One Bride for Four Ranchers

Prologue

Jessa

I ignore the eyes on me at first. I’m not at this environmental conference to mingle, after all. I’m here to write an article. Of course, that would be easier to do if the damn story I am trying to write didn’t have me half asleep.

The hotel bar is almost empty this time of day, with everyone still attending the conference functions. And since it’s still relatively quiet, it’s a nice place to work. With the polished wood bar and exposed brick, it has an old world charm that fuels my creativity.

For a while, I push through. I make it through yet another chunk of the article, showing ways companies can go green with incremental steps. I tell myself the eyes on me probably belong to a super nerd who can’t talk to women.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

Still, I pretend I don’t feel the pinpricks on my neck that tell me I’m being watched. I’m in a bar, sure, but it’s early. And it’s a hotel bar, and one of the only places in this hotel that still had plenty of seating when I left the conference proper at noon. When the conference fully lets out it will be crazy busy, but that won’t happen for a couple hours yet.

I sip my coffee and work.

By the halfway point in my article, curiosity overwhelms me. I look to my right to see a stranger, in fact, watching me. Hah. Knew it. I’d have patted myself on the back if I could have. But the man’s gaze catches me, will not let me go.

Piercing blue eyes, muscular arms. Dark hair just tousled enough to look rugged, not like he just rolled out of bed. Tall and broad-chested, he looks like a wet dream made real.

He doesn’t fit in here—not at this conference and not in New York City. I’ll eat my computer if he is a scientist of any kind. He’s dressed casually for one—most of the environmental scientists dress up for these conferences. Jeans, but a nice shirt. He’s tall and sexy as sin, but that isn’t what gives him away.

It’s the boots.

A moment after I make eye contact, he gets up and heads toward my table. Not too eager, I like that. The man saunters. Confidence coats his every movement, and a small grin touches his face.

“You’re far too beautiful to be here alone,” he says, his deep voice going right through me to my core. “Buy you a drink?”

He’s tall, over six feet. Handsome enough to make any woman googly-eyed. Luckily, I’m not easily impressed. Okay, he’s pretty darn impressive, even to me. But that doesn’t mean I have to show it.

“Does that line ever work?” I’m genuinely curious because, mortifyingly, it’s already working on me. I shut my laptop lid. The article will have to wait until tomorrow because I’ve found something far more interesting to pay attention to now.

Taking my reply—or maybe my disconnection from my laptop—as an invitation, he pulls the chair out across from me and sits down. “Sometimes.”

His crooked smile is infectious. I want to grin back at him like an idiot. The strong desire to do so is enough to keep my expression firmly neutral. “You’re not from around here.”

“No, ma’am. What gave me away?”

“Your boots.”

He raises an eyebrow, then glances at his own feet. “Aren’t boots in style?”

I honestly have no idea. As an environmental journalist, I don’t really stay that current on the latest trends. But mostly, I just don’t care too much about fashion. I make sure my outfits match well-enough to keep me from standing out in a look-at-that-freak sort of way, but that’s about as far as I go with it. “Even if they are, yours look like they’ve been worked in. Like…real work. Not ride-the-subway-to-your-office work.”

“You’re observant.” He tips an invisible hat at me, looking strangely happy at my guess. “And you’re right, I’m not from around here.”