Wrangling The Rich Rancher. Sheri WhiteFeatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
needed to keep her professional wits about her.
Still, from the moment they’d first laid eyes on each other, a strange sort of chemistry—the kind that zapped you when you least expected it—had risen up between them. Even now, she could sense his uneasy attraction to her, and he wasn’t even looking her way. Clearly, he didn’t like feeling something for one of his guests.
The thing was, she hadn’t even told him the real reason she was here, staying at his recreational ranch. As far as he knew, she was just another tourist visiting the Texas Hill Country.
She and some of the other guests were finishing up breakfast, and soon would be dispersing to engage in whatever activities interested them: horseback riding, hiking, swimming, fishing, skeet shooting, horseshoes, Ping-Pong. There was a playground and petting corral for the kids. On top of that, the ranch had a world-class champion quarter horse standing at stud. They also bred him to their mares, and during foaling season, guests could ooh and aah over their offspring. Of course, hayrides, barbecues, campfires and country hoedowns were part of the regular program. According to the schedule she’d been given, a boot-scooting dance and fried chicken dinner were on the calendar for tomorrow night, with all ages welcome.
The Flying Creek Ranch was highly successful, earning plenty of cold, hard cash. Libby knew because she’d researched it. And although it was designed for families and looked quite rustic, there were luxurious undertones. Amid its vast and stunning acreage, it offered private cabin accommodations with limestone fireplaces. There was a big, beautiful main lodge, too, which was where Libby was now, preparing to approach Matt. But from what she’d gathered so far, Matt didn’t live at the lodge. He lived in a cabin, the one next to hers, in fact. She’d spotted him last night, sitting quietly on his porch. She’d stayed inside, making notes to herself about Matt’s character and how she perceived him. Friendly when he needed to be, but withdrawn, too. An enigma, she thought, a chameleon, his moods shifting with the summer wind.
Her observations were hasty at best, and influenced, no doubt, by what his father had already told her about him. Matt was Kirby Talbot’s illegitimate son. The half-Cherokee boy the famous country singer had done wrong. Kirby had even written a yet-unpublished song about it.
Libby knew all sorts of personal details about Kirby. He’d hired her to write his biography. He’d handpicked her himself, based on a series of articles she’d crafted for Rolling Stone. For her, the book was a dream come true. Kirby was her idol, his rough-and-ready music complementing her willful personality and determined life.
Still studying Matt from across the room, she smoothed the front of her boho-inspired blouse, the silky fringe attached to it fluttering around her hips. The salesclerk at the store where she’d bought it called it cowgirl chic; it was bold, beautiful and sweetly feminine. Whatever the style, the blouse made her feel pretty. Libby was small in stature, with long, pale, wavy blond hair and a wholesome face. Sometimes she made cat eyes with her eyeliner just to doll herself up, giving her wide blue eyes a dramatic transformation.
Eager to learn more about Matt, she headed in his direction. Some of her research on him had come from his father and the rest from public records and the web. So far, she knew that he was thirty-one years old and had lived in the Hill Country his entire life. He appeared to be an unpretentious man, but his net worth was staggering, going far beyond the trust fund his father had set up for him.
As a youth, he’d excelled in junior rodeos. These days, he was divorced. His ex was a local girl, a widow when he’d married her, with two small children. That interested Libby, of course. But everything about him did.
He was Kirby’s secret son. No one except the family and a handful of lawyers knew about him. After her book was released, everyone would know. Kirby wanted to come clean, to acknowledge Matt’s paternity in a public way.
Initially, he’d kept Matt under wraps because he was married at the time and didn’t want his wife or other kids to find out. Eventually they learned the truth. But that hadn’t changed the dynamics of Matt and Kirby’s relationship. He saw Matt sporadically when he was growing up, visiting between road tours. At some point, he stopped seeing him at all, and now Kirby wanted to make amends. Just this year, he started reaching out to his son, but Matt refused to take his calls, let alone see him.
Libby approached Matt, who was standing near a painting of Indian ponies dancing in the dust. He adjusted his hat, fitting it lower on his head.
“Do you have a minute?” she asked.
He turned more fully toward her, the make-believe horses prancing at his shoulder. “For one of my guests? Always.”
“Is it okay if we take a walk?” She didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. Some of the others were still milling around the lodge.
“Sure.” He gestured to a side door leading to a rustic garden, where flowers sprouted amid wagon wheels, old water pumps and wrought iron benches. Once they were outside, he asked, “Is everything all right? Are you enjoying your stay so far?”
She fell into step with him. “It’s a wonderful ranch, and I’m looking forward to the activities. I missed your Independence Day celebration.” The ranch was famous for hosting a huge fireworks display, drawing crowds from neighboring communities. “You were booked solid then.” She’d arrived just after July Fourth and would be staying until the beginning of August. “This is so different from where I live, so vast and rural.” Libby was from Southern California, where she’d been born and raised. Kirby, however, resided in Nashville, on an enormous compound he’d built. She’d already been there several times. “My son will be joining me in a few weeks. My mother is going to bring him. She’s going to stay with us, too.”
“How old is your son?”
“Six. This place is going to thrill him. He wants to be a cowboy when he grows up.”
He smiled a little crookedly. “I’ll be sure to give him the grand tour.”
“His daddy passed away. It’ll be three years this fall.” She wasn’t sure why she felt inclined to tell Matt that, especially with how weirdly attracted to him she was. Then again, he’d been married to a widow, so maybe he would understand more than most people would?
By now, he was frowning, hard and deep. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. His name was Becker.” Kirby Talbot had been his idol, too. She’d met Becker at one of Kirby’s concerts. “He got sick. But it happened really quickly. A bacterial infection that...” She let her words drift. Becker wouldn’t want her talking about the way he died. He was a vibrant person, filled with hope and joy. “But this isn’t what I intended to discuss with you.” She managed a smile, knowing Becker would be encouraging her to move forward, especially with her career. Then, suddenly, she hesitated, fully aware that Matt wasn’t going to be pleased with her news. Finally, she slapped the smile back on her face and went for it. “I’m doing a book about your father. He hired me to write his biography, and—”
“Kirby sent you here?” Matt flinched, his amber eyes flashing beneath the brim of his straw Stetson.
She nodded. “He asked me to come. He wants to reveal your parentage in the book and wants to give you the opportunity to tell your side of the story.”
Anger edged his voice. “So you’re here to interview me?”
She nodded again, maintaining a professional air. Libby wasn’t going to let Matt’s frustration affect her. She had a job to do, a biography to write, possibly even bringing him and his father together. “I’d like the chance to get to know you, to spend as much time with you as I can. Kirby told me—”
“He told you what?” Those eyes flashed again. “That his bastard son wants nothing to do with him?”
“He didn’t word it like that, but yes, he said that you were estranged from him. But he also admitted how he’d done you wrong. How he was never really there for you when you were growing up. He wants to atone for his mistakes.”
A cynical