A Rancher of Her Own. Barbara White DailleЧитать онлайн книгу.
work so much.”
As if.
She looked up to find her grandfather eyeing her from the head of the long table. Suddenly, she realized some of her uncertainty came from her current “assignment.”
“You and Pete going to get started this morning?” he asked.
“We are,” she confirmed. “But not for a little while. I’m not rushing through Paz’s great breakfast.”
After the photo shoots she had just completed, with three European trips in the space of a month, she shouldn’t plan to rush through anything this week. She deserved a break. Just not one that involved sitting still.
She loved her grandfather and felt more than happy to help with the hotel revamp. Taking a few photos here and setting up the ranch’s new website would be a piece of cake compared to the Sarajevo shoot and other assignments she’d worked on.
She didn’t mind spending a few extra days at the ranch, either, to get some of Grandpa’s photos out of the way—even if the job came with the drawback of having Pete around.
He’d been right yesterday about the way she had acted years ago, about being a pain whenever she went near him.
Long before that summer, she’d already seen how girls’ hormones made them do silly, stupid things around boys, and she had determined never to be like those girls. As an Army brat who had attended a succession of schools overseas by the time she hit her teens, she hadn’t ever met a boy she’d waste her time crushing on, let alone want to go out with.
Not, of course, that General Garland would ever have allowed his daughter to date at that age.
But the year she turned thirteen, on her summer vacation to Garland Ranch, she had run into Pete Brannigan outside the barn. Instantly, she understood why girls did silly, stupid things around boys. Besides, at twenty, Pete wasn’t a boy but a man.
Unfortunately, only two minutes afterward she discovered he was a younger version of her father. Hormones or no hormones, that was the end of her interest.
It was her thirteenth year all over again yesterday, when her first glance at Pete had given her equally silly though much more grown-up thoughts. Yet their run-in and his crack about being her “nursemaid” proved he had only gotten worse over time. If he thought she would sit back and let him boss her around—the way he’d always done whenever she had come near the barn or corral with Andi—he was in for a big surprise.
* * *
TO PETE’S SURPRISE, after he and Jane met in the hotel lobby, they settled into a routine with her doing the directing and him doing the grunt work. Nothing very strenuous, as they’d started in the sitting room just off the lobby.
His job consisted of shifting tables, couches and chairs and putting them back into place. It involved very little talking and a whole lot of looking, which suited him fine.
“Midmorning will be a good time for us to get the common areas done,” Jane had said yesterday. “The guests will either be sightseeing or taking riding lessons out at the corral.”
Exactly where he should have been, overseeing those lessons. Instead, he’d notified all the hands they could reach him on his cell phone if necessary.
The morning had passed much more quickly and with much less bickering than he had anticipated—probably because once Jane got behind the camera, she stayed there.
He stood leaning against the door frame, watching as she worked her way silently around the area.
“I don’t see much of a difference,” he said finally. “And the room always looks comfortable enough to me.”
“It’s a matter of perspective, especially with a static shot. Of finding the right balance between comfort and space.” She continued moving, her gaze on the camera, the shutter clicking away. “For now, we’re looking at still photos for the website and print promotion, but we might eventually shoot some panoramic video. Grandpa’s going all out with his ideas for the revamp.”
“I can’t see anything wrong with the hotel the way it is.”
“You don’t like change, do you?”
“Not much.”
“How do you feel about weddings?”
“I don’t like them at all.”
“Lovely.” She glanced at him. “Then I’d guess you have no plans to be the life of the party at Tina and Cole’s reception?”
“Not hardly.”
“What are the chances you’ll be able to hide your feelings?”
“I’ll manage.”
Camera lowered, she turned his way. “What happens when the bridal suites are refurbished and the hotel starts booking complete wedding parties?”
“Doesn’t make a difference. The hotel guests are all the same to me, and we entertain the guests, period.”
“You won’t make much of a spokesperson for the Hitching Post.”
“Good thing I’m not looking for the job, then, isn’t it?”
She raised a dark eyebrow but didn’t respond to that. Instead, she looked at her watch. “Why don’t we stop in at the kitchen for something to drink.”
Paz was bustling around the room, and Maria, one of the maids, was assisting her. This close to lunchtime, they were too busy to do much but give him a quick hello. He nodded in return while Jane poured a couple of glasses of iced tea and handed one to him.
They went through the kitchen door onto the back porch. Over at the corral, he could see the stable hand grooming one of the stallions.
He took a long swig of tea and leaned against the porch railing.
He could feel the noonday sun warming his back, spreading heat through him. Better to believe that than admit the truth, even to himself. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of with his reactions. Jane Garland wasn’t his type. Her preference in clothing did nothing for him. He didn’t care for her made-up face or her long nails, and her high-tech toys turned him off. But as he’d already acknowledged to himself, she was a good-looking woman—a sexy, good-looking woman—and standing this close to her would get any man overheated.
He gulped down another mouthful of cold, sweet tea.
“I’ll give you a break till this afternoon,” she said. “I don’t want you telling Grandpa I kept you so busy you couldn’t do the job he pays you for.”
“Excuse the pun, but you really focus on your work, don’t you?”
“I try to.”
“How’d you get to be such a perfectionist?”
She laughed. “You’ve met my father, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, lots of times.” He took another drink and wished he hadn’t brought up the subject. Not if it was going to lead to a discussion about their parents.
He didn’t like talking about his mother, who had passed on when he was in grade school. For other reasons, he avoided talking about his dad, the big-shot lawyer.
“Something wrong with the tea?”
The question made him realize he was scowling. “No, the tea’s fine. What does your dad have to do with your perfectionism?”
She shrugged. At her movement, the necklace she wore shifted across the front of her blouse. Sunlight glinted off the silver links, drawing his attention to her curves. Again.
“He’s an Army general,” she said. “That ought to explain it.” She downed her iced tea and licked the sweetness from her upper lip.
Almost without thinking, he did the same. Then he blinked