters has always been at the home my grandfather and grandmother built when they first came to Wyoming. I renovated it about seven years back when my uncle turned the running of the ranch over to me. I’ve lived there ever since.”

      She looked confused. “Why not have the headquarters at the main house? Doesn’t that make more sense?”

      Laughing, he shook his head. “Headquarters is where we sort cattle for taking them to market and quarantine and treat sick livestock. A herd of cattle can be noisy and churn up a lot of dust when it’s dry. That’s not something you want guests to have to contend with when you’re throwing a party or trying to make a deal with business associates.”

      “I suppose that makes sense,” she finally said, as if she was giving it some serious thought.

      “Now that we have that settled, let’s go get you fitted for a pair of boots,” he suggested, getting out of the truck and walking around to help her down from the passenger seat. “How many pairs of jeans did you bring?”

      “Two,” she said as they walked into the store. “Why?”

      “I’m betting your jeans have some designer dude’s name on the hip pocket and cost a small fortune,” he explained as he walked her over to the women’s section.

      “As a matter of fact, I did get them from a boutique on Rodeo Drive,” she said, frowning. “Does that make them unsuitable?”

      “That depends,” he answered truthfully. “If you don’t mind running the risk of getting them torn or stained up, they’ll be just fine. But if they’re very expensive, I doubt you’ll want to do that. Besides, they probably aren’t boot cut, are they?”

      “No. They’re skinny jeans.”

      He swallowed hard as he imagined what she would look like in the form-fitting pants. “We’ll pick up a few pairs of jeans and a hat.”

      “I don’t wear hats,” she said, her long blond hair swaying as she shook her head.

      Without thinking, Chance reached up to run his index finger along her smooth cheek. “I’d hate to see your pretty skin damaged by the sun. You’ll need a hat to protect against sun and windburn.”

      As she stared up at him, her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips and it was all he could do to keep from taking her into his arms to find out if they tasted as sweet as they looked. Deciding there would be plenty of time in the next two weeks to find out, he forced himself to move. He suddenly couldn’t wait to get to the ranch.

      “Let’s get you squared away with jeans and boots,” he advised. “Then we’ll worry about that hat.”