The Rancher's Untamed Heart

Brandon grinned.

“Sure, no problem.”

I couldn’t help myself, I tingled all over at the thought of being alone with Clint in his house. Was this a ploy to get me alone?

I could hardly wait.

Clint held the door open for me, letting me into the large, bright kitchen.

“This is beautiful,” I murmured, stepping aside to let him through, “I like the size.”

He looked around, a small smile twisting one side of his handsome face. I took him in with the surroundings, comparing his broad form with the clean, strong lines of the kitchen where we stood. The style, plain pine wood and dark countertops, was pretty typical of big houses on ranches in the area, but it was on a slightly smaller scale.

Of course, that wasn’t saying much. Instead of just the kitchen being the size of my entire apartment, the main living area was.

Clint apparently ignored my polite compliments of his home.

“Here will do,” he said, pulling out a chair for me at the end of a rectangular dining table that would seat. He took the chair next to it, at the head of the table. I sat down where he indicated, feeling the smooth pine under my fingers as I scooted my chair closer to the table.

The table was old, clearly used by many years of busy people, but the years had polished it to a smooth shine instead of destroying it. Furniture like that spoke quietly of money to me.

“So, are we ready to get this taken care of?” I asked.

“Suppose so,” Clint grunted, pulling the first sheet closer to him and peering at it.

“This one is saying that you gave me a tour and did not try and hide anything,” I began.

“No offense meant,” Clint said, “But you don’t need to tell me, I’ll read it anyways.”

Some of the people I dealt with would simply pull the stack of paperwork over to them and sign anywhere that looked like a line. Some of the people were methodical and untrusting, preferring to read every line for themselves and come to their own conclusions.

I didn’t really mind either way. My boss, Herman Banks, liked to joke about sticking bills of sale to their ranches in the piles, to teach the hasty signers a lesson.

“Suit yourself,” I said, and smiled at him.

He looked up briefly and nodded at me. I tried to tell myself that he was not being unfriendly, simply all business.

“Would you mind if I did some work on my phone while you go over that?” I asked.

He looked up again, meeting my eyes and smiling slightly.

“Suit yourself,” he said.

The smile reassured me, and I relaxed at the old table, tapping away at my phone, skimming through the e-mails I’d gotten while inspecting the ranch. Most of them I could read quickly and dismiss, but there were a few that needed quick replies, and two that needed in-depth responses that I’d send first thing Monday morning.

When I’d done that, Clint was still reading the small print on the back of one form.

Very methodical.

I shrugged to myself and looked back down at my phone. It was after six, I was definitely off the clock, and I’d taken care of everything I really needed to do today.

“Naomi,” I heard Clint said quietly.

I jumped and quickly put my phone down. Had he said my name a few times? He was definitely smirking at me.

“Yes!” I said, “Yes, sorry. That’s the worst game.”

“Catching up on work?” he asked, a half-smile on his face.