“It’s not like that, Cash. This is a totally different thing. A lifestyle magazine out of Vancouver. They’re featuring?—”
“No.”
“It’ll be good publicity for the ranch. You know we need it.”
He’s not wrong.
The reputation of Rock Creek Ranch had progressively gotten worse over the years my dad was alive. Even after he remarried and had another five boys, he was still an angry bastard. It wasn’t only his children he’d driven away. It was anyone and everyone he ever came into contact with.
We were fighting an uphill battle when it came to restoring the reputation of our family name and the ranch in town with the locals. And if we were going to have a hope in hell at building out a guest ranch to capitalize on the booming tourism industry in Rock Creek, we were going to need a miracle.
Or some excellent publicity.
When I didn’t answer him, Wyatt continued, “They’re sending someone up for the story. We’ll put them up in the guest cabin for a week or two. A real immersion piece.”
“A week or two?” I lifted my hat from my head and ran a hand through my hair, with a shake. Avoiding the reporter for a few days would be hard enough. But for a few weeks?
“It’s not going to be as bad as you?—”
“It’ll be worse,” I growl. “Nothing good can come from this, Wyatt.”
“It’s not an expose,” he counters. “It’s a feel-good piece about the ranch, the horses. The celebrity horse trainer who’s returned?—”
“No,” I snap. “That’s not how this works, brother. These people…they have a way of digging around and twisting your words into whatever will sell copies.”
He’s about to respond when the crunch of tires on gravel and snow cuts through the air. We turn to see Anna’s shiny white truck coming up the drive. As the local veterinarian, Wyatt’s soon-to-be wife is in high demand.
Even from a distance, I can see Anna behind the wheel, waving at us through the windshield. Next to her…
“Who’s that?”
Wyatt shrugs.
“Tell me that’s not?—”
“Hey, guys,” Anna calls out as she jumps down from the truck. “Came across a car stuck in a snow drift. She says she was headed out to the ranch, so I gave her a ride.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d already agreed,” I say through clenched teeth.
The passenger door opens, and for a second, the world goes still.
She steps out. Polished black boots—with heels—that have never seen dirt, jeans too tight to kneel in, and a beige wool coat that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Never mind the purse she has tucked over her arm.
City girl.
Through and through. Her long, dark hair falls in a perfect, glossy curtain over her shoulders, shining in the afternoon sun.
She lifts a hand to shield her eyes, scanning the yard until her gaze locks on me.
Fuck.
I’ve seen beautiful women before. Hell, I’ve been surrounded by models and actresses, one more beautiful than the next. But there’s something about this woman that hits differently. Maybe it’s how out of place she looks, so polished and clean against the rugged landscape of the ranch.
“Well,” Wyatt says with a chuckle. “That would be your journalist.”
I drag my eyes away from her long enough to glare at my brother. “You could have warned me she’d look like that.”
He laughs and pushes up on the rail to go greet his woman and our guest. “Would it have made a difference?” he asks as he walks away.
