The Rancher and The City Girl (Tempting the Rancher 1)

“I told her the same thing just the other day!” Mrs. Gram said. “She’s got a place with me anytime she wants it. And between you and me, I think she likes it here more than she lets on. Girl needs support around her. Not like she has a lot waiting for her in the city. ’Course, I’m biased.”

Tripp nodded and took in that tidbit of information. Yes, Gram was biased, but the thought of what it’d mean if Charlotte stayed in Wyoming entered his brain all the same. Surprisingly, the idea didn’t give him instant heatstroke. Would Charlotte’s sticking around be so bad? She had spiced up his life in the past few weeks, and getting a regular dose of that spice sounded…hot.

He shook that thought right out of his mind. Yes, he was attracted to Charlotte, but he wouldn’t—couldn’t—get attached.

“Well, you have my undying devotion, ma’am,” he said to Mrs. Gram, and tipped his hat before excusing himself to leave.

He was only a few paces away from the fryer when he was stopped by more people. Then more. Being social wasn’t so bad. He knew almost everyone in town and worked with them or their families in some way. Nicest thing about a small town was the sense of community and home.

Hours passed, but he didn’t realize it until the sun started to set and the crowd changed from happy to a little buzzed. People were drinking, having a good time.

He looked at Charlotte. Still in her tent. Her dark tent. And from the looks of it, she hadn’t sold many pears.

He watched her for a moment. She was standing, then sitting. Then walked in front of the tent and looked out at all the people that passed her by and ignored her. There was some kind of makeshift sign taped to the table as well as two beer bottles filled with wildflowers. Was she trying to draw more attention to her table? It didn’t appear to be working.

She smiled.

People passed.

She gave a little wave.

People still passed.

Bad thing about a small town? Everyone knew who the outsider was.

Charlotte glanced around her table, and sadness washed over her face. He recognized it instantly. It was the same look Gracie got when she didn’t get a single Valentine card because her name had accidently been left off the class roster.

He whistled at Bo, and he came over. “I need you to do something for me,” Tripp said to his friend, and after a few brief instructions of what he needed, his buddy nodded.

“Roger that,” Bo said.

The band picked up pace and so did Tripp, straight toward the pear tent and the city woman running it.

…

Charlotte glanced around the summer night that was grayish blue and getting darker. The twinkly lights strung around the dance floor—rather, the dance slab of cement—sparkled, and all the lanterns that lit up the tables surrounding it were glowing and lovely.

But she felt like a ghost.

Seen, but looked through.

She had only sold a few cases of pears, nowhere near as many as Grammy had sold in the past. Her failure haunted her. Grammy had offered her a place to stay, but Charlotte was too city to be a country girl, yet too alone to feel welcome in a crowd.

Cheyenne was a community, and Charlotte wasn’t a part of it.

But she couldn’t let Grammy down. Couldn’t let her presence wreck everything. Everyone knew Grammy, but the people who came to the tent and asked about her all said they’d come back and buy pears later. They never came back.

Charlotte was the problem, and she knew it.

The outsider.

And it was starting to feel like the longer she stayed, the worse it’d feel.

Would it really be better back in the city? She hadn’t received a single job offer despite her mad Web design skills. Next month’s bills were looming like a thick black cloud, sheets of rain waiting just beyond the horizon. She needed to find a job—at this point, even a small freelance project that’d at least pay her rent—but she’d been so busy with the farm she hadn’t had time to find anything. Good news, she’d gotten her one website done for her client. Bad news, she now had zero clients needing websites built.

Not that anyone wanted to hire her. Or buy her pears, apparently. She was rolling all zeros lately, and it was starting to feel pretty shitty.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”